Page 101 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Dr. Giles threw his hands up. “This is a waste of time. The police haven’t even caught who killed Phelps or Eaton. Their behavior and murders are a stain on the society, even if no one else will be defrauded because they’re both dead.”

Maxwell and Hadrian exchanged a look. It was time.

Hadrian looked at the doctor. “It’s interesting you commented that the Amicable Society was founded fraudulently. I find myself wondering what you know about what has transpired—and possibly haven’t revealed.” This wasn’t part of the plan, but they hadn’t anticipated Giles saying something like that, and Hadrian wanted to know what he’d meant.

The doctor’s lips parted, but he clamped his jaw shut very quickly and exchanged a look with Furnier and Nevill. Draper appeared confused. It certainly appeared to Hadrian that they knew something they hadn’t revealed. Perhaps Tilda’s scheme would provoke confessions from everyone.

“Harwood and I have something to share.” Hadrian looked toward Maxwell.

“I have an old friend who is a constable with the police,” Maxwell said. “He told me that Phelps’s wife turned up here in London. She isn’t really dead.”

All the men at the table, save Hadrian and Maxwell, appeared surprised, but Hadrian couldn’t know if that was because they’d believed her to be dead or they’d known she was alive and were shocked that she was here.

Maxwell continued. “Mrs. Walters—Phelps isn’t their real name—has had much to say.” He paused and looked at each of the four men who’d been with the society. “The man you knew as Walter Phelps was actually called Philip Walters, and he started several friendly societies or burial clubs in other cities, solely with the intent to steal the money that people paid in before there was even an opportunity for it to be paid out.”

“Bloody bastard,” Dr. Giles swore.

Hadrian looked at the doctor. “You didn’t know? You said the society was started with ‘unfriendly intentions.’ I took that to indicate that you might have been aware of Philip Walters’s plan.”

Dr. Giles’s face lost a shade of color. “I didn’t know he’d started the society with an explicit plan to steal everything. We all thought he’d hired Eaton to conduct the fraud of admitting members who were ill and overcharging them.” He glowered at Nevill. “At least, that’s what Nevill told us after Phelps died. Personally, I assumed Phelps was betting on them dying before they’d have to collect. He purposely kept me from being a part of admitting those members because he knew I wouldn’t allow it based on their health.”

Furnier’s mouth was tight, his expression one of cold anger. Nevill was still pale, and his body was moving as if he were tapping his foot or making some other nervous motion. Draper’s eyes were wide, and he kept looking from Furnier to Giles, andthen to Nevill, and then repeated the circuit. Giles clenched the back of the chair, his knuckles turning white.

“You all knew about the fraud,” Hadrian said.

“And lied about it since learning the truth, particularly at the inquest.” Maxwell narrowed his eyes. “You all appear complicit.” He fixed his gaze on Nevill and told the lie Tilda had concocted to provoke Nevill. “Mrs. Walters arrived in London on Saturday and went to her husband’s house. She saw Phelps and another man pushing a night soil cart.” He paused before continuing, his gaze sweeping around the table.

Hadrian tensed, knowing what was coming next.

“She said whatever was in the cart appeared bloody,” Maxwell finished.

This revelation was met with more shock and gasps from everyone, even Furnier.

“Who was with Phelps?” Giles asked, his eyes bulging.

“There was a piece of fabric attached to the inside of the cart,” Hadrian said. He looked at Nevill and watched the remaining color in his face drain away. Moisture dappled his forehead.

Maxwell withdrew the scrap of fabric that had come from the night soil cart and placed it on the table in front of him. “This is the broadcloth that was found in the cart. It came from Nevill’s shop.”

The other men at the table swung their heads toward Nevill.

“What have you done?” Furnier demanded.

Nevill’s shoulders shook. “God forgive me.” He began to sob.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Mrs. Atkins swept in. Tilda was on her heels, her green eyes wide.

“I should be a part of this meeting,” Mrs. Atkins declared with great hauteur. “I have important things to say.”

Furnier stood and glowered at her. “Right now, there is nothing more important than Nevill explaining why he has committed murder.”

CHAPTER 23

Tilda had tried to stop Mrs. Atkins from storming into the meeting, but the woman was adamant that she be allowed to participate. Now, it seemed she’d entered at the precise moment when Hadrian and Maxwell had orchestrated Nevill’s confession.

Tilda quickly met Hadrian’s gaze. He gave her an infinitesimal nod that told her they’d executed the plan.

Nevill was seated at the table, his head bent and his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.