Page 7 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Harwood, but we will be starting shortly. You’ll need to remain here in the common room.”

“I see,” she murmured.

Hadrian could see the curiosity brimming in her gaze and also the disappointment and annoyance that she was to be excluded.

She forced a smile. “I understand.”

Mrs. Draper came from the meeting room and joined her. “Mrs. Harwood, allow me to introduce you to the other wives.” She guided Tilda to a table where several other ladies were seated.

Hadrian was now doubly glad he’d come, for he could report every detail of the meeting to Tilda.

He supposed the inspector would have done the same, but Maxwell didn’t know Tilda as Hadrian did.

He would not be aware of the information she would hope to learn.

Hadrian, however, knew her quite well and would do his best to satisfy her boundless curiosity.

Someone closed the doors behind them, and Mr. Nevill took Hadrian toward the purple-covered table where three other men stood. Maxwell joined them, though he loitered a bit behind.

“We have another potential member,” Nevill told them. “This is Mr. Harwood’s brother-in-law, Mr. Nigel Beck. He works at a gentlemen’s club in the West End. Mr. Harwood, allow me to present Mr. Phelps, the society’s chair, Mr. Furnier, our bursar, and Dr. Giles, our physician.”

Furnier, a small, thin man with a pinched expression did not appear pleased. “We mustn’t rush anything.” He sent Hadrian a look that was even colder than the one Maxwell had delivered earlier. “You should come back next week.”

“I can try.” Hadrian scrubbed his cheek. “However, I’m typically working at this hour.”

“I’m afraid that will not do,” Furnier said. “We expect members will attend meetings as much as possible, and at least once each quarter.”

Hadrian wondered if they actually required that. If they did, it would seem someone would have noticed the member who had died was ill. “Is it a problem if members don’t attend?”

“It is the easiest way to collect the weekly membership fees, as we meet every Monday evening.” Nevill glanced toward a table near the doorway, where a man sat taking payments from members as they entered.

He placed the funds in a money box on the table and recorded the deposit in a ledger.

“If someone is not able to attend, they typically send their payment along with someone else, so it’s not really required that they attend.

” He sent a suffering glance toward Furnier.

“What happens if someone doesn’t make their weekly payment?” Hadrian asked.

Furnier pursed his lips tightly. “We call on them to ensure all is well. However, if two consecutive payments are missed, we issue a written warning of dismissal from the society. After the third missed payment, we remove them from our membership roll.”

“If I can’t attend, perhaps I can send my fee with my brother-in-law.” Hadrian inclined his head toward Maxwell, who’d moved to the rows of chairs that were aligned for the meeting.

“Certainly,” Nevill said.

“What is your income?” Furnier asked, looking harassed and prompting Hadrian to wonder if he ever smiled or appeared pleasant.

“Twenty-five shillings per week.”

Nevill smiled. “That is sufficient. Are you in good health?” He glanced toward the doctor.

“He certainly looks it,” Dr. Giles commented after sweeping his gaze over Hadrian’s person. “What is your age?”

“Thirty,” Hadrian replied.

“Have any of your family died of consumption?” the doctor asked.

“No.”

“Do any of them suffer with gout?” When Hadrian replied in the negative, Dr. Giles rattled off several more diseases, to which Hadrian also said no.

“Are all members subject to this interview?” Hadrian asked.

The chair, Mr. Phelps, fixed his dark-brown eyes on Hadrian. “Of course. Are you prepared to pay the entrance fee this evening?”

“I believe so,” Hadrian replied. “Two pence?”

“Three shillings to join,” Mr. Furnier said crisply. “Two pence per week after that. The amount varies based on age, and you are not young.”

Hadrian nearly scoffed at that assessment. He certainly didn’t feel old . Withdrawing the necessary funds from his coat, he held the coins out to the bursar.

Furnier frowned and did not take the money. “You haven’t been approved yet.”

Hadrian didn’t withdraw his hand. He was very close to being admitted—it was clear Nevill wanted him. “My apologies. I thought I had.”

“Of course, you are,” Nevill said jovially before casting an exasperated glance toward Furnier. “We would be glad to accept your application. Don’t you agree, Walter?” He looked expectantly at the apparent man in charge.

Mr. Phelps hesitated, then stretched his lips into a thin smile.

“Yes, of course. We’ll take down your information after the meeting, as we must begin.

You may give your entrance fee to Mr. Draper over there.

