Page 50 of A Whisper at Midnight

“I see how Martha may have fallen,” Tilda said breathlessly. “And why Mrs. Jefford would want to say they weren’t at fault since that railing is not secure.”

They eased apart, and Hadrian asked, “Are you all right?”

“I feel a little unsteady,” she replied. “I think I’ll stand over here.” She moved away from the railing to the opening of a short corridor with two doors on either side. These had likely been servants’ quarters when the house was built decades before.

Whipping off his glove, Hadrian made sure he was not too close to the railing before touching it gingerly. He was hoping for a sensation or a vision, but there was nothing.

He cautiously wiggled the railing, ascertaining how loose it was. He was surprised it hadn’t come free when Martha had fallen.

Or had it?

He moved to where it was attached to the wall and again gave it a rattle. It separated from the wall, and he released it, stepping back. “I think this may have broken and has since been repaired—though quite shoddily. Perhaps Mr. Jefford sought to improve the state of the railing so he wouldn’t be blamed for Martha’s death.”

“Well, he did a rather poor job,” Tilda remarked as she turned toward the door Mrs. Jefford had indicated. Pushing open the door, she walked into the room.

The chamber was small, with a low ceiling and a minimum of furniture. There was a narrow bed, a chair and tiny table, and a dresser with three drawers. Rather, it had space for three, but there were only two present.

“I suppose you should touch something, but please be mindful of how many visions you allow,” Tilda warned.

Hadrian appreciated her concern, but he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to sense any of Martha’s memories since she was newly dead—ifthat was a parameter of his unpredictable ability. What he did know—or thought he knew—was that whatever he touched with his bare skin also had to have touched the other person’s bare skin in order for him to see their memories.Rather, to have achanceto see them. With this infernal ability, nothing was guaranteed, except the accompanying headache.

Whilst Tilda looked through the shabby dresser, he touched the door. Nothing.

He moved farther into the room and ran his hand over the back of the single chair. Still nothing.

“Hadrian.” Tilda sounded almost breathless. “I found one of Beryl’s missing pieces of jewelry.”

Pivoting, Hadrian moved to her side. She held a brooch shaped like a flower made of what looked to be diamonds and topaz with emeralds for the leaves. It was stunning. “You’re certain that belonged to Beryl?”

“It matches the description she gave me.” She looked at Hadrian. “Teague said he dispatched a constable here, but if he searched the room, why would this still be here?”

“Perhaps the constable hasn’t come yet. Or at least, he hasn’t searched this room. Could they have been busy with the inquest and other matters?”

“That’s possible, but I don’t think we should leave it here.” She held it out to him. “You should touch it.”

Hadrian took the brooch, and for the first time, he felt a warm sensation in his hand. “That’s odd.”

“What?” Tilda asked, again sounding exhilarated. He realized he loved that tone of hers.

A vision began to unfurl in his mind. “One moment,” he breathed, immersing himself in what he saw so that the room around him, including Tilda, faded.

He saw Louis Chambers, his face set into deep, tension-filled lines. His thick brows were drawn over his eyes which were fixed on someone—whoever’s memory Hadrian was experiencing. His lips moved, so Hadrian deduced he was speaking to someone.

Chambers handed the brooch to the person. Hadrian looked at the hand—it was a woman’s and had the same blunt nails andwork-roughened skin as the woman in the second vision he’d seen in Chambers’ bed.

A wave of anger rattled Hadrian along with a sense of injustice. He felt intense outrage toward Chambers.

Pain filtered through Hadrian’s head, and the vision began to dissipate. Tilda returned to his vision, her green eyes caressing him with both concern and her indefatigable curiosity.

Fixing on her somehow made the ache in his head more bearable. He took a deep breath, realizing he’d been holding it.

“What did you see?” she asked softly.

“Louis Chambers. He looked unhappy or agitated. Perhaps both. He spoke to whoever’s memory this was, but of course I couldn’t hear what he said. I should probably learn to read lips,” he quipped.

Tilda’s features eased into a smile. “Perhaps. Do you think you were seeing Martha’s memory?”

“I can’t say, but he handed her the brooch. I know it was a woman’s memory because of the hand. And the hand looked similar. It may have been the same as the one I saw yesterday belonging to the maid who’d been in his bed and then had to hide under it.”