Page 45 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I suppose, but Phelps’s murder is a scandal.” Mrs. Burley spoke rather breathlessly. “Between that and the admitting of members who are ill and perhaps misrepresenting when they are eligible for benefits, it may be best if the society folded. And refunded everyone’s money, of course. They need to call a meeting as soon as possible. No one wants to wait until Mondayto discuss these matters.” She looked at Hadrian expectantly. “Don’t you agree?”

“I do think a meeting should be called.” Hadrian wasn’t going to agree with anything else she said.

“We should go in and sit before there are no seats remaining,” Tilda said to Hadrian. “We need to save one for Mr. Harwood.”

“Certainly.” Hadrian looked toward Mrs. Burley. “We’ll see you later.”

Mrs. Burley nodded. “I need to fetch Mr. Burley. We must obtain seats as well.”

The room was crowded with chairs in addition to the table on which Phelps’s body lay covered with a cloth. A man of small stature with gray hair stood at the head of the table speaking with a sergeant.

Hadrian leaned toward Tilda again. “That’s the coroner from the inquest we attended here in the City a few months ago. Do you suppose that’s Sergeant Kilgore with him?” he asked quietly.

“Perhaps,” Tilda murmured.

A group of men who had to be the jury gathered on the other side of the table away from the door. There were chairs set out for them, and some sat, whilst others stood.

She led Hadrian to the end of the table opposite the coroner and sergeant. There were a few rows of chairs for spectators, and she moved to the end of the first one to sit. She left the chair on the end vacant, presumably for Maxwell. Hadrian sat on her left.

“There’s Clement,” Tilda said softly.

Ezra Clement, garbed in bright orange and purple trousers—Hadrian had concluded that loud pants were the reporter’s signature—entered. He looked over the assembly, his gaze moving past Hadrian and Tilda without recognition. Rather than take a seat, he assumed a position in the corner. He pulled his notebook from his pocket.

Nevill entered next. Chisholm came in right behind him and motioned for him to sit in a row of chairs against the wall. Over the course of the next few minutes, several other people joined him in those chairs, including Mr. Furnier, Dr. Giles, a man Hadrian didn’t recognize, and Mr. and Mrs. Burley.

A well-dressed woman swept in, a short, somewhat opaque veil partially covering her face. When she turned her head to survey the room, Hadrian could see enough of her features to assess her to be around sixty or so. She wore dove-gray, perhaps indicating she was a widow.

“I wonder who that is,” he whispered to Tilda. “She doesn’t look as though she belongs here.” Her clothing and stature were not working class.

“I’ve no idea, and you’re right.”

Chisholm also guided the mystery woman to sit along the wall.

“I’ve been thinking those people are the witnesses who will be questioned today,” Tilda said. “This inquest will be quite intriguing.”

Another man entered and loitered in the doorway. He removed his hat to reveal brown wavy hair. And he wore glasses.

“I wonder if that’s Rippon,” Tilda whispered to Hadrian.

“Eaton’s friend from the Prudential Assurance Company?” Hadrian glanced at her. “Seems a logical assumption.”

Chisholm greeted the man—perhaps Rippon—and directed him to sit in the witness chairs. He then ushered a woman wearing black from head to toe, including a thick veil, to the same area. Despite her face being covered, Hadrian recognized her to be Mrs. Cardy.

The coroner inclined his head toward Chisholm, who moved toward the door. Just when Hadrian thought Maxwell would be shut out of the inquest, the inspector slipped into the room, along with Draper and a few other men, who were likelythe society members from the mercantile house. The inspector glanced about, and as soon as his gaze settled on Hadrian and Tilda, he made his way toward them. The other men sat elsewhere.

Chisholm closed the door, and the coroner addressed the room. They would have to inform Maxwell about Eaton later.

The coroner wore a sober expression, his gaze dark and assessing. “I am the coroner, Abraham Thetford.” He glanced toward a clerk seated behind a small table in the corner at that end of the room. “We’re here to conduct an inquest into the death of Mr. Walter Phelps, who died mysteriously. If you are not here for that purpose, you may wish to leave. If you are upset by discussions of death and do not care to see the body of a dead man, I invite you to depart.”

Thetford paused as he scanned the room once more, but no one left. He took a deep breath, then looked to his left, where the jury was now seated in the row of chairs. “I thank you, gentlemen, for your service today.”

The coroner then explained when and how Phelps had died. “The murder weapon has not been found, but Mr. Phelps was killed by a blow to his head from a heavy object that cracked his skull. In reviewing items present in the house, the police found a single brass candlestick, the size and shape of which indicate it could have been used to kill Phelps. However, if it was indeed used in the murder, it has been cleaned meticulously. We have a great many witnesses to speak with today. We will begin with Inspector Chisholm, who has been assigned the oversight of this case.”

Inspector Chisholm and the other members of the police were sitting at the front of the room behind Thetford. The coroner pivoted so his back was to the witnesses and the jury would easily be able to see and hear him speak with Chisholm.

Thetford questioned Inspector Chisholm about the murder, then spoke to the constables who had been at Phelps’s house when Hadrian and Tilda had happened by. Hadrian tensed, wondering if the constable stationed at Phelps’s door would tell the coroner that he and Tilda had been there that morning. Thankfully, he did not. Had he been directed not to say anything?

Next, Thetford called upon Mrs. Burley. “You are a neighbor of Mr. Phelps?”