Page 27 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

T he following afternoon, Hadrian arrived at Tilda’s grandmother’s to fetch Tilda for their visit to Scotland Yard.

Vaughn answered the door as quickly as his trudging gait allowed. He smiled upon seeing Hadrian. “Good afternoon, my lord.” He welcomed Hadrian inside.

The small, marble-floored entrance hall had become quite familiar to Hadrian now. He felt an instant sense of comfort and welcome.

“If you’d care to wait in the parlor, Miss Wren will be down shortly. She ran back upstairs to fetch a different hat.”

“Thank you, Vaughn.” Hadrian moved into the parlor, which was empty. Often, Tilda’s grandmother could be found seated in a chair near the windows, where she would work on her embroidery. There was a round table where he’d taken tea with them.

He’d never spent time investigating the space, however. Likely because he hadn’t had occasion to be here alone. He moved toward the hearth and noticed a photograph of a man in a police uniform. That had to be Tilda’s father.

Though he wasn’t smiling, Hadrian had the sense that the man had done so often.

He realized that wasn’t something he could tell from a photograph.

Rather, it was something he presumed based on what he knew of the man—and his daughter and mother, who lived here in this house.

Wren looked a bit like his daughter, particularly in the chin, where he had a cleft very similar to Tilda’s.

“Good afternoon, Lord Ravenhurst. It’s always nice to see you.”

Hadrian pivoted upon hearing Mrs. Wren’s voice. Tilda’s grandmother wore an outdated gown of dove-gray trimmed with burgundy and a lace cap atop her white hair.

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Wren.” Hadrian bowed.

Mrs. Wren went to sit in her chair by the window. “What is today’s errand?”

“We will be calling on Detective Inspector Teague at Scotland Yard.” And perhaps on Eldred if they could ascertain his address.

Hadrian wanted to know about the photograph on the mantel. “Am I correct in assuming that photograph is of your son?”

Mrs. Wren looked toward the mantel, her features softening. “Yes, that is my Thomas. I am grateful we have that. He looks so smart in his uniform. His father was quite proud of him.”

The mention of Tilda’s grandfather pulled at Hadrian’s heart.

He’d died more than thirty years ago, so Tilda had never known him.

But she felt as though she did through the memories of him shared by her father and grandmother.

During their first investigation together, they’d learned that her grandfather hadn’t simply died from falling from a horse as everyone had believed.

He’d been murdered. His killer was now dead, but that wasn’t a comfort.

Tilda hadn’t told her grandmother the truth, having decided there was no reason to.

Hadrian could find no quarrel with that.

“Tilda misses him so. As do I.” Mrs. Wren looked toward Hadrian. “Do you also miss your father?”

“Not in the same way,” he said. Not at all really, but he didn’t want to say that. Hadrian was spared further discussion by Tilda’s arrival.

She looked lovely in her burgundy gown with a matching hat. She pulled her gloves on, and her reticule hung from her wrist. “I’m ready.”

Hadrian gave her grandmother another bow. “It’s been lovely visiting with you.”

Mrs. Wren smiled up at him. “You have brightened my day, my lord.”

“You must really call me Hadrian, I think.”

“Indeed?” Tilda’s grandmother laughed softly. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate, but I suppose I must if you say so.”

“I do.” He grinned at her before escorting Tilda from the house, bidding Vaughn goodbye on the way.

Leach greeted Tilda and handed her into the coach. She took her usual seat, and Hadrian sat opposite her. He still mourned the closeness of sitting with her on a shared seat, but he was glad to be conducting this ever-widening investigation with her.

Teague was, thankfully, present at Scotland Yard, and they went directly to his office. He stood from behind his desk as Tilda and Hadrian entered.

“Afternoon Ravenhurst, Miss Wren. Please sit.” He gestured toward the seating area and joined them there.

“I wanted to know if you were able to question Eldred,” Tilda said, moving straight to the purpose of their visit.

Teague’s brows climbed. “You learned his name?”

“I am a private investigator,” she replied drily.

The detective inspector smiled. “And a good one at that. Yes, I spoke with Octavius Eldred yesterday. He is an odd fellow. He attended a séance with Ward a few months ago. Eldred claims he was recently blackmailed about something that no one alive would know. He deduced that Ward, who spoke to the dead, was behind it.” Teague shook his head.

“You don’t believe it’s possible that Ward obtained information from the spirit realm to blackmail Eldred?” Hadrian asked sardonically.

Teague sniggered. “Would you?”

