Page 98 of A Whisper in the Shadows
The furrows in Tilda’s forehead deepened. “No more visions today.”
“We’ll see what happens.” Hadrian wasn’t going to promise anything, especially not when they were so close to solving at least Eaton’s murder. They continued on their way from the alley. “I saw Nevill in Phelps’s parlor. They lifted Eaton onto the fabric and rolled him up.”
“Did you see them put the body into the cart?” Tilda asked.
Hadrian shook his head and immediately regretted it as the pain sharpened. “No, I lost the vision along with my balance. I could try again.”
“We don’t need you to,” Tilda said firmly. “We’ll learn the rest from Nevill. Could you tell how he was feeling?”
“In the first vision at the shop, he was extremely agitated and upset and angry at Phelps. At Phelps’s house, he was disgusted, almost sick.”
“Nevill certainly seems guilty, along with Phelps. Too bad he’s dead or we could use them against one another to learn the truth.” Tilda slid him a sideways glance. “We’ll need to come up with a way to provoke him to confess what happened when we call at his shop. First, we’ll need to return to White Alley and disguise ourselves as Mrs. Harwood and Mr. Beck.”
Hadrian noted her slightly pursed lips. “You don’t look happy about that.”
“I didn’t think we were finished disguising ourselves, but I’m not looking forward to powdering my hair again.”
“I will miss the way you look,” he said. “But it’s only temporary. And perhaps not for much longer at all.”
“Let us hurry.” Tilda quickened her pace. “I’m quite anxious to speak with Nevill, knowing what we know now.”
“What if Inspector Chisholm has taken him to the police station?” Hadrian mused.
Tilda exhaled. “I suppose that’s possible. We must be careful not to encounter Chisholm, lest he wonder why we’re making these inquiries.”
“We may very well uncover Eaton’s murderer today,” Hadrian said. “I wonder how Chisholm will take that.”
“I’d like to think he’d be grateful, but he may not appreciate our involvement in his investigation.” She straightened her shoulders. “In the end, if the killer is caught, it shouldn’t matter.” She turned her head and met Hadrian’s gaze. “Hopefully he soon will be.”
Tilda lamented her transformation back into Mrs. Harwood. She truly hated powdering her hair. Thankfully, she’d had Mrs. Kilgore’s assistance, as it was difficult to accomplish a thorough job of it on her own. It was much easier for Hadrian to don his hairpieces. Tilda wished she’d thought to obtain a wig from Mrs. Longbotham.
Disguised once more as Mrs. Harwood and Nigel Beck, Tilda and Hadrian made their way to Nevill’s shop in Moorgate. There were a pair of employees inside, each working with a customer, whilst a few other patrons poked around the shop.
Nevill was not present, but then he’d come from the back last time they visited. Tilda hoped that would also be the case this time. She and Hadrian looked about for several minutes before one of the employees was finally free. When none of the other clients approached him, Tilda did so.
“Good afternoon,” she said to the young man, recognizing him from the last time they’d been to the shop. “We’re looking for Mr. Nevill.”
“Mr. Nevill’s not typically here on Saturday afternoons. Can I help you with something?”
Tilda exchanged a disappointed look with Hadrian. “We’d like to have a coat made for my brother here.”
The young man nodded. “Shall I show you some plates and fabric swatches?”
“I know what fabric I’d like,” Hadrian said. “Dark blue broadcloth with a simple plaid. It almost doesn’t look like plaid at first glance. A friend has a coat made from it, and I’m sure he said it came from this shop.”
“That is very specific.” The young man’s face creased. “I’m not sure we have something exactly like that at the moment.”
Tilda pulled the swatch from her pocket and held it out in her palm. She displayed the side without the chalk mark. “This is the fabric. My brother’s friend gave it to us.”
The clerk nodded. “We did have that, but I’m afraid we don’t right now.” He gave them an apologetic grimace. “It actually went missing last week. I’d just marked out a pattern for a coat on it.”
That explained the chalk, Tilda thought.
“You’ve no idea what happened to it?” Hadrian asked.
Tilda wondered how they could lose an entire bolt of fabric. But, of course, they hadn’t. Nevill had taken it and not told anyone. Which he wouldn’t have, given what he’d used it for.
The young man shook his head. “I was hoping I just put it somewhere and didn’t remember and that it would turn up. Do you want to see other swatches?” he asked Hadrian. “We have some other very nice blue plaids.”