Page 11 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“It was Mrs. Longbotham’s idea that I take on the role of a footman at a gentlemen’s club. Such a position allows for my speech. I didn’t think I’d be able to speak differently, not like you can.” Tilda had employed an excellent Cockney accent on several occasions during their investigations.

“I’m not speaking too differently,” Tilda said. “We are saying we came from Essex, so I suppose you should be from there too.”

Hadrian saw the inspector leave the meeting room and move toward them. “Here comes Maxwell.”

Inspector Maxwell, who was now clean-shaven, kept his features placid, but his jaw was tight. “What is going on?” he asked softly. The question held an edge of irritation.

“His lordship wanted to offer his help as an investigator,” Tilda replied. “He has fabricated a disguise as Nigel Beck, a footman at a gentlemen’s club.”

“Has he now?” Maxwell asked, giving Hadrian a frosty look. “You are muddling our investigation. You should have discussed this with me first, particularly since I said your assistance would not be required.”

“I do apologize,” Hadrian said.

“It will be fine,” Tilda interjected. “Lord Ravenhurst is an excellent investigator. I am confident his presence will provide valuable assistance. He would join the Amicable Society, but he does not have anyone to propose his membership. You can after you become a member. How did it go with the doctor?”

Hadrian noted Tilda did not wait for Maxwell to agree. He had to stifle a smile.

“Fine,” Maxwell replied. “He asked me about my general health and whether anyone in my family had suffered fromcertain illnesses, such as consumption. He also asked if we had any children, or if you had ever been with child. I said you have not, but that we hoped to be blessed.”

Though Hadrian knew this was all make-believe, the thought of Tilda having a child with Inspector Maxwell was shockingly distressing. Perhaps it was because Tilda had never expressed a desire to become a mother—or a wife.

Tilda nodded. “Does that mean you will be inducted, or whatever they call it, this evening?”

“I will.”

Maxwell narrowed his eyes at Hadrian in what appeared to be irritation. “Your intrusion in this investigation is highly irregular. If you were not an earl, I would ask you to leave forthwith.”

Hadrian tamped down his annoyance. Hehadintruded on the inspector’s investigation uninvited. And Maxwell couldn’t know what…uniqueperspective Hadrian would offer by way of his special ability to experience others’ memories.

“Consider what he may contribute,” Tilda argued. “You work all day, whereas Lord Ravenhurst’s pretend employment is in the evenings. Perhaps there is investigative work he can do during the day.”

The inspector fell silent a moment, his brow creased with contemplation. “I suppose that would be helpful.” He continued speaking to Tilda as if Hadrian weren’t there. “They’re going to ask where he lives.” Now, he looked to Hadrian. “What will you say?”

Hadrian lifted his shoulder. “I thought I would say I live with you.”

Maxwell’s expression flashed with discomfort as he looked toward Tilda. There was something Hadrian didn’t know.

“Is there something wrong with your lodgings?” Hadrian asked.

“No,” Maxwell replied. He fixed his gaze on Hadrian. “Would you actually want to stay there or just pretend to?”

“I can pretend as Miss Wren is doing.”

Tilda exhaled. “I will not be pretending. As of tomorrow, we have arranged for a chaperone to stay at the house. She is Mrs. Kilgore, the wife of a sergeant at the City of London Police, and she will be residing with us as my sister.” She met Hadrian’s gaze with a wry look. “Oursister.”

Now it was Hadrian’s turn to be surprised—and irritated. He did not like that Tilda had arranged to reside with the inspector. Though he supposed he had to give them credit for providing a chaperone.

“I believe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Maxwell said. “Let us even determine if the society is willing to consider his lordship’s membership.”

Tilda’s brows arched briefly. “Here comes Mr. Nevill. He seemed to think it would be possible.”

Nevill flashed a smile at them. “Mr. Beck, I just need to ask a few questions to assess your eligibility for membership. Where are you employed?”

Hadrian looked down at the man, for he was several inches shorter than Hadrian’s six foot two inches. “I work at a club in the West End. I prefer not to name it for discretion’s sake.” And so that no one would go asking about him and learn he was not actually an employee.

“I understand,” Nevill said with a vague nod. His brown eyes lit with interest. “Do you rub elbows with the elite?”

“Iservethem,” Hadrian said rather flatly.