Page 53 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

A fter spending a few hours at the police station, Tilda had arrived back at White Alley late and in the company of Hadrian and Maxwell. She found herself wanting to discuss the case, primarily with Hadrian, so they could talk about his visions and how they might use them to find Phelps’s killer.

It seemed Maxwell was as convinced as Chisholm that Nevill was guilty of both murders. But Tilda didn’t hold that against him. Maxwell didn’t have the benefit of everything Tilda and Hadrian knew, nor could he.

The evidence had been enough to convince Sergeant Kilgore that Nevill should be charged with the murders of Eaton and Phelps. Indeed, he hadn’t required much persuasion.

Since they’d returned to White Alley so late, Tilda had retired immediately. She’d been hungry but was too tired to eat. Hadrian and Maxwell had gone downstairs to the kitchen to forage for whatever they could find. Tilda was sure Mrs. Kilgore would have assisted them.

Still, when Tilda woke the next morning, she found Mrs. Kilgore was up early too. Tilda made her way to the kitchen and encountered the woman brewing tea with an odd odor.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kilgore,” Tilda said. “What do I smell?”

“I’m making special tea for Inspector Maxwell. He is rather unwell.” Mrs. Kilgore’s face was creased with concern.

Tilda tensed with alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Some sort of stomach gripe,” Mrs. Kilgore replied as she poured the tea into a cup.

“He’s down here on the cot in the storage cupboard.

” She inclined her head toward the front of the house, where a narrow corridor led to that cupboard.

“He was just coming in from the privy after being sick when I came downstairs. I made him lie down in the cupboard rather than go all the way back up to the garret.”

“Let me take him the tea,” Tilda said. She picked up the cup and made her way to the cupboard. It was windowless and only large enough for the narrow cot and a crate that sat on its end next to it. There was also a bucket beside the bed, and from the smell, it seemed Maxwell’s illness persisted.

“I’ve brought tea,” she said softly, placing the cup on the table. She plucked up the bucket and took it to the corridor.

Mrs. Kilgore hurried toward her to take it up. “I’ll wash it out and bring it back.”

“Miss Wren?” Maxwell croaked.

“I’m here.” Tilda moved toward the bed. Since there was nowhere to sit, she knelt on the stone floor.

Maxwell’s lips parted, and he appeared to be breathing heavier than he ought. His skin looked clammy. “Did Mrs. Kilgore tell you I’m ill?”

“Yes, but I can see that for myself,” she said drily, thinking the situation could use some lightness. She was quite worried at how poorly he looked. “I think we should send for Dr. Giles.”

“That would be good, actually. I fear I am most unwell.”

“When did you began feeling ill?” Tilda asked, thinking it had come on rather quickly. He’d been fine last night.

“In the middle of the night. I thought I was just feeling poorly because I didn’t eat much. Ravenhurst and I didn’t want to trouble Mrs. Kilgore last night, so we had cheese and bread. And I’m afraid I overindulged on those biscuits someone sent.”

Tilda frowned. “You wouldn’t be this ill from not eating enough or from having too many biscuits.”

“I am not used to eating such things.” Maxwell moaned.

“If I had to guess, I would say it looks as though you’ve eaten poison,” Tilda said. “But that can’t be.” Or could it? They’d no idea who the biscuits had come from. If they had indeed been poisoned, it would mean someone had intended to harm Maxwell.

And Hadrian.

Tilda’s pulse quickened. “Did Ravenhurst eat any of the biscuits?”

Maxwell’s eyes closed. “I dunno.”

“You should drink this tea. Mrs. Kilgore brewed it to help you feel better.”

“Not just yet,” Maxwell murmured. “I want to rest.”

Tilda frowned as she stood. She didn’t like this one bit. Turning, she hurried from the cupboard and went back to the kitchen. “Have you seen Lord Ravenhurst?”

Mrs. Kilgore shook her head. “Not this morning.”

Perhaps he wasn’t ill. Or perhaps he was and hadn’t been able to leave the garret.

Tilda hastened to the stairs and quickly ascended to the ground floor.

Then she raced to the front of the house.

But as she reached the stairs, she stopped short at seeing Hadrian coming down.

He was dressed as usual and wore his blond wig and facial hair.

“You’re all right?” she asked, sounding breathless, but then her heart was pounding with fright.

“Yes.” He reached her at the bottom of the stairs, his forehead pleating. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Tilda touched Hadrian’s sleeve. “Maxwell is violently ill. Will you fetch Dr. Giles? I’m worried Maxwell’s been poisoned.”

Hadrian’s eyes rounded. “How would that have happened?”

“I can only think the biscuits that were delivered may have contained poison. Maxwell said he ate too many. Did you have any?”

