Page 26 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

“That is also twice the usual amount,” Furnier interjected. “Our records show he paid tuppence every week.”

Tilda wondered if the records to which Furnier referred could be the ledger Hadrian had seen when he’d touched Phelps’s desk.

Mrs. Cardy uncrossed her arms and turned her body toward Furnier, her face flushing. “’E shouldn’t ’ave been paying anything since ’e wasn’t even supposed to be a member! The society needs to pay us back!”

Furnier clenched his jaw and sat back in his chair, fixing his gaze straight forward.

“Unfortunately, we are not here to discuss what may or may not be owed,” Thetford said regretfully.

“I am trying to determine who may have killed Mr. Phelps, and I’m sorry to say, Mrs. Cardy, that you have the best motive of anyone.

However, I am not sure you had the means or the opportunity to do so.

It is my understanding that you were at home with your daughter the last night Mr. Phelps was seen alive.

We did not ask her to come and confirm this, but she has done so to multiple people. Do you swear that is the truth?”

“I do,” Mrs. Cardy said, her eyes wide. “I ’ave five children, and I would not ’ave left them late at night to do anything.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cardy. I am very sorry for your loss.” The coroner turned and faced the jury.

“I think you will easily find that Walter Phelps was murdered by a blow to the head with a brass candlestick—one of a pair—that is now missing. He was killed sometime between ten o’clock in the evening and four o’clock in the morning.

Several people might have wished him dead, and you’ve heard from some of them today.

Of particular note is the potential fraud of the Amicable Society, in which it solicited members who were ill, perhaps with higher fees for membership.

It is up to you to determine if this is a case of murder.

You must now deliberate and inform me when you have reached a conclusion.

I will dismiss everyone from this chamber so you may discuss the matter. ”

Thetford turned to the witnesses. “Thank you for your time today. You are dismissed.” He looked to the gallery. “Please remove yourselves to the common room.”

A constable moved to open the door as people stood. The witnesses began to file out, though a few loitered as the spectators departed.

Tilda noted that Clement was still standing in the corner, furiously scrawling in his notebook.

“I can’t see that it will take them long to decide this was a murder,” Maxwell said softly as they prepared to leave.

“Particularly since it seems Thetford was able to identify the murder weapon,” Tilda said. “And the fact that it’s missing.”

H adrian saw the gleam of anticipation in Tilda’s eyes. She always looked like that when they uncovered important clues in an investigation.

“The missing murder weapon was perhaps the best piece of evidence to come from the inquest,” Maxwell said.

Whilst that may be true with regard to the murder—which was, of course, the point of the inquest—Hadrian found the testimony regarding the society’s operations much more helpful.

“There was a great deal of good information about the society’s membership practices.

I wish Thetford had asked Furnier about the records that show what Cardy paid weekly.

I think there must be a missing ledger.”

“Are you going to ask Nevill and Furnier about that?” Tilda asked.

“I will try,” Hadrian replied. “I’m going to attempt to catch them now.”

Tilda briefly touched his sleeve. “Be cautious. They are agitated and may not take your inquiry kindly.”

Hadrian nodded. “I understand.”

They moved into the common room where people milled about. Many went directly to the bar, including Nevill. Hadrian decided to start with him. “I’m going to speak with Nevill first.”

“We’ll speak with the Furniers,” Tilda said, inclining her head toward the center of the common room where Mr. and Mrs. Furnier stood.

Hadrian hastened to Nevill, who held a pint of ale. He’d just taken a sip as Hadrian arrived.

“Afternoon, Nevill,” Hadrian said. “I hope the inquest wasn’t too much of an ordeal.”

Nevill exhaled. “It was unnerving. It seemed as though the coroner thought I could be a suspect in Phelps’s murder.

” Nevill shuddered. “He was a good friend. And he was committed to the success of the Amicable Society. That blasted Eaton took advantage.” The color left Nevill’s face, perhaps because he just recalled the man had also been murdered. He took a long drink of his ale.

“I do hope the society will continue,” Hadrian said. “It provides a good service, and I’m confident you and Mr. Furnier will ensure it operates without further violations of policy.”

“We don’t really know what happened for sure,” Nevill said quickly and with a touch of agitation. “Nor can we ask Phelps or Eaton.”

Hadrian wanted to argue that Mrs. Cardy had told them, but he didn’t want to anger the man when he was trying to curry his favor.

“That is a shame. I hope you won’t think me too forward, but I wonder if I might help.

It seems the society is in need of a canvasser, and I would offer myself for the position. ”

Nevill’s features twitched with surprise. “You would? But you have a splendid job at a gentlemen’s club. Why would you want to leave that?”

“I’d prefer to work closer to the ward or in the ward,” Hadrian replied. “I also wouldn’t mind sleeping when it’s dark,” he added with a sheepish smile.

“I suppose that’s fair, but a great many men would eagerly trade their job for yours.” Nevill frowned briefly. “I can’t think we’d pay as well as the club either.”

“That may be, but I am ready to try something new. This opportunity might lead to something else.”

Nevill studied him a moment. “You may be just what we need. Are you up to recruiting members and working hard to put all this nastiness behind us?”

