Page 53 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

H adrian sucked in a breath as he looked beyond the small entrance hall into the staircase hall. He caught sight of a dark red puddle on the floor.

“Tilda, I think there’s blood,” he said softly. He lifted his pistol, his entire body tightening with an urge to flee but also to confront whatever—or whomever—awaited them.

The sound of something falling and breaking came from the parlor to their left, where they’d met with Hawkins nearly a week ago. Hadrian’s breath snagged, and he looked back at Tilda. Her features were set into grim lines as she held her pistol at the ready.

He moved first toward the parlor, letting his pistol lead him. Quickly scanning the room, he determined it was empty. But there was an unmistakable sound of someone making noise. It came from the other side of the settee.

Stepping toward the center of the room so he could see around the piece of furniture, Hadrian saw the source of the noise just as Tilda did. Mallory’s father was trussed up with rope and gagged, his eyes wide as he watched Tilda and Hadrian approach. Blood stained his side.

“Captain Vale!” Tilda was careful not to speak too loudly, but neither had she whispered.

She set her pistol on the settee and dropped to her knees next to the man.

Pulling off her gloves, she tossed them next to the pistol, then pulled the fabric away from his mouth.

She reached behind his head and untied the gag.

“You must hurry!” Vale said, tears pooling in his eyes. “He has Thaddeus upstairs. I fear he’ll do the same to him as to the other poor man.”

“You’re hurt,” Tilda said, her hand hovering over the bloodied area of the captain’s midsection.

“He stuck me when I caught him. I’d just seen him stab the lad.”

“Who?” Hadrian asked, fearing he already knew.

“Tuttle was his name,” Vale said as tears leaked from his eyes. “You must go save Thaddeus before the madman stabs him next! If he hasn’t already.” The man practically sobbed the last word.

Whilst the captain spoke, Tilda had loosened the ropes binding the captain’s hands and feet. She grasped her pistol and stood. “Stay here.”

The captain nodded as he leaned against the settee, his face pale. Hadrian tried to give him an encouraging nod but feared his own apprehension was etched into his features.

Tilda preceded him from the parlor, and Hadrian hastened to grab her arm. “Let me go first, please.”

She nodded, her gaze steady but fraught. Hadrian stepped into the staircase hall and looked up to see exactly what he’d feared. Tuttle hung from the railing, but the rope had not been painted to look like the wood.

“This wasn’t planned,” Tilda whispered. “It’s not the same as the others.”

Hadrian agreed. “It doesn’t seem as if Mrs. Griswold was aware this was happening.”

They went to the stairs and ascended cautiously. Tilda followed Hadrian as he paused on the landing to determine where to go. Muffled sounds seemed to be coming from a room to the right.

Hadrian moved as quietly as possible toward the door which stood ajar. He carefully pushed the door open and surveyed the room. It was a sitting room, and Mallory was trussed up like his father had been. However, he wasn’t bleeding yet.

Before he stepped into the room, Hadrian looked again carefully. Where was Crocker? Mallory was gagged, his dark eyes wide. He tried to say something, but only muffled sounds emerged from behind the cloth shoved into his mouth.

“Go help him, Hadrian,” Tilda said from behind him.

Hadrian did not lower his pistol as he moved into the room. In fact, he would feel better if Tilda helped Mallory whilst Hadrian watched for Crocker.

Pivoting on his heel, Hadrian opened his mouth to tell Tilda to untie Mallory, but no sound came out. He was too late. He watched in horror as Crocker grabbed Tilda from behind and wrested the pistol from her hand.

He fired the weapon at Hadrian.

N o, no, no.

Tilda would not allow Hadrian to be shot or stabbed or hurt in any way. She was nearly oblivious to the grip of the man who now held her against his solid chest. Nothing mattered more than clawing her way to Hadrian.

Her father’s pistol clattered to the floor, now useless. Crocker—she assumed the man holding her was the murderous butler—pressed something against Tilda’s neck. “Stop moving.”

Stomach churning with fear, Tilda stopped trying to escape his grip.

She tried to take a deep breath to calm her racing heart, but she could not inhale as deeply as she wanted with the man holding her so tightly.

His left arm curled around her upper middle and lifted her so that her feet barely grazed the floorboards.

“Do not come toward us or she will die,” Crocker said, his breath hot against Tilda’s neck.

Tilda blinked and realized that whilst Hadrian had dropped to the floor, he was now standing. And he appeared unhurt. Relief flooded her, and she had to suck in a breath to keep from sobbing.

