Page 38 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

T he following morning, Tilda and Hadrian left White Alley to call on Jarret at the Imperial Bank on Lothbury. The sky was dark gray, and it looked as though it might rain. Tilda had donned a cloak just in case.

She was eager to speak with Jarret and hoped he would have time to meet with them.

“I haven’t decided if we should tell Jarret that Walter Phelps’s wife is not actually dead, and that Phelps isn’t his real name,” she said to Hadrian as they made their way along Coleman Street.

“I think it may be best for the investigation at this point if we withhold that information.”

Hadrian sent her a sideways glance. “Do you think others are already aware she is alive and that Walter Phelps was an alias?”

“I think I want to see people’s reactions when they find out both those things.”

“Anyone’s reaction in particular?” Hadrian asked.

“Nevill and Furnier, as well as Dr. Giles,” Tilda replied. “Maxwell is of the same mind. We discussed it briefly this morning before you joined us in the dining room. He looks forward to not having to attend his fake job any longer.”

“It’s a wonder he’s continuing to do so,” Hadrian noted.

“Well, whilst his job was ‘fake,’ it was an actual position he took to ensure he was accepted as a member of the community.” She glanced at Hadrian.

“Though perhaps he should have invented a truly fake job as you did. You were able to leave immediately,” she added wryly.

“I commend Maxwell on staying with the mercantile house. I daresay he’s as thoughtful as you. ”

They walked in silence until they reached Lothbury Street.

“I confess, it’s been interesting living with you,” Hadrian said. “You are most adept at running a household, which I already knew, since you manage your grandmother’s. I’m sure they’re missing you now.”

“Mrs. Acorn can handle things.” Tilda referred to her grandmother’s housekeeper.

“I wondered if you might have changed your mind about marrying someday. You seem to have taken to the role of pretend wife rather easily.”

Tilda laughed. “I’ve taken on many different roles in our investigations. That doesn’t mean I want to actually do any of them.” She looked over at Hadrian, curious as to why he’d made the observation. “I have not changed my mind about marriage.”

“Not even to someone like Maxwell?” Hadrian asked, his gaze focused straight ahead.

“The two of you have so much in common, and you’d be a police wife.

You’d be very involved in cases, I should think.

” Was this coming from Hadrian’s jealousy of her partnership with Maxwell?

Except Hadrian was asking about marriage and that was an entirely different kind of partnership.

Did Hadrian think there was something romantic between her and Maxwell?

“I’m involved in a case right now,” Tilda said evenly. “And I didn’t have to marry anyone. Nor would I.”

He looked her way, and she gave him a smile with a nod, hoping to convey that there was nothing between her and Maxwell. She supposed she could say so, but what if she was wrong about what Hadrian was doing? She didn’t want to discuss or draw attention to such matters.

“Shall I take the lead when we speak with Jarret?” Hadrian asked, and Tilda was glad for the change in subject.

“You should,” Tilda replied. “You’re my brother, and I really have no reason to accompany you on this errand, except that I do. But Jarret doesn’t know that, so I will mostly remain quiet—or try to anyway.”

They spoke further about the upcoming interview as they approached the bank. Arriving inside, Hadrian asked to speak with Mr. Jarret. They were shown to a small chamber with a seating area.

Tilda again wondered why Hadrian had asked her about marriage and about Maxwell. She decided he’d simply been making conversation.

Hadrian removed his hat as they waited for Jarret.

Tilda still didn’t care for his fake blond hair.

That and his simpler garments made him look very different from the Hadrian she knew.

She had to admit he’d surprised her a little with how well he’d transformed into his role as Nigel Beck.

It was too bad he was an earl. He was becoming an excellent private investigator.

Isaiah Jarret came into the room. He was around forty years of age with dark, thinning hair and a high forehead. He possessed penetrating blue eyes and a hawk-like nose. He regarded Tilda and Hadrian with guarded curiosity. “Mr. Beck, Mrs. Harwood, I can’t imagine why you’ve come.”

“It’s a simple matter, really,” Hadrian said with a brief smile. “I’m considering working for the Amicable Society as their new canvasser, and since you chose to walk away from the society, I thought I should speak with you before making a decision.”

Jarret nodded, his brow creasing briefly.

“That’s wise of you. Please, sit.” He gestured to the chairs and waited for Tilda and Hadrian to take their chairs before he sat.

“I think the Amicable Society’s cause is noble, and both Furnier and Nevill are committed to its success.

