Page 11 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

T he following morning, Hadrian arrived at Tilda’s just as the sun was rising over London. He wasn’t surprised when Vaughn answered the door. The butler was incredibly dedicated, and he would not allow Tilda to leave without being present in the entrance hall.

They exchanged brief pleasantries as Hadrian picked up Tilda’s somewhat small valise. “Is this everything?” he asked.

“I am playing the role of a working-class wife in the City,” Tilda said wryly. “That is all I will need.”

Vaughn held the door as Tilda preceded Hadrian from the house. She wore one of her older gowns, and Hadrian realized he’d become used to her newer wardrobe that was far more fashionable. He also realized it didn’t really matter what she wore because she was lovely at all times.

“You are not only playing a working-class wife, however,” Hadrian noted as they walked toward the coach. “When we visit the boarding house, you said you would go as an investigator.”

“That is true. I did bring one of my newer costumes for just such occasions.”

Leach was waiting for them at the coach and took the bag from Hadrian whilst Tilda climbed inside. “Shall I carry this with me on the box?” the coachman asked.

“We can put it in here,” Tilda said.

Hadrian sat down beside her and grasped the valise. “Thank you, Leach.” He placed the bag on the opposite seat.

Leach closed the door, and they were shortly on their way.

Hadrian pivoted slightly toward her. “We were discussing your disguise. What about your hair when you transform from Mrs. Harwood to Miss Wren? I can simply remove my hairpieces before we call on the boarding house.”

“Since the darker color is powdered onto my hair, I shall need to hide it under my hat as much as possible.” Tilda had brought a hat with a brim for this purpose.

It was out of fashion and would likely clash with her more current gown, but the discrepancy could not be helped.

“It would be better if I had a wig, but I did not wish to incur the expense.”

“Mrs. Longbotham might have lent you one,” Hadrian suggested.

Tilda blew out a breath. “I should have thought of that, although I’m not sure when I would have had time to fetch it. The hat will have to do. We’ll need to change our appearance at the house in White Alley, then steal from the back into that small corridor to Coleman Street as we did last night.”

“That was the plan I also devised,” Hadrian said, settling back against the squab.

“There isn’t any other way. We’ll simply need to be careful.” Tilda stifled a yawn.

“Is this early for you?” Hadrian asked.

“Yes.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I confess, it’s rather difficult to rise before the sun this time of year.”

“I agree. I generally only wake at this hour if I’m taking an early morning ride,” he said. “But this is even early for that. Do you ride at all?”

Tilda shook her head. “I have not had occasion to.”

“Would you like to?” he asked. “I could teach you.”

“No, thank you,” she replied firmly.

“I’m surprised you aren’t interested.” And perhaps a trifle disappointed. He would have enjoyed teaching her to ride. “You’re so curious about everything. But not about riding horses?”

“No, I don’t have any curiosity about that. I don’t see a need for it. If I did, I would learn.”

“I suppose that makes sense. You are efficient in all things.” He smiled at her.

She lifted a shoulder. “I try to be.”

“How did your grandmother take the news that you would be staying in the City?”

“As I expected, she was not enthusiastic. However, she was pleased there will be a chaperone.” Tilda met Hadrian’s gaze. “She was also happy to hear that you are now involved in the investigation.”

“Was she?” Hadrian asked.

“She likes you very much,” Tilda said. “And she knows that you and I have been in dangerous situations together before—not that this case is dangerous. Still, it makes her feel better knowing you’re there.”

Hadrian couldn’t help feeling flattered. He liked her grandmother too. “She didn’t think Inspector Maxwell would keep you safe?”

Tilda narrowed her eyes slightly. “I can keep myself safe. I think it’s more that she knows you, whereas she is not acquainted with Maxwell.”

“I’ve asked Leach to drop us off in a different location today,” Hadrian said. “I thought it would be better if we didn’t arrive in the same place we left from last night.”

“That makes sense,” Tilda said with a nod.

“He’s taking us to Fore Street,” Hadrian said. “Do you plan to return to your grandmother’s house at all, or will you remain in the City for the duration of the investigation?”

“I will stay in the City. The investigation is supposed to take no more than a fortnight, and I do hope it may be less than that, as I’ve other investigative inquiries I must attend to.”

A short time later, they arrived at the intersection of Basinghall and Fore Streets. Leach opened the door for them.

“Let me carry your bag,” Hadrian said as he plucked up her valise. “It’s what brothers do.” He flashed her a smile before turning his attention to Leach. “Pick me up down at Moorgate later this afternoon.”

