Page 50 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

A s soon as Maxwell arrived at White Alley from the mercantile house, Hadrian and Tilda updated him on everything they’d learned that day—minus the memories Hadrian had seen and from which he was still suffering a slight headache.

Then they reviewed the scheme Tilda had concocted for provoking Nevill’s confession at the meeting.

Hadrian had helped, but Tilda had laid out the plan.

He was looking forward to executing it, but was disappointed that Tilda would not be a participant, since she would not be allowed into the meeting.

Instead, Tilda would remain in the common room in the company of Mrs. Furnier and Mrs. Draper, if they came.

She’d even brought some items to mend, though neither required mending, nor was she actually going to conduct a repair.

By her own admission, her lack of skill at needlework was only surpassed by her complete disinterest.

Just as they were preparing to leave, Mrs. Kilgore came upstairs carrying a small basket. “These just arrived for you. They’re biscuits.”

“Who are they for?” Maxwell asked.

“All of you. There’s a note,” Mrs. Kilgore said.

Maxwell pulled a small piece of parchment from the basket and read it aloud, “Congratulations, Mr. Harwood and Mr. Beck.”

“Not for all of us then,” Tilda noted with a smirk.

Mrs. Kilgore grimaced. “Sorry, Miss Wren.”

Tilda waved her hand. “It’s fine. It appears someone is congratulating them on their new positions with the society, and that does not include me. Who delivered them?”

“A young boy,” Mrs. Kilgore said. “He came to the back door. I didn’t recognize him.”

Maxwell returned the note to the basket and withdrew a round biscuit stamped with a pineapple design. “As it happens, I’m feeling a bit peckish. Thank you, Mrs. Kilgore. We’ll be back later.”

He popped the biscuit into his mouth, and the three of them departed on their way to the Swan and Hoop.

“I wonder who sent the biscuits,” Tilda mused.

“Mrs. Atkins?” Hadrian suggested.

“Seems like she might have just sent them to you,” Maxwell cracked.

Tilda laughed as Hadrian rolled his eyes.

“Well, they are delicious, whoever sent them,” Maxwell said.

“That was very thoughtful. I must say, I’ve enjoyed many things about this investigation, including the sense of belonging that many people here seem to feel.

We have something like that at the police station, but it’s not quite the same.

I’ll probably be back there soon enough, as this investigation is winding down. ”

Hadrian wouldn’t walk away without ensuring things were made right.

That was not an investigator’s job, but Hadrian hated thinking of people like Mrs. Cardy and her children suffering as a result of the money swindled from them.

He also thought of Eaton’s sister in the orphanage and didn’t want her going to a workhouse.

“I will not consider our work done until we have restored the funds that were stolen from everyone who was cheated by Eaton and Phelps.”

“You still plan to meet with Draper to determine who those people are?” Maxwell asked.

“I do,” Hadrian said. “I will set that up with him after the meeting, I hope. We’ll see how things progress.”

Tilda gave them a rueful smile. “I hope the plan goes well. I’ll be sorry to miss its execution.”

“We will share every last detail,” Hadrian promised.

“All that matters is that you obtain Nevill’s confession,” she said.

They went into the pub. Mrs. Furnier and Mrs. Draper were sitting together at a table near the door to the meeting room. “I’ll join the ladies,” Tilda said. “At least I brought mending to pretend to work on today.”

“We’ll see you after,” Maxwell said.

He and Hadrian made their way to the open door into the meeting room.

Nevill, Furnier, and Draper were already there.

Nevill looked a bit pale, and he was not his usual smiling self.

Hadrian assumed he’d spent some time today being interviewed by Inspector Chisholm and wondered how that had gone.

Hadrian knew without a doubt that Nevill had not been forthcoming about his role in Eaton’s death and would have had to maintain his deceit when speaking with Chisholm. He was likely spent.

“We can sit, if you’d like.” Furnier gestured to a table arranged with six chairs. “We’re just waiting for Dr. Giles.”

Draper looked toward the doorway. “Here he is.”

Dr. Giles strode inside, assessed the room, and closed the door. He removed his hat and set it on a hook near the door where others had put theirs. Hadrian added his hat to the wall, and Maxwell did the same.

Furnier positioned himself at the head of the table, and Nevill sat to his left.

Draper sat beside Nevill, whilst Hadrian and Maxwell took the chairs opposite them.

This left the seat at the other end of the table open for Dr. Giles.

However, he didn’t sit. He moved to stand behind the chair and braced his hands on top of the back.

“Would you like to sit so we may begin?” Furnier asked with an arched brow.

“I don’t need to sit.” The doctor’s mouth was set in a firm line.

The muscles of his neck were tense, and his brows pulled together.

His blue eyes sparked with high emotion.

“I would like to resign from the Amicable Society. When I accepted Phelps’s offer to work with the society, I never envisioned the disaster it would become.

Desperate people cheated of their money.

Two people dead.” Dr. Giles shook his head.

“I can’t imagine why you all want to continue, but I do not.

I don’t think the Amicable Society is salvageable. ”

“I can’t disagree,” Furnier said, which seemed to surprise both Nevill and Draper, who swung their heads toward him.

Draper even gasped. “We can’t abandon the society,” he argued. “It provides a much-needed service for the ward.”

