Page 6 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I do too,” Tilda replied with a chuckle. “But this will help in preserving my reputation.”

“Then we shall suffer it.” Her grandmother sighed, and Tilda quashed a smile as she hastened from the sitting room. She strode to the entrance hall, where their butler, another retainer she’d acquired from an investigation, stood from his chair.

Vaughn was quite tall but stooped. He’d been Tilda’s grandfather’s cousin’s butler, and upon his employer’s death—a murder that Tilda and Hadrian had solved together—Vaughn had come to stay with Tilda and her grandmother. He’d needed to recover from a concussion sustained from the man who’d killed his employer. But by the time he had fully healed, he’d already made himself indispensable. It turned out Vaughn was uninterested in retirement, which was just as well since his employer hadn’t provided a settlement for him.

As a result, Tilda felt it necessary to keep him in their household. Plus, she quite liked him. His presence also pleased her grandmother, though they had as much need of a butler as they did of a maid.

“Good morning, Miss Wren,” Vaughn said with a smile. “You’re fetching the omnibus to the City?”

Tilda plucked up a basket from the corner, which she’d set there last night. “I am. I’ll tell you what I said to Grandmama: I don’t know what time I’ll return this evening, but if you’re tired, you mustn’t stay up to welcome me, just as you needn’t have been at your post this early.”

“It is no trouble to remain at my post later than usual,” Vaughn said. “Just as it was not a problem to rise early. Anyway, I doubt I will be able to rest until you’re home safely.”

He gave her a warm smile, then opened the door for her. Tilda decided it was rather nice to be cared for, but she would draw the line at being fussed over.

“Have a good day, Vaughn.”

Tilda stepped outside and hurried to catch the omnibus to the City. She departed at Poultry and found a market where she bought several items for the kitchen in Maxwell’s house and tucked them into the basket. Then she walked to White Alley with her items, so that she would appear to everyone as a housewife who had gone out to shop.

The house Maxwell had let was small and quite old. Tilda wondered if it was built just after the Great Fire. There were only two storeys, plus a garret, and it was so narrow as to only allow for the width of one small room.

Tilda let herself into the house and closed the door. “Good morning,” she called.

Inspector Maxwell stepped into the narrow hall. He looked quite different, for he’d shaved his facial hair entirely. Without the beard, his cheeks appeared fuller and he looked younger. He was rather handsome, and she noted that attribute may be helpful in their investigation. “Good morning, Miss—” He stopped himself and shook his head with a faint smile. “Mrs. Harwood. Your hair is different.”

“I wanted to disguise the true color. Your face is also changed.”

“Since the police station isn’t far and I’ve worked there several years, I wanted to make sure no one would recognize me.” He wiped his hand over his chin. “It’s been a shocking adjustment as I’ve worn the beard and mustache for nigh on a decade.”

“Well, the loss has perhaps taken a decade from your age,” she said with a smile.

Maxwell laughed. “I hope not, for then I would be a mere seventeen. I don’t know that anyone would take me seriously.”

“I spoke in jest,” Tilda assured him, though he did not seem upset. “You’re only a year or so older than me. I’ll be twenty-six in November.”

“My mother’s birthday was Guy Fawkes Day,” he said.

Tilda blinked in surprise. “Really? That is my birthday.”

He smiled. “What a coincidence.”

A moment stretched between them before Tilda wondered if it was becoming awkward. She held up the basket. “Where is the kitchen?”

“This way,” Maxwell replied. “Such as it is.” His gaze swept over her. “You’ve done very well with your costume.”

“Thank you.” Tilda didn’t plan on telling him that until somewhat recently, her entire wardrobe looked similar to this. She also surrendered, finally, to the realization that she ought to stop wearing her older gowns, at least when she left the house.

“Allow me to give you a tour of our new lodgings, not that it’s very large.” He showed her the front sitting room, which was as small as Tilda expected. The furniture was minimal and the decoration nonexistent.

“I hope I won’t be required to entertain,” Tilda said as she glanced about. “The guests would find my housewifery skills lacking.” She gave him a sardonic smile.

“No one will think that. We are fortunate to afford a house like this.” Was there a note of affront in his response?

Tilda realized he, as an unmarried man, likely lived at the police station. Perhapshewould like to have a house like this, even with its spartan furnishings and dingy walls and floor. Whilst she couldn’t fix the furniture, she could ensure the house was tidy. “I will spend the day cleaning and sprucing it up. By the time you return, you won’t recognize it.”

He smiled. “Your housewifery skills sound exceptional. And I am glad to have them, especially after several days alone. Come, this way is the dining room.”

He led her through a doorway to the rear room on the ground floor, which was even smaller than the front sitting room. Then he escorted her downstairs to the compact kitchen with its low ceilings. The air smelled of coal, and the walls were gray. Tilda had a new appreciation for how hard Mrs. Acorn worked to keep their kitchen looking clean and relatively bright.