The coachman inclined his head, then climbed back into his seat.

Hadrian and Tilda started walking toward Coleman Street. Despite the early hour, people were moving about. They came abreast of an alley that cut down to London Wall, and Tilda paused.

She touched his arm. “There’s a police constable in front of that house.”

“I see them,” Hadrian said. “Shall we walk by? It will not take us out of our way.”

“Let’s. I can’t imagine it’s anything to do with our investigation, but I’m curious, which will be of no surprise to you.”

Hadrian chuckled. “Absolutely not. I would wonder what was amiss if you did not want to walk that way.”

As they neared the house, a woman came out the front door. She passed the constable on her way to the pavement.

“That’s Mrs. Burley,” Tilda whispered. “I met her at the meeting last night.”

“You mentioned her,” Hadrian said. “She was the one who talked a great deal.”

Mrs. Burley’s gaze fell on Tilda and Hadrian, and she made her way toward them. She appeared to be in her early forties with blonde hair pinned atop her head and a turned-up nose that gave her a rather inquisitive look. “Good morning, Mrs. Harwood.” Her gaze flicked over Hadrian.

“This is my brother, Nigel Beck,” Tilda said. “Nigel, this is Mrs. Burley. We met at the society meeting last night. Well, outside the meeting, since we are not permitted inside. Perhaps you met Mr. Burley?”

“I did not,” Hadrian said. “I’m sure I will next week. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Burley.” He tried not to sound too much like a peer from the West End.

“You won’t believe what’s happened!” Mrs. Burley’s brown eyes were bright with excitement. She glanced back at the house and lowered her voice. “Mr. Phelps has been murdered.”

Hadrian swept his gaze toward Tilda at the same moment she looked at him. She appeared just as shocked as he was by this development. Was she also thinking the same thing? Namely, why were people always murdered during their investigations?

Mrs. Burley clucked her tongue. “The society will be thrown into turmoil.”

“How awful,” Tilda said. “About Mr. Phelps. I’m sure the society will survive.”

“I hope so.” Mrs. Burley pursed her lips. “There have been rumors of disagreements between Phelps, Nevill, and Furnier, and I saw Phelps and Nevill argue last week after the meeting.”

“Indeed?” Tilda rounded her eyes in mock surprise. “I didn’t hear anything about that last night.”

Mrs. Burley gave her head a shake. “Oh no, we wouldn’t speak of that there, not in front of Gladys Furnier.”

“What were you doing in the house?” Hadrian asked, taking the question right out of Tilda’s mouth, which was fine by her.

“His cleaning woman—Mrs. Rudge—comes twice a week and found him this morning. She came right over to tell me. I live across the street.” She gestured to the small, narrow terrace opposite Phelps’s house. “She didn’t know what else to do.”

Tilda’s brow creased, and Hadrian imagined she was trying to determine a way to ask why the woman would go to her. Hadrian certainly wanted to ask that.

“You know her well then?” Tilda asked.

“I know everyone on the street, even those who don’t live here,” Mrs. Burley replied. “I do aim to be helpful. I went and found a constable, who sent for the inspector at the station in Old Jewry.”

“There’s an inspector?” Tilda asked.

Mrs. Burley nodded. “He’s interviewing one of the neighbors.

I was in the house consoling poor Mrs. Rudge and confirming that the dead body was indeed Mr. Phelps.

” She shuddered, but Hadrian had the sense it was for show and not a genuine reaction.

“It was quite horrible. His head was bashed in. There was blood and other…matter. Utterly gruesome.”

“Do you know when he was killed?” Tilda asked. “It’s so shocking that we just saw him last evening.”

“Sometime overnight.” Mrs. Burley edged closer to them and slid a hooded glance toward Phelps’s house. “He walked home last night with Nevill. They do that fairly often.”

“Nevill may have been the last one to see him alive then,” Hadrian said.

Mrs. Burley nodded. “He left just before eleven, but who knows if Phelps was alive then or not?” She arched her brows and widened her eyes briefly.

Hadrian could see that Mrs. Burley was well-versed on what happened along this street. He wondered what her neighbors thought of her.

Tilda gasped softly, but Hadrian believed she was playing a role. She was quite good at that when they were making inquiries. “Do you think Nevill had a reason to kill Phelps? You said they—and Furnier—were rumored to have had a disagreement.”

“There’s that business with Mr. Cardy dying and his widow trying to collect his death benefit, though it’s only been six months since he joined.” Mrs. Burley waved her hand. “I told you all that last night, didn’t I?”