Page 7 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

Everyone complied. Tilda looked over at Hadrian’s bare hands. His fingers were long, his nails neatly trimmed.

Mrs. Frost continued, “Our circle relies on the energy between us. I need everyone to adjust their hand placement so their smallest fingers can touch those of the persons next to you. This will allow the energy to flow between us all. I may ask you to join hands. That depends on the level of magnetism I feel.”

Hadrian arched a brow at Tilda as he slid his hand toward her until their little fingers touched. Tilda wondered if he would ever see one of her memories. They’d touched on a few occasions, and so far, he had not.

She looked over at the man on her other side. He was the gentleman who’d entered after them, and the woman he’d arrived with sat on his other side. He offered Tilda an excited smile.

“This is our first séance,” he said.

“It is mine as well,” Tilda replied in a whisper.

The medium surveyed the table, appearing to make sure everyone’s hands were placed appropriately. She closed her eyes, which seemed to indicate her satisfaction.

After a moment, she spoke again, her voice loud and sure but with that soothing quality that Tilda had noticed earlier.

“Before we begin, I must pay tribute to a man who has just recently entered the spirit realm. Our number in the London Spiritualism Society is diminished with the loss of my dear friend, Cyril Ward. He was our most gifted medium, aside from our leader, Lysander Mallory, and a light to all who knew him—in this world and the next.”

After a moment’s silence, Mrs. Frost addressed them once more. “We are gathered here tonight to speak to Captain Gabriel Becket.”

Tilda felt Hadrian’s finger twitch. She looked over at him and saw he was watching Mrs. Frost intently.

“Captain Becket, your mother is here to speak with you,” Mrs. Frost said, her eyes still closed. “As is your brother and your friend, Miss Wren.”

Tilda winced inwardly. She hadn’t ever met Gabriel, and they certainly hadn’t been friends. She hoped that falsehood wouldn’t ruin the séance.

“Are any spirits here?” Mrs. Frost asked.

The branch of candles in the center of the table flickered, as if there were a breeze. However, Tilda did not feel one. Her pulse quickened. She again glanced at Hadrian. His eyes were narrowed at the candles.

“John Tabor, are you with us?” Mrs. Frost asked.

Who was John Tabor?

Mrs. Frost’s eyes opened briefly but only to slits. “Mr. Tabor is my frequent guide.” Her lids dropped once more. “John Tabor?”

Silence reigned, and Mrs. Frost frowned slightly. “Please feel free to converse among yourselves. Sometimes that encourages the spirits to visit.”

Tilda looked across the table at Hadrian’s mother. She’d also closed her eyes. Her lips were moving. Tilda leaned toward Hadrian. “What do you think your mother is saying?”

Hadrian gave his head a slight shake. “I’ve no idea.”

The table moved suddenly, the top tipping away from Tilda. A guest on the opposite side, but not Lady Ravenhurst, gasped. The air around them cooled, as if someone had opened the window.

“John Tabor?” Mrs. Frost asked again.

Three raps sounded from beneath the table, as if someone had knocked on the underside. Hadrian pushed back from the table and looked under it.

“Everyone join hands please,” Mrs. Frost instructed, her eyes still closed.

Hadrian’s head was still bent to peer beneath the table.

Tilda reached for his hand, and he straightened. The moment their palms met, she felt a power greater than whatever might be happening around them at the séance. His touch warmed her in the chill of the room.

“Three raps means yes,” Mrs. Frost explained. “John Tabor is with us. John, can you lead Captain Gabriel Becket to us?”

The answer came with two raps.

“Is that no?” Hadrian asked.

Mrs. Frost’s eyes remained closed. “That means he doesn’t know. Will you try, John?”

Three more raps to answer in the affirmative.

“John, tell him that his mother is here,” Mrs. Frost said. “And his brother.”

Mrs. Frost finally opened her eyes and turned her head toward Lady Ravenhurst. “What will you say to your son when his spirit is here with us?”

Tilda felt Hadrian tense, his hand clasping hers more tightly. She watched his mother, who took a moment to respond. “I would tell him that I love him, that we miss him. I hope he is at peace. I pray he’s not—” She stopped abruptly and looked down at the table.

