Page 5 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

“ I ’m sorry to hear that,” Hadrian said as Tilda also murmured her condolences.

Mr. Mallory shook his head, his eyes unfocused.

He seemed utterly bewildered. “It doesn’t make any sense.

Cyril was doing exceedingly well as a medium.

He’d recently written a pamphlet for the society about spiritualism.

He had a prominent benefactor. There was no reason for him to take his own life. ”

“He was not unhappy?” Tilda asked, and Hadrian could sense her curiosity and desire to investigate.

“Not at all. I just saw him the day before yesterday.” Mr. Mallory blinked. “You must forgive me. I need to go to his house.”

“Is that where it happened?” Tilda asked gently.

“Yes. He lives in Willow Street. I’m sorry I can’t finish our interview.

I’m confident Mrs. Frost’s séance tonight will be most illuminating for you.

” He looked to Hadrian. “Just open your mind to hearing your brother speak. That is the best advice I can give you.” He turned and departed the parlor.

Hadrian looked to Tilda. “I suppose we should go.”

Tilda started toward the door. As she passed the circular table, she slowed. “I wonder if they hold the séances at that table.”

“Must they always be at a table?” Hadrian asked.

“It seems they are,” Tilda said with a shrug.

Hadrian moved closer to the table and removed his glove.

Tilda blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“If they have séances at this table, I wonder what I will see. If anything.” He grazed his fingertips along the surface of the mahogany table.

“I’m glad you’re being careful,” Tilda said.

He heard the worry in her tone. The last several visions he’d experienced in her presence had been intense.

He’d had a few since—all ordinary, such as seeing the memory of someone who’d sat at a table at a tavern—but he was careful about what and who he touched.

Thankfully, nothing in his own house provoked visions, including his valet who, by necessity, touched Hadrian regularly.

Nothing came to him from touching the table, so he pressed his palm to the surface. Sometimes greater contact was needed. And sometimes—more often than not—he didn’t see anything.

The room dimmed. It was now lit by candlelight, with a branch of candles in the center of the table. People sat around the perimeter, including Mr. Mallory, and they clasped hands. The candles blew out for some reason, and the vision faded.

Hadrian lifted his hand and tugged his glove back on. “They definitely have séances here. I saw several people around the table, including Mallory.”

“How is your head?” she asked.

“Fine, actually.” He’d felt a twinge of discomfort, but it had passed immediately.

“That’s odd, isn’t it?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not particularly. The pain seems to come with visions in which something notable happens.”

“Such as someone being pushed over a railing.” Tilda referred to a vision he’d seen during their last investigation. “Did you feel anything?”

Often, his visions were accompanied by strong sensations—emotions of whoever’s memory he was seeing. “Nothing this time. And of course, I’ve no idea whose memory I was seeing. Shall we go?”

“I want to take a quick peek at the library,” Tilda said.

Hadrian gave her a wry look. “I confess I am interested to see how much literature they have on the subject of spiritualism.”

They walked back into the entrance hall and paused. Tilda meandered toward the staircase. “I hear voices this way.”

Past the staircase, there was a doorway to the left, through which Hadrian glimpsed a few people. “In there, perhaps?”

Tilda preceded him into the room, in which a pair of bookcases stood against the left wall. “I think this must be it. But you were correct in that it isn’t much of a library.”

Hadrian chuckled. The butler was there, and he sent Hadrian a dark look. Sobering, Hadrian turned to Tilda. “Perhaps we should go. They’ve just received bad news about one of their own.”

“Yes, we should.” Tilda again walked before him, and he followed her from the library.

They departed the house and, on the way to the coach, Tilda looked over at him. “Would you mind if we passed along Willow Street on our way to my grandmother’s house?”

“Once again proving your insatiable curiosity,” he said with a faint smile.

She arched a brow. “Aren’t you curious why this man who seemingly had no reason to end his life chose to hang himself?”

“I am.” He glanced back at the headquarters. “The entire society has piqued my curiosity.”

They continued to the coach, and Hadrian instructed Leach to drive them along Willow Street.

