Page 35 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

He nodded as he set the false bottom atop the newspapers and removed the diary.

Grasping the ledger, his eyes glassed over, and Tilda knew he was having a vision.

On the one hand, she was sorry they’d hadn’t been careful about it—they needed to limit the number of visions he had.

But on the other, she was excited about this discovery and was eager to learn what memory he might see.

Several moments passed as Hadrian stood there holding the ledger. Finally, he blinked and set the book onto the desk. He massaged his temple, and Tilda resolved to ensure he would not overtax himself.

“What did you see?” Tilda asked.

“It was murky,” Hadrian replied. “I think it was just the same vision I saw when I touched the desk and saw this ledger.”

“Nevill’s memory?”

“Yes. I saw the same claret sleeve and felt the same agitation. I did see Cardy’s name and Nevill pointing at it. He was angry.”

Tilda worried about his head. “Is the pain terrible?”

“No. It’s already fading. But why don’t you open the ledger?”

“Good idea.” Tilda opened the book and scanned the first page.

There was a single name at the top with two numbers next to it, one of which was clearly a sum.

Beneath that were dates and amounts. “This looks to be the record for a member called J. Barnett. The dates listed are a week apart, which could be his weekly dues.” Tilda pointed at the number closest to his name.

It read twenty-nine. “What do you suppose that is? His age?”

Hadrian looked over her shoulder. Her back grazed his chest, and the contact distracted her momentarily.

“That amount next to his name looks like an entrance fee,” Hadrian said. “That’s the amount I paid.”

“Barnett did not pay an excess amount then.”

Hadrian shook his head. “It doesn’t appear so.”

Tilda turned the page, where there was an identical record for a different man. She turned a few more pages until she reached G. Cardy. The entrance fee was clearly too high. “There he is. And now we can see he was overcharged. I fear we may never learn why Eaton charged people what he did.”

“This has to be Eaton’s ledger—the one we’ve been looking for,” Tilda said.

Hadrian nodded. “But why would Phelps have it?”

“A very good question.” Tilda flipped through the rest of the ledger. The last several pages were empty. “From the dates of the weekly dues, it appears Eaton was recruiting members until a few weeks ago.”

“He stopped before Cardy died?”

“Yes, or one could interpret it as he continued to recruit until Cardy died,” Tilda said.

“Or until his employment with the society was terminated.” She pivoted to face Hadrian.

He was standing very close, but his proximity was not unsettling.

Surprisingly, she found it welcome, perhaps because she’d narrowly avoided injury—or worse—a short while ago.

“Do you think Nevill and Phelps were arguing in the memory you saw?”

His long, dark lashes swept over his blue eyes in a quick blink. It was an innocuous movement, but Tilda was bizarrely captivated.

“I do,” he replied, jolting her from her senseless reverie. “It’s possible they were arguing about Eaton’s fraud.”

“Perhaps we should speak to Furnier and determine if he knew anything.” Tilda turned and surveyed the room. Her gaze went to the doorway into the dining room, and she saw something on the table.

She moved past Hadrian, her heartbeat slowing as she was no longer nearly pressed against him. She hadn’t even realized her pulse had sped.

Hadrian accompanied her to the dining room, where an oval table with six chairs occupied the center of the room. A lace-edged tablecloth covered the table, and a half-burned candle lay on its side next to a small dish of salt.

“I wonder if this came from the brass candlestick that was left behind?” Tilda mused. She picked it up and brought it to her nose. “This isn’t tallow; it’s spermaceti.”

“More expensive than tallow,” Hadrian noted.

Tilda looked to Hadrian. “Phelps did like to have nice things if he could afford them. And his friendly society schemes ensured he could,” she added with disdain.

“May I?” Hadrian held out his hand, and Tilda placed the candle in his palm. Her fingertips grazed his bare flesh, and she tried to pretend the jolt she felt was due to the excitement of the evening thus far.

Hadrian took a deep breath as he wrapped his hand around the candle.

His gaze went blank for a moment, then he turned suddenly toward a mirror hanging on the wall opposite where they stood.

His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply.

Hadrian set the candlestick down and immediately massaged his temple.

Tilda hated that his ability to see memories caused him pain. “What did you see?”

“Phelps pursing his lips in apparent irritation at the person touching this candle. She’s curious and expectant, almost as if he owes her something.”

“ She ?” Tilda asked almost breathlessly. “Do you know whose memory you were seeing?”

“I saw her in the mirror,” Hadrian said. “It was Mrs. Burley.”