Excerpt: A Whisper and a Curse

Chapter One

London, April 1868

Hadrian Becket, Earl of Ravenhurst, had been shocked when his mother had asked to invite his investigative partner, Miss Matilda Wren, to their biweekly Sunday tea. It wasn’t actually the invitation that surprised him, but the purpose of it. The dowager countess wanted to hire Tilda to investigate … something, which she hadn’t yet disclosed.

As Tilda poured the tea, Hadrian kept his curiosity in check. Barely.

The minutes stretched as they made small talk. Hadrian forced himself to sip his tea.

Then he could stand it no longer. He impaled his mother with his most direct stare. “I am on tenterhooks waiting to hear why you need Miss Wren’s help.”

His mother’s blue eyes—so like his own—narrowed at him ever so slightly. “I don’t want to hear any admonishment about any of this. Do you understand?”

Bloody hell. This did not bode well. Hadrian tried to temper his concern. “Of course, but such a warning does not herald a sense of comfort.”

“I just don’t want you to counsel me.” His mother sniffed, as if she were already affronted.

“I will not, Mama.” He tried not to sound beleaguered and likely failed.

His mother abruptly turned her attention to Tilda, and Hadrian took another drink of tea. “I have recently begun consulting with a medium,” the dowager countess said.

Hadrian nearly choked.

Coughing, he set his cup down. His mother glowered at him briefly, then looked back to Tilda. “She says she can communicate with Gabriel. Miss Wren, I want you to determine if she is authentic.”

Of all the ridiculous notions. Why would his mother want to speak with Gabriel anyway? Hadrian’s younger brother had died five years ago of cholera in India. His death would always provoke sadness. Why would his mother want to stir that up?

Perhaps because she still missed her youngest child. And now some charlatan was going to exploit her grief.

A sudden flush crept up Hadrian’s neck as anger at this unnamed medium swept through him. He clamped his lips together lest he speak out.

Tilda glanced at him, and he kept his features stoic. He could not tell what she was thinking, but she did not appear alarmed. She smiled at his mother. “I will be glad to help, Lady Ravenhurst. Allow me to take notes whilst you provide the necessary details.”

Hadrian silently fumed. Had he really expected Tilda to deny his mother’s request? She was a paying client, and Tilda needed those. Not that Tilda would take any case. But did she really think it was possible to prove a medium was authentic? Hell, Hadrian couldn’t prove his visions were real.

The visions had started after he’d been stabbed a few months ago. As Hadrian had fallen to the pavement, he’d managed to remove a ring from his assailant’s finger. Hadrian had struck his head and lost consciousness.

One terrible concussion and a few days later, Hadrian had touched the ring and seen visions in his mind. After much investigation and frustration, he’d realized the visions were the memories of the man who’d worn that ring. The visions had continued—memories from others—as he’d touched other objects and people, provided he touched his bare skin to the object or another’s flesh.

There was no explanation for how he was able to see what he did or how he could often feel the person’s emotions in addition to seeing their memories. The only other person who knew of his confounding affliction was Tilda. That was because these visions and sensations had been crucial in helping to solve multiple murders they’d worked together to investigate. Indeed, his visions were the reason they were an investigative team. She was the investigator, and his unique power often guided her inquiries.

He supposed the fact that his visions had never steered them wrong, nor were they ever proven to be false, was as good as proof that they were real. Nevertheless, he didn’t plan to tell anyone else about them.

Hadrian gave his mother a patient stare. “I don’t think Miss Wren’s capabilities extend to determining whether a medium’s power is real or not. Nor do I think you need her to do so. I can tell you that this medium cannot possibly talk to Gabriel.”

His mother exhaled. “I knew you would say something like that. However, I have it on good authority that she can speak to the dead.”

“Whose authority? And if you are so certain, why do you need to hire Miss Wren?”

Lips pursing, the dowager narrowed her eyes slightly. “I am not certain, but my friend, Mrs. Langdon, who has been to her séances, swears the medium can speak to the dead. The medium revealed things she could not know. I trust Evelyn—Mrs. Langdon. However, I want to hire Miss Wren to make sure the medium is authentic.” She focused on Hadrian intently. “Wouldn’t you like to speak with Gabriel again?”

Hadrian missed his brother. He was angry that his life had been cut short, particularly since he’d been in love and on the verge of marriage, according to the last letter Hadrian had received from him. But Hadrian did not expect to speak with him.

“Mother, Gabriel is dead,” he said quietly.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he is gone. He’s in the spirit realm, and he can communicate with us. At least, that is what I hope.” The dowager countess picked up her teacup and sipped before replacing it on the table.

