Page 85 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Mrs. Burley’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “She was at home with her children. She has a stronger alibi than I do.”

“Of course,” Tilda said quickly. “But I hope you aren’t suggesting you may have killed him.” She donned a look of horror that prompted Mrs. Burley to wave her hand.

“It wasn’t me either.” Mrs. Burley’s brow creased as she appeared to think for a moment. “Could the female visitor on Monday night have been Mrs. Atkins?”

“Why would she have gone to Mr. Phelps’s house so late?” Tilda asked.

Mrs. Burley shrugged. “I suspected she and Mr. Phelps were engaged in an affair. They seemed to have a tendre for one another. At least, she seemed to. I’m not so sure about Mr. Phelps.”

Tilda widened her eyes and parted her lips to appear rapt. “Why is that?”

“I think Mrs. Atkins may have believed they were closer than they actually were,” Mrs. Burley said in a confidential tone. “I happened to see Mr. Phelps with another woman last Sunday. They met at the Black Anchor. Mr. Burley and I were there for supper.”

“Indeed?” Tilda asked breathlessly. “What did the woman look like? Perhaps she was the one taken away by Inspector Chisholm last night.”

Mrs. Burley’s eyes rounded, and she sucked in a breath. “You may be right. She had dark hair and was perhaps in her middle thirties. I made a point of walking past their table to see her better. Her eyes were an unusual amber color.”

Tilda suspected the woman was Ida Walters based on that description. “You saw them on Sunday, you say?”

Mrs. Burley nodded. “I don’t know if they were romantically inclined, but their heads were bent close together, and they seemed rather intimate. Come to think of it, the woman was flushed.”

“Was she agitated?” Tilda asked. If the woman was indeed Ida Walters, which Tilda was inclined to think, she’d arrived in town sooner than she said. This was not surprising as they’d all believed she was lying. Tilda would share this information withInspector Chisholm. Perhaps he could use it to press more of the truth from Mrs. Walters.

“Do you think she was the same person Inspector Chisholm took away last night?” Mrs. Burley asked.

“She could be,” Tilda said slowly, as if she were pondering the idea. “I did not see her very well as it was dark and she was wearing a cloak. I would guess she was probably in her thirties, so perhaps it was the same person.”

Mrs. Burley lifted her chin. “I’ve half a mind to call at the police station and offer my assistance to Inspector Chisholm. I could meet this woman he has in custody—assuming he still does—and see if she is the same person.”

“That would probably be helpful,” Tilda said. In fact, she would plan on telling the inspector what she’d learned. However, she didn’t want Chisholm to come to White Alley. She wanted to visit the police station and interview Mrs. Walters, if he’d allow it.

Tilda put her mind back to the gossip session with Mrs. Burley. “I wonder what Mrs. Atkins would say if she knew Mr. Phelps had another…friend.”

“I believe she’d be jealous.” Mrs. Burley cocked her head.

“Would she?” Tilda frowned. “She doesn’t seem sad about his death.”

“She doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who allows melancholy to overtake her. When her husband died, she didn’t even mourn for a year. But I don’t know her well. We aren’t friends,” she added with a chuckle, as if the notion were amusing.

Tilda believed that. She couldn’t imagine Mrs. Atkins would consider someone of Mrs. Burley’s station her equal. “Why then do you suspect she’d be jealous?”

“I’ve observed Mrs. Atkins to enjoy the attentions of various gentlemen, especially Mr. Phelps,” Mrs. Burley saidthoughtfully. “I don’t think she’d care to share him with someone else. She’d take that as a personal slight.”

“I see.” Tilda agreed with Mrs. Burley’s assessment of Mrs. Atkins. “Have you seen her go to Mr. Phelps’s house before?”

“Once or twice,” Mrs. Burley replied. “But Mr. Phelps has many visitors. Mr. Nevill calls on him, and they often return together to his house after the society meetings on Monday night.” She blinked. “I saw them on last Saturday evening together, but it was odd. Mr. Phelps left his house and returned a short while later with Nevill. I didn’t see them leave.”

“Why was that odd?” Tilda asked. “You said Mr. Nevill visits regularly.”

“Yes, but Mr. Nevill doesn’t typically visit on Saturday evenings, and it was quite late, nearly midnight, when they arrived together. Sometime later, two night soil men came around, and I noticed neither was the usual night soil man, Mr. Oldham. He either works alone or brings his son, who is around ten years of age.”

Tilda resisted the urge to ask Mrs. Burley why she paid such close attention to her neighbors. Whilst Tilda found it annoying, in this case, the woman’s behavior was most helpful. “You’re sure it wasn’t Mr. Oldham and his son?”

“No, it was two grown men in heavy cloaks, which I suppose is what I found strange. They didn’t look to be dressed for taxing night soil work. I saw the cart parked in front of Mr. Phelps’s house, then they pushed it toward London Wall without going to anyone else’s yard.”

“Thatisodd.” Tilda imagined a night soil cart would be an excellent way to dispose of a dead body, but she didn’t have enough information about Eaton’s death to make any conclusions. “Did you ever find out what happened?”

“No, but I should inquire. Mrs. Oldham is a friendly sort. They just live over in Evans Court.”