Page 57 of A Whisper and a Curse

The following afternoon, Hadrian arrived at Tilda’s grandmother’s to fetch Tilda for their visit to Scotland Yard.

Vaughn answered the door as quickly as his trudging gait allowed. He smiled upon seeing Hadrian. “Good afternoon, my lord.” He welcomed Hadrian inside.

The small, marble-floored entrance hall had become quite familiar to Hadrian now. He felt an instant sense of comfort and welcome.

“If you’d care to wait in the parlor, Miss Wren will be down shortly. She ran back upstairs to fetch a different hat.”

“Thank you, Vaughn.” Hadrian moved into the parlor, which was empty. Often, Tilda’s grandmother could be found seated in a chair near the windows, where she would work on her embroidery. There was a round table where he’d taken tea with them.

He’d never spent time investigating the space, however. Likely because he hadn’t had occasion to be here alone. He moved toward the hearth and noticed a photograph of a man in a police uniform. That had to be Tilda’s father.

Though he wasn’t smiling, Hadrian had the sense that the man had done so often. He realized that wasn’t something he could tell from a photograph. Rather, it was something he presumed based on what he knew of the man—and his daughter and mother, who lived here in this house. Wren looked a bit like his daughter, particularly in the chin, where he had a cleft very similar to Tilda’s.

“Good afternoon, Lord Ravenhurst. It’s always nice to see you.”

Hadrian pivoted upon hearing Mrs. Wren’s voice. Tilda’s grandmother wore an outdated gown of dove-gray trimmed with burgundy and a lace cap atop her white hair.

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Wren.” Hadrian bowed.

Mrs. Wren went to sit in her chair by the window. “What is today’s errand?”

“We will be calling on Detective Inspector Teague at Scotland Yard.” And perhaps on Eldred if they could ascertain his address.

Hadrian wanted to know about the photograph on the mantel. “Am I correct in assuming that photograph is of your son?”

Mrs. Wren looked toward the mantel, her features softening. “Yes, that is my Thomas. I am grateful we have that. He looks so smart in his uniform. His father was quite proud of him.”

The mention of Tilda’s grandfather pulled at Hadrian’s heart. He’d died more than thirty years ago, so Tilda had never known him. But she felt as though she did through the memories of him shared by her father and grandmother. During their first investigation together, they’d learned that her grandfather hadn’t simply died from falling from a horse as everyone had believed. He’d been murdered. His killer was now dead, but that wasn’t a comfort. Tilda hadn’t told her grandmother the truth,having decided there was no reason to. Hadrian could find no quarrel with that.

“Tilda misses him so. As do I.” Mrs. Wren looked toward Hadrian. “Do you also miss your father?”

“Not in the same way,” he said. Not at all really, but he didn’t want to say that. Hadrian was spared further discussion by Tilda’s arrival.

She looked lovely in her burgundy gown with a matching hat. She pulled her gloves on, and her reticule hung from her wrist. “I’m ready.”

Hadrian gave her grandmother another bow. “It’s been lovely visiting with you.”

Mrs. Wren smiled up at him. “You have brightened my day, my lord.”

“You must really call me Hadrian, I think.”

“Indeed?” Tilda’s grandmother laughed softly. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate, but I suppose I must if you say so.”

“I do.” He grinned at her before escorting Tilda from the house, bidding Vaughn goodbye on the way.

Leach greeted Tilda and handed her into the coach. She took her usual seat, and Hadrian sat opposite her. He still mourned the closeness of sitting with her on a shared seat, but he was glad to be conducting this ever-widening investigation with her.

Teague was, thankfully, present at Scotland Yard, and they went directly to his office. He stood from behind his desk as Tilda and Hadrian entered.

“Afternoon Ravenhurst, Miss Wren. Please sit.” He gestured toward the seating area and joined them there.

“I wanted to know if you were able to question Eldred,” Tilda said, moving straight to the purpose of their visit.

Teague’s brows climbed. “You learned his name?”

“I am a private investigator,” she replied drily.

The detective inspector smiled. “And a good one at that. Yes, I spoke with Octavius Eldred yesterday. He is an odd fellow. He attended a séance with Ward a few months ago. Eldred claims he was recently blackmailed about something that no one alive would know. He deduced that Ward, who spoke to the dead, was behind it.” Teague shook his head.