Page 14 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

Moving to the window, she pushed the thin curtain aside and looked down at the narrow alley. She’d seen worse places in London, but this was a far cry from Marylebone and her grandmother’s house, let alone the terrace she’d shared with her parents on Charlotte Street.

Tilda turned away and began to change her clothing. Her mind pivoted to the coming interview with the boarding house owner. She was eager to become her true self once more—Matilda Wren, private investigator—even if her hair wasn’t the right color.

A short while later, Tilda and Hadrian took tea in the small dining room.

There was only a crude table with four chairs and a wobbly sideboard table, plus the hearth.

Two windows, which Tilda cleaned yesterday, provided meager light.

They were on either side of the hearth and hung with faded blue curtains that barely covered the length of each window.

Mrs. Kilgore served the tea, along with a few biscuits she’d brought with her that morning. “I’ll make a fresh batch this afternoon,” she said, again appearing a bit nervous.

“Don’t go to too much trouble,” Tilda said. “We didn’t employ you to be a housekeeper or a cook.”

“Well, neither were you employed to do those things,” Mrs. Kilgore said.

“I’m happy to contribute as I can. You are busy investigating.

” She eyed Tilda with something akin to admiration.

“It’s remarkable to see a woman investigator.

I confess I was surprised when I heard the police had hired you.

Inspector Maxwell was adamant he needed someone to pretend to be his wife and that she must possess investigative skills. ”

“I’m thrilled he asked me,” Tilda said. “And I appreciate your presence, which facilitates this ruse. Thank you, Mrs. Kilgore.”

“It’s my privilege to help as I may. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” Mrs. Kilgore turned and departed.

“It’s remarkable,” Hadrian said before sipping his tea. There wasn’t any sugar or milk.

Tilda couldn’t tell what he thought of the beverage. She considered asking him to bring sugar and milk tomorrow. He probably wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t even supposed to be here. And now she was looking to him for help—and not just with the investigation.

“I suppose it is,” Tilda murmured in reply to his comment. “I’m glad to participate in the investigation, and it’s my intent to obtain helpful information today. I’m anxious to be on our way, though I suppose it’s a trifle early yet.”

Hadrian chuckled. “I’m not surprised by your enthusiasm—and I share it. We’ll go as soon as we finish our tea.”

They departed via the back of the house. Tilda wore her out-of-fashion bonnet, and Hadrian had pulled his hat low on his head to hopefully mask his hair. The lack of side whiskers could not be helped.

They emerged onto Coleman Street and quickly crossed it before heading toward Gresham Street. Hadrian glanced over at Tilda, his expression uncertain.

“Is there something you want to say?” she asked.

“Do you think Mrs. Kilgore would be affronted if I brought tea for the household tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I considered asking if you might want to bring sugar and milk. Our supplies are a bit meager.” Tilda grimaced faintly. “I imagine for you, they’re appalling.”

“There’s not that great a distance between you and me,” Hadrian said. “You noticed the lack of milk and sugar. And do we not drink similar tea?”

“I don’t know.” Tilda assumed he drank something more expensive. “I would think you drink a special blend. We buy ours already made.”

“We do, in fact.” He looked a bit sheepish.

Tilda smiled. “The Ravenhurst blend?”

“It’s not called that. You had it at my mother’s.”

“That was delicious.” She’d taken tea at his mother’s house when the dowager countess had hired her to investigate a medium with whom she’d wanted to consult. That had been Tilda’s most recent case, and—like this one—it had become a murder investigation.

“I have always enjoyed tea at your grandmother’s house,” Hadrian said earnestly.

“I’ve never had occasion to think otherwise.

” Tilda sensed a slight awkwardness to this conversation, and she did not want there to be.

The truth was that their social and economic positions were different.

“I hope you will bring whatever tea you like tomorrow. It will be a welcome addition to our pretend household. Indeed, it’s most thoughtful of you to contribute. ”

They fell silent a moment, until they turned onto Gresham Street toward Ironmonger Lane.

Tilda sent him a sideways glance. “I’ve been thinking about the vision you saw this morning.

I think it’s likely that Phelps and Nevill were having an argument of some kind, particularly given the rumor Mrs. Burley shared about them and Furnier disagreeing over something.

I should like to know what they quarreled about.

Alas, we will only hear Nevill’s perspective now that Phelps is dead. ”

“I’m curious how the three men came together to form the society,” Hadrian said. “They seem to possess rather different temperaments, at least in the case of Furnier. My impression is that he’s far more rigid than the other two. I realize we’ve only just made their acquaintance.”

