Page 27 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Tilda wondered if Hadrian smiled like that when he was out in Society. She imagined him when he’d been looking for a wife a few years ago, attending balls and soirées, outfitted in hispristine evening wear. She’d seen him that way once—the night he’d escorted her to Northumberland House. However, that was not the Hadrian she knew.

“You are too kind, my lord,” Mrs. Kilgore said. “I will make the tea straightaway. I did stock the pantry with some items when I arrived.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Tilda said. She turned and left the kitchen, leading Hadrian upstairs.

On the ground floor, they made their way to the stairs that would take them to the first floor.

“I assumed there was tea and perhaps I should not have.” Hadrian picked up Tilda’s valise before climbing the stairs with her. “I was trying to put her at ease. It didn’t occur to me that there may not be supplies.”

“It’s all right. Though, I am glad Mrs. Kilgore brought tea, for I did not.” Yesterday, Tilda had purchased the bare minimum of food supplies at the grocer.

When they reached the first floor, Tilda took the valise from Hadrian.

“I suppose I’ll go up and investigate the garret,” he said.

“And remove your hair pieces,” Tilda said. “Do you have glue to reattach the side whiskers?”

“I do not. I shall have to remain myself until I return to Mayfair.” He frowned. “I should have thought to bring that and a change of clothing, since we’d planned to call at the boarding house as investigators.”

“I should have prepared you,” Tilda said. “You can fetch the necessary implements and clothing this evening when you return home.”

“Indeed, I shall.” He pivoted. “I’ll see you downstairs for tea in a bit?”

“Yes.” Tilda recalled that the larger bedchamber faced the street. The bed was dressed, which was not how it had appearedyesterday. Tilda had been busy with other chores and hadn’t seen to it. Mrs. Kilgore must have done.

There was a small dresser, which Tilda used for her belongings. She set her hairbrush and other personal items on top.

Moving to the window, she pushed the thin curtain aside and looked down at the narrow alley. She’d seen worse places in London, but this was a far cry from Marylebone and her grandmother’s house, let alone the terrace she’d shared with her parents on Charlotte Street.

Tilda turned away and began to change her clothing. Her mind pivoted to the coming interview with the boarding house owner. She was eager to become her true self once more—Matilda Wren, private investigator—even if her hair wasn’t the right color.

A short while later, Tilda and Hadrian took tea in the small dining room. There was only a crude table with four chairs and a wobbly sideboard table, plus the hearth. Two windows, which Tilda cleaned yesterday, provided meager light. They were on either side of the hearth and hung with faded blue curtains that barely covered the length of each window.

Mrs. Kilgore served the tea, along with a few biscuits she’d brought with her that morning. “I’ll make a fresh batch this afternoon,” she said, again appearing a bit nervous.

“Don’t go to too much trouble,” Tilda said. “We didn’t employ you to be a housekeeper or a cook.”

“Well, neither were you employed to do those things,” Mrs. Kilgore said. “I’m happy to contribute as I can. You are busy investigating.” She eyed Tilda with something akin to admiration. “It’s remarkable to see a woman investigator. I confess I was surprised when I heard the police had hired you. Inspector Maxwell was adamant he needed someone to pretend to be his wife and that she must possess investigative skills.”

“I’m thrilled he asked me,” Tilda said. “And I appreciate your presence, which facilitates this ruse. Thank you, Mrs. Kilgore.”

“It’s my privilege to help as I may. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” Mrs. Kilgore turned and departed.

“It’s remarkable,” Hadrian said before sipping his tea. There wasn’t any sugar or milk.

Tilda couldn’t tell what he thought of the beverage. She considered asking him to bring sugar and milk tomorrow. He probably wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t even supposed to be here. And now she was looking to him for help—and not just with the investigation.

“I suppose it is,” Tilda murmured in reply to his comment. “I’m glad to participate in the investigation, and it’s my intent to obtain helpful information today. I’m anxious to be on our way, though I suppose it’s a trifle early yet.”

Hadrian chuckled. “I’m not surprised by your enthusiasm—and I share it. We’ll go as soon as we finish our tea.”

They departed via the back of the house. Tilda wore her out-of-fashion bonnet, and Hadrian had pulled his hat low on his head to hopefully mask his hair. The lack of side whiskers could not be helped.

They emerged onto Coleman Street and quickly crossed it before heading toward Gresham Street. Hadrian glanced over at Tilda, his expression uncertain.

“Is there something you want to say?” she asked.

“Do you think Mrs. Kilgore would be affronted if I brought tea for the household tomorrow?”