“Is that what the medium told you, that he’s in the spirit realm?” Tilda asked, snatching the question from Hadrian’s mind but posing it in a much kinder tone. Indeed, Tilda gave his mother a gentle smile and appeared greatly interested.

His mother nodded at Tilda. “Yes. And my friend says they are happy and safe—and eager to speak with those here on earth.”

Tilda glanced at Hadrian, but he couldn’t at all tell what she was thinking. “I confess I am most curious,” she said to his mother.

“I’m glad to hear it because the medium is conducting a séance tomorrow night, and I am to be the prime subject. I want you to come with me.” She looked at Hadrian. “You don’t need to accompany us.”

Before Hadrian could respond, his mother cocked her head with a slight frown. “Actually, you do need to accompany us. The medium is very particular about the circle, and she’s made it possible for me to bring precisely one male and one female.”

Hadrian held up a hand. “One moment. How much are you paying this medium?”

“Nothing,” his mother responded briskly. “They do not charge a fee for the initial séance.” She turned her attention to Tilda. “Which is why I agreed before I asked you to investigate. I hoped you would be able to come and provide an assessment.”

“What if we are not able to attend?” Hadrian asked.

His mother’s expression was skeptical. “Is that true?”

Tilda picked up her teacup. “I am available.”

Hadrian realized there was no avoiding it, nor should he try. If someone was going to attempt to fleece his mother in some way, he ought to do his utmost to protect her. He exhaled, releasing most of his annoyance. They would attend this séance, prove the medium was fake, and that would be the end of it. “What time are we expected, and where are we going?”

“We are going to a house in Rathbone Place,” his mother replied. “The séance begins promptly at eight. Dinner is served after.”

There was a dinner? “We don’t need to stay for dinner, do we?” Hadrian noted the lines around his mother’s mouth. He was irritating her. He did not mean to. This was just highly unusual. And aggravating. “I don’t mean to be lacking in enthusiasm, but your involvement with a medium is most surprising. You say Mrs. Langdon introduced you to this person?”

“Yes. Mrs. Frost is one of the mediums with the London Spiritualism Society. She is very sensitive and kind. You will like her immediately, as I did. You will also see that she possesses a marvelous temperament for communicating with the spirit world.”

Hadrian could only imagine what that could mean. Fortunately, he did not have to ask.

Tilda returned her cup to the table as she regarded his mother. “What sort of temperament is that?”

“She’s calm and approachable, very mild in her manner. Apparently, she puts the spirits at ease, and they are comfortable communicating with her.”

“How pleasant,” Tilda replied, as if conversing about spirits was completely normal. “You mentioned that you are allowed to bring precisely one male and one female. Why is that?”

Hadrian’s mother grew animated. “Mrs. Frost explained that circles are assembled with an equal number of men and women due to the energy brought by the different sexes. When I said I wanted to bring my son, she said she would also need to add a female, which is when I thought to include you, Miss Wren. Mrs. Frost also explained that it sometimes takes a séance or two to achieve the correct mixture of people. She said that Hadrian’s presence and that of a family friend would be most helpful for contacting Gabriel.”

“Tilda is a ‘family friend’?” Hadrian asked.

His mother looked at him as if he were daft. As if he were the one who wanted to speak with his dead brother. “What else was I to tell them?”

Certainly not that she was bringing an investigator to prove whether or not the medium was authentic.

“I am happy to be your family friend,” Tilda said warmly. “I will do my best to ascertain if Mrs. Frost can truly speak to the dead, though it will be difficult to tell in just one meeting. I will need to do additional investigation. Can you tell me what she helped Mrs. Langdon with?”

“Evelyn—Mrs. Langdon—wanted to speak with her father. Her mother is ill and confused much of the time. Evelyn wanted to find something her mother has lost and hoped her father could help find it.”

“And was she able to?” Tilda asked. “Find it, that is.”

“Unfortunately, no, but her father was adamant that he was right about where it was located, and Evelyn determined that her mother had moved the item and didn’t remember where she put it.” Hadrian’s mother shook her head gently, then fixed her gaze on Tilda. “Evelyn didn’t doubt that her father was communicating with Mrs. Frost. She said there were too many things Mrs. Frost knew that she could not have without speaking with Evelyn’s father.”

“Do you know what sorts of things those were? It will help me to make my assessment,” Tilda added with a smile.

Hadrian could see that Tilda was doing her best to both put his mother at ease and conduct her investigation.

“I’m not sure.” The dowager countess’s expression brightened. “Would you like to speak with Evelyn? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She enthusiastically encouraged me to see Mrs. Frost.”

