Page 96 of A Whisper at Midnight

Hadrian escorted Tilda inside. She cast him a surreptitious but clearly approving glance. Hadrian felt a rush of pride. Perhaps he had achieved novice investigator status.

“We do hope to open in a fortnight now that we have partnered with Oliver Chambers,” Pollard said in an animated tone. It was the most pleasant he’d ever sounded since Hadrian had met him.

“How marvelous,” Tilda said. “Where is Mrs. Pollard?”

Pollard glanced toward the central staircase. “She is upstairs. I can take you up.”

Tilda waved her hand and gave Pollard a warm smile. “No need. I’ll find my way. Lord Ravenhurst is keen to buy new gloves. And perhaps a neckcloth or two.” She waggled her brows at Hadrian before moving toward the staircase.

Hadrian smiled after her, his gaze lingering on the alluring sway of her hips before recalling that he must not look at her in that way or think of her as anything other than a friend and business associate.

Pollard gestured for Hadrian to accompany him. “The gloves have been placed in their case, which is back here. The front of the shop will have ladies’ items as they will be our primary customers. Men aren’t as inclined to shopping, in my experience.” He glanced toward Hadrian as they passed near the staircase and into a corner where the men’s gloves were located.“Indeed, I’m surprised you would think to come to my shop, my lord. Do you purchase your own clothing and accessories?”

“I confess I have a tailor in Saville Row, and I typically leave the accessories to my very capable valet. However, I saw your stack of gloves and thought it might be nice to try some on for myself for a change.”

“Certainly, my lord. Is there something in particular you are looking for?”

“Not really. Why don’t you show me what you think is best?” He gave Pollard an encouraging smile as he removed his gloves. At last, he would have the opportunity to touch Pollard.

The gloves were arrayed in the case from white to black with an array of colors in between. Pollard stepped behind it to open the back.

“What a pleasing display,” Hadrian remarked.

“Joanna’s work,” Pollard said with a measure of pride. “She has an eye for such things.” He pulled a dove-gray pair from the case and slid them over to Hadrian.

Hadrian masked his disappointment. He would much rather have had Pollard hand them to him so he could at least try to see a vision from the man. But the moment Hadrian picked up the gloves, he was transported to another time and place.

He recognized it immediately—Beryl’s bedchamber. He stood before the dresser and watched as a dark-gloved hand opened the drawer … and tucked a long kitchen knife behind neatly stacked handkerchiefs. The vision came with an accompanying sense of nervousness and excitement. There was also a distinct rush of daring and risk.

Had Pollard put the knife in Beryl’s drawer? Or had it been his wife since she’d also handled these gloves? He watched as the hand closed the drawer. It was small, feminine.

It had to be Joanna Pollard. But why? And when had she done this?

Her glove was black, which meant it was likely the funeral yesterday.

The vision dissipated. Hadrian’s head began to ache as he pulled on the dove-gray gloves.

“Those are quite nice, if you don’t mind my saying,” Pollard noted.

“They are,” Hadrian said vaguely as he pulled them off and set them atop the case. “What about the darker gray?”

“An excellent choice,” Pollard said as he pulled them from the case.

Hadrian put his hand out this time, hoping for even a scintilla of contact with Pollard. He was not disappointed—until he was. Though Pollard’s fingertips grazed Hadrian’s palm, it wasn’t enough to spark a vision or even a feeling.

But as Hadrian pulled on the first glove, he once again found himself in the Chambers’ house. This time he was in Louis’s bedchamber. It was dark, but someone carried a lantern. Hadrian strove to see their face. It was the blonde maid—Martha Farrow, certainly. She handed the lantern to whoever’s memory Hadrian was seeing. It had to be Joanna Pollard, didn’t it?

Joanna took the lantern in her left hand as she handed something from her right.

The knife.

She stood with the lantern on one side of Louis’s bed, whilst Martha walked around to the other. Joanna set the lantern on the table beside the bed and reached down to shove at Louis’s shoulder. He stirred.

Louis blinked as he fixed on Joanna, then turned his head toward Martha. She looked angry. No, furious. She waved the knife in front of his face. Fear gripped his features. He nodded.

Joanna’s hands, including the one holding the lantern, moved wildly. She was just as furious as Martha appeared. But it was more than that. There was rage but also a violent urge.

Suddenly, Martha plunged the knife into Louis’s chest. Joanna slapped one hand over his mouth and held his arm with the other as he began to flail.