Excerpt: A Whisper of Secrecy

Chapter One

London, May 1868

Hadrian Becket, Earl of Ravenhurst, watched the play of emotions across his investigative partner’s beautiful, familiar features. Matilda—who went by Tilda—Wren’s green eyes flickered with surprise, then sorrow, and finally with how she most often viewed the world: avid curiosity. Detective Inspector Samuel Teague of the Metropolitan Police’s Detective Division, their friend and occasional associate, had handed Tilda a scrap of parchment on which was written Tilda’s father’s name.

Tilda sucked in a breath, and Hadrian’s pulse quickened. She glanced toward Teague. “It’s more than his name. There’s the date he died too.”

Not just died—the date he was murdered. Sergeant Thomas Wren had been killed when he’d stumbled upon a theft in progress over a decade ago.

And last night, a former inspector from the Met, Padgett, had been found dead with the paper Tilda now held in his pocket. Hadrian could well imagine the questions ricocheting in her mind, chief among them—what did Padgett have to do with her father’s death?

“Yes, it’s peculiar,” Teague said with a slight frown.

Peculiar was not the word Hadrian would use to describe the paper that had been found in Padgett’s pocket. It was shocking. And suspicious.

Tilda gestured with the parchment. “Do you know if this is written in Padgett’s hand?”

Teague nodded. “I did compare the handwriting to one of his reports, and it appears to be.”

They stood in Tilda’s grandmother’s small parlor at the front of her terrace house in Marylebone. Hadrian wondered if they should sit but didn’t want to interrupt. Not when Tilda’s focus was so fiercely fixed on Teague.

“Did you examine the scene of Padgett’s death?” she asked.

“I did not, but I can tell you he was found at his lodgings,” Teague replied. “He lived in a pair of rooms on Villiers Street.”

Tilda glanced at the parchment. “Have you any idea why he had this?”

Teague shook his head. “Nor does Inspector Lowther yet.”

Tilda’s blonde brows shot up. “Lowther’s been assigned the case? Not someone from the Detective Branch?”

Tilda was familiar with a great many of the Metropolitan Police due to her father’s career there. Lowther, in particular, was a friend and sometimes investigative associate. Hadrian had met him during the first case he’d worked on with Tilda several months ago. Lowther had also been the constable who’d found Tilda’s father over a decade ago after he’d been murdered.

“Lowther is being considered for a promotion to Detective Branch,” Teague said. His expression seemed to hold more than a bit of skepticism.

“You aren’t in favor of that promotion?” Hadrian was disinclined to support it. Lowther was not above accepting bribes to share information about investigations. Tilda had explained that Lowther needed extra money to provide for his family, which included an ill child, and that constable wages were not sufficient. However, Lowther was no longer a constable, and Hadrian found the acceptance of bribes by members of the police, for any reason, distasteful.

Teague shrugged. “I’ve been asked to work with Lowther on this case in order to make an assessment of his readiness for the job. From what I know of him, I’m not sure he’s up to snuff.”

Tilda exhaled and seemed to relax slightly. “I’m glad to know you will be involved.”

Teague gave her a wry look. “That doesn’t mean I can be as forthcoming with information as I have in the past when we’ve worked together on matters. In those cases, you’d been hired to investigate something parallel to my own investigation. I can’t imagine you’ll have anything to do with determining the cause of Padgett’s death.”

“Not as of yet,” Tilda said with a feeble smile. “However, you can count on seeing me at the inquest. It’s tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll let you know when and where,” Teague said.

Tilda’s gaze fell to the parchment once more. Her thumb moved slowly, almost lovingly, over the ink, as if she were hoping to touch her father and not just his name.

Hadrian held out his hand. “May I?”

She locked eyes with him, then blinked. “Of course.” There was an eager quality to her response as she put the paper into his palm.

The reason for that was simple to identify. She hoped that Hadrian would touch the parchment and see someone’s memory. After being stabbed one night as he’d left Westminster several months ago and hitting his head on the pavement when he fell, Hadrian had been burdened with the ability to see others’ memories when he touched an object or another person’s bare flesh. The power did not work with people he knew well, such as his mother, his retainers, and Tilda, nor had it ever worked when he touched a corpse. However, it had, on rare occasion, been triggered when he’d handled an item that had been touched by a deceased person.

Hadrian had been shocked and horrified by the ability, and he had no way of controlling it. But recently he’d met two gentlemen who possessed the same ability. Now, Hadrian knew it passed within families and that he could learn to guide the power, if not completely control it.

However, Hadrian had been struck in the head just a few days earlier at the end of their most recent case and since then, he hadn’t seen a single memory. He’d told Tilda about it before Teague’s arrival, but she was apparently still hopeful that Hadrian would see something when he touched the paper. Hadrian hoped so too. In fact, he’d never wanted to see a memory more than he did right now.