“I did not, but I did see Maxwell eat several. He couldn’t seem to help himself, which he found ironic since he doesn’t typically eat such things. He said they reminded him of something his mother used to bake at Christmas.”

Tilda’s heart squeezed. She hated that something which had given Maxwell joy may now be causing him distress. “He began feeling unwell in the middle of the night, and it’s not a mild illness. I wish we knew where those biscuits had come from.”

“Didn’t Mrs. Kilgore say they were delivered by a boy?”

Tilda nodded. “I’ll speak with her whilst you fetch Dr. Giles.”

First, Tilda checked on Maxwell and found him peacefully asleep. When she returned to the kitchen, she was surprised to find Mrs. Kilgore had prepared a plate of eggs and toast for her.

“You must be hungry,” Mrs. Kilgore said. “You didn’t eat at all last night.”

Tilda’s stomach growled in response. “I am, thank you.”

Mrs. Kilgore poured tea. “Don’t worry, this isn’t the medicinal brew I made for the inspector. This is his lordship’s blend.”

After taking a few bites, Tilda sipped her tea and looked at Mrs. Kilgore. “Do you recall anything about the boy who delivered the biscuits?”

“He was around ten or eleven, I’d say. He had freckles. Why?”

“Because I fear Inspector Maxwell has been poisoned and that the biscuits are the source.”

Mrs. Kilgore gasped. “I had no idea!”

“You wouldn’t have,” Tilda said gently. “I’m sure Maxwell didn’t taste anything wrong with the biscuits. If it’s arsenic, as I suspect, there wouldn’t be any strange flavor. Ravenhurst has gone to fetch Dr. Giles.”

“Thank goodness.” Mrs. Kilgore looked a bit pale. “Why would someone want to poison the inspector?” Her eyes rounded. “And his lordship! Do you think it’s to do with your investigation?”

“We are investigating the fraud, and it’s evident that Phelps and Eaton were responsible. Since they are both dead, they can’t poison anyone. Furthermore, no one is aware that we’re investigators, as far as I know.”

What if someone had discovered their true identities?

Tilda wondered if Phelps’s or Eaton’s murderer could have sent the poisoned biscuits.

Except that Nevill was in custody. But what if Tilda’s suspicion was correct and Nevill hadn’t killed Phelps?

What if Phelps’s killer feared they were close to discovering their identity and tried to poison them?

Tilda’s name hadn’t been on the card, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t eat the biscuits.

Mrs. Kilgore gave her a frank stare. “I’m no inspector, but it seems to me that you’ve been investigating the murders in addition to the fraud.

” She lowered her voice, though there was no one to hear them talking.

“I’ll tell you a secret. You’re a better investigator than some of the police inspectors. ”

Tilda couldn’t help smiling. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret. I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to solving murders. If someone is killed in my vicinity, I am bound to investigate.”

“I read about the Levitation Killer murders—you solved that case. You ought to work for the police. Except I know they wouldn’t hire you.” Mrs. Kilgore appeared disappointed by that.

“No, they won’t. I do sometimes work with an inspector at Scotland Yard. Unofficially,” Tilda added. “It’s been nice to have an official assignment with Inspector Maxwell.”

Mrs. Kilgore glanced toward the cupboard where he was resting. “He’s a good man and a fine inspector. The two of you seem to be well matched. As partners, I mean.”

“I’m distressed that he was poisoned,” Tilda said.

“The biscuits were for both of them,” Mrs. Kilgore said pensively, her brow creasing as she leaned on the worktable.

“And they were sent in congratulations, presumably because of their new appointments with the society.” Tilda tried to think of who all knew about the appointments—the Furniers, Nevill, Dr. Giles, and the Drapers. But why would any of them want to poison Maxwell and Hadrian?

“Perhaps it was an accident,” Mrs. Kilgore suggested. “I’ve heard of that happening when someone grabs the wrong ingredient.” She grimaced. “That would be awful. I’m not sure I could live with myself.”

A banging on the front door drew Tilda and Mrs. Kilgore to turn their heads toward the stairs. Tilda jumped up and ran to answer the summons.

Tilda opened the door to see Dr. Giles standing on the doorstep. She looked past him, but Hadrian was not present. “Where is Ha— Nigel?” In her agitation, she’d nearly used his real name.

“He went to meet with Draper and Furnier. I’m supposed to attend as well, but it sounds as though Mr. Harwood is quite ill.”

“Yes, please come in.” Tilda welcomed him inside and took his hat, which she placed on a hook. “He’s downstairs so he could be closer to the privy.”

Tilda led him to the kitchen and introduced her “sister.” Mrs. Kilgore explained Maxwell’s symptoms.

Dr. Giles frowned. “Mr. Beck said you suspected poison and that it may have been from some biscuits that were delivered from an anonymous source.”