Page 41 of A Whisper in the Shadows

The girl’s round, dark eyes fixed on the basket in Hadrian’s hand. She backed up slightly and pulled the door open wider.

Tilda stepped into the room, which seemed to be both a parlor and a bedroom. Two younger girls sat cross-legged on a pallet and played with what looked to be dolls made of clothespins. Tilda gave them a warm smile, and the smaller of the two smiled back.

“I’ll fetch Mama,” the girl who answered the door said. She moved through a doorway into another room.

Tilda glanced at Hadrian, but his features were nonreactive. He maintained a pleasant expression.

The girl returned with her mother, who was only a few inches taller. She had the same dark hair and round brown eyes as her daughter, but her face was thinner and her chin square. Shewiped her hands on her apron. It was white, though somewhat dingy, but the rest of her clothing was black and ill-fitting. Tilda wondered if it had been borrowed.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cardy,” Tilda said. “We were sorry to hear of your family’s loss and have brought you some things to help in this sad time.”

Mrs. Cardy regarded them with caution. “’Oo are ye?”

“I’m Mrs. Harwood,” Tilda said. “And this is my brother, Mr. Beck. He and my husband are members of the Amicable Society.”

Mrs. Cardy’s eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared. “We don’t speak o’ them in this ’ouse.”

“I do understand,” Tilda said quickly. “I don’t mean to cause any upset. We do not support what happened to your husband and your family. The society should not have taken his money if he wasn’t eligible.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Cardy said sternly. “But Gil insisted they didn’t care if ’e was ill. The man what recruited him said the purpose of the society was to ’elp people. ’E saw Gil was poorly and said the Society could ’elp ’im and us—’is family. We thought it was a boon.”

Sadness lined Mrs. Cardy’s thin features, and Tilda tamped down her anger at the injustice of this poor woman’s situation. “The man who sold him the membership was Mr. Eaton?” Tilda asked.

Mrs. Cardy nodded. “Friendly fellow. Called ’ere one Sunday. We liked ’im very much, which makes what ’appened even worse. After Gil died, I asked the doctor what signed the death notice why they took my ’usband’s money and told ’im I could ’ave the death benefit if Gil could just last six months. ’E wouldn’t answer. Said it was Eaton’s fault.” Her dark gaze filled with anguish. “Do ye know ’ow ’ard Gil tried to stay alive? ’E died six months and one day after paying ’is entrance fee.”

Tilda hadn’t known that. Somehow, it made the situation even sadder. “I’m truly sorry.”

Hadrian held the basket toward Mrs. Cardy. “We have some things for you.”

Mrs. Cardy reached for the handle, and Hadrian deftly moved his hand so that he touched her. Then he acted as if he lost his grip and brought his other hand to clasp the handle so that it also touched her hand. This allowed him to prolong their connection. Tilda hoped he was seeing one—or more—of her memories and knew that was his intent.

“My apologies, the basket’s a bit heavy,” Hadrian said. “Shall I set it down for you?”

Taking her hand from the basket, she pivoted toward the doorway from which she’d come. “Yes, in ’ere.”

She led them into the back room that appeared to be a kitchen, dining room, and also a bedchamber. It contained a rickety table cluttered with garments in various states of assembly or repair, and there was a cradle near the hearth where a babe was sleeping. Mrs. Cardy’s fifth child, a small boy who was barely more than a babe himself, sat at the table, gnawing on what looked to be a piece of cloth.

“I’ll make some space.” Mrs. Cardy moved a stack of garments and set them on another pile. Hadrian set the basket on the table and took a step back.

Mrs. Cardy looked through the contents of the basket and sucked in a breath. “This is all for us?” She eyed them with suspicion. “Ye didn’t steal these, did ye?”

“No, a wealthy benefactor donated them,” Tilda said. They’d decided that was what they would tell her. How else would they have candles, biscuits, jam, and smoked fish, among other things?

“Look at the candles here, Susan,” Mrs. Cardy said, her eyes gleaming with joy.

The girl smiled at her mother. “Ye look ’appy, Mama.”

“I am, my sweet. There are biscuits.” Mrs. Cardy’s tone held a poignant awe. She handed one to Susan and gave another to the boy at the table.

He took a bite, and a look of sheer rapture moved over his small face. Tilda’s heart wrenched.

“Is it good?” Mrs. Cardy asked with a laugh.

The boy nodded vigorously, then tried to shove the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. Mrs. Cardy clasped his hand and kept him from devouring the remainder. “Slowly, Bertie, slowly.”

Tilda looked to Susan. She was nibbling at the biscuit, taking very small bites. Her eyes glowed with wonder.

Mrs. Cardy looked back at Tilda and Hadrian. “This was very kind of ye. Please thank whoever gave ye these things. They can never know ’ow wonderful this is for my children.” The woman sniffed.