Page 38 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)
L each was waiting for them at the train station when they arrived in London and quickly conveyed them to Teague’s house. However, Teague was not at home. Mrs. Teague told them he’d been called to Scotland Yard, but she did not know why.
When they arrived at Scotland Yard, the reason became immediately clear: another medium—Victor Hawkins—had been killed.
Consequently, Teague was actually not at Scotland Yard. He was, as a constable explained to them, “At the scene of the latest death by levitation.” The description made Tilda frown.
Now, she and Hadrian were on their way to Ward’s house, where Hawkins had just taken up residence the day before.
As the coach moved toward Willow Street, Tilda’s mind churned and her belly tossed. She was upset to learn that Hawkins had been murdered.
“The society is running low on mediums,” Hadrian said quietly, his focus on the window as they neared Willow Street. “I am sorry we didn’t learn that Mallory was the author of that letter to you sooner.”
“I am struggling to understand why he would kill the mediums he’d recruited for the society he started.” Perhaps it really was that he’d lost his senses.
Hadrian fixed his gaze on her. “The letter he wrote to you implied that he killed them. Do we need to determine his motive, or can we leave that to Teague?”
“I am an investigator,” Tilda replied. “I keep asking questions until I don’t have any.”
The coach stopped. Leach opened the door a moment later, and they climbed down. A police wagon was parked in front of the house, and a constable stood at the front door.
Ezra Clement walked toward them on the pavement. “Here again, my lord, Miss Wren?” the reporter asked.
“As are you,” Hadrian noted with thinly veiled impatience.
“Even you must agree that all of London wants to hear about this story. I am not the only reporter here.” He glanced down the pavement at a small group of gentlemen who were looking in their direction.
“You are the only one, however, who intercepted us,” Tilda said.
Clement shrugged. “I recognized the earl’s coach. I rather hoped our previous encounters might mean that you would agree to speak with me.”
Tilda blinked at him. “About what?”
“Why you are here, to start.” Clement’s brows pitched together. “Are you investigating these murders, Miss Wren?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say.”
Clement blew out a breath. “Pity. You never know when I might have information that could help you. Ah, well, I don’t wish to impede your progress.” He moved aside and gestured for them to pass.
Tilda almost hesitated. What information could Clement have that would be helpful?
“Ignore him,” Hadrian said as they continued on their way. “I’m sure he was only baiting you.”
Hadrian was probably right. Tilda shook the encounter with Clement from her mind as they reached the door. Unsurprisingly, the constable stopped them from proceeding into the house.
“We’ve critical information for Detective Inspector Teague,” Tilda said. “It involves this murder.”
The constable hesitated until Hadrian said, “Superintendent Newsome will not want to hear that our information was delayed in reaching the detective inspector.”
“Lord Ravenhurst is right,” Tilda put in, hoping the mention of Hadrian’s title would also help ease their passage.
The constable’s expression pinched. “The detective inspector is not here. He is at the London Spiritualism Society.”
“Thank you,” Tilda said whilst Hadrian was already spinning on his heel. She hurried to keep up with him. She was beginning to fear they would never find Teague.
They passed by Clement again, and the reporter asked where they were going. Hadrian didn’t slow and neither did Tilda. When they reached the coach, Hadrian directed Leach to take them to the society headquarters in Cadogan Place.
“I must say this is convenient,” Hadrian said as he tapped his fingers against his thigh.
Tilda hadn’t ever seen him so agitated. “Because Mallory will be there?”
Hadrian’s eyes glittered with an edge of malice. “I sincerely hope so.”
“You must let Teague handle things,” Tilda said. “I know you’re angry that Mallory threatened me, but you can’t intercede.”
“Of course I won’t.” Hadrian’s hand stilled. “But I am eager to see him apprehended. Then I will be able to relax.”
When they arrived at the society headquarters, they encountered another constable at the front door. However, this one did not try to stop them. He worked for Teague and recognized them. In fact, he directed them to the parlor where they would find the detective inspector.
Teague stood in the parlor speaking with another constable. He looked toward the doorway as Tilda and Hadrian entered. “Ravenhurst, Miss Wren.”
“We don’t mean to intrude, but we have vital information,” Tilda said as they approached him. “We know who wrote that threatening letter to me.”
Teague’s nostrils flared. “Who was it?”
“Lysander Mallory,” Hadrian replied in a clipped tone.
