Page 45 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

Mrs. Griswold began the séance. She went straight to instructing them to join hands. “I need everyone to put their minds to the spirit realm. Please think of someone departed, preferably someone close to you. Your thoughts will attract them and make our link to the spirt realm more secure.”

Tilda hadn’t meant to think of her father, but his face rose in her mind.

To think he could be close was nearly torture.

Then she reminded herself that it wasn’t true, that it would never be true.

He was gone. All she had were her memories.

She slid a look at Hadrian and wondered if she dared have him try to see one.

What good would that do? It would only serve to remind her of what she’d lost.

“Are there spirits with us?” Mrs. Griswold asked. She did not close her eyes at all. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the branch of candles in the middle of the table. They flickered as cool air swept over the room.

Tilda turned her head and tried to see where it may have come from.

The room was very dim—Crocker had extinguished all illumination save the candelabrum.

She thought the breeze had come from the corner behind her left shoulder and made a note to investigate the area after the séance.

It had to be another parlor trick executed by the society.

The table began to move, drawing Tilda’s attention from the corner.

Hadrian’s grip on her hand tightened slightly before he loosened it again.

He slid her a look of mild annoyance, and she suspected he wanted to dive under the table and see what was happening with the hollow pedestal.

Tilda was curious who would fit inside the pedestal.

It had to be a small person, perhaps even a child.

Hadrian leaned forward over the table. He looked as though he was holding his breath. His chest was not moving.

Was he listening for something?

“Speak to us, spirits,” Mrs. Griswold called. “Are you here?”

Three raps answered her query.

Hadrian sat back with a brief frown before smoothing his features into a benign expression.

“Captain Becket, are you with us?” Mrs. Griswold asked.

Three more raps.

Again, Hadrian’s hand cinched Tilda’s. She looked at Lady Ravenhurst, whose lips were parted, her gaze fixed rapturously on the medium.

“Speak to your son, Lady Ravenhurst,” Mrs. Griswold urged. Her focus remained on the candles.

Lady Ravenhurst closed her eyes. “Gabriel, my darling boy. I can sense you are here.”

Hadrian was stone-faced as he looked toward his mother.

“Mama?” Mrs. Griswold said, her voice deepening.

Lady Ravenhurst gasped. “Gabriel?”

“I am here, Mama. Is Ravenhurst here too?”

Tilda watched Hadrian. His lips flattened, and his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, your brother is here,” the dowager countess replied in a higher, more excited tone. “Are you well, my boy?”

“He’s dead ,” Hadrian breathed so that only Tilda likely heard him.

“I’m glad to speak with you,” Mrs. Griswold said. “I’ve seen Father here. We are happy to be together.” Their father was happy? That didn’t sound like the man Hadrian had described to Tilda.

Hadrian exhaled then and nearly released Tilda’s hand. She gripped him more tightly. “Don’t let go,” she said softly but urgently.

Lady Ravenhurst’s brow furrowed, and she opened her eyes. She glanced toward Hadrian. Tilda couldn’t quite read her expression but thought she may look troubled.

“I am surprised to hear that,” Hadrian said loudly, apparently addressing his brother. “You must have resolved the argument you had before you left for India.”

What was Mrs. Griswold doing? Did she have wrong information about Gabriel and Hadrian’s father?

Or was she guessing at their relationship?

Since Mallory was absent—assuming he disguised himself as one of the people who usually sat next to the medium—perhaps she had to resort to making estimations and hoping she was close enough to the truth to be believed.

There was a long silence before Mrs. Griswold—rather, Gabriel—responded. “Yes. Father and I recall many wonderful memories together, such as the Christmas you were home from Eton and the snow was as deep as our knees. We built a fort next to the stables and defended it against the groomsmen.”

That was a specific memory. Did that mean Inwood was seeing something from holding Lady Ravenhurst’s hand? Tilda hadn’t seen him speak to Mrs. Griswold. Was it possible that this memory was shared with Mrs. Griswold prior to the séance?

Hadrian’s lips parted, then formed a brief smile before his features seemed to harden once more. “Father wasn’t there.”

“Wasn’t he?” Mrs. Griswold, again speaking as Gabriel in a lower tone, asked.

“He was watching,” Lady Ravenhurst replied. She looked over at Hadrian. “Perhaps you weren’t aware, but he often watched the two of you when you were creating mayhem.” She smiled, then sniffed. Tilda wondered if the dowager countess was crying, but she didn’t appear to be.

“If he was watching, I have to think it was with disapproval. Has he changed his opinion in the spirit realm?” Hadrian’s question held a sardonic edge, and Tilda had to think this was difficult for him.

