Page 54 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I’d prefer to work closer to the ward or in the ward,” Hadrian replied. “I also wouldn’t mind sleeping when it’s dark,” he added with a sheepish smile.

“I suppose that’s fair, but a great many men would eagerly trade their job for yours.” Nevill frowned briefly. “I can’t think we’d pay as well as the club either.”

“That may be, but I am ready to try something new. This opportunity might lead to something else.”

Nevill studied him a moment. “You may be just what we need. Are you up to recruiting members and working hard to put all this nastiness behind us?”

“Yes. In fact, that is why I’m so keen to try this.” Hadrian met Nevill’s gaze with the most earnest expression he could summon. “I believe in the Amicable Society, and I would hate to see it end before it’s even really begun.”

“Let us speak with Furnier.” Nevill drank down the rest of his ale, then looked about, as if to dispose of the empty glass.

Seizing the chance to perhaps see one of Nevill’s memories, Hadrian took the glass from him with a smile. “I’ll find a place for that for you.”

“Thank you,” Nevill said with a grateful nod before taking off toward Furnier, who still stood with his wife, as well as Tilda and Maxwell.

Hadrian glimpsed Tilda before the common room faded away. He saw Phelps, and he recognized the setting—Phelps’sparlor. Phelps sat in a chair with a glass of something—presumably liquor—in his hand. He shook his head, and Hadrian sensed Nevill was frustrated. Phelps waved his hand and very clearly said, “No.” Hadrian could read his lips. After sipping his drink, Phelps adopted a placating expression and said something more. Hadrian tried again to discern his words from watching the man’s lips move, but it wasn’t as easy as discerning, “No.” Whatever he said seemed to soothe Nevill, for the agitation Hadrian felt dissipated. Then the vision faded.

Blinking, Hadrian saw that Nevill now stood with Furnier and the others. Tilda was watching Hadrian with a slightly hooded gaze.

Hadrian deposited the glass on the nearest table and hurried to join them. He’d apparently missed Nevill explaining his idea because Furnier took one look at Hadrian and said, “We don’t need a new canvasser. The last one caused enough trouble.”

“We need to continue growing our membership,” Nevill argued. “A new face out and about in the ward could be just what we need. And Beck is well-spoken and amiable. I think he’ll have great success recruiting members.”

“We can’t commit to anything now,” Furnier said firmly. “We must deal with the current problem. A few members have already asked for their entrance fees and weekly dues to be refunded—and they aren’t ill.”

“Have you considered calling an emergency meeting?” Hadrian asked. “It might be better to address the situation before rumors can take hold. We don’t want a misinformed membership.”

Furnier’s features smoothed slightly. He seemed to consider what Hadrian said.

“Listen to this young man.” Mrs. Atkins stood just behind Maxwell. The veil of her hat swept over half her face, leaving one eye and cheek, part of her nose, and her entire mouthvisible. She regarded them with an expectant expression. “We must put an end to the gossip about what’s happened. The previous canvasser was clearly operating as a rogue agent, but he is, thankfully, gone. We must look to the future, and I think this handsome young man would be an excellent face for the society.” She regarded Hadrian with keen approval—and perhaps a bit of prurient interest. “What is your name?”

“Nigel Beck, ma’am. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“You speak with such elegance. You can’t be from the ward.”

Hadrian didn’t want to respond to that directly. “I’ve worked in a gentlemen’s club in St. James for several years. It’s not difficult to adapt to their manner of speaking.” He was disappointed that she found his speech so distinguished, as he’d really tried to change the way he spoke.

“Well done.” Mrs. Atkins looked to Nevill and Furnier. “Hire him. I’ll pay his salary if that will persuade you. We need to right this sinking ship!”

“We’ll discuss it,” Furnier said tightly. He glanced over at Nevill, who nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

“I’ll expect your answer—in the affirmative—by Friday.” Mrs. Atkins smiled at Hadrian. “Are you a newer member?”

“I just joined this week, in fact.” Hadrian gestured toward Maxwell. “Along with my brother-in-law, Albert Harwood. This is my sister, Mrs. Harwood.” He motioned to Tilda.

Mrs. Atkins’s barely spared a glance for Maxwell or Tilda. She focused even more on Hadrian, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I would like to become more acquainted with you. I’ve ideas for the society and how you may encourage people to join our movement. Why don’t you come for tea tomorrow? Or do you have to work at the club?”

“I can come for tea,” Hadrian said, thinking he’d bring Tilda along. But probably not Maxwell as he would almost certainly beat the mercantile house. Hadrian did not feel bad about that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Maxwell. He just preferred to conduct the investigation with Tilda and only Tilda. They were a team.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Atkins said before shifting her gaze back to Nevill and Furnier. “Now, when will the emergency meeting be?”

“There won’t be an emergency meeting,” Furnier said again, sounding as though his teeth were clenched.

Mrs. Atkins waved her hand. “You discuss it, and I’m sure you’ll find I’m right.”

The coroner stepped out of the inquest room and called for everyone’s attention. “The jury has ruled that Mr. Walter Phelps was murdered by a blow to the head. I will assist the police in whatever manner I can as they search for the killer. If anyone has more information to share or learns anything that would be helpful, I advise you to come forward and speak to me or to Inspector Chisholm.”

Clement stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the coroner. “When will the inquest for Mr. Eaton be?”