Page 52 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

“You don’t have to tell us anything, but I daresay it will help your cause, especially if you name your accomplice. Perhaps you won’t hang.”

Gibbs opened his mouth, likely to correct what Tilda had said, but she wanted the medium to talk. Tilda gestured faintly toward Gibbs and gave her head a slight shake. He closed his mouth and nodded.

Mrs. Griswold paled. “I was upset with Cyril. I wanted him to introduce me to Her Grace—the Duchess of Chester. I hoped she would like me and perhaps recommend me and my séances to her friends.” Her lips twisted.

“But he refused. He said I had to find my own wealthy client. I was angry, so the next time I was at his house for dinner, I added some prussic acid to his favorite wine. I thought it would make him ill.”

“But you killed him,” Tilda concluded. “Why hang him from the staircase and make him look as though he was levitating?”

Mrs. Griswold stared at Tilda as if she were daft. “So that it would appear as though someone else had done it. But it wasn’t my idea. That was Michael’s concoction. Ward was so bloody good at levitating,” she said with a sneer. “It was one of the things that had made him so popular.”

“Do you mean Michael Crocker?” Hadrian asked, his gaze briefly meeting Tilda’s.

“Yes.” Mrs. Griswold lifted her chin. “He was glad to help me. We thought the spectacle would attract notice and perhaps increase membership.”

“But the two of you didn’t stop with killing Ward,” Tilda said, surprised that Crocker was her accomplice. “Why did you kill Mrs. Frost?”

“ I was next in line to be premier medium,” she snapped.

“Lysander should have given me Cyril’s clients, namely Her Grace.

But he said Victor should do it, that it needed to be a man because Her Grace preferred that—replacing her dead son and all that.

” Mrs. Griswold pursed her lips briefly.

“Lysander said I would be next to move up in the society, that I would soon be a premier medium.”

“So you killed Mrs. Frost to make that happen faster?” Hadrian asked.

“She never liked me anyway,” Mrs. Griswold replied, as if that were justification for murdering the woman. “Because Lysander left her bed for mine after I started working for him.”

Tilda could see that Mrs. Griswold possessed a dark, malevolent nature. “Why kill Victor Hawkins and Harmony Smith? You had what you wanted—you would be a premier medium.”

“Victor was trying to persuade Lysander that Isidora should be promoted over me because her sensitivity was greater.” Mrs. Griswold rolled her eyes.

“I am the better performer. I would attract more and better patrons. Miss Smith was too uppity for her own good. She thought she could insert herself into Lysander’s bed and move quickly up the ranks.

That is not how it works. One must toil and earn their way. They must wait their turn.”

Except Mrs. Griswold was eliminating those who stood in her way instead of waiting for her own turn. But Tilda didn’t point that out. She wondered how Miss Dryden and even Mr. Mallory had escaped Mrs. Griswold’s murderous plans. “Who did you plan to kill next?”

The medium blinked and her forehead creased. “No one.”

“Not Miss Dryden or even Mr. Mallory?”

Mrs. Griswold looked aghast. “The society is nothing without Lysander. He is the backbone of all we do. We cannot … function without him.”

“Why not?” Hadrian flicked another glance at Tilda, silently communicating that they both knew why.

“He has a special power,” Mrs. Griswold said. “We’ve asked him to teach us, but he says he can’t. I sometimes wonder if he’s lying.”

“Lying about teaching you or lying about his power?” Hadrian asked.

The medium looked up at Hadrian. “Both. How can he know things about people? You’d have to believe that he can truly speak to the dead, which none of us can actually do. I don’t know how he knows things, but he does. And we need him for that.”

It was almost refreshing to hear someone from the society speak so plainly. “Where can we find Crocker?”

“I don’t know for sure, but he’s probably at the headquarters.”

“Does he live there or in Bedfordbury?” Tilda asked.

Mrs. Griswold’s nostrils flared. “You know about Bedfordbury?”

“You’d likely be surprised at what we know,” Hadrian said sardonically.

“He lives in Cadogan Place,” Mrs. Griswold said.