I would likely still be involved with it if not for Walter Phelps and our disagreement. ”

“Because he didn’t want to make the society teetotal?” Hadrian asked.

“Yes, but mostly I just didn’t care for him.” Jarret’s tone was laced with disdain. “The longer we were acquainted, the more I didn’t think we would work well together.”

Tilda clasped her hands tightly to keep herself from interjecting.

Hadrian gestured toward Jarret. “Would you consider working with the society again now that he’s…gone? Even though it isn’t teetotal?”

“I might consider it,” Jarret replied thoughtfully. “Furnier doesn’t imbibe alcohol, and I imagine he keeps things as orderly as possible, though it seems there was perhaps some inappropriate activity happening right under his nose.”

“You’re referring to the members who were admitted despite being ill?” Hadrian asked.

Jarret nodded. “Yes, but it’s my opinion that Phelps was likely the poison behind that. The society will be better off without him.”

Though Hadrian was doing an excellent job interviewing Jarret, Tilda could not remain silent any longer. “Do you think Mr. Phelps was behind the ill members being admitted?” She asked the question with a measured amount of distress.

Jarret shrugged. “He hired Eaton and should have been managing him, so if he wasn’t aware of the canvasser’s activities, that doesn’t speak well of Phelps’s administrative abilities. He was either foolish or in support of the corruption, and I never took him for a fool.”

Hadrian cocked his head. “You think he was capable of illegal behavior?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised by it. I found him to be insincere, and certain things about him didn’t make sense to me after I came to know him better.

He was very eager to have Mrs. Atkins as a benefactress, and yet he tried to act as though he had money to support himself whilst managing the society from which he supposedly did not profit.

I could never tell if he actually had money.

He had a few nice things at his house, but they seemed almost like props. ”

“What do you mean?” Tilda asked.

“He had those brass candlesticks and a few glass tumblers, but his house was fairly spartan. Those things stood out. There was also a naval dirk that I found intriguing. He said it had belonged to his grandfather who’d served in the Navy.

The grandfather that was supposedly from the Coleman Street Ward, and why Phelps came back here to start the society. ”

“‘Supposedly?’” Hadrian said. “You didn’t believe him.”

“I find myself questioning everything about him after all that’s happened. Sometimes I wonder if the entire society was a swindle, but I suppose we can’t know.”

Hadrian and Tilda exchanged a glance.

“I don’t think you need to worry about accepting employment with the Amicable Society now that Phelps is no longer associated with it,” Jarret said. “I have to imagine Furnier and even Nevill will be extremely careful going forward.”

“What do you mean by ‘even Nevill?’”

Jarret chuckled. “I’ve known Harvey a long time, and he’s a bit more interested in appearances than substance. He’s a good face for the society, because he knows a great many people and is gregarious. However, his mind for business is not as keen as Furnier’s.”

Tilda made a show of looking confused. “But he owns his own shop. He must be smart enough when it comes to business matters?”

“Yes, he’s smart enough,” Jarret said. “Though I have long helped him with his accounting. Don’t tell him I told you, as it’s our secret.”

“We thank you for your time, Mr. Jarret.” Hadrian glanced over at Tilda, and she recognized that he was trying to confirm whether they were finished.

Tilda gave him a subtle nod, then rose to indicate that they could leave.

“Happy to be of help,” Jarret replied.

Hadrian stuck his hand out and clasped Jarret’s palm. Tilda held her breath, hoping that Hadrian would see something useful. The handshake didn’t last terribly long, and she worried he hadn’t had time to see anything.

They left the bank a moment later, and, unfortunately, it was raining rather steadily. Tilda pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head. “Did you see one of Jarret’s memories?”

“I did. He was in Mrs. Atkins’s parlor. Phelps was sitting with her on a settee.

It reminded me of the vision I saw when we were at her house yesterday, but of course this was from Jarret’s perspective, not hers.

She and Phelps appeared to be flirting—they were smiling at one another and were positioned quite close together.

Jarret was uncomfortable and was eager to leave.

That’s all I saw, I’m afraid. Handshakes don’t typically allow a lengthy vision. ”

“How’s your head?”

“It only aches a little, and I expect the pain won’t linger.”

Tilda thought for a moment as they approached Coleman Street. “I’m trying to think if the memory you saw reveals anything new.”