“How do you know?” Teague asked, his brow furrowing.
“We saw an example of his handwriting,” Tilda explained. “We both recognized it immediately. His W is most distinctive.”
Teague glanced toward Tilda’s reticule. “You have this example of his handwriting with you?”
“We do not,” Tilda said. “However, I’m sure you can obtain a sample from his study.”
The detective inspector turned his head to the constable. “Go and find out where Mallory might keep writings—a diary or anything in his hand.”
The constable nodded and left the parlor.
Tilda addressed Teague once more. “What can you tell us about this latest murder? We’re very sorry to hear that Hawkins has been killed.”
“He was found in the same manner as the others, though Graythorpe will need to confirm the presence of prussic acid when he completes the autopsy. One of the servants—who doesn’t live there—arrived this morning and found him hanging from the staircase.”
“The rope was painted again?” Tilda asked.
Teague nodded. “Hawkins appeared to be levitating. The constables interviewed the neighbors, and they are understandably upset that this happened again. As with the prior murders, no one saw anyone unusual entering the house. Indeed, no one saw anyone enter at all today, not even the manservant.”
Tilda hated to think of poor Jacob Henry finding Hawkins after he and his sister had found Mrs. Frost not even a week ago. “Was it Jacob Henry?”
“No, a young man named Michael Crocker.”
Hadrian looked to Tilda at the precise moment she shot her gaze toward him.
“You know him?” Teague asked.
“We do,” Hadrian replied. “We met him Friday when we visited the spiritualism society headquarters, and he was the butler at Hawkins’s séance that evening.”
“I suppose it makes sense that he would work for Hawkins in his new residence,” Tilda said. “Was there no housekeeper or cook? Hawkins employed a Mrs. Wilson as housekeeper at his house in Clerkenwell, but she is not affiliated with the society.”
Teague appeared intrigued. “How do you know this?”
“We called on Hawkins last week after Mrs. Frost was killed.” Tilda glanced at Hadrian. “Her Grace is going to be very upset.” She returned her focus to Teague. “She had chosen Hawkins as her new medium after Cyril Ward died.”
A deep frown creased Teague’s features as he nodded.
“I spoke with Her Grace this afternoon. She was most distressed. It was disconcerting to witness. She was nearly hysterical that all the mediums are dying. Her first thought was that she couldn’t lose Mallory too.
She sent someone to fetch him to make sure he was all right.
” Teague put a hand on his hip. “You say Mallory sent you that threatening letter. Why? Did he think you were investigating the murders and wanted you to stop?”
“You’ll have to ask him.” Hadrian fixed a dark stare on Teague. “Where is he?”
“Ravenhurst, you appear angry,” Teague said with concern. “In fact, you look furious. Can I trust you not to attack Mallory, even verbally?”
“Of course I’m angry. The bastard threatened Tilda,” Hadrian replied in a low tone that wasn’t quite a growl but was very close. “I will maintain my composure.”
Teague regarded him a moment, then nodded. “He’s in the library.” The detective inspector turned and led them from the parlor.
Tilda looked over at Hadrian as they made their way to the library. She believed he would remain composed, but she also saw the fury simmering beneath the surface.
The constable who’d gone to fetch a sample of Mallory’s handwriting met them near the entrance to the library. He handed a diary to Teague, who then offered it to Tilda. “Is this his handwriting?”
Tilda opened the book and Mallory’s hand jumped from the parchment as did the name Joslin. “Yes. When you compare it to the letter at Scotland Yard, you will see they are a perfect match.” She showed it to Hadrian, who nodded. He lifted his gaze toward the library with a steely determination.
Teague took the diary back, which was unfortunate since Tilda wanted to determine why Joslin’s name was in it, and snapped it closed. “Thank you.”
They walked into the library, where Mallory was seated along with Mrs. Griswold and a handful of other members of the society they’d seen on Friday. Their attention shifted toward the door as Teague entered. Then their gazes moved to Tilda and Hadrian.
Teague fixed a frown on Mallory. “Mr. Mallory, it’s come to our attention that you sent a letter to Miss Wren threatening her to stop investigating or she would hang from a staircase. What have you to say about that?”
Mallory’s face flushed as he rose. “I did no such thing.”
“Don’t lie,” Hadrian barked. “We’ve matched your handwriting to the note Miss Wren received.”