“That was also my impression,” Tilda replied. “I too would like to know how the society started.”

They turned onto Ironmonger Lane, and Tilda gestured to the left.

“There’s the boarding house.” She paused and looked at him.

“I wonder if you should just be Hadrian Becket for this interview. Your title is often useful, but in this case, I worry it might be something that someone would want to share. We mustn’t draw attention to ourselves. ”

“You make a good point.” Hadrian smiled. “I’ve no problem being Mr. Becket.”

Tilda nodded before going to the door and knocking upon the wood. There was no immediate answer, and they waited a few moments.

“Should we knock again?” Hadrian asked.

“Perhaps.”

Hadrian lifted his hand to do so just as the door opened. A woman with blazing red curls topped with a white cap stood just over the threshold. She swept her blue gaze over them and narrowed her eyes.

“Good morning,” Tilda said pleasantly. “We’ve come to speak with you about one of your prior tenants, Timothy Eaton.”

“Who are you?” the woman asked, her red brows pitched together.

“I beg your pardon, I am Miss Wren, an investigator hired to find Mr. Eaton. This is Mr. Becket. Please forgive us, for we do not know your name.”

“Mrs. Vickers. Come in.” She opened the door wider for them to enter.

“We can come into the parlor ’ere.” She waved her hand as she led them to the room just off the small, dim entrance hall.

The parlor was cozy, with mismatched furnishings and a single window that looked out onto the street. “Would you like to sit?”

“For a few minutes, thank you.” Tilda perched on a worn settee covered in purple damask, and Hadrian sat down beside her.

Mrs. Vickers sat opposite them. “You’re looking for Tim?”

Tilda nodded. “Do you know where we can find him?”

“I don’t, and I’m worried about ’im.” Mrs. Vickers frowned. “’E left so quickly.”

“Did he?” Tilda asked. “When was that?”

“Over a week ago now. When I went to bed one night, ’e was ’ere, then ’e was gone in the morning. Didn’t give me any notice, and that wasn’t like ’im.” Mrs. Vickers smiled faintly. “Tim was a good lodger. Always paid on time, except when ’e lost ’is job.”

“When was that?” Tilda suspected she knew but wanted to hear what Mrs. Vickers would say.

“Last autumn. ’E worked for the Prudential Assurance Company, but they sacked ’im.”

That was not what Tilda had expected. “I thought you were referring to his employment with the Coleman Street Ward Amicable Society. He worked for the Prudential Assurance Company before that?” At Mrs. Vickers’s nod, Tilda asked if the woman knew why Eaton had been dismissed.

Mrs. Vickers shook her head. “’E didn’t say, but I know ’e was unhappy about it.

I was worried for ’im at first because ’e worked very ’ard, and I couldn’t understand why the company would do that, but ’e quickly found work with the Amicable Society doing the same work—’e recruited members.

’E liked the society, said it was a good community and service they provide, though not for women.

” She sent Tilda a slightly disgruntled look.

Tilda responded with an understanding nod.

“Tim agreed with that sentiment,” Mrs. Vickers added. “’E said more than once that ’e wished ’e could offer me membership.”

“Did he recruit members on his own?” Hadrian asked. “Specifically, we’d like to know if anyone from the society approved the men he recruited.”

Mrs. Vickers’s brow puckered. “It was my impression ’e offered memberships when ’e called on people, but I don’t really know.

” Her features smoothed, and she smiled.

“I do know ’e was very good at it. Tim was right friendly, and ’e ’ad a bit of charm about ’im.

Everyone liked ’im. I’m sure part of ’is success was due to ’is amiability and ’is ability to talk. ”

Tilda found it interesting that Eaton may have had the authority to extend offers of membership without input from the doctor, at least. But perhaps the problem was that he hadn’t possessed the authority. “Do you know who hired Mr. Eaton for his position with the Amicable Society?”

“I don’t, but Tim sometimes mentioned there was one person ’e didn’t care for as much as the others.”

“And who was that?” Tilda asked.

“I don’t recall ’is name, but I think ’e was the man in charge of the money.” Mrs. Vickers seemed to think a moment. “Farrier, perhaps?” She shrugged.

Tilda exchanged a look with Hadrian. Mrs. Vickers had to mean Furnier. Tilda had no trouble believing someone wouldn’t care for him.

Hadrian moved his gaze to Mrs. Vickers. “Do you have any idea why Mr. Eaton left in a hurry?”

Mrs. Vickers shook her head.