Page 51 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I did.” Mrs. Burley pursed her lips briefly as she glanced toward Jarret.

“That was last autumn,” Jarret interjected, his brows pitching into a V as he glared at Mrs. Burley. “And it was more of a disagreement.”

The coroner leveled a cool stare on Jarret. “I’m speaking with Mrs. Burley just now.” He returned his gaze to her. “Have you seen Mr. Jarret at Mr. Phelps’s house recently?”

Mrs. Burley nodded. “He called on Mr. Phelps on Sunday evening. He wasn’t there long, and when he left, he stalked away from the house with an angry expression.”

Thetford inclined his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Burley.” He clasped his hands behind his back as he addressed Jarret. “Why did you call on Phelps on Sunday?”

Jarret crossed his arms again. “I’d heard about Gilbert Cardy being admitted to the society whilst ill and that he’d been told he’d be eligible for benefits after six months. I went to Phelps to ask him what happened and what could be done to help the Cardys.”

“And what did Phelps say?”

“He said it was the canvasser’s fault—Eaton. Phelps refused to take any responsibility, nor would he commit to providing any relief.” Jarret scowled. “What sort of friendly society leaves a widow and her children unprotected? Especially if Phelps truly wished to improve the lives of the residents of Coleman Street Ward.”

Thetford nodded vaguely. “You mentioned a pair of brass candlesticks, however the inventory of the house conducted by the police show a single brass candlestick. You are sure there were two?”

“Completely,” Jarret replied with firm confidence.

The coroner exchanged a look with Chisholm, who then wrote on his notepad. Tilda felt certain they’d just identified the murder weapon. Thetford had said the candlestick could have caused Phelps’s wound, but that it had been thoroughly cleaned. It made more sense that a second candlestick was used and then removed from the house.

“Thank you, Mr. Jarret.” Thetford moved on to the man wearing glasses. “Mr. Amos Rippon?”

Tilda exchanged a glance with Hadrian. Their assumption had been correct.

Rippon was perhaps a few years older than Tilda. He seemed nervous—his jaw was clenched, and his eyes kept darting about. At last, he managed to fix his gaze on the coroner. “Yes.”

“Thank you for coming today, Mr. Rippon. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. Please tell us what you do for employment.”

“I’m—” His voice scratched, and he cleared his throat. “I’m a clerk at the Prudential Assurance Company.”

“Are you acquainted with Mr. Eaton?” Thetford asked.

“Yes. We worked together for Prudential as canvassers.”

“Were you also friends?”

Rippon hesitated and cast his gaze toward the floor. “Er, yes.”

“Why did Mr. Eaton stop working at the Prudential Assurance Company?”

Again, Rippon didn’t immediately answer. His neck reddened above the collar of his shirt. “He was sacked.”

“You know I’m going to ask why, don’t you?” Thetford regarded Rippon expectantly.

“They accused him of pocketing money he collected from people,” Rippon replied. He looked up at the coroner. “But he didn’t. Tim’s a good sort.”

“You speak of him in the present tense,” Thetford noted. “Are you not aware that Mr. Eaton was found dead on the banks of the Thames yesterday?”

Gasps filled the room, followed by whispers. “Silence, please,” the coroner called out sharply.

Rippon paled. “I didn’t know. Poor Tim.” His entire frame, along with his features, drooped with sorrow.

“Indeed.” Thetford paused briefly before continuing. “After Eaton was sacked by the assurance company, he found employment with the Amicable Society. What do you know of his work there?”

“Only that he enjoyed it. He liked helping people. No one was friendlier than Tim.” Rippon smiled sadly. “I can’t think of anyone better to recruit people for a friendly society.”

“Do you know if he was pocketing any money meant for the society?” Thetford asked.