Page 65 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Tilda knew Hadrian was jealous of her working with Maxwell. But he’d started this conversation by asking her about their differences. Was there more to Hadrian’s feelings than he was saying?

Of course not, she told herself. Hadrian liked working with her as much as she did with him. Today was an excellent example of why their partnership was so beneficial—and satisfying. “It’s difficult to think of a better team than you and me,” she said with a smile. “Especially after all we accomplished today.”

He chuckled. “You’re right. I’m off to meet Leach.” He continued down White Alley toward Coleman Street, and Tilda watched him walk away. She wondered how she would feel if Hadrian solved crimes with someone else. The image of him working with another woman made her instantly irritated. It also prompted her to ask herself an important question.

Would she feel the same if he were conducting investigations with a man?

After returning from his meeting with Leach, Hadrian learned they were confirmed to visit Phelps’s house that evening—under Chisholm’s supervision. He would be careful to conduct his scrutiny without drawing the inspector’s attention. After what Tilda had noticed during Hadrian’s vision at Mrs. Atkins’s house, he would be on his guard.

After a quick dinner, Hadrian, Tilda, and Maxwell made their way to Phelps’s house. Maxwell led the way into the narrow alley that led to the back of the dwelling, where there was a small yard with a privy. Tilda and Hadrian followed behind.

They’d already updated Maxwell on everything they’d learned from Mrs. Atkins and from their visit to Nevill at his shop. Maxwell was pleased to hear that Mrs. Atkins was in favor of him becoming a society administrator, and he hoped that Nevill would be able to convince Furnier to accept him, as well as hire Hadrian.

Maxwell had shared that his resignation from the mercantile house had been met with distress. They’d asked him to continue working a few more days whilst they searched for a replacement. He’d consented to working the remainder of the week—Friday and Saturday.

Chisholm was waiting for them at the back door to Phelps’s house with a lantern in his hand. “Evening. Where would you like to begin your search?” His tone was derisive.

“Do you find this to be a waste of time?” Maxwell asked, voicing what Hadrian was thinking.

“Yes. But Sergeant Kilgore insisted you be allowed to search the house—andthat I supervise.”

“I suggest we start in the parlor, as that is where Phelps’s desk is located. Anything to do with the Amicable Society is likely in there.” He gave Maxwell a pointed look. “We searched itthoroughly.”

“I deeply appreciate you satisfying my curiosity to investigate Phelps’s house for myself,” Maxwell said. “I’m sure you understand how important it is for me to conduct a thorough inquiry as my position requires.”

Chisholm exhaled. “I suppose I do.” He went into the house and started through the scullery, moving through the kitchen before continuing upstairs to the ground floor. Maxwell trailed directly behind him, and Tilda and Hadrian brought up the rear.

Tilda stopped short on the landing and glanced back at Hadrian. “Did you hear something upstairs?”

They stood silent for a moment. Hadrian detected a slight scraping sound. “I think so.”

“Let’s have a look.” She moved to the stairs leading up to the first floor. Placing a foot on the first step, she turned her head back toward him. “I see light coming from upstairs,” she whispered.

Hadrian nodded in response. It occurred to him that they should alert the inspectors, but he didn’t wish to make any noise that would draw attention. So he remained silent and followed Tilda. They crept upward slowly and quietly.

At the top, Tilda paused, going completely still as she appeared to listen. There came another sound, and this time it was most definitely human—a female voice saying something not quite discernible.

The sound came from the right. Tilda pivoted toward the sound and walked through a doorway.

Hadrian was right on her heels and immediately saw the source. A woman knelt on the floor next to a bed that had beenpushed out of alignment from the wall. Light glowed from a lantern on the floor on the other side of her.

She pressed on a board and turned her head to look at them, her eyes rounding slightly before she appeared to school her features into a stoic mask.

“Good evening,” Tilda said pleasantly, but Hadrian heard the urgency in her tone. “Who might you be?”

The woman’s gaze turned wary. “I am Mr. Phelps’s new housekeeper. Who are you?”

“I am Mrs. Harwood. My husband is a member of the Amicable Society.” Tilda gestured to Hadrian. “This is my brother, Mr. Beck.”

Tilda sent him a brief look, and he could tell from her expression that she did not believe the woman was a housekeeper.

Neither did Hadrian.

“Are you cleaning something down there?” Tilda asked.

Hadrian had to stifle a smile at the sardonic lilt of her tone.

The woman sniffed. “Yes, the floor under the bed was quite dusty.” She braced her hand on the bed and appeared as if she was going to rise.