Page 38 of A Whisper at Midnight

Eyes widening with something akin to glee, Beryl smiled. “Wonderful, thank you, Oswald. Please tell her I’ll be there directly.”

The butler inclined his head before departing.

“That is your neighbor?” Tilda asked.

“Yes. You should come meet her,” Beryl said with enthusiasm.

Tilda sent Beryl an expectant look. “Do you mind if I take a few minutes to peruse the bedchamber first? I should like to conduct my own investigation of where your husband died. It won’t take long.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Beryl said, stepping toward the doorway that the butler had just vacated. “Hadrian said you would want to do that. I appreciate any help you can offer in proving my innocence.” She moved her gaze to Hadrian, her features softening slightly. “Just as I am deeply grateful for your assistance. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Beryl left the study, and Tilda speared Hadrian with a dubious stare. “Did you tell her I was going to prove she is innocent? That is not what you hired me to do.”

“I said you would find the killer, and we would both be found innocent. Or something to that effect. I wanted her to let us search the bedchamber. I was in there when she arrived.”

Tilda’s brow shot up. “Were you? And did you learn anything? You must have—you’re massaging your temple,” she said with a frown.

Hadrian hadn’t even realized he’d put his hand to his head. “I’ve a headache.”

“What did you see?”

“Do you want to hear about the visions first or the ledger?”

“Did you say visions, plural?” She held up her hand. “Tell me about the ledger. I’ve always preferred to save the best things for last.” She started toward the bedchamber.

He followed her. “Why is that?”

She shrugged. “I like the anticipation, I suppose? Or perhaps I have always preferred to do harder or less interesting things first so that I can enjoy what I really want.”

Hadrian grinned. “I am precisely the same way. I always studied Latin before anything else.” He shuddered as he recalled working to somewhat master the language.

“I know only a smattering of Latin. And a little more French.” She faced him when they were inside the bedchamber. There was a wistful glint in her gaze. “I would have loved to learn languages. I tried, but I had no one with whom to practice speaking them.”

“I can help you with French. My Greek and Latin are far less impressive, and I can’t really speak either.”

She laughed softly. “When you find someone with whom to speak Latin outside of a university, I will be most impressed.” She turned and began searching the room, starting with the small table near the door. It held a single drawer, which she opened. “Tell me about the ledger.”

Hadrian watched as she surveyed the contents, then closed the drawer firmly. “Chambers made payments to Pollard at the same amount for three months starting in August, then lesser amounts for two months. By January, Pollard had disappeared from the ledger.”

Tilda glanced at him as she continued her search, moving to the hearth where she looked behind and under the clock that sat atop the mantel. “What do you suppose happened to cause Chambers to reduce payments to Pollard?”

“I’ve no idea, but Louis made a payment of twenty pounds to his brother Oliver in December. There’s no indication as to why. Beryl supposed it was to help Oliver after he left his post as curate in Kent.”

Pausing briefly, Tilda put her hand on her hip as she looked toward Hadrian. “Twenty pounds is a great deal for someone who was apparently short on funds.”

“I came to the same conclusion,” Hadrian said. “As of March, there isn’t much left in the household account—definitely not enough to meet the expenses.”

“How fortunate you are paying for the investigation into her missing jewelry as part of the murder inquiry,” Tilda noted. “Always coming to the rescue.”

“For you, yes.” He was eager to help anyone. Except it was somehow different with Tilda—and he knew it.

Breaking their eye contact, Tilda moved to a dresser on the other side of the hearth situated in the corner of the bedchamber. She opened drawers and moved the contents about. She closed the drawer and went to the bed where she wrinkled her nose. “I wonder when they plan to launder the bedclothes.”

“I’m sure they’re all distracted and overwhelmed with grief.”

“Yes, I suppose,” she murmured. She moved the pillows and the bedclothes about, careful not to touch any of the bloodstained areas.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” he asked.