Page 46 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

They kept their heads bent and pulled their hats low as they hurried along Coleman Street.

They did not relax their postures or speak until they reached Gresham Street and crossed over to Old Jewry.

And even then, it was just to mark their passage and where they would go to enter the station through the rear.

Upon arriving, they asked to speak to Inspector Chisholm. A constable showed them to his office, a small space with a window high on the wall and a narrow fireplace.

Chisholm stood behind his desk and looked toward them with surprise as the constable announced their arrival. “I wasn’t expecting you. And certainly not looking like that.”

“We thought it best if Mrs. Harwood and her brother weren’t seen walking into the police station,” Tilda explained.

“It’s better if someone recognizes Lord Ravenhurst?” Chisholm asked with a frown. He waved his hand at the constable who took his leave.

“We did come in through the back entrance,” Hadrian said. “I believe you’ll be glad we’ve come when Miss Wren explains the purpose of our visit.”

Chisholm’s brows shot up. “Have you learned something? I just saw you at the inquest yesterday.”

Though Tilda had seen him, they hadn’t spoken. Their only communication had been to make eye contact and then purposely ignore one another. “I spoke with Mrs. Burley yesterday after the inquest. Since she likes gossip, I pretended to want to share information with her.”

Chisholm gestured for them to sit in a pair of mismatched wooden chairs. When they were seated, he sat behind his desk. “I take it she revealed something new?”

“She saw Phelps with a woman at the Black Anchor on Sunday evening when she and Mr. Burley were dining. The description she gave matches that of Mrs. Walters, right down to her amber eyes, which Mrs. Burley saw in close proximity because she made a point of walking by their table to observe the woman more closely.”

“Of course she did,” Chisholm muttered. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I knew Mrs. Walters was lying.”

“I think we all did,” Hadrian said.

Tilda sat forward in her chair and pinned the inspector with a firm stare. “We’d like to speak with her, using her dishonesty as leverage to persuade her to finally speak the truth.”

“Well, now, this is my investigation,” Chisholm said, his brows pitching together.

“You would be present, of course. We want to know the specifics of the other friendly societies her husband started, as well as his plans for the Coleman Street Ward Amicable Society. Of particular interest is whether he tasked Mr. Eaton with defrauding the ill citizens of the ward.”

“I think we all assume he did,” Chisholm said, echoing Hadrian’s comment.

“We don’t care to make assumptions, Inspector,” Hadrian said smoothly. “May we interrogate Mrs. Walters with you?” He smiled pleasantly, but there was a steel to his gaze, and Tilda thought the inspector wasn’t likely to refuse an earl.

After a long moment, Chisholm nodded. “Let’s go.”

The inspector stood, and Hadrian and Tilda followed him to the door. He led them downstairs to a room and told them to wait.

A few minutes later, Chisholm and a constable entered the room with Mrs. Walters. She looked a bit disheveled compared to when they’d seen her last, and she wore a heavy scowl.

The constable sat her on a bench on the wall opposite the door and stood close beside her. Did they think she was violent?

“Mrs. Walters took a swipe at one of our constables when she was brought in,” Chisholm explained. “She’s lucky we don’t put her in handcuffs.”

The woman surveyed Tilda and Hadrian with interest, her gaze sweeping over them. “You look different.”

Tilda offered a mild smile. She had no intention of explaining anything to her or identifying who they were.

“You look much the same. It is our hope that you will be more forthcoming with your testimony today when we ask you questions. However, we do expect you may lie, as you did about when you arrived in London. We will discover what else you’ve lied about as we have agents visiting Reading, Maidstone, and Guildford to discover the heart of your and your husband’s crimes. ”

Mrs. Walters’s eyes rounded slightly, and she swallowed visibly. Her gaze darted to the inspector.

Chisholm crossed his arms over his chest. “We know you had dinner with your husband on Sunday and lied about when you arrived. It appears you were the woman who visited him late Monday—right around when he was killed. Looks as though you’ll be facing a charge of murder and likely hanging.”

The color drained from Mrs. Walters’s face. “I told you I didn’t kill him! I wasn’t lying! Not about that,” she added in a lower tone.

“Why should we believe you?” Tilda asked. “Perhaps you could demonstrate your newfound honesty by telling us about the friendly societies your husband started. What was his objective?”

