Page 49 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

“Perfect.” Tilda looked down at her gown. “I should have worn something from my old wardrobe. Ah well, here we are.”

She took Hadrian’s arm, and they walked to the grocer. It was called Timms and Baker, and the upper floors appeared to be dwellings. A couple of windows were open, and thin curtains blew in the breeze.

Hadrian held the door for Tilda as she preceded him inside. The shop was decently stocked, and the floor was cleanly swept.

An open doorway in the center of the right wall seemed to lead into a vestibule of some kind. Tilda peered inside and saw a staircase.

Voices carried from the back of the shop. Tilda and Hadrian exchanged looks before walking in that direction. They couldn’t see anyone over the counter.

The sound of a door with a squeaky hinge closing in a room beyond the counter made Tilda think whoever had been there had just gone.

“Is anyone there?” Hadrian’s tone was soft and uncertain.

Tilda would congratulate his efforts later.

“Do you need something?” The response came from behind the counter, just before a head popped up over the top. The man must have been bent down, which was why he hadn’t been seen. And now that he was upright, he wasn’t much taller than the counter.

Tilda assumed this was Mr. Timms, whom Joslin had described as very short. “Good afternoon.”

The man scrutinized them both, his blue eyes narrowing briefly. “How may I help you?”

“I’m afraid we’re here about a delicate matter,” Hadrian said. He looked around nervously, behaving exactly as Tilda had instructed. “Our employer received a letter, and we are delivering something on his behalf. Do you know what I am speaking of?”

“Who is your employer?” the man demanded.

“Mr. Octavius Eldred,” Tilda replied as she worried her hands.

“Why’d you bring her?” The man behind the counter asked almost crossly. “This isn’t the nicest neighborhood.” Again, he studied them in a dubious manner that spiked Tilda’s pulse. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Tilda turned and moved closer to Hadrian. “I can’t imagine you have two hundred pounds to pay him, so I suggest you say we forgot the money.”

“I wouldn’t give him two hundred pounds even if I had it,” he whispered.

Tilda nodded. “Of course.”

Footsteps sounded nearby—Tilda thought the sound may have come from the staircase hall she’d glimpsed through the open doorway. Turning her head, she saw a man walk through the doorway. He strode toward the counter.

Tilda clasped Hadrian’s elbow. “That’s Nicholls. He was Cyril Ward’s butler.”

Nicholls paused at the counter, but Tilda didn’t think he would have heard them. Not that it mattered. Nicholls would likely recognize them. He pivoted and his features registered recognition.

“Lord Ravenhurst?” Nicholls asked. “Miss Wren?”

There went their ruse. “Yes,” Tilda replied evenly. “What are you doing here, Nicholls?”

“I, ah, nothing. Please excuse me.” He continued behind the counter and disappeared in the same direction the shopkeeper had gone.

“Why is he here?” Hadrian asked.

“I don’t know for certain, but we must assume he is informing the other man who we are.

Our scheme is no more, I’m afraid.” Tilda walked quickly to the doorway Nicholls had come through and moved into the staircase hall.

It was very dim, the only light coming from a window on the landing of the staircase.

She turned to Hadrian. “I want to go upstairs.”

“Shouldn’t we leave?”

“We know blackmail was paid here, and we suspect the society—and likely Mallory—is behind the blackmail. Now we’ve seen one of the retainers here.” She looked up the stairs. “I want to see what is up there.”

“Let’s be quick about it,” Hadrian said.

Tilda went first up the narrow staircase. The landing led to an open sitting room area furnished with a threadbare settee and a collection of mismatched, worn chairs.

Moving through the sitting room, they entered a narrow corridor. On the right, a door stood slightly ajar. Peering inside, Tilda saw a narrow bed and a small dresser. There was no window, and it was rather dreary.

Hadrian stood beside her. “It’s a bedchamber.”

“I hate to ask, but could you touch something?” She stepped over the threshold and to the side so that he could move past her.

Stripping away his right glove, he walked to the bed and touched the coverlet. He turned his head to look at Tilda, his hand still on the bed. “I see someone in this room. It’s Ellen Henry.” He blinked. “That’s all.”

“You wouldn’t be experiencing her memory since you saw her. Whose memory do you think you were seeing?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t able to see the person’s hands or anything else that might help me identify them.”

Tilda looked into a battered wardrobe in the corner. “Men’s clothing. Perhaps this is her brother’s bedroom?”

Hadrian moved toward the wardrobe, but Tilda blocked his path. “I don’t want you to touch too many things, and we’ve still other rooms to investigate.” She turned and left the bedchamber.

Hadrian followed her to the next chamber along the corridor. “We’re supposed to be quick.” He glanced back toward the way they’d come, but no one was there, thankfully.

“We will be,” Tilda said as she knocked softly on the next door.

When there was no response, she pushed the door open. Right away, this appeared to be a woman’s room. A chemise hung over the back of a chair as if it had been drying.

Tilda stepped inside and Hadrian again went to the bed.

He pivoted to face Tilda as he touched the bedclothes.

His gaze was unfocused, his features creased intently, as if he were watching something of great interest. She would not interrupt him, but she was eager to know what he was seeing—if anything.

