Page 58 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Hadrian stood and greeted the sergeant, but Tilda remained seated.

“I passed a gentleman in extremely bright trousers as I approached the back entrance to the house. I recognized him from the inquest and thought he was a reporter. Mrs. Kilgore tells me that he is. Why did you allow him to come here? And why would you speak with him?” He seemed to direct his questions—and his irritation—at Maxwell.

“He had information to share,” Tilda replied, not wanting Maxwell to bear the sergeant’s ire. “He spoke with Rippon after the inquest and learned that he lied.” She shared the details of what Clement told them.

“I was just about to go to the station to share all that with Chisholm,” Maxwell said. “And to arrange for us to search Phelps’s house tomorrow evening. Whilst I’m sure he and the constables were thorough, we’d like to look for any society records that may be there.”

Sergeant Kilgore nodded. “I’m confident they were thorough, but it can’t hurt to search again. You need to work quickly. I know I said you could have a fortnight to complete this investigation, but I do hope you can finish well before then.”

Maxwell nodded. “We are endeavoring to do so. In fact, we have a plan to infiltrate the society as employees.” He detailed their scheme to have Hadrian hired as a canvasser and for Maxwell to take Phelps’s position as administrator.

“Excellent,” Sergeant Kilgore said with an approving smile. He looked at Hadrian. “Mrs. Kilgore has told me of your contributions to the investigation and to the household. I was skeptical when I heard you were here, but I can see you are an intrinsic part of this team. I thank you, my lord.”

Hadrian inclined his head. “It is my privilege to be of assistance.”

Sergeant Kilgore bid them good evening and went back downstairs.

Maxwell eyed Hadrian. “Shouldn’t you have left already?”

Tilda realized Hadrian should have departed some time ago to report for his fake job at the gentlemen’s club.

“I don’t see the point.” Hadrian shrugged. “I won’t leave the house, and no one will realize I haven’t gone to work.”

“That makes sense to me,” Tilda replied.

Maxwell was pensive a moment. “Yes, our time is better spent investigating than going to fake employment. After speaking with Sergeant Kilgore, I confess I am feeling more pressure to make progress. I think I must resign my position at the mercantile house tomorrow. I’ll tell them I’ve found another position. Then I’ll speak with Furnier and Nevill about becoming their newest administrator.”

“That’s a great plan,” Tilda said in admiration. She glanced at Hadrian, but his features were enigmatic. She wanted to speak with him alone about how to search Phelps’s house tomorrow, but that would have to wait. They could not discuss his ability in front of Maxwell. “I’m glad you aren’t returning to Mayfair,” she said to him.

“As Maxwell said, we should focus more fully on the investigation,” Hadrian said. “Though I must wonder how close we are to reaching a conclusion. The objective was to find evidence of fraud. We now know that Eaton was stealing from the society and fraudulently admitting members, not that he can be prosecuted.”

“I am not entirely satisfied that Eaton was the sole culprit.” Tilda suspected there was more to the relationship between the two dead men—Phelps and Eaton—than they’d yet uncovered. Furthermore, she wasn’t sure that Nevill, Furnier, and perhapsDr. Giles weren’t also somehow involved in fraud or corruption. “I think it is our duty to ensure the society will be operating entirely under the law moving forward.”

“I completely agree,” Maxwell said. “I do think that our current plans—with both Ravenhurst and I infiltrating the management of the society—will bring this investigation to a somewhat rapid end.” His gaze focused on Tilda. “I confess I’ll be sorry to conclude our partnership.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tilda said with a smile. “We’ve plenty of work to do.”

CHAPTER 13

The following afternoon, Tilda and Hadrian made their way to Mrs. Atkins’s home in Finsbury Circus. The day was cool but so far, dry. Hadrian’s back was a bit sore from sleeping on the bed in the garret. The mattress—which was a generous word for what amounted to a thin layer of straw smashed between battered canvas—was not at all comfortable. Indeed, it was likely meant to be the lower portion of a bed with perhaps a horsehair mattress on top of it.

“That’s the third or fourth time I’ve seen you touch your lower back today,” Tilda said as they made their way along Coleman Street.

“My bed’s a trifle uncomfortable.”

Tilda grimaced. “I’m sure it’s not at all what you’re used to. Is it terrible?”

“It’s survivable,” Hadrian assured her. “How is yours?”

“I confess the mattress is rather lumpy. But it’s tolerable.” She glanced at him. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t prefer to sleep at home—and you had a perfect reason to do so with your fake job being at night.”

“You also had a good reason to return to Marylebone every night, and you chose not to.”

“We are equally dedicated then,” she said, with a laugh.

Hadrian grinned at her. “I like to think so.” They walked another moment or two, and Hadrian turned his mind to the investigation. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night regarding Eaton not being the only person behind the fraud with the Amicable Society. I can’t help feeling there are things Nevill isn’t saying.”

“I agree and would say the same of Furnier and Dr. Giles,” Tilda said. “I’m curious how much Phelps knew about Eaton’s behavior before he died.”