Page 55 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

A fter calling on Dr. Giles and ensuring he would pay a visit to Maxwell, Hadrian made his way to Draper’s house.

Whilst Hadrian was concerned about Maxwell, he wanted to keep the appointment with Draper and Furnier.

Hopefully, Maxwell would feel better later, and Hadrian would update him on what happened.

Draper’s lodgings were a set of rooms over a millinery shop on the second floor. Mrs. Draper welcomed Hadrian inside and showed him to a small parlor where Draper was waiting.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Beck,” he said with a nod.

Mrs. Draper looked to her husband. “I’m going to take the children over to visit my mother whilst you meet.” She departed the parlor.

“I didn’t realize you had children,” Hadrian said.

“Two,” Draper replied. “A boy and a girl, aged two and four.”

“How delightful,” Hadrian said with a smile. “I’m sorry to arrive early,” Hadrian said. “Dr. Giles will be late, if he comes at all. I had to fetch him to call on my brother-in-law, as he is taken ill.”

Draper’s brow creased with concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Mr. Harwood won’t be here today either then?”

“Definitely not,” Hadrian said.

“That sounds worrying.”

“Hopefully it’s nothing serious.” Hadrian didn’t want to mention the potential of poison when they weren’t certain.

“So it’s to be just you, Furnier, and me,” Draper said.

“We’ll see if Giles shows up.” Hadrian held up the ledger he and Tilda had found at Phelps’s house. “Hopefully this will provide us with a list of the members Eaton recruited, and we can determine how much money we need to repay them.”

Draper extended his hand. “May I?”

“Of course.” Hadrian gave the diary to him and idly realized he hadn’t ever shaken the man’s hand.

Draper sat and opened the ledger to peruse it.

Hadrian glanced about the room whilst Draper reviewed Eaton’s accounting.

There was a photograph on the mantel of Mrs. and Mr. Draper on their wedding day.

A pair of painted candlesticks framed the photograph, one on either side.

Hadrian noticed the half-burned candles didn’t match.

One was tallow and the other spermaceti—it looked like the one he’d had seen at Phelps’s house in the remaining brass candlestick.

Hadrian moved closer. It didn’t just look similar … Curious, Hadrian removed the candle from the holder. He was suddenly in Phelps’s parlor, where he seemed to spend so many of his visions of late.

He was holding the candle in his left hand, and he was bent over. As he straightened, he pivoted. He saw Phelps’s body in exactly the same position he’d viewed it the morning he and Tilda had happened by his house.

Phelps’s head was bashed in, but the blood had not settled.

It was still oozing from the wound, spreading on the floor beneath Phelps’s head.

Hadrian realized that in his right hand, he held the missing brass candlestick.

His heart began to pound. He couldn’t see whose memory this was, but he could certainly guess.

Perhaps the man would move in such a way that his reflection would be visible in the mirror that hung in Phelps’s dining room. Unfortunately, he did not. The man stood over Phelps’s body, breathing heavily and then swearing under his breath.

“What have I done?”

The man didn’t speak the words aloud, but Hadrian heard them in his mind as if he’d thought them. He also felt an overwhelming sense of shock and horror mingled with fury.

“Mr. Beck?”

Hadrian blinked and the vision faded. A terrible pain blistered through his head. He took a deep breath before turning to face Draper. He still held the candle in his hand.

“What are you doing?” Draper asked.

“I just noticed your candles didn’t match.” Hadrian shrugged, then returned the candle to its holder. Ice coated his skin as he realized he was in the presence of Phelps’s murderer.

“When did you start taking money at the society meetings?” Hadrian asked, his heart continuing to race. He worked to keep his tone even.

“I don’t recall exactly, but sometime after the new year,” Draper replied as he continued to flip through the diary.

“And how did that come about?” Hadrian moved toward the doorway to the small entry hall, which took him past where Draper was sitting. “Were you recruited for the position?”

Draper looked up from the ledger. “They asked at a meeting if anyone would volunteer to help collect money. I raised my hand. I’ve always been keen to help the society.”

“I see. All this turmoil must be very upsetting for you.” But was it disturbing enough for him to kill?

It seemed to have been—Hadrian was convinced the man was a murderer.

But what could Hadrian do about it right now?

He had no proof beyond what he’d seen when he touched the candle.

He’d have to coax a confession out of Draper, as they’d done with Nevill.

Hadrian tried to think of how to do that, but he wanted someone else present to hear the confession. Hopefully, Furnier would arrive soon.

“What do you think of the ledger?” Hadrian asked.

