Page 36 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

T ouching the candle, Hadrian had seen Phelps and felt a desire to obtain something, which he attributed to whoever’s memory he was seeing.

He’d looked down and saw a feminine hand brushing the candle.

He recalled there was a mirror and turned his head to see the owner of the memory. Mrs. Burley looked back at him.

“We must call on Mrs. Burley,” Tilda said. “Though we need a reason to do so, since we can’t say we’re investigating a crime.”

Hadrian knew how much that bothered Tilda. She wanted nothing more than to be who she was—an investigator. “Perhaps we just say we were walking by and saw Inspector Chisholm escorting a woman out of Phelps’s house. We hoped Mrs. Burley might know what’s going on.”

Tilda’s eyes brightened. “Oh, that’s brilliant. Mrs. Burley will want to share whatever information she has, and she will want to hear that sort of gossip.” She wrinkled her nose. “I dislike gossip, but I have no problem playing a role.”

“No, you do not,” Hadrian noted with admiration.

“We need to take the diary with us,” Tilda said.

Hadrian returned to the parlor and fetched it from the desk. “Should we leave through the front door? What if Mrs. Burley has been watching this whole time?” He frowned. “Our plan won't work.”

“Mrs. Burley can’t watch everything at every second. As she said herself, she has a household to run. We’ll leave through the back.”

They departed the house the way they’d come in and made their way to the Burleys’ house across the street.

Hadrian tucked the diary into his coat and knocked upon the door. A moment later, Mr. Burley answered, which Hadrian had not expected. He glanced at Tilda and noticed the faintest flare of her nostrils, indicating she was also surprised.

“Good evening, Mr. Burley,” Hadrian said.

The man blinked from the other side of the threshold. His small, dark eyes focused on Hadrian. “Good evening. Mr. Beck, is it?”

“Yes,” Hadrian replied. “And my sister, Mrs. Harwood.”

Mr. Burley inclined his head toward Tilda.

“We were hoping to speak with Mrs. Burley,” Tilda said. “We have information she might like to hear.”

A faint smile lifted Burley’s mouth. “There is no piece of gossip my wife isn’t eager to learn, but I’m afraid she’s not here. She visits her mother fortnightly, and she won’t return until tomorrow afternoon.”

Tilda exchanged a look with Hadrian before responding. “I’m sorry to hear that. We were hoping she might know something. We just saw a woman being escorted from Mr. Phelps’s house by Inspector Chisholm.”

Burley’s brows shot up, and he sucked in a quick breath. “Did you recognize the woman?” he asked hesitantly.

“No,” Tilda replied.

“You’re certain?” Mr. Burley asked, appearing to hold his breath.

Tilda nodded. “Absolutely.” She cast her eyes down a moment. “That’s why I was hoping Mrs. Burley was home, so that she could maybe tell us who it was.”

“I wish I’d seen her.” Burley’s mouth was drawn down, and his brow was creased with worry.

“Why is that?” Hadrian asked.

Burley stuck his head over the threshold and looked up and down the street. He lowered his voice, though there was no one around. “I didn’t tell the police, but I saw a woman going into Phelps’s house late Monday—after midnight.”

“Did you?” Tilda asked breathlessly. She was playing the part of a busybody rather well.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?” Hadrian asked.

Burley pressed his lips together. “I was worried it might be Mrs. Burley.” He grimaced, his features creasing deeply.

“She’s very curious and sometimes sticks her nose in where she shouldn’t.

The woman was wearing a cloak, so I couldn’t see who she was.

My wife wasn’t in bed, and I feared she’d gone over to speak with Phelps. ”

“Why would you think she would do that?” Tilda asked. “Especially after midnight?”

“Sometimes, Florence—Mrs. Burley—has a bee in her bonnet about something. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d gone over to Phelps’s house that late. She’d already called on him the day before with Mrs. Cardy—and was upset when he’d told her to mind her own business.”

Hadrian wondered if that was the memory he’d seen of Mrs. Cardy in Phelps’s house. “Mrs. Burley and Mrs. Cardy called on Phelps together?”

Burley nodded. “Florence was adamant the society should help Mrs. Cardy and did her part by accompanying the poor woman to insist Phelps do something. Phelps’s lack of concern made her angry. She complained about him to me several times.”

“You thought she went back Monday night to try to convince Phelps to do something?” Tilda asked.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Burley said with a faint shrug. “Some people find my wife annoying, including me sometimes. But she has a good heart and would never hurt anybody. You won’t tell the police, will you?”

“Of course not,” Tilda assured him. Though Hadrian knew that was a lie. “You don’t think she’s the woman the inspector escorted away this evening?”

