Page 76 of A Whisper and a Curse

Captain Vale grimaced. “Does it happen every time you touch something?”

“No. It doesn’t happen at my home at all—not with anything there or any of the members of my household.”

Captain Vale nodded. “I am relieved for you. What Thaddeus went through was horrid. His ability was triggered when he fell from his horse at fifteen. He was plagued by constant visions for several years. They made him somewhat volatile, until he was finally able to control the ability.”

“What allowed him to do that?” Hadrian hoped he didn’t sound too desperate.

“I don’t think it was anything in particular. It’s something that just happened gradually over time. I believe it helps to meditate on ways to control your thoughts. When you touch something, think about what you want—or don’t want—to see or feel.”

“Or smell,” Hadrian said.

Captain Vale’s brows shot up. “You smell the memories?”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Captain Vale shook his head. “My grandfather did warn me that no two of us are exactly alike. I was not aware of him smelling them, but he did hear them.”

Hadrian glanced at Tilda. To be able to hear what people were saying would be most helpful in their investigations.

“Does your son?” Tilda asked. “Hear them, I mean.”

“He does, but that came to him later.” The captain looked to Hadrian. “That may yet come to you.”

Hadrian took a biscuit from the tray, his mind churning with everything he’d just learned.

Tilda sipped her tea, then addressed their host. “Can you tell us why you leased the house for your son for the London Spiritualism Society? You don’t seem to favor your son’s pursuit of spiritualism.”

Captain Vale had also taken the break in conversation to sip his tea and now returned his cup to its saucer. “I didn’t know it was for this spiritualism nonsense. He told me he wanted to establish a literary salon. I confess I have felt badly for all the difficulty he suffered as a young man, and I have only wanted him to find happiness.”

Hadrian was already inclined to like the man, but now it was certain. Captain Vale clearly loved his son, which was not something Hadrian could say about his own father. “I hope your son realizes how fortunate he is to have you.”

The captain smiled. “I am not always certain, but I like to believe he does. I may not approve of what he is doing, but he is still my son.”

Hadrian wondered what the man would think if he knew his son was blackmailing people. He couldn’t bring himself to tell him about it.

“How I wished he’d actually established a literary salon. He is a gifted writer and found such solace in it.” The captain glanced at the book that still sat on the table.

Tilda touched the book. “May I look?”

“Please,” the captain encouraged as he picked up his teacup once more.

Hadrian took another biscuit as Tilda opened the book. She turned a page and skimmed the handwriting.

“What sort of stories did he write?” Hadrian asked before taking a bite of biscuit.

“Romantic tales, mostly,” the captain responded. “There are some poems as well.”

The barest intake of breath reached Hadrian’s ears. He looked over at Tilda to see her turning another page. Then she moved the book so that it was easier for him to read. “He’s an excellent writer,” she said in a tone that seemed—to Hadrian—to trill with excitement.

Hadrian popped the rest of the biscuit into his mouth as his gaze fell on the handwriting. He nearly choked.

The lettering matched that of the threatening message Tilda had received. Hadrian would stake his life on it.

He dared to look at Tilda. She briefly met his gaze, but then focused her attention on Captain Vale. “I can see why you hoped Thaddeus would become a writer. Mayhap he will yet.”

The hell he would. Hadrian was going to see him arrested just as soon as they returned to London. They would go directly to Scotland Yard.

“We must be on our way,” Hadrian said abruptly in his eagerness to get to Mallory. “We’ve a train to catch.”