Page 67 of A Whisper and a Curse

Their eyes locked and held.

Hadrian had never felt such a tenderness for someone before. Their relationship transcended their work and even their friendship. It was … special. And yet it could not be romantic.

The coach drew to a stop. Tilda looked away first.

Hadrian climbed from the coach and helped Tilda to the pavement. She released his hand with alacrity, and he tried not to be disappointed. Any reason to touch her was welcome. Like wanting to sit with her in the coach, touching her reassured him that she was safe. He would ensure she stayed that way.

“I am looking forward to our trip tomorrow,” she said. “I enjoyed our last journey by train.”

They’d gone to Brighton to interview someone when they were investigating their first case. “I will hope we can easily find Roger Grenville. Swindon isn’t a village.”

“It may take us a bit of time, but we’ll find him. Unless he doesn’t want to be found,” she added somewhat darkly. “Hopefully that will not be the case.”

CHAPTER 14

Tilda was glad—and relieved—when Hadrian reported that he had not received a threatening note. She was curious as to why the author had only sent one to her when she and Hadrian clearly worked together. They’d decided the person who’d sent the letter probably didn’t want to threaten a peer. He, or she, likely hoped that threatening Tilda would be enough. That conclusion had only served to make Hadrian more upset. He didn’t like Tilda being targeted at all, but especially not on behalf of both of them.

His reaction to the threat had been visceral. Tilda could see how deeply it bothered him. She was flattered but also aware that there continued to be an undercurrent between them. Whilst they’d returned to their strong working relationship, and their friendship was intact, the kiss had stirred something that was not easily ignored. Because when she considered that Hadrian might also be in danger, she didn’t like it one bit. In fact, it made her furious.

And it made her want to protect him.

The primary result of that horrible letter was that they were both eager to find the killer. She hoped today’s trip to Swindon would prove fruitful.

They arrived at the railway station in Swindon at midday. Hadrian managed to hail a hack, for which Tilda was grateful as they were traveling uphill to the older part of Swindon. They’d decided that was the best place to start and made their way to the High Street. The hack took them to an alehouse.

Refreshment sounded most agreeable, plus they could ask where to find Roger Grenville.

“Let us go directly to the bar,” Hadrian said.

Tilda nodded in agreement. They were greeted by the barman. Hadrian first ordered two ales.

As the barman set the beer atop the bar, Hadrian asked, “We are looking for a man called Roger Grenville. We believe he’s a spiritualist.”

The barman shrugged. “Don’t know what that is. Don’t know Grenville either.”

Tilda felt a stab of disappointment, even as she knew it wasn’t likely to have been that easy to find him. The presence of the Great Western Railway Works had transformed Swindon into a bustling town.

“Thank you.” Hadrian picked up the glasses of ale and carried them to a table.

They sat and sipped their ale. Tilda contemplated where to go next.

“Shall we start knocking on doors?” Hadrian asked with a smile.

“I will hope we won’t need to do that. We only have a few hours before we must return to London.” Hadrian had purchased their tickets to and from Swindon. Tilda hadn’t quibbled about it, but she didn’t like him paying her way. It was, however, necessary, as train journeys were not in her budget.

She realized this was now the farthest she’d been from London. Her last trip via train with Hadrian had taken them to Brighton, and that had been her farthest journey. Now, it wasSwindon. She had enjoyed watching the countryside as they’d traveled west. The sprawling fields and spring flowers were beautiful. She could see why some preferred to live outside the city, but Tilda could not imagine living anywhere but London.

A man approached their table. He was older, likely in his late sixties if Tilda had to guess. His dark gaze flicked over them with uncertainty.

“Good afternoon,” Tilda said pleasantly.

“I heard what ye asked about Grenville. I know ’im. Lives just down the mews there.” The man gestured toward the side of the alehouse. “Walk along the street and take the third left. There’s a sign what says ‘Spiritualist.’”

“Thank you very much,” Tilda said.

The man gave a nod, then set his hat atop his head before leaving the alehouse.

Tilda took another drink of ale, then looked at Hadrian expectantly. “Ready?”