Page 30 of A Whisper and a Curse

“We’ll determine who it belonged to,” Teague said. “If you’ll excuse me now.”

“Of course.” Tilda pulled her glove back on and moved away from the railing.

Hadrian joined her. “To the drawing room?”

She nodded, and they moved into the room where the séance had been held the other evening. It looked quite different in the daylight. The curtains were open, and light spilled across the round table in the center of the room.

Tilda paused and touched his elbow, prompting him to turn. “What did you see when you touched the railing? And are you well?”

The pain in his head had diminished, but a dull ache persisted. “I’m fine. I saw the killer’s memory. He—or she, I suppose—was lowering Mrs. Frost over the railing. The rope was already around her neck.”

“What did you see of the killer’s hands?”

Hadrian had learned to gather as many details as he could when he had a vision, but sometimes they didn’t last long enough for him to be as thorough as he would like. “I think he—or she—was wearing gloves, but I can’t be certain. The vision didn’t linger.” He concentrated, trying to recall what he’d seen, but he couldn’t say more.

Removing his glove again, Hadrian started toward the table.

“Careful,” Tilda said. “You don’t want to overdo it.”

Hadrian appreciated her concern. “I will make this my last attempt whilst we’re here.”

Going to the table, he dragged his fingertips across the top. Nothing came to him, so he put more of his hand on the wood. A vision flitted through his mind, like the wings of a bird taking flight. He pressed his hand more firmly, and a room came into view. Not a room but a workspace—a cabinetry shop. The memory was of a man building this table.

He took in the space. High ceilings, a few dusty windows. The scent of cut wood.

Hadrian froze. He’d neversmelledanything in a vision before.

Inhaling, he let the aroma settle into him. He closed his eyes, and the vision disappeared. He’d always had to keep his eyes open to “see” the memories.

“Hadrian?”

He blinked his eyes open and turned toward Tilda. “I saw the memory of the man who crafted this table. I was in his workshop.” He edged closer to her. “Tilda, I couldsmellit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I smelled the cut wood as if I were there. I have never smelled anything in a vision before.” He’d always wanted to hear what was being said but had yet to experience that.

“How astonishing.” Her lips parted briefly.

For the barest moment, Hadrian was enchanted by her mouth. The memory of their kiss blazed through him. He could not think of that event or of Tilda in such a manner. Annoyed with himself, he pushed the recollection away.

“I want to look under the table.” Hadrian knelt and crawled under the table, the fingers of his bare hand pressing into the carpet.

“What do you see?”

“There’s a large pedestal in the center, which I suppose is necessary, given the size of the table.” Hadrian ran his fingers along the wood of the underside of the tabletop. It was smooth with nothing notable or out of the ordinary. He tried not to expect anything, recalling what Tilda had once told him about investigating—it was better not to anticipate. That way your mind was open to whatever it may encounter. Even if that was nothing at all.

He didn’t see another vision, which he supposed he appreciated. His head still ached from before, and he preferred it didn’t worsen. “A light would be helpful.”

“Let me see if I can find something,” Tilda called.

He reached the pedestal, which had four large clawed feet. They were beautifully carved. The carpenter who’d made this table had done a fine job, even on parts that wouldn’t be seen. Except by people crawling around.

Light shone under the table, and Hadrian glanced to his right to see Tilda on her knees holding a lantern. “How’s this?” she asked.

“Good, thank you.” Hadrian turned his head back to the pedestal. There was a word carved into the wood at the top. He ran his fingertip over it, feeling the letters as he read them. “Clifton. That’s carved into the pedestal. Must be the carpenter.”

“What are you doing?” A man voiced the question that carried to Hadrian beneath the table.