Tilda would direct Teague to go there next after he arrested Mrs. Griswold. Meanwhile, she wanted to go to Clerkenwell to call on Captain Vale. She’d promised him an update, and she had precisely the one he would want to hear most—that they’d caught the killer and it wasn’t his son.

Teague arrived a few minutes later. Hadrian called for him, and the detective inspector strode into the parlor with three constables in tow. He immediately looked toward Gibbs and gave the young constable a nod.

“As I’m sure Ellen Henry informed you, we’ve found the Levitation Killer,” Tilda said. “One half of them anyway. Mrs. Griswold had help from Michael Crocker to hang the bodies.”

“Crocker?” Teague asked. “Isn’t he one of the society’s domestic servants?”

“Yes,” Tilda replied. “We believe he may be at the society headquarters if you’d care to go there next.”

“I will, thank you.” Teague turned his attention to Gibbs. “Well done, Constable. Take Mrs. Griswold out to the wagon. Parker, go with him.”

Gibbs and Parker departed with the medium, and Hadrian finally returned his pistol to his coat.

Tilda explained all that Mrs. Griswold had told them to Teague and presented him with the earring she’d found in Ellen’s room in Bedfordbury.

“This is the mate to the earring I found after Mrs. Frost was killed. It belongs to Mrs. Griswold, and Ellen recognized it after she began working for her. It led us to confront Mrs. Griswold.”

“Excellent investigative work, Miss Wren.”

“Ellen said there is a bottle of prussic acid in Mrs. Griswold’s bedchamber,” Tilda added. “The maid was most helpful to the investigation.”

“Indeed.” Teague instructed the remaining constables to search the medium’s bedchamber, and they immediately left the parlor. He looked to Tilda once more. “Ellen is safe at Scotland Yard and currently giving evidence.”

“I’m glad you were able to come so quickly,” Tilda said.

“As am I,” Teague said. “I’m more glad that no one else was hurt.” He met Tilda’s gaze with a warm gratitude that filled her with pride. “Thank you again for your assistance. Truly.”

Tilda could see he genuinely meant it. Whilst she may never be a member of the Metropolitan Police or recognized for her contributions, knowing that she aided justice gave her immense satisfaction. How she wished her father could see it.

After assuring Teague they would visit Scotland Yard to deliver their official statements, they returned to the coach where Leach was waiting, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Did everything turn out well?”

“Indeed it has,” Hadrian replied. “One half of the Levitation Killer has been arrested, and the other half—Mrs. Griswold’s accomplice—will be shortly apprehended, we hope.

” At Leach’s expression of confusion, he added, “There is another person at large, but we trust the police will find him in Cadogan Place.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Leach said. “That poor maid I took to Scotland Yard was in a dither.”

Hadrian addressed Leach as the coachman opened the door for Tilda. “We need to go to Scotland Yard, but first we must visit Woodbridge Street in Clerkenwell. You remember the house?”

“I do indeed.” Leach held the door for Tilda, and she climbed inside.

Hadrian sat beside her, and she was glad. Though they hadn’t been in real danger with Mrs. Griswold, the encounter had been fraught for a few moments. His proximity contributed to her sense of security.

“Captain Vale will be delighted that the case has been solved,” Hadrian remarked as the coach started moving. “He was right that his son was not guilty.”

“True, but his son is guilty of other crimes and must pay for them.”

“I don’t think he’ll quarrel with that,” Hadrian said.

They were quiet a moment, and Tilda reviewed the events of the case in her mind. “I think I might call on Clement after we attend to matters at Scotland Yard. I’d like him to know the case is resolved.”

“Are you of a mind to reward him with this information since he was helpful?”

Tilda lifted a shoulder. “I don’t think it can hurt. Who knows when he might provide assistance in the future? We also need to speak with your mother.”

Hadrian wiped his hand down the side of his face. “Yes, of course. I can do that after we call on Clement.”

“You want to accompany me to Fleet Street?” Tilda asked.

“Certainly. We are partners, and I’m eager to help with all aspects of the case, including the conclusion.”

“I feel the same,” Tilda said. “Which means I must join you in speaking with your mother. But not just because we are partners. Your mother hired me, and I must deliver the final results of our investigation.”

