Page 22 of A Whisper at Midnight

Hadrian returned to the coach, and he offered her a folded piece of parchment. “Do you want to read it?”

“I suppose.” Tilda opened the letter and read the brief scrawl of handwriting.

My dear Hadrian,

Beryl’s use of “my dear” made Tilda want to roll her eyes.

I hope this letter finds you well. I am sure you are surprised to receive this, but I didn’t know where else to turn. I am in dire need of your advice and perhaps assistance with an urgent matter. Please call on me tomorrow. If you ever cared for me, you will come.

Most sincerely,

Beryl

“I’m not surprised you did as she asked,” Tilda said, refolding the letter and handing it back to him. “This sounds rather desperate.”

Hadrian slipped the parchment into an inner pocket of his coat just over his breast. “That was the word she used.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t angry with her for dragging you into this.”

“She couldn’t know that her husband would be killed. Anyway, I’m glad it allows me to work with you.”

Heat unfurled in Tilda’s belly. She looked out the window and tried not to think of the deepening connection between her and Hadrian.

Instead, she addressed what he’d said about Beryl not knowing her husband would be killed. “What if Beryl did know her husband would die?”

“Because she was planning to kill him?” Hadrian asked.

Tilda looked back at him. “It’s possible. It’s also possible she wrote you thatdesperateletter in order to involve you—a likely suspect—in the matter.”

Hadrian sucked in a breath. “I do not like thinking that is possible.”

“At this point, we must assume anything is,” Tilda said gently.

A deep frown etched his features. “I hope that does not include me as the murderer.”

“No, I don’t assume that.” Tilda could not. But why was she allowed to discount him as a suspect because of what she thought she knew of him, yet he wasn’t supposed to do the same with someone he knew and had once cared about?

A short while later, they arrived in Leicester Place. Leach opened the door, and Hadrian climbed out and then helped Tilda to the pavement. They’d stopped in front of the druggist.

The shop appeared small and somewhat dingy. The front window could have benefitted from a thorough cleaning, as could the sign which readF. Newbold, Druggist.

Hadrian opened the door, and she preceded him into the dim interior. A counter stretched across the shop. Behind it were shelves teeming with bottles of various size and shape. Surveying the labels—those she could make out—Tilda noticed he sold poisons in addition to medicine, which was not unusual.

A small, thin man shuffled from the back of the shop. Wispy white hair covered the sides of his head while the top was bald.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Newbold?” Hadrian asked.

“Yes,” the druggist replied. “May I help you?”

“I hope so,” Hadrian said affably. “I’ve come to fetch a sleeping tonic for my friend, Mrs. Louis Chambers. I’m Lord Ravenhurst.”

Newbold’s nostrils flared, then he flicked a glance at Tilda. “Is this Lady Ravenhurst?”

“No,” Tilda said quickly. She did not want to be mistaken as anyone’s wife, not even Hadrian’s. More importantly, she didn’t want tobeanyone’s wife. “I am also a friend of Mrs. Chambers. We’ve come in her stead because there’s been a terrible tragedy.” She looked to Hadrian so that he could reveal the news.

The druggist shifted his gaze to Hadrian in expectation.

“I’m afraid Mr. Chambers has died,” Hadrian said with a grimace. “Mrs. Chambers requires the tonic so that she can be assured of sleep tonight.”