“Absolutely not.”

Tilda frowned briefly. “Yet, Eldred says no one who is alive would know this information?”

“That is what he insists,” Teague said. “And he was most insistent. I have to think someone else did know. But why would they wait until now to blackmail Eldred?” He shook his head.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t find him helpful.

The only thing we have to go on is the location of where he was to pay the extortion—a grocer in Bedfordbury.

I sent a constable to question them, but they said they didn’t know anything about blackmail, nor had anyone ever left money there. ”

“They could be lying,” Hadrian suggested.

“Perhaps, but I’ve no way to know,” Teague said ruefully. “I’m hopeful we can find another blackmail victim.”

“What was the blackmail about?” she asked.

Teague exhaled. “That was the most frustrating part of our conversation. Eldred refused to say. He claimed disclosing the information would incriminate him.”

“That is tantamount to admitting he is a criminal,” Hadrian said. “Do you think he also may have killed Ward and Mrs. Frost?”

“I doubt it. Whilst he may have had motive to kill Ward if he was indeed being blackmailed by the medium, I can’t come up with a motive for him to kill Mrs. Frost.” Teague lifted a shoulder and frowned.

“As it happens, Eldred had an alibi—he has been in Bath the past week and only arrived home last evening. His manservant confirmed this. I would add that Eldred doesn’t seem large or strong enough to have positioned the bodies without help. ”

“Well, that is a disappointing dead end,” Tilda said. “Though learning that the spiritualism society may engage in extortion is interesting. Perhaps there are other victims, including one who was angry enough to kill.”

“I have considered that and will be looking for more evidence. I trust you’ll be doing the same,” he said with a half smile.

“Of course,” Tilda replied. “Did the pearl earring we found at Mrs. Frost’s offer any help?”

Teague shook his head. “I believe you already know that it did not belong to Mrs. Frost. We asked everyone we interviewed with the society about it, and no one could recall seeing it. I also took it to a jeweler for assessment. It doesn’t bear any jeweler markings and was cheaply made.

Since Mrs. Frost held séances in the drawing room upstairs, that earring could have belonged to anyone who visited.

I’m not sure it’s an actual clue to the murder. ”

“Would you mind if we question Mr. Eldred?” Tilda asked. “I should like to understand his perceptions of Ward and how he worked as a medium. It would aid my investigation.”

“I’ve no opposition to that. If you happen to learn the purpose of the blackmail, I hope you’ll tell me.”

“Certainly,” Tilda replied.

After obtaining Eldred’s direction, Tilda and Hadrian left Scotland Yard. Eldred was located near Bloomsbury Square, and they decided to go there straightaway.

Hadrian crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed Tilda from the opposite seat in the coach. “Your real purpose in interviewing Eldred is to determine whether the society used his memory to blackmail him.”

“Yes. And if they did, I have to think there are others. One of them may be the murderer.”

“How do we go about finding them?”

She gave him a sly smile. “We investigate.”

T ilda thought about how they might flush out other blackmail victims. Eldred had done them a favor by barging into Ward’s séance and declaring his anger. However, no one else had done anything like that. Perhaps there weren’t any other victims. But Tilda doubted that.

She and Hadrian departed the coach and went to Eldred’s door. A housekeeper showed them into a cozy sitting room where Eldred was already seated.

Hadrian made their introductions whilst Eldred regarded them dubiously. “You’ve come to speak with me about the London Spiritualism Society? I’ve nothing good to say about it.”

“That is quite all right,” Tilda replied with a smile. “We are seeking the truth about their activities. I am a private investigator.”

“You may as well sit then.” Eldred waved them down.

He looked to be in his sixties, and Teague’s assessment that the man was not large or strong enough to move bodies over stair railings seemed accurate.

Eldred was slight of frame, and though he was seated, appeared short of stature.

His head was mostly bald, save a semi-circle of grayish-white around the sides and back, but he had a neat, gray goatee.

Tilda and Hadrian perched together on a small settee. They weren’t quite touching, but they were close enough for Tilda to be utterly aware of his proximity. She could smell his soap or cologne—whatever it was—and reminded herself not to notice such things. They were too … stirring.

“How did you come to speak to me?” Eldred asked.

“I confess we heard of you at the spiritualism society,” Tilda said somewhat apologetically. “Someone mentioned you were disgruntled.”

He fixed his gaze on Hadrian. “Are you a patron? They only want your money. Your set is captivated by spiritualism, but they are a racket.”