Page 9 of A Whisper and a Curse

Tilda quashed a smile as Mr. Mallory returned. His forehead was deeply creased. “I’m sorry, but I must go. Tuttle has informed me that one of the mediums in the society has died in a most … indelicate manner.”

Tilda stood and Hadrian joined her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Hadrian pinned his gaze on the medium. “Pardon my curiosity, but what does indelicate mean?”

“He has hanged himself.”

CHAPTER 3

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hadrian said as Tilda also murmured her condolences.

Mr. Mallory shook his head, his eyes unfocused. He seemed utterly bewildered. “It doesn’t make any sense. Cyril was doing exceedingly well as a medium. He’d recently written a pamphlet for the society about spiritualism. He had a prominent benefactor. There was no reason for him to take his own life.”

“He was not unhappy?” Tilda asked, and Hadrian could sense her curiosity and desire to investigate.

“Not at all. I just saw him the day before yesterday.” Mr. Mallory blinked. “You must forgive me. I need to go to his house.”

“Is that where it happened?” Tilda asked gently.

“Yes. He lives in Willow Street. I’m sorry I can’t finish our interview. I’m confident Mrs. Frost’s séance tonight will be most illuminating for you.” He looked to Hadrian. “Just open your mind to hearing your brother speak. That is the best advice I can give you.” He turned and departed the parlor.

Hadrian looked to Tilda. “I suppose we should go.”

Tilda started toward the door. As she passed the circular table, she slowed. “I wonder if they hold the séances at that table.”

“Must they always be at a table?” Hadrian asked.

“It seems they are,” Tilda said with a shrug.

Hadrian moved closer to the table and removed his glove.

Tilda blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“If they have séances at this table, I wonder what I will see. If anything.” He grazed his fingertips along the surface of the mahogany table.

“I’m glad you’re being careful,” Tilda said.

He heard the worry in her tone. The last several visions he’d experienced in her presence had been intense. He’d had a few since—all ordinary, such as seeing the memory of someone who’d sat at a table at a tavern—but he was careful about what and who he touched. Thankfully, nothing in his own house provoked visions, including his valet who, by necessity, touched Hadrian regularly.

Nothing came to him from touching the table, so he pressed his palm to the surface. Sometimes greater contact was needed. And sometimes—more often than not—he didn’t see anything.

The room dimmed. It was now lit by candlelight, with a branch of candles in the center of the table. People sat around the perimeter, including Mr. Mallory, and they clasped hands. The candles blew out for some reason, and the vision faded.

Hadrian lifted his hand and tugged his glove back on. “They definitely have séances here. I saw several people around the table, including Mallory.”

“How is your head?” she asked.

“Fine, actually.” He’d felt a twinge of discomfort, but it had passed immediately.

“That’s odd, isn’t it?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not particularly. The pain seems to come with visions in which something notable happens.”

“Such as someone being pushed over a railing.” Tilda referred to a vision he’d seen during their last investigation. “Did you feel anything?”

Often, his visions were accompanied by strong sensations—emotions of whoever’s memory he was seeing. “Nothing this time. And of course, I’ve no idea whose memory I was seeing. Shall we go?”

“I want to take a quick peek at the library,” Tilda said.