“I’m fine, Tilda,” Hadrian said, his tone carved in ice. He still gripped the pistol, but it was not pointed at them. Tilda understood why—if Hadrian fired, he would hit her as Crocker seemed to be using her as a shield.

Hadrian’s eyes glittered with malice. “Crocker has terrible aim, thankfully. And he has nowhere to go.”

Crocker snorted. The sound was loud in Tilda’s ear, given his proximity. “I’ve an excellent hostage, Ravenhurst. I can go anywhere I like.”

“The police will find you,” Hadrian said.

“Don’t, Hadrian,” Tilda snapped. If Crocker heard there was no hope of escape, he may very well shoot her now. “He doesn’t care what you have to say. Crocker, you will escape much more quickly if you aren’t holding onto me. We won’t come after you. Release me and run.”

Tilda didn’t want to let the man go, but it was their best option in the current situation. The police would catch him.

Crocker moved backward, carrying Tilda with him. “I don’t think I can let you live,” he whispered so that Hadrian couldn’t hear him. “You should not have come here. There is no reason for you to die.”

“You just said there was.” Tilda hoped to keep him talking to perhaps distract him. “But you can release me.”

“You’ll tell them all what I’ve done. I still have time to escape. I’ll leave London. Mayhap, I’ll leave England altogether. Mercy said she wanted to visit New England. The spiritualism movement is strong there.”

Hadrian emerged from the room as Crocker backed them up to the railing overlooking the hall below. Tilda glanced to the left and saw poor Tuttle hanging farther along the railing.

Crocker pressed the knife into her flesh. She didn’t think he broke the skin, but the blade was close to doing so.

“Cut her and I will tear you apart,” Hadrian snarled, his pistol half raised.

Mallory came from the room and stood next to Hadrian, who must have untied him.

“You’ve ruined everything!” Crocker shouted, making Tilda flinch. “ All of you. Mercy and I had it all sorted, then Mallory went and gave my position as medium here to Tuttle. Why would you do that? It was my turn!”

“Because you’re a terrible medium,” Mallory said without pretense, as if he were not aware that Tilda was currently in danger.

“Don’t antagonize him.” Hadrian didn’t take his eyes from Tilda.

She met his gaze and tried to convey that she would be all right.

She wasn’t sure how yet, but if he could move a little closer to the railing, perhaps she could push Crocker off balance so that he fell.

The key was not to go over with him. It was not lost on her that their last case involved someone falling over a railing.

“I am an excellent medium!” Crocker cried. “If you paid more attention to those beyond your chosen few, or the women you are wooing, you might have noticed. It is you who are terrible.”

“And yet without me, the society will falter,” Mallory said with supreme arrogance.

Was he trying to aggravate Crocker? “None of you can do what I do. I see into people’s minds and beyond to connect with those they have lost. Such as your mother, Michael.

She cries in the spirit realm, aching for the son who has turned out no better than his father—the very man who ended her life. ”

Crocker’s entire body heaved in reaction, his grip loosening ever so slightly on Tilda’s midsection. It was enough for her to lift her leg and kick back into his thigh. But he did not release her.

Suddenly, they went sideways. A body hurtled into them, and now Crocker released her. Tilda fell to the floor. She flipped around and saw that it was Captain Vale who was grappling against the railing with Crocker. The man had somehow made his way upstairs.

Both Hadrian and Mallory rushed forward. Crocker tipped over the railing. He gripped the captain, and for a horrifying moment, it looked as though both of them would topple to the hall below.

But Mallory grabbed his father and pulled as Hadrian clasped Crocker’s arm and wrenched it away from the captain. Crocker flailed, and Tilda’s heart stopped as she feared he might take Hadrian over with him.

He did not. Crocker arced over the railing and fell.

Tilda pushed herself up and rushed to Hadrian’s side. They looked over the railing at Crocker splayed on the floor below, a red pool forming beneath his head. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, sightless.

“Papa,” Mallory cried, sounding broken as he clutched at his father, who was slumping toward the floor.

“We must fetch a doctor,” Tilda said. “I’ll go ask a neighbor.”

As Tilda turned toward the stairs, Hadrian grasped her arm gently. She met his stare and felt the worry she saw there in the hollows of her own body. It was at once jarring and comforting.

“You’re all right?” His gaze flicked toward her neck.

She touched her flesh where the knife had grazed her. “Yes. I am incredibly relieved you weren’t shot. We needed one investigation where you were not wounded.”

A smile lifted his lips, and Tilda’s breath caught. “So we did.” He released her arm, and Tilda was sorry to no longer feel his touch.

Before she could allow that sentiment to take root, she turned and fled down the stairs.