Page 56 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

“Draper killed Phelps, poisoned Mr. Harwood, and just hit Mr. Beck,” Tilda replied.

“He poisoned Maxwell?” Hadrian said, his voice low and unsteady, so that it was possible no one noticed he’d called Maxwell by the wrong name.

“Yes. We puzzled that out, and I rushed over here. But you were busy unmasking him as the murderer.” She felt an enormous sense of pride, along with something else she couldn’t quite identify.

She just knew she felt more drawn to Hadrian than ever before, and she didn’t know if it was because of her worry for his safety or her admiration for him solving the case.

Or if it was both of those things as well as some deeper sentiment.

Furnier came to stand near Dr. Giles so that Tilda could see him from the corner of her eye. She still wouldn’t take her gaze off Hadrian and Draper.

“Someone must fetch a constable and Inspector Chisholm,” Tilda said.

“Perhaps you should do that whilst we guard Draper,” Dr. Giles suggested.

Tilda wasn’t leaving Hadrian. “I’m staying with my brother since he’s wounded.” How she wished she had her pistol to train it on Draper until the police arrived.

“I’ll go,” Furnier said. “Giles, you should look at Beck’s head.” He departed swiftly.

“Now would be a good time for you to have your pistol,” Hadrian said quietly.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Tilda replied softly. “Can you stand?”

“Yes.” He rolled to his side.

Tilda helped him rise, then guided him to a chair. “Sit, please.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Hadrian dropped into the chair with a grimace.

Furnier returned, but before Tilda could ask why—in extreme irritation—Chisholm appeared behind him with a constable.

“The inspector was already on his way here,” Furnier explained. “I encountered him just outside.”

“Mrs. Kilgore sent me,” Chisholm said.

“Who is Mrs. Kilgore?” Dr. Giles asked.

“My sister,” Tilda replied.

“Isn’t the sergeant also called Kilgore?” Dr. Giles asked. “And who is Maxwell?”

Tilda and Hadrian exchanged a long look, but before they could respond, Inspector Chisholm spoke.

“Mr. and Mrs. Harwood have been investigating the fraud of the Amicable Society on behalf of the police. Mr. Harwood is Inspector Maxwell and Mrs. Harwood is a private investigator.” Chisholm paused as the three men gaped at him. “Mr. Beck has been assisting with the investigation.”

Hadrian pulled the wig from his head and gently touched where he’d been struck. Wincing, he lowered his hand, and the wig, to his lap.

Tilda faced Draper. “Why did you send biscuits poisoned with arsenic?”

Draper grimaced. “I only wanted Harwood to be ill for a while so I could become an administrator. I hate working at the mercantile house—we all do. Harwood hardly worked there and then resigned his position. He didn’t say where he would be working instead, but next thing I hear, he’s an administrator for the society.

I’ve been a member longer and I’ve been taking money.

” He sent a disgruntled look at Furnier.

“Why wouldn’t they ask me? It should have been me. ”

“But you were going to become an administrator,” Furnier cried.

“That was after Nevill was arrested.” Draper’s face had turned bright red. “I sent the biscuits before that happened.”

“And we weren’t paying Harwood,” Furnier said. “None of us are paid, only the canvasser receives a salary.”

“I’m not even paid.” Dr. Giles glowered at Draper. “Not yet anyway.”

Tilda cocked her head at Draper. “Did you think any of this through?”

“No,” Hadrian replied, though she hadn’t asked him. “He killed Phelps in a rage after going to confront him about his swindle with Eaton.” He winced as he turned his head to look at Draper. “Do I have that right?”

Draper nodded. “I didn’t mean to kill him.” He frowned, and an angry light glinted in his eyes. “He was arrogant and unapologetic. He offered to pay me to keep quiet, said he would leave London.”

“That was Phelps’s plan all along—to leave London with the society’s money,” Tilda said.

“It wasn’t just that he’d cheated everyone.

He corrupted Eaton.” Draper sneered. “Tim was a good man and my friend. He came to see me and told me everything that Phelps had hired him to do. Tim didn’t realize how bad it would be at first, but he needed the money for his sister.

After Cardy died, Tim told me that Phelps was going to blame the fraud on him and that he’d given Tim some money to leave town.

Only it wasn’t enough. I told Tim to go back and demand that Phelps turn himself in.

Tim planned to do that and must have, but Phelps killed him. ”

“How do you know Phelps killed him?” Chisholm asked sharply.

“Because when I went to see Phelps, I asked if he knew where Tim had gone. Phelps acted strangely, and he said Tim had got what he deserved. He tried to blame everything on him.” Draper’s voice was climbing. “I was tired of his lies. The society deserved better than him!”

“That’s when you struck him with the candlestick?” Tilda kept her voice even.

