Page 28 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I don’t think so. In fact, I considered asking if you might want to bring sugar and milk. Our supplies are a bit meager.” Tilda grimaced faintly. “I imagine for you, they’re appalling.”

“There’s not that great a distance between you and me,” Hadrian said. “You noticed the lack of milk and sugar. And do we not drink similar tea?”

“I don’t know.” Tilda assumed he drank something more expensive. “I would think you drink a special blend. We buy ours already made.”

“We do, in fact.” He looked a bit sheepish.

Tilda smiled. “The Ravenhurst blend?”

“It’s not called that. You had it at my mother’s.”

“That was delicious.” She’d taken tea at his mother’s house when the dowager countess had hired her to investigate a medium with whom she’d wanted to consult. That had been Tilda’s most recent case, and—like this one—it had become a murder investigation.

“I have always enjoyed tea at your grandmother’s house,” Hadrian said earnestly.

“I’ve never had occasion to think otherwise.” Tilda sensed a slight awkwardness to this conversation, and she did not want there to be. The truth was that their social and economic positions were different. “I hope you will bring whatever tea you like tomorrow. It will be a welcome addition to our pretend household. Indeed, it’s most thoughtful of you to contribute.”

They fell silent a moment, until they turned onto Gresham Street toward Ironmonger Lane.

Tilda sent him a sideways glance. “I’ve been thinking about the vision you saw this morning. I think it’s likely that Phelps and Nevill were having an argument of some kind, particularly given the rumor Mrs. Burley shared about them and Furnier disagreeing over something. I should like to know what they quarreled about. Alas, we will only hear Nevill’s perspective now that Phelps is dead.”

“I’m curious how the three men came together to form the society,” Hadrian said. “They seem to possess rather different temperaments, at least in the case of Furnier. My impression is that he’s far more rigid than the other two. I realize we’ve only just made their acquaintance.”

“That was also my impression,” Tilda replied. “I too would like to know how the society started.”

They turned onto Ironmonger Lane, and Tilda gestured to the left. “There’s the boarding house.” She paused and looked at him. “I wonder if you should just be Hadrian Becket for this interview. Your title is often useful, but in this case, I worry it might be something that someone would want to share. We mustn’t draw attention to ourselves.”

“You make a good point.” Hadrian smiled. “I’ve no problem being Mr. Becket.”

Tilda nodded before going to the door and knocking upon the wood. There was no immediate answer, and they waited a few moments.

“Should we knock again?” Hadrian asked.

“Perhaps.”

Hadrian lifted his hand to do so just as the door opened. A woman with blazing red curls topped with a white cap stood just over the threshold. She swept her blue gaze over them and narrowed her eyes.

“Good morning,” Tilda said pleasantly. “We’ve come to speak with you about one of your prior tenants, Timothy Eaton.”

“Who are you?” the woman asked, her red brows pitched together.

“I beg your pardon, I am Miss Wren, an investigator hired to find Mr. Eaton. This is Mr. Becket. Please forgive us, for we do not know your name.”

“Mrs. Vickers. Come in.” She opened the door wider for them to enter. “We can come into the parlor ’ere.” She waved her hand as she led them to the room just off the small, dim entrance hall. The parlor was cozy, with mismatched furnishings and a single window that looked out onto the street. “Would you like to sit?”

“For a few minutes, thank you.” Tilda perched on a worn settee covered in purple damask, and Hadrian sat down beside her.

Mrs. Vickers sat opposite them. “You’re looking for Tim?”

Tilda nodded. “Do you know where we can find him?”

“I don’t, and I’m worried about ’im.” Mrs. Vickers frowned. “’E left so quickly.”

“Did he?” Tilda asked. “When was that?”

“Over a week ago now. When I went to bed one night, ’e was ’ere, then ’e was gone in the morning. Didn’t give me any notice, and that wasn’t like ’im.” Mrs. Vickers smiled faintly. “Tim was a good lodger. Always paid on time, except when ’e lost ’is job.”

“When was that?” Tilda suspected she knew but wanted to hear what Mrs. Vickers would say.