He stared down at the paper, as much to concentrate on seeing something as to avoid Teague seeing his eyes glaze over, which Tilda had recently reported observing when Hadrian handled an object and saw a memory. He couldn’t close his eyes, for that made the memory disappear.

Nothing was happening.

Hadrian was now worried there was something wrong with his strange ability. He’d only just begun to stop thinking of it as a curse, due in part to learning that he wasn’t alone in having it. He’d met two men—a father and son—who possessed the same ability to experience memories. Captain Vale, the father, had been instrumental in informing Hadrian about it and offering counsel. His son, Thaddeus, had used his power for personal gain and founded a spiritualism society in which he tricked people into thinking he was contacting their deceased loved ones.

Captain Vale had been horrified to hear of his son’s abuse of his power but delighted to see how Hadrian used his with Tilda. It had been extremely useful in guiding their investigations, and with Vale’s advice, Hadrian had finally begun to find success in controlling it. Now, when he needed it most—to help Tilda with something so personal and vital—it had abandoned him.

Hadrian silently swore. Then he handed the paper back to Teague.

Tilda was still watching Hadrian. He gave her the slightest shake of his head to communicate that he hadn’t seen anything. He hated the disappointment that shadowed her eyes.

Teague tucked the parchment into his pocket. “Congratulations on your successful investigation with Inspector Maxwell in the City. You’ve solved yet another pair of murders, and I’m not at all surprised. I’m confident they’re pleased they hired you.” He smiled at Tilda.

“It was most gratifying to work with Inspector Maxwell,” Tilda said.

The inspector sent a sly look toward Hadrian. “And you nosed your way into the investigation, I heard.”

“His involvement was both helpful and welcome,” Tilda replied with the barest touch of heat. Hadrian quashed a smile.

“Are you working on an investigation now?” Teague asked, seemingly unbothered by Tilda’s response. And he was likely only needling Hadrian, for they had an excellent working relationship.

The truth was that Hadrian had inserted himself into the matter. He’d shown up unannounced with his own disguise as Tilda’s “brother.” Thankfully, Inspector Maxwell had allowed Hadrian to remain and contribute to the investigation, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

Tilda nodded in reply to Teague’s query. “I’ve a case to track down stolen items.”

“Well, should you require any assistance from me, you need only ask,” Teague offered.

“I make the same offer to you regarding Padgett’s death,” Tilda said.

“To the best of my ability.” Teague gave her an apologetic half-smile. “Whilst Scotland Yard allows some female involvement, they would not hire you to assist as the City of London did. Indeed, my colleagues were surprised you were brought on.”

“Hopefully, they saw the benefit, considering how the case turned out,” Tilda said coolly.

“Not to mention Tilda’s contributions to the apprehension of the Levitation Killers,” Hadrian noted. That had been the case they’d worked on before they’d gone to work in the City investigating corruption in a friendly society and then a pair of murders associated with the society.

“Some have noticed,” Teague said. “Though that doesn’t mean they’re ready to employ Miss Wren.” He gave Tilda an apologetic look.

“Will you tell us why you believe Padgett was murdered?” Tilda asked. “We’ll learn the details at the inquest tomorrow.”

“You will indeed.” Teague lifted a shoulder. “I don’t see a reason not to tell you. Padgett was choked to death. The imprint of the murderer’s hands is bruised onto his neck.”

Hadrian’s pulse picked up speed. Whilst he might not be able to see Padgett’s memory by touching his corpse, he ought to see that of the murderer, perhaps as he was choking Padgett to death. Not that Hadrian wished to see such a thing, but it could lead them to the killer.

“Have you any idea why he was killed?” Hadrian asked.

“Not yet. There was no evidence of a forced intrusion, but there seemed to be a struggle. A chair was overturned, and ale was spilled.” Teague scrutinized Tilda a moment. “You’re going to ask me if you can see his lodgings.”

“I might.” She arched a brow at him. “Would that be possible?”

“Not tomorrow. I’ll let you know.” Teague inclined his head at Tilda and Hadrian. “See you at the inquest.” He turned and left the parlor.

Tilda waited until Vaughn closed the front door before speaking. She turned to Hadrian with an anxious expression. “You saw nothing when you held the parchment?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He hated confirming that.

She exhaled with disappointment. “I suspected you wouldn’t since it was in Padgett’s possession, and he is dead. I hope it was for that reason and not because there is some…problem with your ability.” Tilda turned and went to the table situated near the front window that looked out to the street. Mrs. Acorn, the housekeeper, had set up the tea tray which they had not yet touched due to, first, Tilda’s mother’s arrival and then Teague’s.

