Page 68 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Though the woman hadn’t answered the questions, Tilda offered more—in large part to gauge her reaction. “When did you arrive in London? Did you come from Reading?”

Mrs. Walters’s nostrils flared, and Tilda could see the woman’s heart was beating furiously and her breath was coming fast. She was trying very hard to remain calm, but she was overexcited, perhaps nervous or even scared.

Maxwell moved closer to Mrs. Walters and gave her a stern stare. “You should know there is a woman who lives across the street who sees everything. She’ll know when you’ve been here, even if you came in the back.”

Tilda wasn’t sure that was true, but she appreciated Maxwell’s bluff.

“Philip stopped writing to me,” Mrs. Walters said. “I came to find out why, but now I hear he is dead.”

Though Mrs. Walters gave this reasoning, Tilda still didn’t believe she wasn’t aware that her husband was dead. If she was, she certainly wasn’t overly upset about his demise.

“Surely, you must have realized something was amiss when you arrived here this evening?” Tilda noted. “Weren’t you expecting your husband to be at home?”

Mrs. Walters pursed her lips. “I assumed he was out.”

Tilda gave her a pointed look. “Yet, instead of waiting for him, you searched this room.”

“It appears as if she did the same downstairs,” Maxwell said. “I don’t think she knew where the money was hidden. But why lie about that?”

“It’s my money!” Mrs. Walters repeated.

Tilda realized Mrs. Walters had left the letters and the photograph under the floorboards. Apparently, she didn’t care as much about those as she did the money. Perhaps she would have taken them, but then heard Tilda and Hadrian approaching and decided to replace the floorboard before she was caught.

“I’m going to take Mrs. Walters to the station,” Chisholm announced. “She may be more inclined to tell the truth when she’s locked in a cell. Or perhaps charged with murder.”

Mrs. Walters gasped and tried to pull her arm from Chisholm’s grip. “I did not murder my husband!”

“Whoever said I was speaking of your husband’s murder?” Chisholm said shrewdly. He turned to Maxwell. “Will you alert the constable out front that we have Mrs. Walters and need to transport her to Old Jewry?”

Maxwell turned and disappeared downstairs.

Chisholm looked to Tilda and then Hadrian. “I’ll need those letters and the photograph.”

“Of course,” Tilda replied. “I would like to review the letters for any pertinence to the fraud perpetrated by the Amicable Society.” Given the money found beneath the floor, Tilda strongly suspected Phelps had been involved in the swindle they now knew Eaton had conducted.

“I’ll let you know if we find any,” Chisholm said in a tone that brooked no argument. Tilda reluctantly offered the letters to him. “Hold onto them until we are downstairs and I can turn custody of Mrs. Walters over to the constable.” He looked sideways at Mrs. Walters. “Let’s go.” He propelled her toward the doorway and the stairs.

Tilda sifted through the letters she held. “There’s only about a half dozen here.”

“Are you going to quickly scan them on the way downstairs?” Hadrian asked with a half-smile.

“I will try,” she replied.

“We’ll descend slowly,” he added with a wink before plucking up the lantern that had been next to Mrs. Walters on the floor.

They started toward the stairs, and Tilda did her best to skim the letters with Hadrian holding the lantern for her. She stopped halfway down, her eyes fixing on a line in one of the letters:

Iam relieved this will be the last one and look forward to our new life in Cornwall.

“Hadrian,” Tilda whispered urgently. “Listen to this.” She read him the line and met his gaze as his eyes rounded.

“What does that mean?”

“I can only guess, but if Mrs. Walters is anticipating a new life and feeling relief over a ‘last one,’ I’m inclined to believe this entire friendly society is a fraud perpetrated by Phelps.” Tilda returned her attention to the letter. “There’s more.” She read the next few lines.

Ineed to leave Reading soon. Someone from Maidstone is poking around. Can I come to you, please? Yours, Ida.

“What happened in Maidstone?” Hadrian asked.