As before, Hadrian blinked before focusing on Tilda. “It was a woman’s memory. She held the pearl earring from Rathbone Place in her hand. Or perhaps its mate. There’s no way to tell.” He frowned. “Whose chamber is this?”

“Perhaps we can find a clue to answer that.” The room only contained a bed, a small dressing table with a stool, and a narrow dresser. Tilda went to the table and opened the single drawer.

“What are you doing here?” A shrill voice filled the chamber.

Tilda glimpsed the pearl earring in the drawer and scooped it up before turning toward the door. Hadrian blocked her sight, which meant whoever was there had not seen what Tilda was doing. Tilda gently—and quietly—closed the drawer before moving to Hadrian’s side.

A very petite woman—even smaller than the man they’d met downstairs—glared at them.

She wore an apron and a cap atop her sable hair.

She wasn’t just short, but a dwarf like Mr. Timms. Now that they knew this was where the spiritualism society’s servants lived, Tilda realized who was likely inside the pedestals of the séance tables, making them move and producing raps to answer the mediums’ questions.

“We were looking for someone,” Tilda said pleasantly. “Ellen Henry?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not here. This is a private area. You should not be here.”

“We deeply apologize,” Hadrian said. “We shall take our leave.”

“I should say you will.” The woman stepped aside, but her expression did not lighten.

Hadrian waited for Tilda to precede him from the room. She hurried along the corridor and made her way to the stairwell, where she quickly descended. They walked into the shop where Mr. Timms now stood in front of the counter. He glowered at them as they departed.

Tilda stopped short and faced him. “Mr. Timms? We know you accept blackmail on behalf of the spiritualism society. If you share what you know, I suspect the police will view your assistance most favorably.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know anything. Take yourselves off now.”

Disappointed, Tilda turned from Timms and walked outside.

Hadrian came up alongside her as they made their way from the building. “That was bold.”

“I thought it was worth a try. I was hoping he might tell us who he’d accepted payments from or what he did with the money.

I trust Teague will be able to persuade him to talk.

” She looked over at Hadrian and held out her palm.

“I found this in the drawer. Thank you for blocking me from the woman’s view so she couldn’t see me take it. ”

Stopping, Hadrian stared at her hand. “That’s the match to the earring you found at Rathbone Place.”

“It is indeed.” She glanced at his forehead. Though she hadn’t seen him touch his temple or any other part of his head, she wondered if it ached following the two visions he’d seen upstairs. “How is your head?”

“Mildly aching. It’s not too bad.”

“Good, because I want you to hold this earring, but I didn’t want to ask if you were in terrible pain. I hate asking even when you have minor discomfort.”

He’d put his glove back on and now removed it again. Tilda deposited the earring in his hand.

His gaze became unfocussed once more. He twitched, then his eyes widened briefly. “I see Mallory with a woman—Miss Dryden. I am angry. No, furious. They do not see me.” He squinted. His head jerked back. He blinked several times as he dropped the earring back into Tilda’s hand.

“I was looking into a bedchamber,” Hadrian said.

“Mallory and Miss Dryden were in the bed together. There was a mirror over the hearth, and I saw my reflection—a woman with blonde hair. That was Mercy Griswold’s memory.

” Hadrian’s eyes darkened. “And she was wearing the pearl earrings you found at Rathbone Place and here today.”

Tilda glanced at the earring in her palm. “This belongs to Mrs. Griswold then. And Miss Dryden was the woman Mallory took up with after Deborah Frost?”

“It seems so,” Hadrian said with a nod. “But Mrs. Griswold was jealous. Or perhaps still is.”

Jealousy was a motive for murder, but neither Mallory nor Miss Dryden had been killed. “If she was jealous, do you suppose she was angry enough with Mallory to kill the mediums he recruited? I think we must pursue that idea.” Tilda tucked the earring into her pocket.

“What does it mean that those earrings belong to Mrs. Griswold?” Hadrian asked. “Does that make her a suspect in Mrs. Frost’s murder?”

“She could have simply lost the earring at Rathbone Place. What’s curious is why its mate was here in Ellen Henry’s drawer.”

“Agreed,” Tilda replied. Then she added wryly, “It’s not as if we have much else to go on at this point. We are at a frustrating dead end.”

Tilda looked back at the building. “I believe we’ve found where the spiritualism society’s domestic workers live. I wonder why they are here in Bedfordbury instead of living at the headquarters or one of the other properties. And what do you think of Mr. Timms and the woman who asked us to leave?”

His eyes glinted in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the clouds. “I think either of them could fit in the pedestals of the séance tables Clifton made.”

“I thought the same thing. They could make the tables move as well as rap in answer to the questions the mediums pose. We must inform Teague of the link between the grocer and this building to the spiritualism society. However, I think we should investigate what you just saw first. How’s your head now? ”

“Throbbing a bit, if I’m to be honest. I suppose I should stock lavender in the coach.” He smiled.

Tilda hated that he suffered when he used his ability to help them solve a case. “I will have Clara make some sachets for both of us to carry.”

“Brilliant, thank you. Where are we off to next?” he asked

“I think we ought to speak with Miss Dryden first, so Cadogan Place. Then we should call on Mrs. Griswold at her new residence. Aside from asking her about her feelings toward Mallory, I’d like to know why her earring was in Ellen Henry’s drawer.”