Page 40 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Hadrian sipped his tea and did not speak until he heard the front door of the house close. “Perhaps I should have not brought the sugar.”

Tilda grimaced. “I had not considered that Inspector Maxwell may not have had much opportunity to consume it. I hope he did not take offense.”

“I don’t think so. I confess I feel a trifle awkward bringing what is, I suppose, extravagance into the household. Mrs. Kilgore was somewhat flabbergasted by some of the items in the basket my cook sent.”

“I think that was nice of your cook, and I’m sure Mrs. Kilgore is grateful.”

“Assuredly, but, like you, I don’t mean to cause any upset.”

“I understand how they may feel,” Tilda said. “I am sometimes too aware of our class and economic difference. I think of the evening you took me to Northumberland House, and it seems as though it was a dream.”

“A nice one, I hope?” Hadrian had enjoyed that evening with her, and not just because it had provided a turning point in their case. Tilda had looked incomparably beautiful in her finery, and he’d been proud to have her on his arm.

“It was shockingly different from what I’m used to,” she said with a light chuckle. “This household is probably closer to my reality.”

Hadrian took that to mean that she would have more in common with Maxwell, or a man like him. That pricked at Hadrian quite sharply.

Tilda took another drink of tea. “That really is delicious. I would not be opposed to drinking that every day.” She flashed him a smile as she stood.

It was silly, but Hadrian’s chest puffed, and a sense of triumph stole through him. Because she liked his fancy tea.

“Let us prepare to visit Mrs. Cardy,” she said. “It’s early yet, so perhaps you’d like to settle in first.”

Hadrian rose. “I’ll take my things up to the garret.” He hadn’t spent much time considering that he would be sharing the small space with Maxwell. There were two beds and a dressing screen, so he could count on at least a small measure of privacy.

“Will you manage without a valet?” Tilda asked with a half-smile.

He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or genuinely curious. “I do not require my valet’s assistance. Not even for shaving,” he added.

Though now, he wondered how he would accomplish that. He supposed he’d have to bring water up from the kitchen. Or would he just shave downstairs? He’d have to ask Maxwell. Better yet, he’d observe what Maxwell did and copy him.

“I’m impressed,” Tilda said. “And pleased. This investigation will speed up a little, I believe, with you here full time.”

Whilst Hadrian loved to see her enthusiasm, one thing he never wished was for his time with Tilda to be short.

Later that morning, Tilda and Hadrian took an omnibus to Fleet Street, where they found Ezra Clement at his favorite coffee house. He’d been eager to help with their investigation, particularly when it meant he could report on a fraud and a murder. He’d understood they were working under different identities and that, if their paths should cross, he was to pretend he didn’t know them. They would certainly encounter one another that afternoon, since he planned to attend the inquest at the Swan and Hoop.

After fetching the basket of food from White Alley, Tilda and Hadrian had made their way to Mrs. Cardy’s house at the end of Nuns Court. The tenement was terribly shabby, and Tilda felt even worse about the fact that Mrs. Cardy’s husband had given money to the Amicable Society and not received a benefit when he died.

As they approached the door, Hadrian briefly touched Tilda’s arm, and they paused. She pivoted to face him.

“Inspector Chisholm said Mrs. Cardy is small and slight,” Hadrian said. “He doesn’t think she has the strength to have killed Phelps, given the blow to his head.”

Tilda didn’t like to make assumptions. “Perhaps, but one should never underestimate another’s anger, particularly when that person’s family’s livelihood is at stake.”

“You make a valid point.” Hadrian inclined his head toward the tenement, and they continued to the door.

He carried the basket containing items his cook had sent. Tilda had been surprised to see it also included beeswax candles.Hadrian insisted on giving all of them to Mrs. Cardy, for which Mrs. Kilgore had thanked him profusely.

Tilda glanced at Hadrian. “You knock.” She eyed his fake blond hair and long side whiskers. He just didn’t look like the Hadrian she knew, and she didn’t particularly care for it.

Hadrian knocked. After a few moments, there came the sound of running feet, and the door opened.

A young girl, whom Tilda took to be the nine-year-old Chisholm had mentioned, blinked at them. Her dark brown hair hung to her shoulders. The locks needed a good washing.

Tilda gave her a warm smile. “Good morning. You must be Miss Cardy. I am Mrs. Harwood, and this is my brother, Mr. Beck. We wish to convey our condolences about your father, and we brought something for your family. May we come in and speak with your mother?”

Normally, Tilda would not call on a widow, but customs were different amongst the working classes. They could not afford to sequester themselves and adhere to strict mourning rituals. There was work to be done and mouths to feed.