Leach held the door for Tilda as she climbed inside.

She took the forward-facing seat, and Hadrian sat opposite her.

Since they’d shared a kiss whilst seated together on the seat she now occupied, and Tilda did not want to repeat that, he thought it best if he took the other seat.

He was glad she didn’t ask why he was sitting there, nor was he surprised that she did not.

She regretted the kiss, and he was doing his best to put it from his mind.

Though he wished he knew whether her regret stemmed from a lack of attraction to him or her reluctance to act on their attraction due to her views on marriage.

Perhaps someday he would ask her. After they’d reestablished their close working friendship.

He sincerely hoped he hadn’t gone too far and behaved in a reprehensible manner. He was not his father, who’d treated women as objects that existed for his amusement—or disdain.

The coach turned onto Willow Street, and Tilda leaned closer to the window, nearly pressing her nose to the glass. “There’s a police wagon. That’s Teague.”

She referred to Detective Inspector Samuel Teague, whom they had worked with on their past two investigations. The man was of average height—indeed, the minimum for the police—with dark-red hair and sharp brown eyes.

Hadrian rapped on the roof of the coach. Leach steered the vehicle over and stopped.

“We’re stopping?” Tilda asked.

“Don’t you want to?”

Her eyes sparked with anticipation. “Well, yes. Thank you.”

Leach opened the door, and Tilda stepped down. She didn’t wait for Hadrian as she strode along the pavement to where Teague stood speaking with a constable.

“Detective Inspector Teague,” she said, drawing the man to turn. The constable returned to the house, moving quickly up the steps and into the open doorway.

Surprise flashed across the inspector’s features. “Miss Wren. Lord Ravenhurst.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t tell me you are investigating this murder too?”

Murder? Hadrian wasn’t standing particularly close to Tilda, but he could sense the change in her.

Her spine straightened, and she notched her chin up.

Eager anticipation for investigating a murder was written across her attractive features—from the top of her heart-shaped face to the edge of her gently clefted chin.

“We’d heard the medium had hanged himself,” Tilda said. “But he’s been murdered?”

Teague arched a brow at her. “You heard someone had killed themselves and thought that required investigation?”

“We were with Mr. Mallory—the head of the London Spiritualism Society—when he received the news about the victim. Mr. Mallory was surprised to hear the man had killed himself. He said it was most uncharacteristic. I confess my curiosity was stirred.” Tilda revealed the last without a hint of irony.

“However, the man did not hang himself after all but was instead murdered?”

Teague frowned. “I misspoke. The coroner must determine if this was a murder.”

“Why do you think it was murder?” Tilda asked.

Teague glanced around and answered in a low voice, “Ward was found hanging from the staircase. The rope had been painted to match the stone of the baluster. At first glance, it looked as though the man was … floating in the air.” Teague shook his head. “There’s something off about it.”

“As though he were levitating, as some mediums do?” Tilda asked.

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Teague said, his eyes glinting. “It seems more likely that a murderer would create such a scene. Unless Ward was trying to make some sort of statement with his death, though I can’t imagine what that would be.”

“I’m sure you’ll ask members of the society about that,” Tilda said. Hadrian imagined she already had a list of tasks in mind—if she were investigating Ward’s death.

“I will indeed,” Teague said. “I’ve many questions about Ward’s demise, and I imagine the coroner will too. Graythorpe will be here soon.”

Tilda looked toward the house. “The coroner is coming here?”

Teague nodded. “I want him to see the body before we take it down.”

Tilda cast another glance at the house.

“Don’t ask me if you can go inside,” Teague said darkly. “I’ve already revealed far too much to the both of you.”

In fact, in the first case Hadrian had worked on with Tilda, Teague had assisted them greatly.

But he’d done so on his own time, and that had been before he’d been promoted to detective inspector.

Even on the last case, they’d helped each other somewhat, despite Hadrian being an early suspect in the murder.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Tilda replied. “I look forward to attending the inquest.” She turned to Hadrian. “We should continue on our way.”

Hadrian inclined his head toward the inspector. “Afternoon, Teague.”