“Yes. In fact, that is why I’m so keen to try this.” Hadrian met Nevill’s gaze with the most earnest expression he could summon. “I believe in the Amicable Society, and I would hate to see it end before it’s even really begun.”

“Let us speak with Furnier.” Nevill drank down the rest of his ale, then looked about, as if to dispose of the empty glass.

Seizing the chance to perhaps see one of Nevill’s memories, Hadrian took the glass from him with a smile. “I’ll find a place for that for you.”

“Thank you,” Nevill said with a grateful nod before taking off toward Furnier, who still stood with his wife, as well as Tilda and Maxwell.

Hadrian glimpsed Tilda before the common room faded away.

He saw Phelps, and he recognized the setting—Phelps’s parlor.

Phelps sat in a chair with a glass of something—presumably liquor—in his hand.

He shook his head, and Hadrian sensed Nevill was frustrated.

Phelps waved his hand and very clearly said, “No.” Hadrian could read his lips.

After sipping his drink, Phelps adopted a placating expression and said something more.

Hadrian tried again to discern his words from watching the man’s lips move, but it wasn’t as easy as discerning, “No.” Whatever he said seemed to soothe Nevill, for the agitation Hadrian felt dissipated. Then the vision faded.

Blinking, Hadrian saw that Nevill now stood with Furnier and the others. Tilda was watching Hadrian with a slightly hooded gaze.

Hadrian deposited the glass on the nearest table and hurried to join them. He’d apparently missed Nevill explaining his idea because Furnier took one look at Hadrian and said, “We don’t need a new canvasser. The last one caused enough trouble.”

“We need to continue growing our membership,” Nevill argued. “A new face out and about in the ward could be just what we need. And Beck is well-spoken and amiable. I think he’ll have great success recruiting members.”

“We can’t commit to anything now,” Furnier said firmly. “We must deal with the current problem. A few members have already asked for their entrance fees and weekly dues to be refunded—and they aren’t ill.”

“Have you considered calling an emergency meeting?” Hadrian asked. “It might be better to address the situation before rumors can take hold. We don’t want a misinformed membership.”

Furnier’s features smoothed slightly. He seemed to consider what Hadrian said.

“Listen to this young man.” Mrs. Atkins stood just behind Maxwell.

The veil of her hat swept over half her face, leaving one eye and cheek, part of her nose, and her entire mouth visible.

She regarded them with an expectant expression.

“We must put an end to the gossip about what’s happened.

The previous canvasser was clearly operating as a rogue agent, but he is, thankfully, gone.

We must look to the future, and I think this handsome young man would be an excellent face for the society.

” She regarded Hadrian with keen approval—and perhaps a bit of prurient interest. “What is your name?”

“Nigel Beck, ma’am. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“You speak with such elegance. You can’t be from the ward.”

Hadrian didn’t want to respond to that directly. “I’ve worked in a gentlemen’s club in St. James for several years. It’s not difficult to adapt to their manner of speaking.” He was disappointed that she found his speech so distinguished, as he’d really tried to change the way he spoke.

“Well done.” Mrs. Atkins looked to Nevill and Furnier. “Hire him. I’ll pay his salary if that will persuade you. We need to right this sinking ship!”

“We’ll discuss it,” Furnier said tightly. He glanced over at Nevill, who nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

“I’ll expect your answer—in the affirmative—by Friday.” Mrs. Atkins smiled at Hadrian. “Are you a newer member?”

“I just joined this week, in fact.” Hadrian gestured toward Maxwell. “Along with my brother-in-law, Albert Harwood. This is my sister, Mrs. Harwood.” He motioned to Tilda.

Mrs. Atkins’s barely spared a glance for Maxwell or Tilda.

She focused even more on Hadrian, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“I would like to become more acquainted with you. I’ve ideas for the society and how you may encourage people to join our movement.

Why don’t you come for tea tomorrow? Or do you have to work at the club? ”

“I can come for tea,” Hadrian said, thinking he’d bring Tilda along.

But probably not Maxwell as he would almost certainly be at the mercantile house.

Hadrian did not feel bad about that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Maxwell.

He just preferred to conduct the investigation with Tilda and only Tilda. They were a team.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Atkins said before shifting her gaze back to Nevill and Furnier. “Now, when will the emergency meeting be?”

“There won’t be an emergency meeting,” Furnier said again, sounding as though his teeth were clenched.

Mrs. Atkins waved her hand. “You discuss it, and I’m sure you’ll find I’m right.”

The coroner stepped out of the inquest room and called for everyone’s attention.

“The jury has ruled that Mr. Walter Phelps was murdered by a blow to the head. I will assist the police in whatever manner I can as they search for the killer. If anyone has more information to share or learns anything that would be helpful, I advise you to come forward and speak to me or to Inspector Chisholm.”

Clement stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the coroner. “When will the inquest for Mr. Eaton be?”

“I’m not certain there will be one,” Thetford said.

“He died of natural causes then?” Clement asked.

Thetford exhaled, and his brows drew together. “I am not prepared to say anything further on the matter.”

Clement looked about the room, but his gaze didn’t settle on anyone. “I can’t be the only person wondering if Phelps and Eaton were killed by the same person.”

“You may wonder all you like,” Thetford said, his voice carrying through the strangely silent common room. “Only the evidence will reveal the truth.”