Dr. Giles cut his hand through the air. “There are other burial societies.”

“But our Amicable Society is more than that,” Draper said. “We help people in time of illness, and we, as members, look out for one another. We are a friendly society, and that is much more than a simple burial club.”

“We are a friendly society founded on decidedly unfriendly intentions,” Dr. Giles said darkly.

It sounded to Hadrian that Giles knew Phelps had started the society with ill intent. Did all of them know?

“What are you saying?” Draper asked. “That the Amicable Society was never meant to be a friendly society?”

Furnier shot Dr. Giles a frigid stare. “Let us not revisit what’s happened. Dr. Giles, if you would like to disassociate yourself from the Amicable Society, we cannot force you to stay, nor will we try. Perhaps we should all take your lead and step away from this failed endeavor.”

Draper looked earnestly about the table. “I believe we can start fresh with new leadership.” He pinned his gaze on Furnier. “We have Mr. Beck and Mr. Harwood to help. We can move forward with the picnic and plan other events that will instill confidence and a sense of brotherhood within the ward.”

Brow furrowing, Furnier contemplated Draper’s heartfelt plea. “I did envision Mr. Beck working as an officer of goodwill, perhaps even more than recruiting new members.”

Dr. Giles threw his hands up. “This is a waste of time. The police haven’t even caught who killed Phelps or Eaton. Their behavior and murders are a stain on the society, even if no one else will be defrauded because they’re both dead.”

Maxwell and Hadrian exchanged a look. It was time.

Hadrian looked at the doctor. “It’s interesting you commented that the Amicable Society was founded fraudulently.

I find myself wondering what you know about what has transpired—and possibly haven’t revealed.

” This wasn’t part of the plan, but they hadn’t anticipated Giles saying something like that, and Hadrian wanted to know what he’d meant.

The doctor’s lips parted, but he clamped his jaw shut very quickly and exchanged a look with Furnier and Nevill. Draper appeared confused. It certainly appeared to Hadrian that they knew something they hadn’t revealed. Perhaps Tilda’s scheme would provoke confessions from everyone.

“Harwood and I have something to share.” Hadrian looked toward Maxwell.

“I have an old friend who is a constable with the police,” Maxwell said. “He told me that Phelps’s wife turned up here in London. She isn’t really dead.”

All the men at the table, save Hadrian and Maxwell, appeared surprised, but Hadrian couldn’t know if that was because they’d believed her to be dead or they’d known she was alive and were shocked that she was here.

Maxwell continued. “Mrs. Walters—Phelps isn’t their real name—has had much to say.

” He paused and looked at each of the four men who’d been with the society.

“The man you knew as Walter Phelps was actually called Philip Walters, and he started several friendly societies or burial clubs in other cities, solely with the intent to steal the money that people paid in before there was even an opportunity for it to be paid out.”

“Bloody bastard,” Dr. Giles swore.

Hadrian looked at the doctor. “You didn’t know? You said the society was started with ‘unfriendly intentions.’ I took that to indicate that you might have been aware of Philip Walters’s plan.”

Dr. Giles’s face lost a shade of color. “I didn’t know he’d started the society with an explicit plan to steal everything.

We all thought he’d hired Eaton to conduct the fraud of admitting members who were ill and overcharging them.

” He glowered at Nevill. “At least, that’s what Nevill told us after Phelps died.

Personally, I assumed Phelps was betting on them dying before they’d have to collect.

He purposely kept me from being a part of admitting those members because he knew I wouldn’t allow it based on their health. ”

Furnier’s mouth was tight, his expression one of cold anger.

Nevill was still pale, and his body was moving as if he were tapping his foot or making some other nervous motion.

Draper’s eyes were wide, and he kept looking from Furnier to Giles, and then to Nevill, and then repeated the circuit.

Giles clenched the back of the chair, his knuckles turning white.

“You all knew about the fraud,” Hadrian said.

“And lied about it since learning the truth, particularly at the inquest.” Maxwell narrowed his eyes.

“You all appear complicit.” He fixed his gaze on Nevill and told the lie Tilda had concocted to provoke Nevill.

“Mrs. Walters arrived in London on Saturday and went to her husband’s house.

She saw Phelps and another man pushing a night soil cart.

” He paused before continuing, his gaze sweeping around the table.

Hadrian tensed, knowing what was coming next.

“She said whatever was in the cart appeared bloody,” Maxwell finished.

This revelation was met with more shock and gasps from everyone, even Furnier.

“Who was with Phelps?” Giles asked, his eyes bulging.

“There was a piece of fabric attached to the inside of the cart,” Hadrian said. He looked at Nevill and watched the remaining color in his face drain away. Moisture dappled his forehead.

Maxwell withdrew the scrap of fabric that had come from the night soil cart and placed it on the table in front of him. “This is the broadcloth that was found in the cart. It came from Nevill’s shop.”

The other men at the table swung their heads toward Nevill.

“What have you done?” Furnier demanded.

Nevill’s shoulders shook. “God forgive me.” He began to sob.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Mrs. Atkins swept in. Tilda was on her heels, her green eyes wide.

“I should be a part of this meeting,” Mrs. Atkins declared with great hauteur. “I have important things to say.”

Furnier stood and glowered at her. “Right now, there is nothing more important than Nevill explaining why he has committed murder.”