Draper frowned. “There are a great many members listed here who should not have been admitted due to illness. They appear to have paid inflated entrance fees, as well as weekly dues.” He closed the book with a snap.

“I don’t know how we can repay all that.

But where has the money gone? Shouldn’t the police have recovered it from Eaton or Phelps? ”

Hadrian thought of the notion that Eaton’s killer had stolen whatever money Eaton may have had.

Since they knew Phelps had killed him, it seemed plausible that Phelps would have had all the ill-gotten money.

Perhaps the entire sum had been beneath the floorboards and was indeed in police custody.

Hadrian would confer with Inspector Chisholm and hopefully match up the amount of those funds with Phelps’s ledger.

It occurred to Hadrian that money was not Draper’s motive.

What was it then? The only thing that made sense was Draper’s passion for and dedication to the society.

If he’d learned of Phelps’s corruption, he could have been angry enough to kill him.

Hadrian had felt the man’s rage in the vision along with his surprise.

Perhaps he’d confronted Phelps and killing him had been triggered by emotion.

“We should speak with the police about the money,” Hadrian said. “And we should prepare ourselves for the possibility that we won’t recover all that was stolen.”

Draper’s eyes flashed with anger. “It’s not fair. People work hard, and every shilling counts.”

Hadrian wondered if he could provoke Draper into confessing something. “It’s good that Phelps and Eaton are dead.”

“I confess I’m shocked by Eaton’s behavior,” Draper said. “I’ve known him for some time and never would have believed he was corrupt—at least not on purpose. It seems likely to me that Phelps told him to admit members who were ill and to overcharge them.”

“Eaton’s colleague from the Prudential Assurance Company confirmed that he had a history of stealing.” Hadrian realized he shouldn’t have shared that. Why would he know such information?

Draper blinked in surprise. “How do you know that?”

Hadrian shrugged. “I don’t recall where I heard it. Perhaps I’m wrong.” He wanted to deflect Draper’s attention. “You knew Eaton to be a good man?”

“I did. You must be mistaken. I’m sure Phelps corrupted him.”

“You sound rather certain,” Hadrian said. “Do you have any proof that Phelps did that?”

A look of unease passed over Draper’s features as he glanced away. “I just know that he did.”

Hadrian sensed the opportunity to provoke a confession, but wished Furnier was there. Where the devil was he? “It sounds as though Phelps ruined a good man and robbed the society. That’s bloody enraging.”

Draper’s eyes gleamed with righteous fury. “You’re damned right it is.”

“I can see where someone might have killed him. Even by accident,” Hadrian added softly.

Two things happened at once: Draper rose and dropped the diary on the chair, and Hadrian heard a shuffle outside, perhaps signaling Furnier’s arrival.

Hadrian pivoted to make his way to the door just as it opened. But it wasn’t Furnier on the other side of the threshold. It was Tilda.

Her eyes rounded, and he heard her shout his name just as he felt something crash onto his head. The blow sent him to his knees, and in a horrid flash, it was a cold night in January when he’d been stabbed and fell to the cobblestones.

But Hadrian refused to lose consciousness this time.

E verything froze as Tilda watched Draper strike Hadrian over the head with a small table he’d swept up. Hadrian fell forward to his knees, where he swayed. Then he collapsed onto the floor.

Tilda rushed forward, desperate to reach Hadrian.

“Bloody hell!” Dr. Giles shouted from behind her.

She dropped down next to Hadrian as Dr. Giles moved beside her. “Put the table down, Draper! What are you doing?”

“He killed Phelps,” Hadrian muttered. He moaned softly and touched his head. “Is it bleeding?”

Tilda looked at his scalp. “No, but your wig is askew,” she whispered.

“Did you say Draper killed Phelps?” the doctor asked, his voice rising.

“Yes,” Hadrian groaned. “He has the candle from the missing brass candlestick on his mantel.”

Tilda’s gaze shot to the mantel. Right away, she saw how the candles were different. “Brilliant investigative work,” she murmured to Hadrian.

“I saw him do it,” Hadrian whispered.

Tilda nodded, eager to hear the details when he could share them.

Draper’s eyes were wide. He still held the table aloft.

“What are you going to do?” Tilda asked him. “You’ve already killed one man, poisoned another, and now you’ve struck my brother. Do you hope to kill the three of us and flee?”

“I didn’t mean to do any of it,” Draper croaked. He lowered the table slowly.

“What on earth is going on?”

Tilda recognized Furnier’s voice but didn’t dare turn her head away from Draper.