Page 69 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“Perhaps Phelps started another friendly society there. I’m reminded of Jarret’s skepticism regarding Phelps coming to the Coleman Street Ward to found the Amicable Society. Phelps said his grandfather was born here, but perhaps his true reason for starting the society was to enrich himself.”

“He may have even lied about his grandfather,” Hadrian said darkly. “It seems Phelps was quite dishonest. Like you said a bit ago, I’m inclined to think he was part of Eaton’s fraud.”

Tilda’s pulse had picked up speed when she’d read the letter, and it continued to thrum as she thought through this discovery. “Or perhaps he was even the instigator. He could have hiredand instructed Eaton to recruit ill members and overcharge their fees.”

“You should read the rest of the letters before you hand them over to Chisholm.” Hadrian flicked a glance toward the entrance hall.

Nodding, Tilda quickly scanned the others, but none contained any damning information such as what she’d just shared with Hadrian. She reread those bits and committed them to memory.

“He’s not there?” Chisholm’s voice thundered through the house.

Hadrian frowned. “I wonder what that’s about.”

“We’d best find out.” Tilda hurried down the stairs with Hadrian, and they made their way along the short corridor to the entrance hall.

Chisholm still held Mrs. Walters, and Maxwell’s brow furrowed.

Hadrian held the lantern up. “What’s amiss?”

Chisholm’s brows drew sharply together. “The constable is not at his post. Maxwell, you’ll need to accompany me. Take the evidence from his lordship and Miss Wren.”

Tilda did not take exception to Chisholm addressing her and Hadrian by their real identities. Mrs. Walters would likely be in custody for some time, particularly if they could prove she was part of a conspiracy to defraud the members of several friendly societies.

Maxwell frowned briefly at Chisholm. “I’ve matters to look into here for my own investigation.”

“Actually, you may want to accompany them to the police station,” Tilda said. “I’ve just read something in one of Mrs. Walters’s letters to her husband that bears investigation.”

Tilda met Mrs. Walters’s amber gaze. “You wrote to him that you were looking forward to your new life in Cornwall, aswell as expressing relief that ‘this will be the last one.’ You also mentioned someone in Maidstone ‘poking around’ and that you would need to leave Reading. What did you mean by ‘last one,’ and why would you need to leave Reading?”

Mrs. Walters’s lips parted, but she clamped her mouth shut. Her jaw quivered, however, revealing her high emotions.

Noting the surprised look on Maxwell’s face, Tilda continued speaking to Mrs. Walters. “Am I correct in guessing that ‘the last one’ refers to the Amicable Society and that its proceeds will fund your new life in Cornwall?”

The woman did not answer. Her gaze was mutinous, which Tilda interpreted as an indication of guilt.

“You must answer,” Chisholm said harshly.

Tilda took a step toward Mrs. Walters. “Your husband has defrauded countless innocent people, including a woman whose ill husband paid money into the Coleman Street Ward Amicable Society and is now dead. She is unable to collect his death benefit because he never should have been admitted to the society in the first place. Now, she and her five children are struggling and have had to rely on the kindness of others to pay for her husband’s burial.”

Mrs. Walters’s lips had practically disappeared as she’d listened to Tilda.

“You don’t deny that your husband has committed fraud?” Tilda asked gently.

“No,” Mrs. Walters croaked.

Tilda let out a quick breath of relief. “How many friendly societies did your husband start?”

“This is the fourth.” Mrs. Walters turned her head toward Chisholm. “But I didn’t help him! I did what a wife should—I supported my husband and did not interfere with his business.”

“And you took the money he stole,” Maxwell said with disgust. “You planned a nice life for yourselves in Cornwall,apparently. You are not without guilt, Mrs. Walters, particularly since you pushed Miss Wren down the stairs. Perhaps you can try to redeem yourself somewhat by sharing all that you know.”

“I didn’t mean to push her—it was an accident. I don’t know anything about this society.” Mrs. Walters sniffed. “I haven’t even been in London.”

“You’re here now,” Hadrian observed drily. “When did you arrive?”

Mrs. Walters narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you really a lord?”

“An earl, yes.” He kept his expression pleasant, but Tilda saw the steel in his gaze. He didn’t care for Mrs. Walters but wanted her to reveal information, so he would try to put her at ease.