Page 28 of A Whisper and a Curse

Hadrian quickly removed his glove and touched the railing. The vision didn’t immediately come, but when it did, a sharp pain exploded behind his eyes. The memory he saw was distinct and terrifying—the person whose memory he was experiencing carefully lifted Mrs. Frost’s body over the railing and lowered her. Her neck was already encircled with rope and her face was deathly pale, her eyes closed.

“You must be Ellen’s brother.” Tilda’s voice interrupted Hadrian’s vision, and the memory slipped away.

Hadrian touched his forehead briefly before drawing his glove back on. He turned away from the railing.

The butler walked to his sister and embraced her. Tilda watched with a sad expression, then stepped around them to join Hadrian. Her gaze met his, then flicked to his brow. The small lines around her mouth told him she was concerned. She’d likely noted he’d touched his head and assumed he’d had a vision. She was particularly attuned to his reactions.

The police came up the stairs, led by the man who was not in uniform. Hadrian presumed he was an inspector.

The man, who wore a most impressive mustache, stopped in front of Hadrian. His amber eyes surveyed his surroundings before he settled his gaze on Hadrian. “Ravenhurst?”

“Yes, and my associate, Miss Wren.” He gestured to Tilda.

“I am Inspector Farrar from E Division. You had an appointment with the woman hanging from the staircase?”

“We did,” Hadrian replied. “She is—was—a medium and had conducted a séance we attended here this past Monday evening.”

Inspector Farrar’s light brown brows rose. “Indeed? I imagine the detective inspector will want to speak with you when he arrives. I sent someone to Scotland Yard to fetch him.”

“Can’t you take her down?” Henry asked. “Mrs. Frost, I mean.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Henry, but we cannot do that until the detective inspector arrives,” Inspector Farrar replied.

Tilda looked at the man and his sister with sympathy. “Perhaps we should go to the kitchen and have some tea.”

Ellen wiped a handkerchief across her nose. “There’s a pot steeping already. I did that as soon as I arrived. Before I came upstairs to see Mrs. Frost. I think I would prefer to go to the kitchen.” She looked at her brother. “Jacob, will you come with me?”

Jacob Henry sent an uncertain glance toward the inspector. “May we go to the kitchen?”

“Of course,” Farrar said with a nod. “I’ll have one of the constables escort you if that would be a comfort.”

Ellen’s features lost a small bit of tension. “Thank you.”

Farrar motioned for one of the uniformed men to accompany the siblings downstairs. They moved toward the back of the house, presumably to the servants’ stairs.

Tilda walked to the railing and looked down at Mrs. Frost. Hadrian joined Tilda, his attention on Tilda, not the dead medium. Tilda’s focus was now on the railing.

“See how the rope has been painted to match the wood of the staircase?” she noted. “And it’s been twisted around the baluster. This matches what Teague described about Ward’s death. It’s clear to me that this was made to look as though she was levitating.”

“Bloody chilling to think someone went to that much effort,” Farrar said with a twitch of his shoulder as he moved toward the railing.

A figure appeared in the hall below. The man removed his hat and tilted his head up. It was Teague, and he was accompanied by two constables.

“Ravenhurst and Miss Wren?” Teague called up.

“We had an appointment with the victim,” Tilda said. “I’d say she was likely killed by the same person who murdered Mr. Ward. Unless someone is trying to copy his murder.”

“If so, they’ve done a damn good job.” Teague’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “Coming up.” He turned and said something to the constables, which Hadrian couldn’t hear. A moment later, one of them left the hall to return the way they’d come, and Teague strode toward the staircase.

The detective inspector eyed Tilda as he approached them. “For someone who is not investigating the murder of Cyril Ward, you are quite involved in this investigation.”

Tilda’s mouth quirked, but the expression was not quite a smile. “As I was investigating Mrs. Frost and she has been murdered, I must consider whether my investigation now includes her death.”

“The press is going to make a meal of this,” Teague said darkly. “In fact, one of their number has been loitering about Scotland Yard since the inquest. I think he may have followedme here. I’ve sent one of my constables outside to ensure he doesn’t get in.”

“I don’t suppose he’s wearing rather garish pants?” Tilda asked.

Teague’s brows arched. “How did you know?”