He was revisiting something that was both joyous and fraught because of the relationships between the men in his family.

“Everything changes when you die,” Mrs. Griswold said as Gabriel. “Things that mattered to you in the physical realm fade here. There is only love and joy.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” Lady Ravenhurst said, her attention on Mrs. Griswold. She sniffed again. “Indeed, that is all I have hoped for.”

Hadrian frowned toward his mother. “I’m glad to hear you have peace. Please be at rest, Gabriel. It is time for everyone to move on.” He released Tilda’s hand.

“Goodbye, Mama,” Mrs. Griswold said.

“Don’t go yet,” Lady Ravenhurst cried.

Tilda saw Hadrian flatten his palm against the table. It began to tilt, and if Tilda hadn’t known better, she would have said that Hadrian caused it.

“Lord Ravenhurst, please rejoin hands,” Mrs. Griswold instructed. Her gaze had shifted to Hadrian, and she appeared perturbed. “Your mother wishes to continue speaking with your brother.”

Hadrian’s jaw worked, but he ultimately said nothing. He retook Tilda’s hand as well as that of the woman on his other side.

Mrs. Griswold looked to Lady Ravenhurst. “I’m afraid Gabriel is gone. However, that does not mean we can’t try contacting him again. If we can’t reach him tonight, I’m confident he will come again.”

“Is there anyone else there?” Mrs. Griswold asked.

The table shifted, and there were several raps, more than three. What did that mean?

Mrs. Griswold looked about the room. “Who’s there?”

“Deborah Frost.”

Everyone’s attention snapped to a woman seated on the other side of the man next to Tilda. She was a few years older than Tilda with dark auburn hair. Her eyes were closed, but they suddenly opened. She stared straight ahead, her gaze unfocused.

“Deborah?” Mrs. Griswold asked.

“Yes.”

There were a few gasps, including from Inwood.

Mrs. Griswold smiled briefly, but then she focused on the woman who was supposedly channeling Mrs. Frost. “I’m so glad to hear from you. We miss you.”

“I miss you too. I want to be at peace, Mercy. You must bring my killer to justice. It was not Lysander.”

“Who was it, Deborah?” Mrs. Griswold asked breathlessly.

The woman who was speaking for Deborah slumped back in her chair, her eyes closing. Her arms went limp, and the man between her and Tilda released her.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, leaning toward her. “Mrs. Kelson, are you well?”

Mrs. Kelson’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at the man. “What’s wrong?”

“You may release each other,” Mrs. Griswold said. “The séance is concluded.” She looked to Mrs. Kelson. “Mrs. Frost visited us through you. Do you remember anything?”

Shaking her head, Mrs. Kelson lifted her hand to her chest. “What happened?”

“Mrs. Frost spoke through you,” the man between her and Tilda replied.

“I don’t remember that happening. The last thing I recall is Mrs. Griswold instructing Lord Ravenhurst to rejoin hands.” Mrs. Kelson appeared alarmed. She gaped at Mrs. Griswold. “Has that ever happened before?”

“I have only witnessed it once,” Mrs. Griswold said. “Typically, spirits communicate through mediums, but on occasion, they choose another messenger. You should suffer no ill effects.” She looked to Crocker, who was in the corner. “Crocker, bring wine for Mrs. Kelson, please.”

People began to talk amongst themselves. Hadrian leaned close to Tilda. “That was an interesting performance.”

Tilda turned her head toward him. “Mrs. Kelson channeling Mrs. Frost?”

“Yes.” He darted a glance toward Mrs. Griswold. “This medium is rather dramatic. The entire thing could have been presented on the stage. Indeed, they probably learned their tricks from the theater.”

“Speaking of tricks, when the air stirred, I was fairly certain the breeze was coming from that corner.” Tilda looked over her shoulder. “I thought I might investigate the area. I realize we don’t need more proof that they are frauds, but I am curious. Here come Mrs. Griswold and your mother.”

The medium gave Hadrian a slightly scolding look. “My lord, you mustn’t break the connection during a séance. If you return again, I must ask that you keep hold of your neighbors’ hands.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Griswold. I was too swept up in the moment.” His smile did not reach his eyes.

“I thought it was wonderful,” Lady Ravenhurst exclaimed. “I do think I’ll come back next week.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” Mrs. Griswold said.

Tilda had a question for the medium. “Mrs. Griswold, I was interested to read in the newspaper about one of the mediums leaving the society. I don’t think I met her—Harmony Smith?”

“Oh, yes. She was young and had only been with the society a few months. We shall miss her.”

“Why did she leave?” Tilda asked.