Page 56 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

T he day after the Levitation Killer was caught, Hadrian and Tilda called on his mother so that Tilda could give her full report on the London Spiritualism Society.

Tilda had detailed the ways in which the society had defrauded people with their fakery, as well as how Mallory had blackmailed people through means that were not entirely clear.

That had been an opening for Hadrian to reveal his ability to his mother, but he’d chosen not to do so.

It wasn’t a conversation he’d wanted to have in front of Tilda.

Furthermore, he’d wanted to conduct a small investigation of his own.

Namely, he’d wanted to visit his grandmother at the dower house at Ravenswood to learn what he could about his family and whether anyone might have possessed the same ability as he did.

What he’d learned had both confirmed his suspicions and validated his fear.

His great-uncle, whom Hadrian had thought had died at a young age, had been committed to an asylum due to hallucinations that drove him mad.

His grandmother was not aware that they were not hallucinations, of course, nor did Hadrian explain the truth.

The revelation had sent him into a rather dark frame of mind for a couple of days. But he’d managed to calm himself by acknowledging that he wasn’t mad, and he didn’t think he would ever be. At least not from this.

That realization had given him the courage to call on his mother and address whether she would continue to try to communicate with Gabriel. When she’d learned of the society dissolving, she’d said she would have to think about whether she could trust another medium.

Hadrian arrived at his mother’s, and Peverell directed him to the drawing room where she was taking tea. She looked up from the table as Hadrian strode into the room.

“Hadrian, I was not expecting you,” she said. “Would you like tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” He sat down opposite her as she poured out and fixed his cup exactly as he liked it.

Hadrian smiled. “You have always been an attentive mother. You knew exactly how we all took our tea, our favorite foods, the things that frightened us and made us laugh with joy.”

“Did you know that Caroline still looks under the bed before she goes to sleep at night?” his mother asked. “Though she can laugh about it, at least.”

Caroline was Hadrian’s oldest sister and four years his senior. He was the middle child with two older sisters, a younger sister, and, of course, Gabriel.

“Things become less dire, or at least easier, as we grow older,” Hadrian observed.

“Mostly, yes.” His mother sipped her tea. “How was your visit to Ravenswood?”

“Uneventful,” he said. “Grandmama is well.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied, and Hadrian knew she meant it, even though the two women were not close. His grandmother was somewhat cold, particularly when compared with his mother.

“Have you given more thought to whether you plan to consult a new medium?” Hadrian asked as he helped himself to a cake.

“I don’t think I will, which I am sure you find most welcome.” She gave him a wry look.

“I want you to be happy, and if that means you find a new medium, I will support you. I will even attend another séance with you.”

“But you and Miss Wren proved they are a farce.” His mother frowned. “Though I still don’t understand how they knew about that day in the snow with you and your brother.”

This was the moment. Hadrian could tell her what Captain Vale had suggested—that he’d supplied the information to give her the experience she wanted. Or he could tell her the truth.

“Mama, what if there is another way—other than speaking to the dead—to explain how they knew?” Hadrian said slowly.

She fixed on him, her eyes glinting with disbelief. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Perhaps there is something else at work—some way that certain … sensitive people are able to read others’ feelings, or even their thoughts and memories.”

“That is still a supernatural occurrence,” she said. “Which I thought you did not believe in.”

“I think I might actually.” Hadrian’s pulse had sped, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Or at least, I’m open to it.”

He couldn’t tell her about his ability. Not yet. Perhaps when he felt more in control of it. He wanted to, he realized, but he was still just a little afraid. He wondered if he would have told Tilda about it if she hadn’t correctly determined there was something going on with him.

And how had she noticed and no one else had not? She’d noted his headaches and caught him touching things. Her curious mind had demanded answers. She’d also cared enough about their burgeoning association to insist upon honesty. He was glad they had that—and so much more.

“That is most surprising to hear,” his mother replied.

“But I still don’t wish to see a new medium.

” She paused and looked at her teacup for a long moment.

“You said that things get easier as we grow older. Often they do, but sometimes they do not. My grief over losing Gabriel has eased, but that isn’t to say it has diminished.

