Page 16 of A Whisper in the Shadows

After closing the door, the inspector moved to light a lantern that sat on a small table against the wall, where the stairway rose. “If you give me your hand, Miss Wren, I will demonstrate the handshake.”

Tilda extended her hand, and Maxwell clasped it, fluttering his fingers. “Those are supposed to be feathers, and this is asnake.” He moved their hands and forearms, pumping forward and pulling back with a gentle glide.

Hadrian watched with a surprising sensation of disappointment.He’dwanted to show her. He realized he would take any opportunity to touch Tilda. They’d come so close last week before the inspector had arrived at her house. Their hands had almost touched, and it was the most intimate moment they’d shared since they’d kissed several weeks ago. Hadrian had been unaccountably disappointed that they’d been interrupted.

Now, as he watched her shake the inspector’s hand, along with the knowledge that they would be residing together under the same roof, Hadrian realized a horrible and undeniable fact, and perhaps the reason for why Maxwell troubled him.

Hadrian was jealous.

CHAPTER 4

Perplexed, Tilda released Maxwell’s hand. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the application of this handshake. Are you to offer this randomly to other gentlemen you encounter?”

“Apparently so?” Maxwell shook his head. “I confess, I’m not entirely clear on the matter.” He looked to Hadrian.

“I wouldn’t think we would do so randomly. I suspect we ought to use the handshake when greeting known members of the society.” Hadrian shrugged. “Whatever its purpose, it seems a bit silly.”

“Your gentlemen’s clubs don’t have such handshakes?” Maxwell asked with perhaps the barest hint of derision. It was the way he’d said “your gentlemen’s clubs.”

“No.” Hadrian narrowed his eyes briefly. “Are you predisposed to dislike these sorts of clubs and societies?”

Tilda had wondered if he’d caught Maxwell’s scorn—if it was that—and now she knew.

“They seem exclusive for the sheer purpose of exclusion,” Maxwell replied.

Tilda could not find fault with the inspector’s assessment. Indeed, she didn’t understand the need to join such a club,though she did see the financial benefits of the Amicable Society. She smiled at the inspector, appreciating their shared belief. “What an invigorating perspective.”

Hadrian’s brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes darkened. Had he not cared for her response on the matter? Or was his head paining him? She was eager to learn what he’d seen when he’d shaken hands during the meeting.

She was also worried as to how many hands he’d shaken. When he had multiple visions in a short period of time, the accompanying headache could be quite horrid. But she hadn’t seen him touching his head or massaging his temple. Alas, she’d have to wait to ask him about it, as they could not discuss his ability in front of Maxwell. It wasn’t just that the inspector might not understand, or even believe them, but that it was up to Hadrian with whom he shared his ability. Tilda would never reveal his secret.

“Should we adjourn to the sitting room to discuss what we learned this evening?” Maxwell suggested.

“Yes, I’d like to share what else I discovered from the wives.” Tilda picked up the lantern and led them into the sitting room.

The seating included a wooden settle and a pair of worn cushioned chairs that were probably red at some time but had faded to a dingy pink. Tilda had spent a great deal of time working to rid them of dust that afternoon.

Hadrian glanced about. Tilda had to think this was perhaps the meanest room he’d encountered. Actually, it wasn’t—they’d seen worse a time or two during their investigations.

Tilda set the lantern on a small table and perched on the settle. The two men each took a chair.

“Before I tell you about the wives, is there anything else from the meeting that I should know, aside from the ceremonial claptrap?” Tilda asked.

“It was somewhat dull,” Maxwell said.

Hadrian inclined his weirdly blond head—Tilda much preferred his dark-brown hair. “In that assessment, we are agreed.”

Maxwell looked to Tilda. “What did you learn, Miss Wren?”

“With regard to the administrators, only Mr. Furnier has a wife,” Tilda said. “She is rather quiet. She was darning a pair of socks and kept her focus on them almost entirely. Mr. Phelps is a widower, and Mr. Nevill has never been married. Dr. Giles is betrothed. He’s to wed next month. Apparently, he was engaged to be married a few years ago, but his fiancée died. He and Mr. Phelps are quite dedicated to the benefits of the society because they both understand how difficult it is to lose a loved one. It’s especially awful if one cannot afford a proper funeral.”

“Is that why they accept ill members?” Hadrian mused. “It’s not a sound business practice, as they may need to pay out if the member survives the first year.” He shook his head. “I can’t see Furnier allowing that.”

“I agree,” Maxwell said. “He was meticulous in making sure I met the qualifications of membership.”

“That was also my experience,” Hadrian noted. They all fell silent a moment.

Tilda continued with what she’d learned from the wives. “I asked where the society keeps its records, since all meetings are conducted at the Swan and Hoop. Mrs. Draper said there’s a financial ledger where her husband records the weekly dues as people enter the meeting and pay. Then Mrs. Burley told me there’s a membership roll that sits on the ceremonial table. I asked if the canvasser kept a record of his recruitment.”