Mrs. Walters’s jaw clenched, and her knee moved up and down, making her appear incredibly nervous.

“How you behave now could determine your punishment,” Chisholm warned.

“We saw there was money to be made from burial societies,” Mrs. Walters said. “My sister’s son died, and they’d belonged to a burial club. It paid for my nephew’s funeral.”

Tilda wondered if the vision Hadrian had seen of Mrs. Walters and her husband with a deceased person had to do with her nephew.

Mrs. Walters continued. “We pretended to have children and joined the club—that was in Salisbury, where we lived originally. We said the children died, and we collected the death benefits. We did this a few times in different places. Philip had the idea to start a club, which is what we did. That was in Maidstone.”

She went on to explain how Philip Walters had founded that first burial club with another gentleman.

Just before they reached the end of the first year when members could begin to collect benefits, he’d left town with all the club’s funds.

He’d done this two more times—in Guildford and Reading.

Then he’d come to London to do the same in the Coleman Street Ward.

He’d started the Amicable Society with the intent to fleece its members and flee London.

“It was to be the last time.” Mrs. Walters wrung her hands. “We were going to settle in Cornwall. We would have had enough money to live comfortably.”

“What happened?” Tilda asked gently, sensing Mrs. Walters’s agitation didn’t just stem from being caught. “Why didn’t you come to London with your husband?”

“He didn’t want me to. He thought he could gain more sympathy if he was a widower.” She looked down at the floor. “But then he stopped writing to me. That’s when I came here to see him.”

“When did you actually arrive?” Chisholm asked.

“Last Sunday,” she replied. “I did stay at a boarding house because I knew I couldn’t go to his house. I had a boy deliver a note, asking Philip to meet me at the Black Anchor.”

“And that’s where you were seen together,” Tilda said with a nod. “What did he tell you?”

Mrs. Walters sniffed. “He said he had to move on sooner than he expected and was angry that I’d come.

” She lifted her gaze finally and her eyes were wet with tears.

“He didn’t want to go to Cornwall—he said he wasn’t going to fetch enough from this society.

He’d decided to go to Bath next to start a new society.

I told him I didn’t want to continue with these schemes.

We had enough money. He disagreed.” Her features stiffened, and she looked angry.

“I threatened to expose him to the Amicable Society. I was there at the meeting on Monday—in the common room at the Swan and Hoop. He saw me and told me to come to his house later that night.”

“So it was you who called on him?” Chisholm asked sharply.

“Yes, but I didn’t kill him.” Her voice broke, and she brushed her hand against her cheek. “Why would I? I loved him. I wanted him to come with me to Cornwall like we’d planned.” Her lip quivered. “He was already dead when I arrived.”

Chisholm uncrossed his arms. “What time was that?”

“Just after one o’clock.”

“Describe what you saw,” Chisholm instructed.

“He was in the parlor on the floor. His head was bashed in, and there was blood and other…” Mrs. Walters squeezed her amber eyes shut and shook her head. “I was very upset. I ran out and didn’t return until Thursday.”

“That was to find the money?” Tilda asked.

Mrs. Walters nodded. “What will happen now?”

“You’ll be prosecuted for fraud and for pushing Miss Wren down the stairs, at least,” Chisholm said tersely.

Blanching, Mrs. Walters sent an apologetic look toward Tilda. “I didn’t mean to push you. I—I was just trying to get away.”

Chisholm grunted. “Regardless, you could have caused her great harm. We’ll verify what you’ve told us.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “And we’ll know if you’ve lied.”

“I haven’t,” she swore, her voice climbing with distress. “I hoped to change his mind, to persuade him to take the money from this society and be done with it all. What reason would I have had to kill him?”

“Perhaps you didn’t mean to,” Hadrian said blandly, though there was a dark glint in his eye.

Everyone knew what Hadrian was saying. Mrs. Walters swallowed.

Tilda could think of at least two reasons Mrs. Walters had for killing her husband—anger at his betrayal of their plan, and jealousy if she somehow learned of his association and potential affair with Mrs. Atkins.

But she didn’t voice them. Phelps’s murder was Chisholm’s investigation, and she wasn’t sure he’d appreciate her input.

Tilda glanced toward the inspector before fixing her gaze on Mrs. Walters once more. “I’ve one last question. Did your husband hire Eaton as a canvasser to recruit people who were sick and overcharge them for fees and dues?”