Tilda inclined her head. “That may be helpful, thank you. Let us attend the séance tomorrow first. Do you know Mrs. Frost’s first name?”

“Deborah. I am so grateful you are eager to help.” Hadrian’s mother smiled broadly. “Now, I will finish my tea whilst you tell me about your father the police sergeant.” She looked expectantly at Tilda.

Hadrian watched Tilda closely. She missed her father greatly, despite not speaking of him much. Hadrian believed it was too painful for her, though he’d been gone for at least a decade.

“He wasn’t yet a sergeant,” Tilda said. “At least, not officially. He’d received the promotion, but on his last night as a constable, he was killed.” She spoke with barely any emotion, her posture stiff and straight.

The dowager countess sucked in a soft breath. “Gracious, how awful. I’m so sorry. When was that?”

“Just over ten years ago.” Tilda lifted her cup for another sip of tea and moved her gaze to the table.

Hadrian understood that she didn’t wish to continue that line of conversation. Before he could redirect the topic, his mother asked, “Is your mother still with you?”

“No.” Tilda blinked, then gave her head a slight shake. “She is still living, if that is what you meant. She remarried several years ago and resides in Birmingham. I live with my grandmother and manage her household.”

“I suppose that explains why you are not married,” Hadrian’s mother said. “That’s a shame, for you are clearly intelligent and well-mannered—and you’re pretty. That gown is far more attractive than what you were wearing when last we met. I suggest you dress more like this to increase your chances of gaining a husband.” She spoke warmly and kindly, but Hadrian noted the tension in Tilda’s jaw.

“Thank you for the advice,” Tilda said, masking her impatience. But Hadrian knew it was there. She did not want a husband, and the idea of her choosing a wardrobe to snare one was ludicrous.

There was also the fact that Tilda’s financial situation did not permit a constantly current wardrobe. She did not renew her clothing each Season as Hadrian’s mother, sisters, and their entire class did.

Because Tilda was not from the same class.

Hadrian hadn’t really thought of their economic differences in such a stark manner, and he probably should have. He had the sense that Tilda was aware of her outdated wardrobe but that she had no quarrel with it. She had taken her grandmother’s advice, that Tilda would attract clients if she appeared well-dressed, and recently purchased a new gown. It wasn’t that Tilda’s old clothes were poor, just that they gave one the idea that she could not afford anything new. Which had been the truth. However, with the funds earned from her recent investigations, she’d been able to refresh her wardrobe, which reflected her success as a private investigator. She also looked beautiful.

But then, Hadrian was hopelessly attracted to her. Especially since they’d shared a kiss a few weeks ago. However, she’d informed him that he’d overstepped. Which he’d only done after thinking she wanted him to. They’d miscommunicated, and she’d apologized for her part in that whilst he’d apologized for not seeking her consent explicitly.

It had all been very awkward. He had spent much of the last three weeks wondering how things were between them. Then his mother had decided to engage Tilda’s services, and now they would be working together again. At least, he hoped so. He very much wanted to continue as her investigate partner. He also hoped they were still friends.

Hadrian’s mother finished her tea, then gave Tilda Mrs. Langdon’s direction. “Thank you again, Miss Wren.” She looked to Hadrian. “You’ll pick me up tomorrow evening?”

“Of course.”

“Try to keep your mind open to this, Hadrian. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to speak with Gabriel?”

“I don’t understand why you want to,” Hadrian replied, worried that he sounded cold. He couldn’t help it. This entire scheme was doomed to fail and disappoint his mother.

“He died alone so far away, Hadrian. We hadn’t seen him in over a year. We will never see him again.” Her features softened and paled faintly. “Why wouldn’t I want to tell him how much he is loved, just one last time?”

Hadrian’s throat tightened, and emotion gathered in his chest. “Gabriel knew he was loved.” At least by his mother and siblings. “And he wasn’t alone. He had Nisha.” His fiancée.

“He wasn’t with his family.” His mother’s gaze shuttered. “I should think you would understand my need for comfort. Perhaps not.” She stood and turned to Tilda. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Wren.”

Hadrian launched to his feet and started to follow his mother on her way to the door. Tilda put her hand up and shook her head at him.

When the dowager countess was gone, he exhaled. “Why didn’t you want me to accompany her downstairs?”

“Because she didn’t want you to,” Tilda replied from her chair, where she’d remained seated.

Hadrian sat down heavily in his chair, his lips twisting briefly into a scowl. “She’s going to be disappointed.”

Tilda arched a brow at him. “Why?”

“You don’t actually believe this medium is speaking to the dead?” He stared at her.