Hadrian’s expression became beleaguered. “How do we tell her the mediums absolutely do not speak with the dead? She will point to the memory of the snow fort that was shared at Mrs. Griswold’s séance as proof that they do. I can’t contradict that without explaining the truth about my ability.”

“Actually, you can.” Tilda wasn’t sure how Hadrian would react to her suggestion, but she was going to make it anyway.

“You can explain that Mallory has a secret ability. You don’t have to tell her that you possess it too.

That way, when you decide to confide in her someday, the foundation is already laid.

” She watched Hadrian’s nostrils flare and the muscles in his neck tighten.

“You assume I will tell her,” Hadrian said darkly.

“I think you will. Perhaps not now, but you will find a way to overcome your fear that she will somehow disdain you.” At least Tilda hoped he would.

“Or that she won’t believe me.”

“You can find a way to prove it,” Tilda said softly. “I’ve never questioned your ability, not after what I’ve seen you do. And I’d like to think your mother cares about you even more than I do.” Of course she did. She was his mother, whilst Tilda was merely his … friend.

Who cared for him a great deal.

Hadrian looked out the window. “I’ll consider it.” A moment later, he said, “Would you mind not delivering your investigative conclusions today?”

“I’ve no problem with that. After the errands ahead of us, I think I will be ready to go home for a respite.” She smiled at him, and he seemed to relax.

They arrived in Woodbridge Street and made their way to the door of the brick-fronted terrace that had been occupied by Hawkins until recently. Tilda felt a stab of sorrow for the mediums who’d been lost.

She realized there was no constable present. Tilda looked up and down the pavement. “Do you see a constable?”

Hadrian also surveyed the area. “I do not. Should we be alarmed?”

Tilda’s pulse sped. “I don’t know. Perhaps the constable is inside for some reason.”

They went to the door, and Hadrian knocked. They waited several moments with no response before he rapped again. Still, no one answered.

Now, Tilda couldn’t help feeling concerned.

“Don’t worry yet,” Hadrian said as he looked at her. “Perhaps Captain Vale has gone out.”

“But where is the constable?” Tilda wondered. “And Captain Vale was expecting me to call later today.” She tilted her head back and looked at the windows on the upper floors.

“Is no one answering?” a feminine voice asked from behind them.

Tilda turned to see Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper they’d met when they’d called on Hawkins last week. “No,” Tilda replied. “You aren’t working today?”

Mrs. Wilson frowned. “I am not. One of those spiritualism society butlers came earlier and told me I wasn’t needed the rest of the day. I argued with him because I was taking care of a guest—a captain who is visiting London. That snippy young man put me off, so I came back to check on the captain.”

Suddenly anxious, Tilda glanced at Hadrian. “Do you know who the butler was?”

“It was that arrogant chap, Crocker. I don’t care for him. I saw him talking to the constable too, and then the constable left.”

Tilda’s pulse began to pound. She turned to Hadrian. “Try the door.”

He whipped his glove off and attempted to open the door. Since he removed his glove, Tilda thought he must be trying to see something too.

“It’s locked,” Hadrian said darkly.

Tilda looked to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Wilson, do you know how we might get inside? We are concerned about the welfare of those who may be within.” She didn’t want to say too much and frighten the woman.

Mrs. Wilson’s expression dimmed with concern. She opened her reticule and removed a key. “Here.” She held it out to Tilda.

“Thank you.” Tilda quickly unlocked the door.

Hadrian clasped her arm. “Wait. We should send Leach to fetch Teague once more.”

“Yes, but we need to get inside.” Tilda slipped the key into the pocket of her gown and opened her reticule to remove her father’s pistol.

Mrs. Wilson gasped.

Hadrian pivoted. “Pardon us, Mrs. Wilson. You ought to return to your home.” Turning his head toward the coach parked on the street, he called, “Leach, we need you to fetch Teague in Cadogan Place. Be quick!”

Leach set the coach into motion as Mrs. Wilson hurried away.

Taking his pistol from his coat, Hadrian gave Tilda a determined look before stepping into the house.