Page 69 of A Whisper and a Curse

“Who is Thaddeus?” Hadrian asked, echoing Tilda’s thoughts. She had a strong suspicion but needed to hear Grenville confirm it.

“Apologies,” Grenville said with a faint chuckle. “Thaddeus Vale is Lysander Mallory’s real name. He changed it when we went to London to start the society. He thought a memorable, somewhat bold name would help our cause.” There was disdain buried beneath Grenville’s affability. Tilda had the impression he was glad to share whatever he could about Thaddeus Vale. “Lysander is Thaddeus’s favorite Shakespearean character.”

Tilda’s pulse quickened at the connection of the name to the captain who had leased the society headquarters in London. However, she wanted to return to Mrs. Frost for a moment. “Did Vale and Mrs. Frost remain lovers?” She hadn’t perceived that sort of grief in Mallory following her death.

“They did not. I exchanged letters with Deborah occasionally, and Thaddeus moved on to another woman, someone he’d also recruited to train as a medium. Thaddeus has never maintained his romantic relationships for long.”

Tilda wondered if that woman was still with the society—Mrs. Griswold or Miss Dryden, perhaps. One thing seemed obvious, however: there was a connection between Lysander Mallory and the man who’d leased the society headquarters in Cadogan Place. She exchanged a look with Hadrian before asking, “Is Thaddeus related to Captain Owen Vale?”

“They are father and son. Captain Vale lives a few miles from here.” Grenville narrowed his eyes at them. “Are you investigating Thaddeus for murder? I would be shocked if he would compromise his own ambition by killing the very mediums he’d recruited, especially since it seems the society has gained several prominent patrons.”

“You seem very informed about the society despite leaving it,” Tilda noted.

“I have followed Thaddeus’s rise.” Grenville sounded slightly bitter. Tilda wondered if the man had a good motive for wanting to ruin his former partner’s success. But Grenville would have had to travel to London to commit murder. “Are you investigating Thaddeus?” he asked again.

“We are investigating the murders as well as the society in general. We have learned that the society’s mediums commit fraud in their séances. They use hollow tables and parlor tricks to impress the attendees.” Tilda looked at Grenville intently, wondering if he may hold the key to what they were missing. “Is that what you and Thaddeus did when you worked together?”

“Not at first, but Thaddeus suggested we add theatrics that impress people so they would talk about our séances and entice others to come.” Grenville grimaced. “I’m ashamed to say it worked beautifully. We became rather popular.”

“Was there anything real about your séances?” Hadrian asked, his tone slightly accusatory.

“Of course,” Grenville replied quickly. “I do have a sensitivity to people. I can feel their energy, and sometimes—often, really—I can use that energy to glimpse things. I confess much of it is nebulous—feelings and sensations, rather than actually hearing something specific from someone in the spirit realm.”

“And yet the mediums in the London Spiritualism Society somehow know specific things about people. The best we can surmise is that the society conducts investigations to learndetails they can share in a séance. Or they actually speak to the dead, which you say isn’t possible.”

“It isn’t possible forme,” Grenville clarified.

“Are you saying it is for someone?” Tilda asked.

Grenville gave her a wry smile. “I am not aware of anyone who speaks to the dead. However, there are other means by which someone may gather information that seems impossible.”

“That is rather vague.” Tilda darted a look at Hadrian. His features were impassive, and she couldn’t tell if he suspected what she did—that Grenville was referring to some other supernatural ability. “What means are you referring to?”

Grenville hesitated, then leaned slightly toward them over the table. “Can you believe in something that cannot be proven?” he asked softly.

Tilda’s pulse quickened as she wondered if Grenville meant a power such as Hadrian’s. Glancing toward Hadrian once more, she saw that his jaw had clenched. “We very well might,” she replied to Grenville without irony.

There was a long silence as Grenville studied them both. “How refreshing,” he murmured. “Still, you may not believe what I am about to say, and I don’t share this lightly. In fact, I’ve never shared it with anyone before. However, I think it is necessary, given the nature of your investigation and the fact that lives have been lost.” He paused, regarding them as if he expected they might interrupt. However, Tilda was rapt and a quick glance toward Hadrian said he was the same.

“Thaddeus is able to experience the memories of others when he touches them,” Grenville said, and Tilda’s pulse leapt. She wished she could touch Hadrian, to convey both her excitement and support. “I would not have believed it myself if he had not performed the trick on me multiple times. He experienced memories of mine that I hadn’t shared with others, and in some cases barely remembered myself.”

Tilda cast a sideways look at Hadrian, but his expression was blank—eerily so. “That is astonishing,” she said to Grenville. “It must have been unnerving and yet exciting at the same time—the ability to relive something you had almost forgotten.”

“I’m shocked you understand and that you actually seem to believe me.” Grenville stared at them somewhat incredulously. “Truthfully, I found it unnerving. After a time, however, Thaddeus was no longer able to experience my memories, which relieved me. It seemed that as we became close, he lost the ability, at least with me.” Perhaps that explained why Hadrian hadn’t seen Tilda’s memories. They were, as recognized by both of them, close friends.

She could almost feel the tension coursing through Hadrian, but there would be time to discuss his reaction and what this could mean later. “May I ask how you came to meet one another?” she asked Grenville.

“I was working as a spiritualist, and Thaddeus came to see me—in this very room. He said he was an aspiring spiritualist and performed his trick for me.” Grenville paused, his expression wry. “Forgive me, I should not call it a trick, for his ability is quite real. It is the manner in which he purveyed it that counted as trickery, in my opinion. But I am getting ahead of the story.

“After I saw what he was capable of, I invited him to join me in my business,” Grenville continued. “With his skill, we could help people in ways that could be deeply meaningful.”

“How was that?” Hadrian asked, his voice flat.

Grenville looked toward him. “You are skeptical.”

“You mentioned trickery, and I do not like the idea of people being defrauded,” Hadrian said coldly.

“Nor do I,” Grenville whispered. “Though I am ashamed to admit we did just that. But I no longer truck with activities designed to shock and entertain. You will not find me movingobjects or shaking the table.” He spoke vehemently, and Tilda believed him.