Page 35 of A Whisper in the Shadows
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Maxwell gave her a sympathetic look that made Tilda shift in her chair. She didn’t like pity any more than she cared to speak of losing her father.
“Why did you want to work for the police?” Tilda asked, eagerly changing the subject.
“My father was a dock worker,” Maxwell replied. “I saw how hard he labored. He was exhausted and in pain from the backbreaking work. He died when I was fifteen.”
“That’s the same age I was when my father died,” Tilda said quietly. Hadn’t she wanted to avoid talking about her father? And yet here she was offering information. She sought to redirect the conversation back to the inspector. “You didn’t wish to be a dock worker?”
Maxwell gave his head an infinitesimal shake. “I wanted to help people. I was actually interested in becoming a doctor—my mother works for an apothecary and enjoys it. But I wasn’t able to go to school for that.”
Tilda found it sad that Maxwell couldn’t pursue his dreams. “Do you have siblings?”
“An older sister. She’s been married a few years now. There were younger siblings—a brother and a sister—but we lost them rather young.”
Tilda’s chest constricted. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was very sad, especially for my mother.” Maxwell’s voice had softened along with his features. His hazel eyes took on a deep melancholy. “I remember how expensive it was to have funerals for them. That’s why this case matters a great deal to me. People struggle enough to provide a good life for themselves and their families without others trying to take advantage of them.”
“I agree.” Tilda was glad to learn more about the inspector. They had similar beliefs and losing their fathers at the same age made her feel a surprising connection to him. “Though you are not a doctor, I hope you’re glad to be working to help people, because you are.”
He smiled faintly. “I hope so.”
A knock on the door prompted them to turn their heads toward the entrance hall.
Maxwell braced his hands on the edge of the table. “I wonder who that could be.” He stood and moved toward the door.
Tilda rose and followed Maxwell but remained in the parlor. Maxwell opened the door. Surprisingly, it was Inspector Chisholm.
“Good evening, Inspector Chisholm. I’m glad you came by. Are you aware I stopped at the police station to speak with you?” Maxwell opened the door wide and invited the older man inside.
Chisholm looked to be in his middle-thirties. His dark gaze swept the entrance hall and moved into the parlor, where it collided with Tilda’s. “Yes, I’d heard. Sergeant Kilgore asked me to come and share information with you.”
For the sake of discretion, Tilda thought it may have been better for the inspector to call at the back door. Though, if anyone noted Chisholm’s identity and wondered why he was there, she and Maxwell could just say he was interviewing them about the meeting last night.
Tilda moved to stand near one of the chairs in the parlor. “Good evening, Inspector Chisholm.”
“Miss Wren.” Chisholm removed his hat to reveal his mostly bald head. A band of dark hair stretched from ear to ear.
Tilda gestured to the seating area in the parlor. “Would you care to sit?”
Chisholm entered the parlor and sat on the wooden settle. He set his hat beside him.
Maxwell took the other chair as Tilda sat in hers. “I’m eager to hear what you learned today regarding Phelps’s murder.”
“I’ll share what may be helpful to you. It would probably be best if you attend the inquest tomorrow afternoon at the Swan and Hoop.” He fixed a dubious stare on Maxwell. “Will your fake job allow you to attend? I imagine that’s a bloody nuisance.”
“It is, and I’ll be there,” Maxwell replied. “There was much conversation at the mercantile house today regarding Phelps’s death. One of the other Amicable Society members who works there indicated he wanted to attend the inquest whenever it would be, so I imagine all the members—and there are about five or six of us—will attend.”
“Then it won’t be odd for you to attend.” Tilda thought that was good.
Maxwell briefly met her gaze. “Exactly.”
“Good,” Chisholm said. “That way you can hear everything firsthand, and I won’t need to repeat it.”
Tilda found Chisholm’s demeanor dismissive. She wondered if he was always like that or if he was behaving that way because of her involvement. And if it was the latter, did Chisholm objectto her because of their past association, however fleeting it was, or because of her sex?
Maxwell smiled benignly. “You will need to repeat what you learned today. I’d ask that you share everything, so that I may determine if it’s useful to our investigation or not.”
Pressing her lips together to quash a smile, Tilda greatly approved of Maxwell’s response.