“I don’t,” Burley said quickly. His neck flushed. “Perhaps I did for a moment, but then I realized it couldn’t be. She would not leave her mother, for she requires constant care. Florence’s sister lives with their mother, and Florence provides respite for her every fortnight.”

“She’s a good sister and daughter,” Tilda said warmly.

“I’ll tell Florence that you saw Inspector Chisholm taking a woman from Phelps’s house, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Burley said.

“Not at all,” Tilda replied. “In fact, if Mrs. Burley thinks she might know who the woman is, I’d love to hear. She can call on me at Number Five White Alley if she likes.”

Burley nodded. “I’ll tell her when she returns tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burley. We’re sorry to have disturbed you,” Hadrian said.

“Not at all. Have a good evening.” Burley closed the door.

Tilda and Hadrian turned and made their way toward London Wall.

Hadrian glanced at Tilda. “Well, that was not what I was expecting to hear.”

“Nor I,” Tilda said. “I think we must consider Mrs. Burley a suspect, regardless of what her husband said. She could very well have been the woman he saw Monday night.” She looked over at Hadrian as they turned onto Coleman Street.

“You observed her touching the candle in your vision. What if she hit—and killed—Phelps with the candlestick?”

They walked in silence a few minutes. Hadrian thought about who else the woman could be. “The woman Burley saw could have been Mrs. Walters. I don’t think either of us believe she only arrived yesterday.”

“No, we don’t,” Tilda replied. “The woman could also be Mrs. Cardy. You saw her memory in which she was in Phelps’s parlor, though that could be from her calling on him with Mrs. Burley on Sunday. Do you recall if she was wearing a cloak?”

Hadrian thought back. “I don’t.” He frowned, wishing he’d paid closer attention.

“It could also be Mrs. Atkins,” Tilda suggested.

“It’s helpful that we spoke to Mr. Burley, because now we can add Mrs. Burley to the suspect list without having to mention anything about the vision you saw.

I was prepared to count her as a suspect based on that, but we wouldn’t have been able to share that information, of course. ”

“I’m curious what Maxwell might be learning from Mrs. Walters at the police station,” Hadrian said. “Do you think she’s answering their questions now?”

Tilda lifted a shoulder. “It’s hard to say.

I do wonder whether our investigation will continue, as we are all but certain there was fraud committed by the Amicable Society.

We have the ledger showing some were overcharged by Eaton, and Mrs. Walters couldn’t deny that her husband had committed fraud. ”

Hadrian frowned. “Both men responsible for those crimes are dead, so it’s not as if they may be prosecuted. I hope we may continue as we are, particularly if Maxwell and I are employed by the society. We seem uniquely placed to find the killer.”

“Or killers,” Tilda said. “We can’t be sure both men were murdered by the same person, though I think it seems likely, since the motive for their deaths could be the same—anger or revenge.”

“Are we now officially conducting not one, but two, murder investigations?” Hadrian asked.

A small, sly smile curled her lips. “Perhaps not officially, but no one is going to stop me from investigating.”

A fter arriving at White Alley, Tilda and Hadrian sat in the parlor, sipping port that he’d brought from Ravenhurst House. Bringing the wine was an indulgence, but Hadrian didn’t regret it. He was glad that Tilda seemed to enjoy it.

Whilst they were discussing the list of suspects in Phelps’s murder, Inspector Maxwell returned. He hung his hat in the entrance hall and joined them. “What are you drinking?”

“Port.” Hadrian hoped Maxwell wouldn’t have the same reaction the sugar had provoked.

“Did you bring that?” Maxwell asked, appearing curious and perhaps not as judgmental as he’d seemed with the sugar.

“I did. Would you care for a glass?” Hadrian offered.

“I’ve never had port,” Maxwell said. “I suppose I could try a splash.”

Hadrian stood and poured a small amount of wine for the inspector. Maxwell accepted it with a nod.

Returning to his chair, Hadrian lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

Tilda took a sip and Maxwell followed suit. His face creased, and the muscles around his mouth tightened. Hadrian worried the inspector didn’t care for it.

“That’s sweeter than I imagined it would be,” Maxwell said. “I don’t have much experience with wine.”

“I didn’t either until I met Lord Ravenhurst.” Tilda smiled. “I haven’t had the opportunity to try much, but I enjoy it, which surprised me.”

“Then perhaps I will too.” Maxwell took another sip. Whilst his features again registered a reaction, it was less.

“We’ve news to share,” Tilda said. “And we’re most anxious to hear what you may have learned from Mrs. Walters.”