Page 106 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I’m making special tea for Inspector Maxwell. He is rather unwell.” Mrs. Kilgore’s face was creased with concern.

Tilda tensed with alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Some sort of stomach gripe,” Mrs. Kilgore replied as she poured the tea into a cup. “He’s down here on the cot in the storage cupboard.” She inclined her head toward the front of the house, where a narrow corridor led to that cupboard. “He was just coming in from the privy after being sick when I came downstairs. I made him lie down in the cupboard rather than go all the way back up to the garret.”

“Let me take him the tea,” Tilda said. She picked up the cup and made her way to the cupboard. It was windowless and only large enough for the narrow cot and a crate that sat on its end next to it. There was also a bucket beside the bed, and from the smell, it seemed Maxwell’s illness persisted.

“I’ve brought tea,” she said softly, placing the cup on the table. She plucked up the bucket and took it to the corridor.

Mrs. Kilgore hurried toward her to take it up. “I’ll wash it out and bring it back.”

“Miss Wren?” Maxwell croaked.

“I’m here.” Tilda moved toward the bed. Since there was nowhere to sit, she knelt on the stone floor.

Maxwell’s lips parted, and he appeared to be breathing heavier than he ought. His skin looked clammy. “Did Mrs. Kilgore tell you I’m ill?”

“Yes, but I can see that for myself,” she said drily, thinking the situation could use some lightness. She was quite worried at how poorly he looked. “I think we should send for Dr. Giles.”

“That would be good, actually. I fear I am most unwell.”

“When did you began feeling ill?” Tilda asked, thinking it had come on rather quickly. He’d been fine last night.

“In the middle of the night. I thought I was just feeling poorly because I didn’t eat much. Ravenhurst and I didn’t want to trouble Mrs. Kilgore last night, so we had cheese and bread. And I’m afraid I overindulged on those biscuits someone sent.”

Tilda frowned. “You wouldn’t be this ill from not eating enough or from having too many biscuits.”

“I am not used to eating such things.” Maxwell moaned.

“If I had to guess, I would say it looks as though you’ve eaten poison,” Tilda said. “But that can’t be.” Or could it? They’d no idea who the biscuits had come from. If they had indeed been poisoned, it would mean someone had intended to harm Maxwell.

And Hadrian.

Tilda’s pulse quickened. “Did Ravenhurst eat any of the biscuits?”

Maxwell’s eyes closed. “I dunno.”

“You should drink this tea. Mrs. Kilgore brewed it to help you feel better.”

“Not just yet,” Maxwell murmured. “I want to rest.”

Tilda frowned as she stood. She didn’t like this one bit. Turning, she hurried from the cupboard and went back to the kitchen. “Have you seen Lord Ravenhurst?”

Mrs. Kilgore shook her head. “Not this morning.”

Perhaps he wasn’t ill. Or perhaps he was and hadn’t been able to leave the garret. Tilda hastened to the stairs and quickly ascended to the ground floor. Then she raced to the front of the house. But as she reached the stairs, she stopped short at seeing Hadrian coming down. He was dressed as usual and wore his blond wig and facial hair.

“You’re all right?” she asked, sounding breathless, but then her heart was pounding with fright.

“Yes.” He reached her at the bottom of the stairs, his forehead pleating. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Tilda touched Hadrian’s sleeve. “Maxwell is violently ill. Will you fetch Dr. Giles? I’m worried Maxwell’s been poisoned.”

Hadrian’s eyes rounded. “How would that have happened?”

“I can only think the biscuits that were delivered may have contained poison. Maxwell said he ate too many. Did you have any?”

“I did not, but I did see Maxwell eat several. He couldn’t seem to help himself, which he found ironic since he doesn’t typically eat such things. He said they reminded him of something his mother used to bake at Christmas.”