Page 72 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I do,” he replied, jolting her from her senseless reverie. “It’s possible they were arguing about Eaton’s fraud.”

“Perhaps we should speak to Furnier and determine if he knew anything.” Tilda turned and surveyed the room. Her gaze went to the doorway into the dining room, and she saw something on the table.

She moved past Hadrian, her heartbeat slowing as she was no longer nearly pressed against him. She hadn’t even realized her pulse had sped.

Hadrian accompanied her to the dining room, where an oval table with six chairs occupied the center of the room. A lace-edged tablecloth covered the table, and a half-burned candle lay on its side next to a small dish of salt.

“I wonder if this came from the brass candlestick that was left behind?” Tilda mused. She picked it up and brought it to her nose. “This isn’t tallow; it’s spermaceti.”

“More expensive than tallow,” Hadrian noted.

Tilda looked to Hadrian. “Phelps did like to have nice things if he could afford them. And his friendly society schemes ensured he could,” she added with disdain.

“May I?” Hadrian held out his hand, and Tilda placed the candle in his palm. Her fingertips grazed his bare flesh, and she tried to pretend the jolt she felt was due to the excitement of the evening thus far.

Hadrian took a deep breath as he wrapped his hand around the candle. His gaze went blank for a moment, then he turnedsuddenly toward a mirror hanging on the wall opposite where they stood. His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply. Hadrian set the candlestick down and immediately massaged his temple.

Tilda hated that his ability to see memories caused him pain. “What did you see?”

“Phelps pursing his lips in apparent irritation at the person touching this candle. She’s curious and expectant, almost as if he owes her something.”

“She?” Tilda asked almost breathlessly. “Do you know whose memory you were seeing?”

“I saw her in the mirror,” Hadrian said. “It was Mrs. Burley.”

CHAPTER 16

Touching the candle, Hadrian had seen Phelps and felt a desire to obtain something, which he attributed to whoever’s memory he was seeing. He’d looked down and saw a feminine hand brushing the candle. He recalled there was a mirror and turned his head to see the owner of the memory. Mrs. Burley looked back at him.

“We must call on Mrs. Burley,” Tilda said. “Though we need a reason to do so, since we can’t say we’re investigating a crime.”

Hadrian knew how much that bothered Tilda. She wanted nothing more than to be who she was—an investigator. “Perhaps we just say we were walking by and saw Inspector Chisholm escorting a woman out of Phelps’s house. We hoped Mrs. Burley might know what’s going on.”

Tilda’s eyes brightened. “Oh, that’s brilliant. Mrs. Burley will want to share whatever information she has,andshe will want to hear that sort of gossip.” She wrinkled her nose. “I dislike gossip, but I have no problem playing a role.”

“No, you do not,” Hadrian noted with admiration.

“We need to take the diary with us,” Tilda said.

Hadrian returned to the parlor and fetched it from the desk. “Should we leave through the front door? What if Mrs. Burleyhas been watching this whole time?” He frowned. “Our plan won't work.”

“Mrs. Burley can’t watch everything at every second. As she said herself, she has a household to run. We’ll leave through the back.”

They departed the house the way they’d come in and made their way to the Burleys’ house across the street.

Hadrian tucked the diary into his coat and knocked upon the door. A moment later, Mr. Burley answered, which Hadrian had not expected. He glanced at Tilda and noticed the faintest flare of her nostrils, indicating she was also surprised.

“Good evening, Mr. Burley,” Hadrian said.

The man blinked from the other side of the threshold. His small, dark eyes focused on Hadrian. “Good evening. Mr. Beck, is it?”

“Yes,” Hadrian replied. “And my sister, Mrs. Harwood.”

Mr. Burley inclined his head toward Tilda.

“We were hoping to speak with Mrs. Burley,” Tilda said. “We have information she might like to hear.”

A faint smile lifted Burley’s mouth. “There is no piece of gossip my wife isn’t eager to learn, but I’m afraid she’s not here. She visits her mother fortnightly, and she won’t return until tomorrow afternoon.”