Page 83 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Dr. Giles blew out a breath. “I don’t know if I can take the time to do that, not unless I could be paid, as I’m sure you will be.”

“Think about it,” Hadrian said with a smile, and then offered his hand to the doctor. “Whatever you decide, I appreciate all you’ve done.”

The doctor shook his hand, and Hadrian quickly saw different visions of medical situations, including Giles wielding a long blade that absolutely could have been used to kill Eaton. He also saw Furnier and Nevill in the meeting room at the Swan and Hoop, but not Phelps. Giles was gesturing wildly with his hands and felt extremely agitated, whilst Furnier and Nevill were frowning at him. Nevill held up his hands in a placating fashion.

Giles withdrew his grip from Hadrian’s, and the vision dissipated. After so many visions, Hadrian’s head was throbbing in agony.

“I’ll consider helping you with the Eaton members.” The doctor’s tone held a bitter edge. “I’ll let you know at the meeting tomorrow night.” He turned and left the pub.

Hadrian pivoted and went to find Tilda. Perhaps he’d have a chance to speak with her privately, though he couldn’t see how. Frustration simmered through him, and he massaged his temple to ease the pain in his head.

Unfortunately, Tilda was still with Mrs. Atkins, and now Maxwell was with them as well. Hadrian preferred to avoid Mrs. Atkins, but he saw no other choice but to join them. Indeed, he ought to propose she pay the doctor a salary because his contributions were vital to the society.

Fixing a smile on his face, Hadrian walked over to them.

Mrs. Atkins fluttered her lashes at him as he made eye contact. “Mr. Beck, I understand you’ve accepted the position of canvasser. I’m so delighted. I’m paying your salary, and I do hope you appreciate that. You do, don’t you?”

“I do. Thank you. The society is very lucky to have your benevolent support,” Hadrian said diplomatically.

“So long as you’re grateful,” she said, pointedly touching his sleeve. “I would like you to come for dinner tomorrow evening. We can talk about the future of the society.”

Hadrian clenched his jaw, then managed an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we have an administrative meeting.”

Mrs. Atkins pouted. “I should have been invited to that. Where are you meeting? I will come too.”

“I don’t think it’s our place to invite you,” Maxwell said a tad awkwardly. “Our apologies, Mrs. Atkins. Perhaps you’d like to speak to Mr. Nevill and Mr. Furnier about that.”

“I thought you were a new administrator,” she said petulantly.

“I must prove myself first,” Maxwell explained.

“I see.” Mrs. Atkins pursed her lips. She did not look pleased.

“We’ll discuss your involvement with them,” Hadrian said. “I’d like to propose another way you can contribute, since you’re so keen to see the society succeed. Dr. Giles is an important asset, and we may need to provide him with a salary, lest we lose him to other endeavors.”

Mrs. Atkins waved her hand. “Bah. Giles just wants to elevate his position. He’s been trying to needle his way ahead for some time. It’s the only reason he joined the society and agreed to be the physician.” She lowered her voice as if she were imparting a secret. “He isn’t even really a physician. He’s asurgeon.” Her nose wrinkled as if she’d just stated that Giles was lower than the manure found on the street.

“I think he is, in fact, a physician,” Hadrian said coolly. Mrs. Atkins was not helping to ease his headache. “As well as a surgeon, which makes him incredibly qualified and useful.” He realized he may very well be defending a murderer, but he didn’t care for Mrs. Atkins’s superiority.

Before the woman could respond, Tilda smiled brightly. “We should be on our way. I need to attend to dinner.”

Hadrian wanted to kiss her in gratitude. They bade Mrs. Atkins farewell and left the pub, making their way toward London Wall.

“Thank you for ending that conversation,” Hadrian said with great relief.

“You seemed to need rescuing,” Tilda said.

“I most definitely did. Were you able to learn anything about her relationship with Phelps?” Hadrian asked.

“A bit,” Tilda replied. “I asked if they’d planned to marry.”

“You had to gossip again?” Hadrian asked with a smile.

Tilda chuckled. “Somewhat. She said she had no plans to marry him or anyone else, that she doesn’t want to do that again. I have the impression she enjoys being an independent widow of means, which I can wholly understand.”

Hadrian glanced at Maxwell to see the man’s reaction to her statement, but he didn’t seem to have one.

Tilda went on. “She said they cared for each other, and she believed their liaison was special—that they were dedicated to one another, I believe she said. However, there was an edge to her tone, and I’m not entirely sure if she was exaggerating, or if she was perhaps lying to herself about what was really happening between them.”