Page 34 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

“Perhaps Phelps started another friendly society there. I’m reminded of Jarret’s skepticism regarding Phelps coming to the Coleman Street Ward to found the Amicable Society. Phelps said his grandfather was born here, but perhaps his true reason for starting the society was to enrich himself.”

“He may have even lied about his grandfather,” Hadrian said darkly. “It seems Phelps was quite dishonest. Like you said a bit ago, I’m inclined to think he was part of Eaton’s fraud.”

Tilda’s pulse had picked up speed when she’d read the letter, and it continued to thrum as she thought through this discovery. “Or perhaps he was even the instigator. He could have hired and instructed Eaton to recruit ill members and overcharge their fees.”

“You should read the rest of the letters before you hand them over to Chisholm.” Hadrian flicked a glance toward the entrance hall.

Nodding, Tilda quickly scanned the others, but none contained any damning information such as what she’d just shared with Hadrian. She reread those bits and committed them to memory.

“He’s not there?” Chisholm’s voice thundered through the house.

Hadrian frowned. “I wonder what that’s about.”

“We’d best find out.” Tilda hurried down the stairs with Hadrian, and they made their way along the short corridor to the entrance hall.

Chisholm still held Mrs. Walters, and Maxwell’s brow furrowed.

Hadrian held the lantern up. “What’s amiss?”

Chisholm’s brows drew sharply together. “The constable is not at his post. Maxwell, you’ll need to accompany me. Take the evidence from his lordship and Miss Wren.”

Tilda did not take exception to Chisholm addressing her and Hadrian by their real identities. Mrs. Walters would likely be in custody for some time, particularly if they could prove she was part of a conspiracy to defraud the members of several friendly societies.

Maxwell frowned briefly at Chisholm. “I’ve matters to look into here for my own investigation.”

“Actually, you may want to accompany them to the police station,” Tilda said. “I’ve just read something in one of Mrs. Walters’s letters to her husband that bears investigation.”

Tilda met Mrs. Walters’s amber gaze. “You wrote to him that you were looking forward to your new life in Cornwall, as well as expressing relief that ‘this will be the last one.’ You also mentioned someone in Maidstone ‘poking around’ and that you would need to leave Reading. What did you mean by ‘last one,’ and why would you need to leave Reading?”

Mrs. Walters’s lips parted, but she clamped her mouth shut. Her jaw quivered, however, revealing her high emotions.

Noting the surprised look on Maxwell’s face, Tilda continued speaking to Mrs. Walters. “Am I correct in guessing that ‘the last one’ refers to the Amicable Society and that its proceeds will fund your new life in Cornwall?”

The woman did not answer. Her gaze was mutinous, which Tilda interpreted as an indication of guilt.

“You must answer,” Chisholm said harshly.

Tilda took a step toward Mrs. Walters. “Your husband has defrauded countless innocent people, including a woman whose ill husband paid money into the Coleman Street Ward Amicable Society and is now dead. She is unable to collect his death benefit because he never should have been admitted to the society in the first place. Now, she and her five children are struggling and have had to rely on the kindness of others to pay for her husband’s burial. ”

Mrs. Walters’s lips had practically disappeared as she’d listened to Tilda.

“You don’t deny that your husband has committed fraud?” Tilda asked gently.

“No,” Mrs. Walters croaked.

Tilda let out a quick breath of relief. “How many friendly societies did your husband start?”

“This is the fourth.” Mrs. Walters turned her head toward Chisholm. “But I didn’t help him! I did what a wife should—I supported my husband and did not interfere with his business.”

“And you took the money he stole,” Maxwell said with disgust. “You planned a nice life for yourselves in Cornwall, apparently. You are not without guilt, Mrs. Walters, particularly since you pushed Miss Wren down the stairs. Perhaps you can try to redeem yourself somewhat by sharing all that you know.”

“I didn’t mean to push her—it was an accident. I don’t know anything about this society.” Mrs. Walters sniffed. “I haven’t even been in London.”

“You’re here now,” Hadrian observed drily. “When did you arrive?”

Mrs. Walters narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you really a lord?”

“An earl, yes.” He kept his expression pleasant, but Tilda saw the steel in his gaze. He didn’t care for Mrs. Walters but wanted her to reveal information, so he would try to put her at ease.

The woman swallowed, and her features darkened with apprehension. “I arrived yesterday.”

“But you’re not staying here?” Tilda knew she wasn’t and wanted Mrs. Walters to confirm it.

