Page 29 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

T he following afternoon, Tilda and Hadrian made their way to Mrs. Atkins’s home in Finsbury Circus.

The day was cool but so far, dry. Hadrian’s back was a bit sore from sleeping on the bed in the garret.

The mattress—which was a generous word for what amounted to a thin layer of straw smashed between battered canvas—was not at all comfortable.

Indeed, it was likely meant to be the lower portion of a bed with perhaps a horsehair mattress on top of it.

“That’s the third or fourth time I’ve seen you touch your lower back today,” Tilda said as they made their way along Coleman Street.

“My bed’s a trifle uncomfortable.”

Tilda grimaced. “I’m sure it’s not at all what you’re used to. Is it terrible?”

“It’s survivable,” Hadrian assured her. “How is yours?”

“I confess the mattress is rather lumpy. But it’s tolerable.” She glanced at him. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t prefer to sleep at home—and you had a perfect reason to do so with your fake job being at night.”

“You also had a good reason to return to Marylebone every night, and you chose not to.”

“We are equally dedicated then,” she said, with a laugh.

Hadrian grinned at her. “I like to think so.” They walked another moment or two, and Hadrian turned his mind to the investigation.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night regarding Eaton not being the only person behind the fraud with the Amicable Society.

I can’t help feeling there are things Nevill isn’t saying. ”

“I agree and would say the same of Furnier and Dr. Giles,” Tilda said. “I’m curious how much Phelps knew about Eaton’s behavior before he died.”

“Enough to sack him?” Hadrian mused. “Eaton left the boarding house over a week before he died.”

“It’s puzzling that Phelps didn’t seek to refund the Cardys’ money or look into other potentially fraudulent memberships.

” Pleats formed between Tilda’s pale brows, indicating she was deep in thought.

“I hope we can find the membership ledger you saw in your vision and that it can answer our questions.”

“I’m hopeful we will learn a great many things at Phelps’s house with my ability,” Hadrian said. “It’s unlikely I will see one of Phelps’s memories since he is dead, but hopefully we will be able to discern whose memories I do see, which could lead us to the killer.”

“I had the same thought about you touching as many things as possible at Phelps’s house in order to find some helpful memories.

” Her brow furrowed again, but this time with worry.

“However, I don’t want you to suffer from terrible headaches.

I think you must choose what to touch strategically, lest you become overwhelmed. ”

“I appreciate your concern,” Hadrian said. “I will be careful.”

“You must stop if your head hurts too much,” she said.

He flashed her a brief smile. “I promise I will.”

“I will hold you to that.” Tilda narrowed her gaze at him. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

Hadrian could find no fault with that. Indeed, he was pleased she cared so much. But he would make sure they did not leave Phelps’s house without learning all they could. He was eager to make a discovery that would help them with both the fraud case, as well as with Phelps’s murder.

Hadrian knew Tilda wanted to solve his murder, as well as Eaton’s, even if they weren’t assigned to do so. He would help her in that endeavor.

There was more to Hadrian’s need to make himself useful at Phelps’s house. He was jealous of Inspector Maxwell and the connection that seemed to be strengthening between him and Tilda.

“How are you finding this investigation?” Hadrian asked. “Is it a chore to seek Maxwell’s approval for things?”

“Actually, he indicated that he trusts me and has given me leave to pursue information as I see fit.” A smile lifted her mouth. “It’s turned out to be a marvelous partnership.”

“That’s good to hear,” Hadrian said, even as his chest felt a bit hollow.

“I’m glad Maxwell is leaving the mercantile house so that he can focus entirely on the investigation,” Tilda said. “Then we can make faster progress. Although, as eager as I am to learn the truth, I confess to feeling a little melancholy when a case concludes.”

Hadrian felt the same way, but that was largely because he missed working with Tilda when they were between cases. Not just working with her—he missed her .

“Will you really miss working with the inspector when we’re finished?” Hadrian asked, thinking of what she’d said to Maxwell last night.

Tilda turned her head toward Hadrian. “Are you jealous?”

Hadrian had to check his feet so he didn’t stumble. Had she seen through him and detected how he truly felt? It shouldn’t be surprising. She was an excellent investigator after all. But damn, he was still trying to determine his feelings himself.

Tilda cocked her head and blinked at him. He realized from her expression that she’d meant jealousy in a professional sense.

