Page 44 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I’m hoping to see Maxwell. I don’t suppose you’re expecting him?” the inspector asked.

Tilda shook her head. “He’s meeting us at the Swan and Hoop.”

Chisholm nodded vaguely, and his brows drew together tightly. “I’m afraid we’ve another murder to contend with. A body was found on the banks of the Thames yesterday. We’re fairly certain it’s Timothy Eaton.”

CHAPTER 10

Hadrian saw Tilda’s nostrils flare at the news of Eaton’s body being discovered, just as he felt his own jolt of surprise.

“You’re only ‘fairly certain?’” Tilda asked.

“The body is not in the best condition,” Chisholm said with a grimace. “The coroner estimates he’s been dead a few days. He did not drown, however. He was stabbed several times.”

Tilda’s brows arched briefly. “Stabbing is convenient, otherwise the gases in his body may have built up too much and then, well, he might have been unidentifiable. Why do you think it’s Eaton?”

“Blond hair and mustache, as well as a cleft chin, but his face is distorted and…damaged.” Chisholm’s features briefly flashed with disgust. “I won’t go into details. He’s missing the end of the little finger of his left hand, which apparently Eaton was as well.”

Hadrian met Tilda’s gaze. Silent communication passed between them: this was most certainly Eaton. “Since he was stabbed, this is another murder,” Tilda said.

Chisholm nodded. “Still, there’s to be an inquest. The coroner examined the remains earlier this morning, but he had to shift his attention to Phelps, since that inquest is thisafternoon. In fact, I must be on my way. I came in through the back and will depart the same way. I didn’t think it wise to call at the front door a second time.” He left the parlor, heading toward the back of the house and the stairs to the kitchen.

“This is a shocking development,” Hadrian said.

“Indeed,” Tilda agreed. “We should leave for the inquest so we can hopefully catch Maxwell before it starts and inform him of Eaton’s death. I think we both know the man they found near the river is Eaton.”

Hadrian nodded as he went to the door and held it open for Tilda. “Do you think whoever killed Phelps also killed Eaton?”

“If they were working together to defraud the society, it’s probable,” Tilda said. “But we don’t know Phelps’s role, nor are we even entirely sure of Eaton’s. I’m curious to see who attends the inquest today and what information we may learn.”

“I do hope to speak with Nevill and Furnier about the canvasser position after the inquest. I will try to gather more information about how the society operated, particularly with regard to Eaton’s recruitment process and those membership certificates that weren’t given to me or Maxwell.”

Tilda pursed her lips. “I would love to join you, but they may not wish to speak about society details with a non-member present. Perhaps Maxwell should accompany you when you approach them.”

Hadrian bristled. “Why? Am I not capable of questioning them on my own?”

Tilda’s eyes flashed with surprise. “Of course. I was just thinking that Maxwell’s presence might be reason enough for me to come too.”

“It would be preferable—or easier, at least—if you were pretending to bemywife,” Hadrian said.

A pulse of excitement ran through him. The sensation was akin to joy or pleasure. The thought of Tilda as his wife,of spending every day with her, investigation or not, was shockingly appealing. Pretending, he supposed, would be the next best thing. He slid her a glance, wondering at her reaction to what he’d said. Her features didn’t reveal anything beyond an expression of contemplation. And perhaps mild irritation.

Well, damn. He didn’t care for that.

“I’m not sure it matters whose wife I’m pretending to be,” she said. “I dislike not being an investigator—outwardly, I mean.”

Perhaps that explained her annoyance, and it wasn’t due to what he’d said. He would hope so.

They arrived at the Swan and Hoop a few minutes later and walked into the common room. Inspector Chisholm stood near the doors to the room where Hadrian had attended the Amicable Society meeting.

Before Hadrian and Tilda could make their way in that direction, Mrs. Burley blocked their path. “I’m so pleased to see another wife here today,” she said to Tilda. “But where is Mr. Harwood?”

“He should be here shortly,” Tilda replied.

“Mr. Burley was also given leave from his employer to attend.” Mrs. Burley inclined her head to a man standing in the corner sipping an ale. He did not look in their direction. Indeed, he seemed quite intent on his beer.

“What do you think will happen with the Amicable Society?” Mrs. Burley asked, her gaze moving from Tilda to Hadrian.

“Why should something happen to it?” Tilda asked. “Mr. Nevill and Mr. Furnier are capable of managing it, aren’t they?”