Draper nodded.

Chisholm fixed his dark gaze on Draper. “Sounds as though I’ll be charging you with the murder of Walter Phelps and the attempted murders of Inspector Maxwell and Lord Ravenhurst.” He closed his eyes briefly, then sent Hadrian an apologetic glance.

“ Lord Ravenhurst? ” Furnier gasped as Draper paled.

“I struck a peer?” Draper asked faintly.

“An earl.” Tilda narrowed her gaze at Draper. “Why would you take the candle from Phelps’s house and use it here in plain sight?”

Draper stared at her a moment. “It was a good candle. I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Where is the brass candlestick you used to kill Phelps?” Chisholm asked.

Casting his focus to the floor, Draper mumbled his response. “Hidden under my bed. I was going to sell it in a month or so.”

Tilda concluded that Draper wasn’t terribly bright.

He seemed ruled by emotion and perhaps economy, as evidenced by his reusing of Phelps’s candle, regardless of the risk that possessing it would implicate him in a murder, and his intent to sell the weapon he’d used to kill Phelps.

He’d made a series of poor choices and hadn’t seemed to fully consider the consequences.

Chisholm looked to the constable. “Handcuffs, if you please, Selby.”

The young constable made his way to Draper and placed the cuffs on his wrists.

“What of my wife?” Draper asked, his voice breaking. “My children?”

“I will explain to them what has happened,” Tilda said.

“It may be best if you go now before your family returns. Mrs. Draper can visit you later.” If she wanted to.

Though Tilda had questions for her about the biscuits.

“Wait,” she said to Inspector Chisholm. “I want to ask Draper about the biscuits he sent to Inspector Maxwell.”

“Yes, I would like to know how much arsenic was used,” Dr. Giles said. “It will help determine the inspector’s recovery.”

“I added arsenic when my wife was distracted with the children,” Draper replied. “I didn’t add much. I really was only trying to make him sick. I made sure all the biscuits went to Harwood and Beck.”

Dr. Giles glared at Draper. “You fool. You endangered your wife by allowing her to cook with the poison.”

Draper blanched. “I thought it would be fine if she didn’t eat any.”

“Let’s go,” Chisholm said, inclining his head toward the door.

The constable took Draper by the arm and guided him out.

Chisholm looked to Tilda and Hadrian. “I’ll expect you to call at the station later to provide testimony. My apologies for revealing your identity, my lord. That was not my intent.”

“I do hope you won’t be charging Nevill with murder now that Draper has been arrested,” Tilda said.

“He was still involved with Eaton’s death,” the inspector replied.

“Yes, but only to dispose of the body,” Tilda argued.

“He didn’t kill the man—there’s no proof that he did and every indication that it was Phelps.

We know he left his house to fetch Nevill, who he had stop at his shop for the fabric with which to wrap the body.

I believe that indicates Eaton was already dead at Phelps’s house. ”

Chisholm’s brows pitched down over his eyes. “Nevill is still guilty of aiding a murderer.”

“Yes, but he’s not a killer.” Tilda knew Nevill wasn’t blameless, but he shouldn’t hang for a crime he didn’t commit.

“I suppose not.” Chisholm did not sound pleased. He departed, leaving Tilda and Hadrian with Furnier and Dr. Giles.

“Let me tend to your head,” Dr. Giles said. He’d brought his bag with him and set it on the table that Draper had used to hit Hadrian.

Dr. Giles parted Hadrian’s hair and gently prodded at the spot where Draper had hit him. “You’ve a contusion, and a bump has formed. I’d say it’s good you were wearing that hair piece or you might have sustained a cut or abrasion.”

Hadrian smiled at Tilda. “I’m glad it was good for something.”

“Are you really an earl?” Dr. Giles asked.

“Yes. Am I all right then? No concussion? I had one in January, and this doesn’t feel as bad as that, thankfully.”

Dr. Giles asked several questions and concluded that Hadrian was not concussed. He instructed him to be cautious for the rest of the day.

“What of Maxwell?” Hadrian asked. “Will he be all right?”

“Was he really poisoned?” Furnier asked, his face pale.

The doctor nodded. “But he’ll be fine.”

Tilda was eager to see Hadrian back to White Alley so he could rest. However, she also felt the need to stay and speak to Mrs. Draper about what had happened.

She looked to Hadrian. “You should return to White Alley. I want to stay so I may tell Mrs. Draper about her husband. Perhaps Dr. Giles can walk with you.”

“I’ll just wait for you.” Hadrian gave her a weak smile, and she could see he was in pain. She wondered how much was from the blow to his head and what was due to the vision he’d had. Tilda had no doubt he’d seen something and looked forward to hearing the details.