Tilda poured the tea as Hadrian joined her. She briefly met his gaze. “Perhaps you don’t miss the ability to see others’ memories? You have often called it a curse.”

“I have done so less and less as it has come to help us. I hope it will be of use to you now.”

“To me or my investigation regarding stolen items?” Tilda blinked at him as she sat.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to discover the connection between Padgett and your father’s death. There must be a reason Padgett had that information written down and stashed in his pocket.”

She gave him a wry look. “You know me too well. Alas, I am not sure what’s to be done right now. I really must focus on this case with Mrs. Goodwin.”

“But we’ll go to the inquest tomorrow?” Hadrian knew she was planning on it and wanted to make sure she was aware she could rely on him to be with her.

“You wish to accompany me?” She sipped her tea.

“Of course. That shouldn’t surprise you. I’ll pick you up, as usual.”

She smiled again—warmly this time. “I’m sure Leach will be happy to have things back to normal.”

Hadrian chuckled as he thought of his coachman’s delight to be needed once more. “He did miss ferrying us about whilst we were working in the City and unable to use my coach.” They’d been in disguise and would not have been able to afford such a luxury in the roles they played.

They sipped their tea and nibbled on Mrs. Acorn’s delectable almond cake for a few minutes. Hadrian could see that Tilda was pensive.

“This has been a tumultuous afternoon,” he said softly. “First your mother arrives unannounced and then your father’s name appears in a dead former inspector’s pocket.”

“A former inspector we know was corrupt,” Tilda added. She sounded surprisingly even, given what Hadrian had just pointed out. “Yes, it has been an…interesting day so far. Honestly, I can’t decide which of those things you mentioned is more troublesome.” She cracked a sardonic smile.

“I imagine they provoke different reactions,” Hadrian said. “I can see your curiosity about Padgett and the note. With your mother, you seem guarded and, well, perhaps annoyed.”

Tilda grimaced faintly, causing fine lines to crease her heart-shaped face. “My mother and I do not have the closest relationship, which you may recall me telling you.” She met his gaze. “I did tell you that, didn’t I?”

Hadrian nodded. “I know you don’t see her often and when she does come to town, it seems her focus may be on other things. Doesn’t she usually come with her husband?”

“Yes, and they don’t stay here. They lodge with his daughter and her husband.” Tilda pursed her bow-shaped lips. “I confess I’m not looking forward to sharing a roof with my mother. I haven’t done so in eight years. I was more than happy to come live with Grandmama whilst my mother moved to Birmingham with her new husband. Truly, things could not have worked out better.”

She barely took a breath before continuing. “Are you worried about not being able to see anyone’s memories for several days now?”

Hadrian noted that she changed the subject away from her mother. That was fine—he would not press her but would remain her ally and offer support as needed. And he supposed they had been talking about his ability before.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss it. His frustration at not being able to help Tilda today with Padgett’s note was great. He was beginning to think he ought to travel to Swindon to consult with Captain Vale about this problem. In fact, he would plan to do just that if his power did not return tomorrow. “I don’t know that I’m worried, but I dearly wish I’d been able to see something with the piece of paper.”

Tilda lifted a shoulder. “That may not have anything to do with whatever is preventing you from having a vision. You don’t always experience one.”

Whilst that was true, Hadrian hadn’t ever gone this long without seeing a memory. Not since he’d gained the power in January.

“How is your head?” Tilda asked. “Perhaps your ability to see memories will return when it is fully healed. Draper only struck you four days ago.”

“It’s still a bit tender to the touch, but it doesn’t ache.” Hadrian had thought the same thing—that the blow had disrupted things. He hoped it was temporary. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said with a confidence he didn’t quite feel.

There was another commotion in the entrance hall, and Hadrian heard Tilda’s grandmother’s voice. She appeared in the parlor a moment later wearing a broad smile.

“I’m so pleased you’re still here, Lord Ravenhurst. But Vaughn tells me there’s another guest.” Mrs. Wren glanced about the room.

Tilda pressed her lips together before addressing her grandmother. “My mother arrived. She’s gone upstairs to rest.”

Mrs. Wren, a petite woman in her seventies with white hair and bright blue eyes, stared at Tilda. “Did you know she was coming?”

“Of course not,” Tilda replied. “I would have told you. I would have prepared the entire household.”

“Why is she staying here?” Mrs. Wren went to the chair near the hearth and sat, her expression weary as her shoulders drooped slightly.

“Presumably because she came alone—Sir Bardolph is not with her,” Tilda said. “I’m sorry, Grandmama,” she added in a kind whisper.

“But why has she even come by herself?” Mrs. Wren clucked her tongue. “She’s never bothered before.”