Hadrian exhaled softly. “Yes, I am jealous of the partnership you have with Maxwell.”

“I don’t know if it’s really a partnership,” she said.

“You used that word.”

“I suppose I did,” Tilda said. “Well, he’s not a partner in the way that you’re a partner.

Perhaps that’s simply because you and I have worked on several cases together, whilst this is just the first one with Maxwell.

If I’m to work on more investigations with him, perhaps we will also become close.

” She shrugged as if she wasn’t discussing a matter that would likely keep him awake tonight.

Hadrian felt as though he’d been stabbed, because whilst he was professionally jealous of Maxwell, it went far deeper than that.

It was apparent—only to Hadrian, thankfully—that he had romantic feelings for Tilda.

He knew this more and more with each passing day.

In fact, as of this moment, he realized it was an incontrovertible truth.

He hoped there might be a future in which they were partners in every sense, that she would be his countess.

However, he doubted most sincerely that would ever come to pass.

Tilda bore no interest in a romantic attachment with him or anyone else.

Though watching her with Maxwell, Hadrian could see where she might change her mind.

She and Maxwell had more in common and shared more similar backgrounds.

They also worked in the same field, and since it seemed that police wives could be heavily involved in their husbands’ work, Tilda and the inspector could truly be professional partners. And romantic ones too.

They turned into Finsbury Circus, and Hadrian strove to put the melancholy thoughts from his mind. He would enjoy the time he had with Tilda and hoped this would not be their last investigation together.

“I confess it’s very strange to be walking as we make our inquiries,” Tilda said with a laugh. “I’ve become used to riding in your coach with Leach ferrying us about.”

Hadrian laughed with her. “I know he misses doing so. He does enjoy being a part of our investigations.”

“You’re going to see him after this?” Tilda asked.

“Yes, I plan to ask for more supplies for the house, since Mrs. Kilgore seems to enjoy them.”

Tilda sent him a faint grimace. “Is it too much to ask for more biscuits for the Cardy children?”

“Not at all,” Hadrian replied quickly. “I’d already planned to have Leach ask my cook for more.”

“Of course you did,” Tilda murmured. “You must certainly be the most thoughtful earl in all of London.”

Her words helped to banish any lingering disappointment he felt. They shared a strong bond and a mutual respect and concern for one another. If that was all they ever had, he would still find joy in it. And perhaps there was a tiny glimmer of hope that her feelings toward him could change.

Someday.

They approached Mrs. Atkins’s house, and Hadrian knocked on the door. A housekeeper answered, a woman in her middle forties with dark brown eyes and a sharply turned-up nose.

“Good afternoon,” Hadrian said. “I am Mr. Beck. This is my sister, Mrs. Harwood. We are here to see Mrs. Atkins.”

“Come in. She’s waiting for you in the parlor, just there.” The housekeeper gestured to a doorway off the entrance hall.

Hadrian thanked her, then inclined his head for Tilda to precede him into the parlor.

Mrs. Atkins was seated at a small table, where a tea tray was already arranged.

Since she was not wearing her veil today, Hadrian could see her entire face.

She was near in age to his mother, with blonde hair dappled faintly with white.

Her eyes were a deep cornflower blue, and her round cheeks were lightly rouged.

She smiled widely at them, her gaze sweeping over Hadrian and barely noticing Tilda. “Welcome. I’m so pleased you could come today. Do sit.” She indicated the other chairs at the table. “You look rather dashing, Mr. Beck.”

Hadrian had suffered less perusal at the society balls he’d attended—all of them combined. Mrs. Atkins’s interest made him slightly uncomfortable, but he knew it was necessary to put up with her for the investigation.

Mrs. Atkins poured the tea and added milk and sugar without asking their preferences.

“I’m most curious about your involvement with the society,” Tilda said. “I had the impression that women weren’t allowed to do much—though I understand we’re supposed to plan a picnic.”

“Oh yes, the picnic.” Mrs. Atkins waved her hand.

“Walter had spoken to me about it and asked if I would coordinate its execution. I’d planned to call a meeting about that to take place during one of the next few weekly meetings.

However, this business with that fraudulent member dying and then poor Mr. Phelps being murdered has quite diverted things. ”

Hadrian prickled at the woman’s description of Gilbert Cardy. He hadn’t intentionally committed a fraud.