Page 54 of A Whisper and a Curse

“I fear I cannot help it, my dearest Cyril.” The duchess sniffed, then took a long, wavering breath. “What am I to do?”

She sounded so forlorn that Tilda could not help but feel sorry for her. Whether this was real or not, she wasn’t sure if it was helpful or cruel. Because in the end, the duchess could not be with her son or with Cyril, not unless she died. Which, of course, would mean there was a spirit realm where everyone gathered after death. Tilda truly hadn’t spent much time thinking of such matters. But now that she did, she understood the woman’s desire to be reunited with someone she’d lost. Tilda would give anything to see her father again.

“You are to continue on,” Hawkins as Cyril advised. “You will wake every morning as you normally do, taking your special tea. And you will walk each day around your garden, just as we used to do. You have not walked since I left, have you?” He sounded almost as if he were admonishing her, but his tone was gentle.

The duchess’s head dipped once more. “No, I have not. How well you know me.”

“You must promise to stop crying as you gaze at my portrait. No good can come from so much grief, especially since you needn’t grieve me. Not when we can still be together like this.”

“Can we?” the duchess asked hopefully. “I miss you terribly. But if we can continue our chats with Mr. Hawkins as our intermediary, I may just be able to manage.”

“Of course we will continue our talks,” Cyril said. “For as long as I am able. Until you join me here in the spirit realm.”

“How I long for that day!”

“Do not wish for that, Agatha,” Cyril cautioned. “You’ve much life to live yet.”

The duchess stilled. “How much?”

“I cannot say.”

“But you must know,” the duchess persisted. When he did not respond, she sighed. “I wish you would tell me.”

“It is time for me to go for now, Agatha. Until next time.” Hawkins twitched again, his body shuddering several times before his eyes fluttered open.

“Is he gone?” the duchess asked.

“Yes,” Hawkins replied gently. “But I’m sure he will return another night.”

The duchess began to weep softly. Surprisingly—at least to Tilda—she did not release the hands of those next to her.

“There is another spirit who wishes to pass a message to one of our guests,” Hawkins said. “Let us see to whom they wish to speak.”

The medium spoke the name of the person seated at number one. There was a single rap in response, which meant no. He continued around the table until he reached Hadrian. The response was also no.

Tilda was aware of the fact that the table had a hollow pedestal within by which someone was delivering theseresponses. If that much was fake, was Hawkins’s channeling of Ward also false?

Hawkins called out Tilda’s name. The answer was three raps.

Yes.

Tilda stiffened. Though she wanted to see her father again, she knew in her heart it wasn’t possible. She did not want to receive a message from the spirit realm, even if it was real. Whilst that may be comforting to some people, it was not to her. Especially in this instance, when she had not asked to communicate with any spirits. It felt … intrusive.

“No, thank you,” she said clearly.

She was aware of everyone’s eyes on her, including Hadrian’s. He no doubt gazed at her with understanding, but the rest of them were likely watching her with bated breath. She did not care to be the source of their entertainment, for that was surely what a séance amounted to.

Hawkins’s eyes clamped shut and he jerked. “Tilda, darling. Do you have my hat?”

Tilda’s blood went cold. How would Hawkins know about her father’s hat? It was one of the few belongings of her father’s that she’d kept after his death. But he’d never called her “Tilda, darling.” He’d called her Tilly when she was young and then Til as she’d grown older.

This couldn’t be real. But then how did Hawkins know about the hat? Was it another guess that had proven correct? Or was it a memory Hawkins had seen when he’d taken her hand as he’d greeted her earlier? Itcouldbe a memory, for Hadrian was never able to hear what was said. It would make sense for Hawkins to call her by the wrong name.

Tilda was torn between wanting to end this immediately and trying to determine what was happening. She felt Hadrian squeeze her hand and looked over at him. His expression was one of deep concern and care.

In the end, self-preservation won out, and Tilda released the hands of the men on either side of her. She did not want to be the center of this spectacle, whether it was real or not.

Hawkins’s eyes opened. “The circle has been broken.” He looked to Tilda. “You did not wish to speak with your father?”