“I imagine I’ll see you soon.” The inspector nodded at Tilda with a faint smile.

“Do let us know if we can help in any way,” she said earnestly.

“You are an excellent investigator, Miss Wren. If it would not endanger my job, I would consult with you without hesitation.” His gaze moved past her and fixed on a coach moving toward them. “I believe this is the coroner arriving.”

“Good luck,” Tilda said before turning and making her way back to the coach.

Hadrian walked alongside her. “I’m a little surprised you’re leaving so easily.”

She cast him a sideways glance. “What was I to do? Force myself inside? Loiter about like a nuisance? I can be patient for the inquest.”

Leach opened the door to the coach, and they took their positions inside facing one another.

Tilda’s gaze was focused out the window as they passed the house where Mr. Ward had died.

“You wish you were investigating the murder,” Hadrian observed.

“I am intrigued. Not that it signifies,” she said, sounding disappointed.

“I have not been hired to conduct an investigation into the murder. I’m not even sure who would hire me.

Perhaps Ward has family who would do so, although I’m sure they’d rather employ a man.

” Her mouth pressed into a brief but disdainful moue.

“The society—rather Mallory—might hire you,” Hadrian suggested. “If he was aware that you are an investigator.”

“I suppose that is possible,” Tilda mused.

“For now, I must focus on your mother’s case.

” She clasped her hands in her lap and sat ramrod straight against the squab.

“We learned some interesting things about the society today. I am looking forward to the séance tonight, particularly since it is with one of their ‘premier’ mediums. I wonder if that means anything beyond their seniority in the society.”

“Such as they are highly skilled in contacting the spirit realm?” Hadrian was unable to keep the sarcasm from his tone.

“Or perhaps they do more than that, such as levitate or move objects.”

Hadrian snorted. “I should like to see how those tricks are accomplished.”

Tilda slid him a dubious look. “You don’t think it’s possible these mediums can do anything supernatural? I find that short-sighted of you, given your own inexplicable ability.”

“Speaking of that, I should have shaken Mallory’s hand.”

“Do you think you may have had a vision that instantly proved him to be a fraud?”

He heard the humor in her voice and dipped his head. “Touché. I have no idea, but it is my best contribution.”

“It is not your best,” she said firmly. “You possess a keen intellect, and you’ve been essential to our investigations—not just because of your visions.”

He couldn’t help feeling flattered. And pleased. “I appreciate you saying that, but you must admit they are deuced helpful.”

“They are indeed, which is why I hope one of these mediums may be able to help you understand them better. Without realizing they are helping you,” she added hastily.

Hadrian did not share her optimism. He couldn’t imagine how he might learn how to tame his power without disclosing that he had it.

Not unless a medium revealed the same ability and offered up their knowledge and experience.

Perhaps Hadrian needed to adopt Tilda’s abject curiosity in the hope of learning whatever he could.

Which meant believing that these mediums possessed supernatural power in the first place.

Hadrian exhaled. “It isn’t that I don’t believe in the supernatural. I can’t help but do so, I’m afraid. However, that doesn’t mean I believe these mediums and this society aren’t taking advantage of people.”

“They may have a gift, just as you do,” Tilda said. “Perhaps they are trying to help people.”

“I fail to see how levitating or moving objects would help anyone.”

Tilda grimaced faintly. “I hope we will learn more this evening.”

“I plan to touch Mrs. Frost and see what I may learn.” He could only hope his “gift” would work, for he had absolutely no control over it.

“Just be careful that you don’t overdo it,” Tilda cautioned.

“I will.” Hadrian would never tire of her concern. “I will pick my mother up before we fetch you just before seven.”

“I’ll be ready.” Her green eyes glinted in the afternoon light, and he could see that she was quite eager. “Try to keep your mind open,” she added.

“As open as my eyes will be. I’ll be looking for every bit of evidence we can find.” He would be receptive to all they could learn, as a good investigator should be. And as Tilda had consistently demonstrated when they worked together.

But what would he do if the medium contacted his brother in the spirit realm?