Page 17 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

Tilda exchanged a look with Hadrian. “If you could recall who those people were, it would be helpful to the investigation of these murders.”

“I do not,” Hawkins said. “You could ask Lysander. He may remember.” He narrowed his eyes at Tilda. “Why are you asking me questions? You sound as if you are investigating these murders? And you were at the inquest yesterday. You don’t work for the police.”

Tilda decided it was time to reveal herself. Since she was no longer just investigating the society’s authenticity in contacting the spirit realm, there was no reason to hide her occupation. “I am a private investigator, and I am investigating the murders.”

“I have never heard of a woman private investigator.” Hawkins sounded dubious.

“Miss Wren is highly skilled,” Hadrian said. “She has solved several cases, including murders.”

Hawkins looked surprised as he gave Tilda his attention. “I am most eager to help catch whoever killed Deborah and Cyril.”

Tilda gave him an appreciative nod. “Perhaps you could tell us about Mrs. Frost. It sounds as though you knew her well. I understand she was relatively new to London.”

Hawkins’s features relaxed slightly. “Yes. She moved here from Wroughton.”

“How did you become acquainted?” Tilda asked.

“Through Lysander. I attended a séance at his house—what became the headquarters of the society—and met him and Deborah that evening. Cyril was also there.”

Tilda would record everything in her notebook later. “Was Mrs. Frost already a medium?”

“Yes,” Hawkins replied. “After the séance that night, Lysander told me he sensed that I would be able to communicate with the spirit realm. He’d already recruited Cyril to train as a medium, and the three of them convinced me to do the same. We formed the society soon thereafter.”

“What did Mallory sense within you?” Hadrian asked.

Hawkins shrugged. “I’m not sure. He has a gift for identifying sensitive people.

That is how he found Deborah. And Cyril too.

We all trained together, and after working with Lysander a short while, we were able to speak with those on the other side.

” The medium smiled, but there was a sadness in it.

“It has been most illuminating and gratifying. I am grateful that I met Lysander and the others.”

“You hold séances here, is that correct?” Tilda asked.

“I do.”

“A friend of my grandmother’s—Mrs. Richardson—attended one recently,” Tilda said. “You communicated with her deceased dog, if you recall.”

“I do indeed,” Hawkins said with enthusiasm. “Mrs. Richardson is a delightful woman.”

“When is your next séance?” Tilda clasped her hands in her lap. “I ask because we attended Mrs. Frost’s the other night and had planned to return next Monday. However, that will not be possible.”

“I am conducting one Friday. The Duchess of Chester has asked me to try to contact Cyril in the spirit realm.”

“If you are in need of another female guest, I should like to attend,” Tilda offered.

“I would need another male guest to balance you. We require a certain and equal number of men and women.”

“We learned that the other night,” Hadrian said. “I would be happy to come as well. We also learned that guests are arranged by gender around the table. Do you ever stray from that rule and seat men and women next to the same sex?”

“On occasion, yes.” Hawkins gestured with his hand. “It all depends on the energy that will be assembled. Sometimes modifications must be made.”

Tilda was glad Hadrian had asked that question. She pressed on regarding Mrs. Frost. “How would you describe Mrs. Frost as a medium? What was her specialty?”

“Specialty?” Hawkins blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I understand some mediums are skilled at moving objects or levitating,” Tilda said. “Did Mrs. Frost have a particular ability?”

“She was exceptionally gifted at communing with the spirit realm.” Hawkins frowned sadly. “Her talent will be missed.”

Tilda met the medium’s gaze. “If you can think of anything that will help the police find the killer, that would be most helpful.”

Hawkins’s eye twitched. He looked away for a moment and seemed to be thinking.

“Has something occurred to you?” Tilda prodded.

The medium slid his gaze toward them. “There was a medium who used to work with Lysander Mallory, but they fell out. Lysander said it was because the man was jealous of his burgeoning popularity. After Lysander started the society, the man—Roger Grenville was his name—said he would warn people against it.”

“Did you meet Grenville?” Hadrian asked, his expression intensely focused on the medium.

Hawkins nodded. “Several times, though I didn’t come to know him well.

He was older than Lysander, perhaps fifteen years, and supposedly a gifted medium.

I never saw him practice. I can only say that he was most disagreeable.

He insulted Lysander quite soundly. He left London not long after we founded the society.

I suppose he was a founding member who abdicated his place. ”

“Do you know where he went?” Tilda hoped it wasn’t far. She wanted to speak with him.

“Lysander believed he returned to his former home in Swindon.” Hawkins cocked his head. “That’s near Wroughton where Deborah was from. I hadn’t realized that. What a coincidence.”

“Indeed.” Tilda’s mind worked. This disgruntled medium was from near where Mrs. Frost came from. Had he known her?

“We met a gentleman called Montrose at Mrs. Frost’s séance,” Hadrian said. “Would you happen to know where we could find him?”

Hawkins glanced away, which piqued Tilda’s interest. “No.”

“Do you know him?” Tilda was curious how he’d answer that, since Hadrian had seen that Hawkins had sat beside the man. They had to know one another.

“He has attended a few séances, but I don’t know him well. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

Hawkins’s demeanor was suspicious, and Tilda wasn’t sure she entirely believed him.

She summoned a smile to end the interview.

“Thank you for speaking with us. Again, if you think of anything else that might help the investigation into your colleagues’ murders, I hope you’ll notify Scotland Yard. Ask for Detective Inspector Teague.”