“I don’t believe anything yet,” she said with a shrug. “I am keeping an open mind, as your mother bade, and as my own experience with you and your visions urges me to do. Furthermore, I am an investigator, and I must seek evidence before I come to a conclusion—without bias.” She pinned him with an expectant stare. “What I find perplexing is how you, after all you’ve seen and experienced these past few months, can be so adamant that this medium can’t speak to the dead.”

A full scowl stole over Hadrian’s face, and he didn’t bother masking it. “I am not a medium, nor do I communicate with the dead.” Except he had, in a manner of speaking. He’d touched objects that had been handled by a deceased person, and he’d seen their memories. It was far more rare than seeing those of people still living, but it had happened. Still, it wasn’t the same as talking to them.

“Aren’t you splitting hairs?” she asked wryly. “You can’t explain your ability. Isn’t it reasonable to believe that other similar abilities exist, such as speaking to the dead?”

“None of this is reasonable,” he said crossly. “Especially my ability.”

She leaned slightly toward him across the table. “Has it occurred to you that this medium may, in fact, be able to help you understand and even manage your power?”

Hadrian blinked at her. “That would require me to believe that she is authentic.”

“I am going to determine that—with your help. Your ability is going to be particularly useful in this investigation.” She smiled at him. Indeed, she looked quite pleased.

“Why are you so giddy?” He knew he sounded grumpy and didn’t care. He did not want his mother’s heart broken again. His philandering father had already done enough damage to her, and the death of her son had driven her into an extended period of mourning.

“This will be fascinating, and I can’t believe you don’t think so. I hope you will change your mind. Unless …” She hesitated a moment. “Would you rather not work with me on this case?”

There was no way he wasn’t going to be at his mother’s side when she inevitably learned this medium was a charlatan. He also could no sooner turn down a chance to work with Tilda again than he could believe this medium spoke with the dead. “I must. If only because it’s apparently required that I attend this séance.”

“It’s more than that,” Tilda said quietly, with a small smile. “I know you care deeply for your mother. I promise I will do everything I can to protect her. I will not allow this to drag on. I shall begin tomorrow morning by seeing what I can learn about Mrs. Deborah Frost. I think I must start with the London Spiritualism Society, which your mother mentioned.”

Hadrian wanted to accompany her. “When you asked if I wanted to work with you on the case, the answer is I do. Not only because I feel as though I need to for my mother’s sake. I enjoy our investigative work and have hoped it may continue whenever you might have need of me.”

Her eyes flashed with something—surprise or happiness. Whatever the emotion, he was delighted to see it. “That’s good to hear. I enjoy our work too. I’d be pleased if you would make these inquiries with me.” Tilda stood but did not move toward the door. Faint swaths of pink appeared on her cheeks. “I am not entirely certain what to wear to the séance. Would the dress I wore to Northumberland House be acceptable?”

During their first investigation, they’d attended an event at Northumberland House, and Hadrian had sent her to a modiste for her outfit. She’d looked absolutely stunning. “That would be too formal for a séance. Do you have a gown that you might wear to a dinner party?”

“Er, no. I am not invited to dinner parties.”

Hadrian had risen with her and now stepped around the table toward her. “Visit the same modiste who dressed you for Northumberland House,” he said. “Include the cost when you bill my mother.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I paid for your Northumberland House garments.”

“That was different. You insisted I purchase a gown as an expense of investigating the case. Your mother does not know that I don’t have an appropriate gown.” The pink had faded from her cheeks but now bloomed anew.

“Nor will she,” Hadrian said softly. “But you need the gown to complete the investigation.”

“I should obtain something suitable—for this and future investigations. I will purchase it myself, but not at your modiste.”

Hadrian knew she would not be able to afford that. “I’m sure you’ll find something just right. You look splendid today. I believe that’s a new gown, is it not?” The burgundy wool was most attractive on her.

She smoothed her hand along her skirt briefly. “It is. I felt it important to make a good impression on your mother.”

“You definitely did that—and it wasn’t at all to do with your clothing,” he said earnestly. “Wherever you purchased that gown should have something appropriate for tomorrow evening.”

Tilda nodded. “Thank you. I’ll take care of that first thing tomorrow. We can make our inquiries into the spiritualism society after. Why don’t you fetch me at one?”

He smiled. “I’ll look forward to it. Now, may I walk you downstairs?”

She chuckled, her lips lifting in a charming smile. “You may. Just try to stop scowling. I’m not used to you doing that.”

Smoothing his features, he moved toward the door with her. “My apologies. I promise I will be in a better mood tomorrow, once I’ve had time to … think this through.”

He’d been about to say once he’d had time to make sense of things. However, he didn’t think that would be possible. His visions and speaking to the dead made absolutely no sense at all.

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