“She heard about my investigative work and has come to persuade me to stop. And to marry, probably. She’s already decided that Ravenhurst and I must be courting.” Tilda rolled her eyes.

“I can’t say I’d be upset about that,” Mrs. Wren said with a delighted smile.

Tilda cast her a stony glance. “Do not start on that, Grandmama.”

Hadrian tamped down his curiosity. Was this a frequent discussion? Particularly since they’d returned from the City? When he’d last seen Tilda, he’d confessed his strong feelings for her, and she’d acknowledged their “closeness,” which had been threatened when he’d been struck in the head the other day. He’d hoped to hear more about whatever epiphany she’d had—if she’d had one—today. And now, hearing that a courtship had been discussed between her and her grandmother, he couldn’t ignore a jolt of giddiness. He would very much like to court Tilda—if she would allow it.

However, now was definitely not the time to address such matters. Tilda had far too much to deal with at present.

Mrs. Wren waved her hand. “We will make the most of your mother’s visit. What can we do to occupy her time?”

“I don’t know, but I need to work on my case with Mrs. Goodwin. And I need to attend an inquest tomorrow afternoon with Lord Ravenhurst.”

“Another inquest?” Mrs. Wren asked with concern, her brow furrowing. “Please don’t tell me this missing items case is now a murder? Why does this always happen? I thought for sure when you went to the City to investigate a friendly society, there would be no chance of a murder. Then there were two and you ended up investigating them.”

That did seem to happen with their cases, which both Tilda and Hadrian had observed. They started with an investigation, and it ended up involving a murder. Or two. Or three.

“This inquest has nothing to do with my case,” Tilda told her reassuringly. “It’s the death of a former inspector who investigated Lord Ravenhurst’s stabbing. He wanted to go, and I am accompanying him.”

Hadrian noticed how Tilda misrepresented things but said nothing. He understood why she wouldn’t want to tell Mrs. Wren about the note in Padgett’s pocket regarding her son.

Mrs. Wren eyed them with clear interest. “How familiar the two of you have become. Is it any wonder your mother assumes you may be courting?”

Hadrian saw the flash of irritation in Tilda’s eyes, but before she could respond, her mother, Lady Pierce, returned. She looked to her former mother-in-law.

“Good afternoon, Barbara,” Lady Pierce said without a hint of warmth.

“Welcome to my home, Edith,” Mrs. Wren replied with a smile.

The tension between the two women was obvious, and Hadrian wondered if it had always been that way or if something had caused them to dislike one another. Perhaps it wasn’t even dislike, but neither seemed eager to see the other.

Hadrian decided it was time to take his leave, despite how curious he was to stay and learn more about the relationships between the three women. “I’m afraid I must be going.” He rose, and Tilda stood with him.

Lady Pierce gave him a wide smile. “Don’t rush off on my account. I decided to come back downstairs in order to become acquainted with you.”

“We can do that another time,” Hadrian assured her. “Indeed, I will speak to my mother about inviting you for tea at her house.”

“Would you?” Lady Pierce blinked as her gaze warmed with enthusiasm. “I would be most obliged.”

Hadrian smiled. “Excellent. We’ll look forward to seeing you all then.” He made a point of looking to Mrs. Wren to communicate that she would be included.

Tilda’s grandmother gave him a small but appreciative smile and the faintest nod.

“I’ll walk you out,” Tilda said.

They moved into the entrance hall together where Vaughn handed Hadrian his hat and gloves. “Have a good afternoon, my lord.”

Hadrian inclined his head at the very tall but hunched butler. Though in his seventies, he was quite spry. He’d come to Tilda’s household after his employer—Tilda’s grandfather’s cousin—had been murdered. That had been their first case together.

“Thank you, Vaughn. I’ll see you tomorrow when I fetch Miss Wren.” Hadrian looked to Tilda. “If I can be of service in any way, please send word,” he said softly.

Tilda nodded as their eyes met. “Thank you.”

Donning his hat and pulling his gloves on, Hadrian departed through the door held open by Vaughn.

Leach stood at the coach and opened the door as Hadrian approached. “Did you have a pleasant visit, my lord?”

“I did, but it was…odd. You may have noticed the woman who arrived after us. That is Miss Wren’s mother. She lives in Birmingham and arrived unannounced. They are not close.”

“Indeed?” Leach’s brow creased. “I am sorry for Miss Wren. I don’t like to think of her being inconvenienced or troubled.”

“I don’t either,” Hadrian said. “I will offer my support as I can.”

“I couldn’t help noticing Inspector Teague’s arrival,” Leach said. “Will you and Miss Wren be investigating another murder?”

Hadrian gave the coachman a wry look. “Not officially, though that has never stopped us before.”

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