“I’ll do that,” Hawkins murmured. “I do appreciate you coming today so that I could hear the news about Deborah. So awful.” He shook his head. “I pray the killer is caught soon.”

Tilda pulled one of her cards from her reticule and handed it to the medium. “You can also contact me.”

Hawkins looked at the card in his hand, then at Tilda. “Your father or someone in your family worked for the police, did they not?”

Tilda’s shoulder twitched. “My father.” This was the second time a medium had mentioned him. “How did you know that?”

“Mediums tend to be sensitive, and sometimes we just know things.” Hawkins smiled benignly. “He’d be proud of you. I will let you know if we need additional people at the séance on Friday.”

Tilda stood. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins.”

Hadrian removed his glove as he rose and presented his bare hand to shake that of Hawkins, who also stood.

As they clasped hands, Tilda hoped Hadrian was seeing something, even as she also worried that he would suffer for it.

That would be several visions in one day, and she did not want them to take a toll on him.

They made their way outside. As they walked to the coach, Tilda said, “I wonder if we ought to call on your mother next to tell her about Mrs. Frost before she can hear about it elsewhere and become distressed.”

Hadrian frowned. “I should have thought of that. Thank you. Yes, let us call on her.” He informed Leach of their destination before they settled into the coach.

“Did you see anything when you shook Hawkins’s hand?” Tilda asked as they started moving.

“He was speaking to Montrose,” Hadrian said darkly. “I do not believe for a moment that he didn’t know the man well.”

“Nor do I.” Tilda turned her mind to the dowager countess. “Do you think your mother will want to see another medium from the society?”

“I wondered if that was what you were going to suggest when you asked to attend Hawkins’s séance, but then I realized you probably wanted to go to meet the duchess and perhaps find out about her relationship with Ward.”

“You know me too well.”

Hadrian flashed a brief smile. “As for my mother, I would rather she did not see another medium. However, she believes she has a limited opportunity to speak with Gabriel and will likely want to make sure she doesn’t miss her chance.”

“Are you going to tell her you have reason to believe the mediums are fake?”

“I think we must. That is the purpose of your investigation, after all. I realize we don’t have proof that we can show her, but we know they are cheating.”

“About the levitating and probably the table movement,” Tilda said. “We cannot prove they don’t speak to the dead. I’m still wondering if these mediums share your ability. I gave Hawkins my card, and he asked about my father.”

Hadrian stared at her. “You think he saw a memory of yours with your father in a police uniform when he touched the card?”

Tilda shrugged. “I don’t know, but I found his comment eerie. And it was, of course, accurate.”

“He could just as easily have made an educated guess,” Hadrian said.

“Which, in his line of work, would be a skill he’d honed, I should think.

He surmised you are interested in investigation because of something or someone, and he vaguely suggested your father or someone else.

He could have been fishing for the correct answer. ”

“That is a cynical view.” Tilda smiled. “But you may be right. I imagine the mediums do whatever they can to obtain information from people. The more they know about someone, the better they can do their jobs. Perhaps one of the reasons they carefully select their séance guests is so that they can investigate them and have ‘surprising’ information to share.”

Hadrian’s brows arched. “That is an interesting theory. Do you think the society employs an investigator? You could offer your services,” he suggested with a chuckle.

Tilda pursed her lips at him. “That is not amusing. I would not engage in that sort of investigation. Not for any price.”

Hadrian sobered. “I was jesting. Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Thank you.” Tilda grimaced faintly. She should have realized he was joking. “I do hope Hawkins will invite us to attend his séance, though he may not if he’s hiding something.”

“Which he seemed to be regarding Montrose,” Hadrian noted.

“And perhaps the table,” Tilda said. “He did not seem inclined to discuss it with you. We should find the carpenter—Clifton—and pay him a visit.”

They fell silent for a few minutes, and Tilda noticed that Hadrian massaged his temple briefly.

“Does your head still hurt?” she asked.

“A bit. Rest assured, I am done for the day with touching people and things that are not in my house.”

“What about your mother?” Tilda didn’t think it likely that he saw visions when he touched her, since he didn’t seem to see them with people he knew well, such as those who lived and worked in his household. “Do you ever see anything when you touch her?”

“I do not.” He cocked his head and studied her a moment. “I haven’t ever seen anything when I’ve touched you either. Not that we’ve done a great deal of that.”

Tilda found it curious that he’d never seen anything. Perhaps they just hadn’t touched enough. “No, we haven’t,” she agreed. Immediately, she hoped he didn’t interpret that as an invitation. Nor did she want him to think that she found touching him distasteful.

“I wonder if it’s because I’ve come to know you fairly well,” he said, seeming to have moved past the touching, thankfully. “It does seem that the people and things most familiar to me do not provoke any sensations or visions.”

A few minutes later, Hadrian said they were nearing his mother’s house. He was looking out the window when his expression changed. His brows drew together sharply, and he frowned.

Now Tilda worried that their talk of touching had reinstated the awkwardness she’d thought they’d left behind. She sincerely hoped that was not the case.

They barely stopped before Hadrian bounded from the coach. He did not stop to help Tilda, and her wariness increased.

Leach hastened to offer her assistance. “My apologies, Miss Wren. I’m sure his lordship had good reason to abandon you like that.”

Tilda looked toward the house and immediately saw why Hadrian had leapt out of the coach. It wasn’t at all to do with her.

Ezra Clement stood in front of his mother’s door.