“I don’t know if it did, but it’s perhaps further confirmation that Jarret didn’t care for Phelps. Not that we needed it since we heard that definitively from Jarret. I’m glad we obtained his perspective about Phelps, as well as Furnier and Nevill.”

“Agreed,” Tilda said. “However, I don’t know if Jarret possesses a strong enough motive to have killed Phelps.”

“Jarret certainly made it clear that he thinks the society is better off without Phelps. Isn’t that a motive?”

“It is. I’m just not sure it’s strong enough compared to other suspects. What does Jarret have to gain? If he was jumping at the chance to involve himself in the society, I might be more convinced.”

“I understand what you’re saying.” Hadrian’s brow creased. “Since Jarret was at Mrs. Atkins’s house, perhaps she might be able to tell us more about Jarret’s relationship with Phelps and what happened when the two men parted ways.”

Tilda nodded. “That’s a good idea. We can’t simply take Jarret’s words as truth.”

They arrived at Number Five White Alley. As they were quite damp from the rain, they removed their outer garments in the entrance hall.

Mrs. Kilgore appeared. She wore a cloak as if she were going out.

“Are you off somewhere?” Tilda asked.

“I need to run home for a while,” Mrs. Kilgore replied with a nod. “Mr. Nevill delivered this.” She held out an envelope and Tilda took it.

“It’s to Mr. Harwood and Mr. Beck,” Mrs. Kilgore said.

Tilda glanced at Hadrian and offered him the note. He shrugged and told her to read it.

Opening the envelope, Tilda removed the short missive and scanned the contents. “He’s inviting you to speak with him and Furnier following the inquest today.” She looked up at Hadrian. “I hope that means they’ll be offering you the job as canvasser.”

“I hope so,” Mrs. Kilgore put in. “The society needs to reimburse my cousin for the money her husband paid. You still plan to make sure that happens, won’t you, my lord?”

Hadrian nodded. “I will do my best.”

“You must help them,” Mrs. Kilgore said imploringly. “It’s not fair that my cousin should suffer, and neither should anyone else who was cheated by that horrible Eaton.”

Tilda gave her a gentle smile. “We are in agreement about that.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later for dinner.” Mrs. Kilgore pulled the hood of her cloak up, and Hadrian opened the door for her.

As he closed the door, Tilda narrowed her eyes slightly. “Is there a chance she could be the woman in the cloak Mr. Burley saw? What if Mrs. Kilgore called on Phelps to demand he repay her cousin?”

Hadrian’s brows snapped together. “You don’t think she might have killed him?”

“I would be shocked if that were the case, but what if she was there and saw something? Though I’m sure she would have come forward and shared all she knew, given her husband’s position within the police.” Tilda waved her hand. “It was an absurd thought provoked by her donning a cloak.”

She handed Hadrian the note Mrs. Kilgore had given her. “Perhaps you’ll see one of Nevill’s memories.”

Hadrian took the parchment, and right away his gaze went vacant.

Tilda noted that it was easier to tell when he was having a vision now, perhaps because he’d learned somewhat to seek them out and focus on what he hoped to see.

Whilst that was good for obtaining information, it made him appear odd.

Someone watching him might wonder what was happening to him, especially if the visions lasted for some time, as this one seemed to.

Thankfully, those that accompanied his handshakes were short.

Finally, he blinked and focused on Tilda.

“You look different now when you have visions,” she said.

He cocked his head. “Like how you mentioned at Mrs. Atkins’s?”

Tilda nodded. “Your eyes appear vacant—like someone who is lost in a reverie. I worry someone will wonder what’s happening if they see you in this state.”

“I’ll simply tell them I am lost in a reverie,” he replied with a smirk. His features sobered. “Did I look like that at the bank?”

“No. That was a quick handshake. I only notice it when the visions are longer—usually when you’re touching an object like that letter or the milk jug at Mrs. Atkins’s house.” At Hadrian’s nod, she went on. “What did you see?”

“Phelps, Furnier, and Dr. Giles together at Phelps’s house.

Everyone was agitated and arguing. Giles, in particular, was gesturing wildly.

Nevill wanted everyone to calm down. He saw the brass candlesticks on the table, and they held candles like the one we found at Phelps’s house last night. Then the memory faded.”

“I wonder if there is a significance to him registering the candlesticks,” Tilda said.

“I had the same thought, but it could be nothing. We may be attributing relevance to an innocuous glance at the candlesticks because we know the missing candlestick is the murder weapon.”

Tilda exhaled. “I would dearly love to find that missing candlestick.”