” He gestured toward the man sitting at a table near the door. “Then please take your seat.”

Hadrian grinned with what he hoped was the proper amount of enthusiasm. “Thank you very much.” He’d learned a great deal about playing a role from watching Tilda. He went to the man Phelps had indicated—Draper—just as he was closing a wooden box.

Hadrian glimpsed a cock and snake carved into the top before as he handed over his entrance fee. Draper opened the lid and dropped the coins inside the box. “Your name?”

“Nigel Beck.”

Draper recorded Hadrian’s payment in a ledger, then dropped the coins into the box. He looked up and smiled warmly. “Welcome. I’m Draper. Who sponsored your membership?”

“My brother-in-law, Albert Harwood.”

“I work with Harwood,” Draper said amiably. “He didn’t mention you.”

Hadrian wasn’t sure if Draper meant anything by that. The man didn’t appear suspicious, so Hadrian decided it was an innocuous statement.

“Please take your seats,” Phelps announced.

Draper closed the box and turned the key in the lock before taking it to Furnier whilst Hadrian sat down with Maxwell in the middle of the rows. The room was not quite full, but it was close.

“They admitted you?” Maxwell whispered.

Hadrian nodded. “Nevill was quite zealous in his desire to welcome me. Furnier was…less so.”

“He seems prickly.”

“So I gathered.” Hadrian was quite pleased with how that had gone. He only wished he’d had time to shake at least one of their hands.

The three administrators moved behind the table whilst the doctor sat in a chair on the right side near the wall.

The man at the table near the door closed it and went to sit in one of the rows.

Phelps stood in the middle and reached beneath the table.

He pulled out something feathered and set it atop his head.

Hadrian realized it was a hat adorned with the plumage of a cock. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling or, worse, laughing.

Phelps picked up the gavel and tapped it on the table three times, then once, then three more times. The sound was muffled by the tablecloth.

“I hereby call the meeting of the Amicable Society of the Coleman Street Ward to order,” Phelps called out, then turned his head toward Nevill. “Let us introduce our new members since our last meeting, not all of whom are present this evening.”

How was it that they admitted members who weren’t present? Furnier had made a fuss about Hadrian attending meetings. Furthermore, how were those members approved for membership if they weren’t subjected to the same interview process? These questions were pertinent to the investigation.

Nevill sat down and opened the ledger, then announced several names. Taking a pen from his coat, he wrote several more as he spoke them, including Albert Harwood and Nigel Beck. Presumably, he was adding those who had been offered membership this evening.

The secretary set the pen aside and rose once more. “Let us recite our oath. Will the new members come forward?”

Hadrian and Maxwell exchanged a glance as they stood and moved to the front of the room along with four other men.

Nevill set a piece of parchment on the front of the table toward them. “This is our oath. We will ask you all to put your hand on the Bible and repeat the oath in turn.”

Hadrian patiently waited while the other gentlemen completed their recitations. He’d practically memorized the oath by the time it was his turn to put his hand on the Bible.

“I, Nigel Beck, swear to uphold the benevolent purposes of the Amicable Society of the Coleman Street Ward. I will strive for hard work, good health, and a happy home. I will support my brethren and encourage our expansion, and if God should take me from this earth, I shall be glad to know that I was an amicable brother and served the society well.”

Then it was Maxwell’s turn. Finally, they were finished, but Nevill bade them remain in place.

Phelps let out a crowing sound that Hadrian supposed was meant to mimic a cock’s call at dawn. Again, he had to keep himself from revealing his amusement.

“The cock is the emblem of the Coleman Street Ward,” Phelps announced.

“So, of course, it is ours too. We also revere the snake, which signifies health and wellness. As members of the Amicable Society, you will rise each morning with the joy and fervor of the cock and proceed through your day with the ease and confidence of the snake. Do you agree?”

“I do,” they all replied, mostly in unison.

“Let me now teach you the handshake,” Phelps said.

Hadrian slid a glance toward Maxwell, whose face was blank. Hadrian could hardly wait to tell Tilda about everything.

“The handshake and the oath are secret,” Phelps said sternly. “You must not share them with anyone outside of the society. It is how we identify one another. Those who are not amicable members must not be brought into our sacred knowledge.”

Starting with the first gentleman standing before the table, Phelps taught him the handshake. Hadrian was assured of shaking at least Phelps’s hand. He hoped he would learn something about the man and perhaps the society.