Page 33 of A Whisper and a Curse
Without thinking, Hadrian brushed his hand against her lower back to escort her from the room. He immediately froze. After the kiss disaster, he’d resolved not to do things like this, but he’d forgotten. Recovering himself, he pulled his hand away.
Tilda snapped her gaze to his for a brief moment before inclining her head at the constable. Then she swept from the room, and Hadrian followed. They didn’t speak until they started up the stairs to the ground floor. Thankfully, she said nothing about his lapse of judgment.
“It is interesting that Mrs. Frost spoke of leaving the society,” Tilda said. “And of her discontent in London.”
“It seems we should visit the society and make inquiries there amongst its members,” Hadrian suggested. “I imagine you will also want to speak with the ladies who regularly came to tea with Mrs. Frost.”
“We must speak to as many people as possible to determine who, if anyone, may have held a grudge against the society.” Tilda paused at the top of the stairs and looked over at him. “We must also inquire with Mr. Mallory about the other retainers who help with the séances. However, first, I think I should like to call on Mr. Hawkins, since he is the sole remaining premier medium.”
“Would you care to do so now?” Hadrian asked.
“I would indeed, if you are amenable,” Tilda replied eagerly as they left the servants’ stairs and made their way toward the entrance hall. “You don’t have pressing matters in the Lords?”
“Not today.” Though even if he had, Hadrian would almost always choose investigating with Tilda over his other duties—when he could.
As they passed through the staircase hall, they glanced up. Hadrian thought he glimpsed the coroner, Graythorpe.
“I’d like to attend the inquest,” Tilda said, indicating she’d perhaps seen him too.
“It seems you are investigating these murders,” Hadrian observed as they stepped outside. He swung his head toward her.
She sent him a smile bright with anticipation. “Weare investigating them.”
CHAPTER 8
Once they were on their way to Victor Hawkins’s house in Clerkenwell, Tilda pulled her notebook from her reticule and made notes about what they’d just learned, including the names of the ladies who regularly had tea with Mrs. Frost.
“I wondered why you weren’t taking notes during the interview,” Hadrian said.
She glanced toward him and paused in writing. “Since the constable was recording their answers, I didn’t want to do the same. I suppose I hoped I would appear more sympathetic, and that they might be more open to sharing with me.”
“Clever. And probably helpful.”
Tilda finished making notes as she thought back over their conversation with the Henry siblings. She tucked her notebook and pencil back into her reticule. “Did you find Jacob’s demeanor nervous?”
“At times.”
“It could just be that he is sensitive to his sister’s obvious distress, and the fact that their employer was murdered,” Tilda noted. “However, I do wonder if there is more that they could have told us and chose not to. They—Jacob in particular—seemed hesitant to disclose the names of the ladies who attended tea. And they did not offer the location of their lodging.”
“Does that matter?” Hadrian asked.
“It is if we want to find them to ask more questions.” Tilda would trust that Teague would be able to locate them. “I found it odd that Ellen and Jacob did not live in her house, just as Mr. Ward’s retainers did not.”
“I did as well,” Hadrian said.
“I wonder if Mr. Hawkins will also have retainers who do not live with him,” Tilda mused.
Hadrian scooted to the side of his seat and stretched his legs out. The tips of his boots almost met her seat. “Hawkins will likely not have heard about Mrs. Frost’s death.”
Though Hadrian hadn’t moved closer to her, the proximity of even his feet made her temperature rise. It had already spiked earlier when he’d touched her back. It had been the barest graze of his fingertips, but she’d still reacted. Thankfully, she’d hidden that reaction. He didn’t need to know how he affected her, not when she was working to ensure nothing romantic happened between them.
“You’re right. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’ll need to inform him. Let me consider how to do that.”
Hadrian gave her a brief smile. “I trust you will handle it adeptly.”
They arrived on Woodbridge Street a short while later. The neighborhood wasn’t at all grand, but it was friendly enough, and it didn’t take them long to find Hawkins’s house, a double-fronted terrace of brick.
They went to the door where Hadrian rapped on the wood. A few moments later, an older woman answered. Short with deep-set blue eyes and wearing a white cap that seemed a bit large forher head, she surveyed Hadrian in particular. Nostrils flaring, she looked at them expectantly.