“I’m lodging in a boarding house in Cheapside,” Mrs. Walters said.

“Why wouldn’t you stay here with your husband?” Tilda asked.

Mrs. Walters shrugged. “I was tired and decided to find a boarding house.”

“That hardly makes sense,” Chisholm said with a faint sneer. “It does not appear you’re being honest with us.”

“I didn’t kill him!” she cried.

Chisholm’s eyes glinted with distrust. “I can’t say I’m inclined to believe you.”

Maxwell regarded Mrs. Walters expectantly. “Was the money you took from beneath the floorboards from the Amicable Society?”

“I don’t know where it came from.” Mrs. Walters clenched her jaw.

“Who else was involved with your husband’s friendly societies?” Tilda asked. “Did he have accomplices?” She was thinking of Eaton and wanted to know if Phelps had hired any canvassers with the other societies he’d formed.

“I don’t know. Like I said, I didn’t help him with any of that. I was quiet and dutiful, as a wife should be.”

Chisholm scoffed. “Dutiful wives don’t follow their husbands to London and keep to the shadows upon learning their husband is dead. Nor do they steal into his house and behave like a criminal.” He looked to Maxwell. “Let’s go. We can finish questioning her at the police station.”

Tilda was torn between wanting to accompany them and preferring to stay in the house so Hadrian could use his ability without their supervision. Since she and Hadrian weren’t invited, it seemed they would do the latter.

Maxwell took the letters from Tilda and the photograph from Hadrian. “I’ll see you later at home.”

His use of the word “home” jarred Tilda momentarily. She did not think of Number Five White Alley as home and was surprised he did.

The inspectors left with Mrs. Walters, and Tilda closed the door behind them. She turned to face Hadrian. “At least now we can search the house, and you can touch things without worry of supervision.”

“Agreed,” Hadrian said. “But I can see you’re disappointed you won’t be at the station when they continue to interrogate Mrs. Walters.”

She smiled. “You know me too well.”

He smiled in return, and Tilda’s belly did a little flip.

“I wonder what happened to the constable?” Hadrian mused.

“I do too.” Tilda glanced toward the closed door. “It’s odd that he wasn’t at his post whilst Mrs. Walters was here.”

“Do you think she had something to do with his absence?”

Tilda narrowed her eyes. “I think anything is possible, especially given what we know about her now.”

“Have we solved the fraud scheme?” Hadrian asked.

“Perhaps,” Tilda replied. “I’d like to determine the specifics, such as whether Eaton was doing what Phelps instructed or acting on his own.”

“It seems likely that Phelps was directing him, since he apparently has a history of committing fraud.” Hadrian shook his head. “What do you suppose was his plan with the friendly society? It had to be more than just recruiting men who were ill and overcharging them.”

“I think he never intended to pay any of them—ill or not. I wager when we investigate those other friendly societies he started, we’ll find that he left with the money before the first year had elapsed.”

Hadrian sneered. “Absolutely despicable.”

“Yes. Let us find that diary and see if we can learn more about their scheme.” She moved into the parlor and went to the desk. Tilda faced him. “Let us discuss how best to use your ability without overtaxing you.”

He grimaced faintly. “You should probably know that I already have a headache. Carrying that lantern gave me several of what I think were Mrs. Walters’s memories. I saw her lighting the lantern and walking up the stairs and into the bedchamber. She felt anxious and rushed—which makes sense.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Tilda said, thinking he could just as easily have hidden that fact. “I don’t want you suffering. Perhaps we should look around so we can determine what you should touch.”

“First, I think we need to search for this diary.”

Tilda nodded. “Let’s start with the desk. I’ll take this side, if you want to take the other.” She opened the top drawer on the right side whilst Hadrian moved to the left.

They searched the drawers methodically, moving down each side and opening the corresponding drawers together. Tilda looked over at him to see if he found anything, and he did the same. By the time they reached the bottom drawers, she began to despair of finding the diary.

Hadrian leaned farther over to look into her drawer. “Your drawer is deeper than mine.”

Tilda glanced at his, which was open. “It is. Perhaps yours has a false bottom.”

Reaching into the drawer, Hadrian removed a few newspapers and set them on the floor. He moved his hands about the interior. “There’s a slight gap at the back. Let me see if I can squeeze my fingers into the space.” His features creased into a focused expression.

A moment later, he smiled as he lifted the bottom—the false bottom—from the drawer. “There it is.”

Tilda looked over his shoulder. “Is that the ledger you saw in your vision?”