Page 40 of A Whisper at Midnight

“Thank you, I would appreciate that.” She glanced away. “Unless there is a reason you need to stay here? I can take a hack.”

He wondered again if she felt a touch of jealousy. “There is no need for me to remain. We can depart at your convenience.”

Tilda moved to the doorway and turned to look back over the room, her eyes seeming to scrutinize every space. “Where does he dress? There is no clothing in here. The dresser held linens and some accessories. Is there a separate chamber?”

Hadrian looked at the corners of the wall behind the bed’s headboard. A faint line in the dark-bronze-colored wallpaper drew his eye in the corner to the right of the bed—the same side of the bed on which he still stood. He walked to the wall and saw the release in the top of the wainscoting. He pressed the lever, and the door swung inward.

“Here’s his dressing room.”

“Brilliant,” Tilda said with a smile, which Hadrian was delighted to see. She came around the bed and Hadrian waited for her to precede him into the newly revealed chamber. “Can you grab the lantern?”

Hadrian went to the mantel to fetch the lantern that had been left burning and brought it to the dressing room. Inside, there was a table with a mirror and a stool, along with an armoire and a tall dresser as well as a tub. There were also implements for thevalet to do his job. Wherewasthe valet? Perhaps he was upstairs in his chamber as the maid had been in hers.

Moving to the opposite side of the small chamber, Hadrian located another door. It led to a servants’ staircase. “This is how the valet accesses his chamber from upstairs.” He saw another door and moving to open it, he found the dining room. There were stairs down to the kitchen as well, which made sense.

He returned to the dressing room where Tilda was searching the table, opening drawers and looking beneath it. Pausing at the threshold from the servants’ corridor, he braced his hand on the doorjamb. “There’s a servants’ staircase with access to the dining room as well as to the kitchen and the upper floors.”

Hadrian grimaced as another pain shot through his temple. The vision rose fast and strong, a memory of the dressing chamber. A lantern burned low on the dressing table. The light from it glinted off the blade in the hand of the person this memory belonged to …

Gasping as a sharper pain tore through his head, Hadrian released the door.

Tilda was at his side, her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

Hadrian blinked to see her gaze was full of concern. He nodded but winced as that only made his head hurt more. “I don’t know whose memory I saw, but it was the killer, I think.”

Tilda sucked in a breath. “Why do you think that?”

“Because they were holding a knife,” he said darkly. “They came in through this door. And no, I didn’t see the hand because they were wearing a dark glove. The vision was also too fast. And too painful.” He cupped his hand to his forehead and tried to take a deep breath.

“You need to sit.” She guided him to a stool and gently pushed him down, not that he needed much assistance. Sitting sounded rather necessary.

“Thank you,” he rasped, his head pounding. Even if Tilda hadn’t wanted to leave soon, he would ask to do so. “I ought to go home, I think.”

“In a moment. You need to right yourself first. Can I fetch you anything? Water? Brandy? A cool cloth?”

All of those would probably help, but for now he was fine just sitting here with her. Tilda’s company was most soothing.

He started to shake his head. “Dammit,” he breathed. “I can’t shake my head in these moments, and I always seem to forget.”

“This spell seems worse than usual. Perhaps because you were already in pain. You need to put your gloves back on.”

“Yes. Thankfully I stopped myself from nodding that time.” He smiled, and even that added to his discomfort. He pulled his gloves from his pocket and donned them.

Tilda studied the door a moment. “The killer came in here, passed through the dressing chamber into Chambers’ room, and killed him. He—or she—brought the knife, meaning they’d planned to kill him.” She looked to Hadrian. “Was it a kitchen knife?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Why come in this way and not through the study?” Tilda asked. “Unless they were a servant.”

“That seems to make the most sense.” Hadrian was having a hard time thinking through his worsening headache. He’d no idea why some visions impacted him more adversely than others. All he could discern was that this one had been fast and strong. Perhaps those kinds of visions caused more pain. They also tended to be the most helpful.

He groaned. “Let us take our leave.” He started to rise, and Tilda took his arm.

“Let me help you,” she said, guiding him back into the bedchamber. She closed the door behind them.

“Thank you. I am very glad you know about this terrible affliction of mine. It is good to have at least one person I can lean upon.” He tried another smile, but it was weak. “Literally,” he added.

“I am sorry it affects you in this way.” Her tone was low and deep with concern.