” She lifted her gaze to Hadrian’s. “I miss him. But it’s more than that.

You also said I am an attentive mother, but I should have done more to keep you all—well, your siblings, in particular—out of your father’s way.

I did my best. I know he wasn’t the warmest father?—”

“Or husband.” Hadrian hadn’t meant to interrupt her, but the words had leapt forth of their own accord. “I know you struggled, Mama. Sometimes I wonder if you know how much you struggled.”

She looked toward the hearth. “I do. Just as I chose not to dwell on it. You shouldn’t dwell on it either. Let us remember the happiest of times. Can we do that?” She met his gaze once more.

“Of course.” He didn’t want her to feel bad about Gabriel anymore.

“We all love you, including Gabriel. And he knew you loved him.” He was her youngest child—her baby, as she’d said countless times—and they’d shared a particular bond.

“So let us remember the happiest times with him. I am grateful for them.”

His mother sniffed. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes briefly. “Look what you’ve done. Amuse me with a silly story about your valet or the dogs at Ravenswood, please.”

Hadrian laughed. “I am happy to, Mama.”

I t had been a week since the conclusion of Tilda’s investigation into Lady Ravenhurst’s medium.

The day after Mrs. Griswold’s arrest, an article by Clement had appeared in the Daily News detailing her capture and the death of Michael Crocker.

He’d described Tilda’s role in solving the case of the Levitation Killers, and as a result, she’d received several inquiries regarding her investigative services.

She was rather grateful to the reporter.

The inquiries had come via the office of Mr. Forrest, the barrister she sometimes worked for. She’d also received a handful of rude missives that had denigrated her as a private investigator. None of those obnoxious people had signed their names.

Clement also penned an article dedicated to the dissolution of the London Spiritualism Society.

In it, he quoted the society’s founder, Lysander Mallory, admitting that their séances were fraudulent and that they did not speak to the dead.

Tilda had heard from at least one person—Mrs. Langdon—who did not believe that was true.

No one would convince her that the medium hadn’t communicated with her father in the spirit realm.

Tilda hadn’t seen Hadrian since they’d called on his mother following the conclusion of their investigation, but he was coming this afternoon for tea. She surveyed herself in the mirror, turning her head to see what Clara had done with her hair.

The maid held up another mirror so Tilda could see the artful plaiting and twisting she’d accomplished at the back of Tilda’s head. “Can you see?” Clara asked.

“Yes, thank you. It’s quite extravagant.” Tilda stood and smiled at the maid. “And lovely.”

Clara’s cheeks flushed pink with pleasure. She set the mirror down on the dressing table. “I’m glad you like it.”

Tilda had intended for Clara to be a temporary addition to the household, but she already had one case and might likely accept another. If that kept up, she’d be able to employ Clara permanently.

Though Tilda wasn’t entirely certain she needed a maid. Her grandmother, however, adored having Clara, since the maid also styled her hair and took care of her clothing. It had freed their housekeeper up to focus on other areas of the household. In truth, things had never run more smoothly.

Hadrian was due to arrive soon. Tilda went downstairs to join her grandmother for a few minutes before she left to have tea with a neighbor. Grandmama had been disappointed to learn she would miss seeing Hadrian, so she’d asked Tilda to delay his departure until her grandmother returned.

Vaughn greeted Tilda in the entrance hall. “Miss Wren, there is a letter for you. I think it must be another inquiry for your services.” He smiled with more than a hint of pride. The entire household was delighted to see Tilda find a modicum of success.

“Thank you, Vaughn.” Tilda accepted the missive and opened the parchment, quickly scanning the lines. “It is indeed another inquiry. Someone would like help finding stolen items.” Most of the inquiries had been of that nature. And all but one had been from women.

“You’ll make short work of that, I expect,” Vaughn said.

“Finding stolen items in London is akin to searching for a needle in a haystack,” Tilda replied with a chuckle.

She walked into the parlor where Grandmama was just drawing on her gloves.

“Did I hear you’ve had another inquiry?” Grandmama asked.

“I have. More stolen items.”