The candles flickered again. Tilda wondered if Hadrian had seen anything beneath the table but assumed he had not. He would have likely halted the séance if he’d seen anything suspicious.

The table tilted again, this time toward Tilda. She pulled back from the table but didn’t release Hadrian’s hand or the hand of the man on her left.

“Why is the table tilting like that?” someone, a woman, asked.

“The spirits are here,” Mrs. Frost said. “John Tabor and others.”

The man next to the medium spoke to her in a low tone. The table tilted again, back and forth, twice.

Mrs. Frost looked to Hadrian’s mother. “Lady Ravenhurst, perhaps you should talk to Gabriel about his horse, the one with the long forelock.”

Hadrian jerked. His attention snapped to the medium.

Lady Ravenhurst smiled. “That was Angus. He loved that horse. You want me to talk to Gabriel? Now?”

“It would likely encourage him to come,” Mrs. Frost said.

Nodding, the countess looked around the room, her gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling.

“My dearest, Gabriel. Are you with Angus now?” She laughed, perhaps nervously.

“What a silly thing to ask. I remember when you fell off during your second ride.” She looked over at Hadrian. “Do you remember that, dear?”

“I wasn’t there,” Hadrian said, his voice flat. Tilda noted the stiff set of his jaw.

“Well, I remember,” Lady Ravenhurst said. “Cook made Gabriel his favorite pudding to cheer him.” She went on explaining about the pudding and named several of Gabriel’s other favorite dishes. But Tilda was focused on Hadrian.

“Are you all right?” Tilda whispered.

“This is ridiculous,” he hissed.

“Your mother seems to be enjoying talking about Gabriel. Surely that’s something.”

“Until nothing happens.”

The table moved again, tipping in all directions as if it were being tossed upon a stormy sea. Hadrian pulled his hand from Tilda’s. She saw he also released the medium’s hand.

The medium put her palm flat on the table, and the rocking stopped.

As the table stilled, Mrs. Frost took a deep breath.

“John Tabor has gone. He says tonight is not the time to speak with Gabriel or anyone else.” Her lids lowered as her mouth dipped into a sad frown.

“I do apologize. I think Cyril Ward’s demise today has interrupted the connection to the spirit realm.

At least, for me. You may release each other’s hands. The séance is concluded.”

Tilda noted that Hadrian had clasped his hands together and set them in his lap beneath the table. His gaze was focused on his mother. She looked, as he’d feared, disappointed.

Mrs. Frost stood and walked around the table to Lady Ravenhurst’s chair. The countess turned her head as the medium bent down to speak softly to her. As Lady Ravenhurst nodded, Hadrian abruptly rose and moved to join them. Tilda followed.

“I’d be happy to try again next week,” the countess was saying as Tilda arrived at her chair.

“I’m so glad,” Mrs. Frost replied with a smile. “Again, I am sorry tonight wasn’t successful. Sometimes that happens.”

Lady Ravenhurst’s disappointment from just a few moments ago seemed to have disappeared. Now, her features were eager, her eyes bright. “I am sorry to hear of the loss of your colleague.”

“Would you like to go home, Mother?” Hadrian asked. His tone was cool, but his eyes were angry. And they kept drifting toward Mrs. Frost. Tilda wondered if he’d seen something more when holding her hand.

“We still have dinner, my lord,” Mrs. Frost said. “I do hope you will stay. Here comes Henry with wine.” She drifted away before Tilda could ask any questions, such as who John Tabor was.

Hadrian held his mother’s chair whilst she stood. The countess turned to her son. “I’d like some wine. And dinner too, of course.”

Tilda noted Hadrian clenching his jaw. She sidled closer to him as his mother turned toward the young butler, who approached them with a tray of glasses filled with wine. “Did you see something when you touched Mrs. Frost during the séance?”

“Yes. The man on her other side spoke to her during a séance—not this one, the man was dressed differently. I couldn’t hear what he said, of course, which is damnably frustrating.

” He could never hear anything when he saw others’ memories.

“But his lips were moving. I’m glad my mother wants to stay because I plan to touch him next. ”