Page 67 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“A pouch.” Hadrian opened it and peered inside. “Full of money.” He handed it to Maxwell.

Tilda was certain the woman had found it under the bed. At the top of the stairs, Tilda turned to the right and returned to the bedchamber. Hadrian followed close behind her.

When Tilda had entered before, she’d been focused on the woman. She now noticed the room was disheveled—the dresser drawers were pulled out and clothing was strewn on the floor.

Kneeling where the woman had been next to the bed, Tilda ran her hands over the floor. “This board isn’t level with the rest.”

Hadrian knelt beside her and managed to pull the board up. He set it aside and Tilda looked into the space below. “I see something.” She reached in and pulled out a stack of letters.

Tilda perused the first letter. “It’s to someone named Philip Walters, and it’s signed, ‘with love, your Ida.’ She asks him about London and how things are going with the society. She says she misses him and hopes to see him soon.”

“There’s something else beneath the floorboards.” Hadrian reached into the space and pulled out a metal box. “This is the box I saw in Phelps’s memory,” he whispered.

“You’re certain?” Tilda asked in a barely audible tone.

Hadrian nodded as he opened the box. He removed a photograph of a man and a woman. The. man was Phelps—but a younger version of him—and she was a more youthful likeness of the woman who’d pushed Tilda down the stairs. Hadrian turned it over. “Philip and Ida Walters 1857” was etched on the back.

“Walter Phelps,” Tilda said softly, turning her head to meet Hadrian’s gaze. “That’s an alias. Is there anything else in the box?”

Hadrian looked. “No. And nothing else under the floorboards.”

She started to stand, but Hadrian leapt up and helped her.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, holding her hand a trifle longer than was necessary.

“I am.” She gave him a brief smile. “Thank you.”

He released her, and she turned her attention to Mrs. Walters. She and Chisholm, as well as Maxwell, had followed them into the room whilst Tilda and Hadrian investigated the hiding place under the floor.

Tilda fixed her gaze on Mrs. Walters. “Walter Phelps, or should I say Philip Walters, was your husband?”

The woman pressed her lips together and looked away, focusing her gaze on the hearth. Her features were blank, her jaw clenched.

Tilda stepped toward her. “Did you know that your husband is dead?”

Mrs. Walters darted her gaze back to Tilda, her eyes widening. Then she pressed her hand to her mouth. “I did not.”

Tilda didn’t believe her. Her reaction seemed artificial.

“Did you find the money in the box under the floorboards?” Maxwell asked.

“It’s my money.” Mrs. Walters shot a glance toward the pouch in Maxwell’s hand.

“Please answer the question,” Maxwell said sharply. “Did you take that money from the box?”

“Yes, my husband put it there. Forme.”

“How did you know he’d done that?” Chisholm asked.

Mrs. Walters hesitated. She appeared quite vexed; her sable brows were drawn into a V over her amber eyes. “We have always kept our savings under a floorboard beneath our bed.”

Tilda wasn’t sure she believed the woman—not when the bedchamber looked as though it had been searched and also since she’d already been dishonest. “Why did you lie about being his housekeeper?” When the woman did not reply, Tilda continued. “Why did your husband tell everyone that his wife was dead?”

Her lack of immediate reaction revealed that she was not surprised to hear this.

“You can answer these questions here or at the police station,” Chisholm said darkly. “But you will answer them.”

Mrs. Walters’s brow creased, but only briefly. She glowered defiantly at Chisholm. The inspector glared back at her.