Page 9 of A Whisper in the Shadows (Raven & Wren #4)

P erplexed, Tilda released Maxwell’s hand. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the application of this handshake. Are you to offer this randomly to other gentlemen you encounter?”

“Apparently so?” Maxwell shook his head. “I confess, I’m not entirely clear on the matter.” He looked to Hadrian.

“I wouldn’t think we would do so randomly. I suspect we ought to use the handshake when greeting known members of the society.” Hadrian shrugged. “Whatever its purpose, it seems a bit silly.”

“Your gentlemen’s clubs don’t have such handshakes?” Maxwell asked with perhaps the barest hint of derision. It was the way he’d said “your gentlemen’s clubs.”

“No.” Hadrian narrowed his eyes briefly. “Are you predisposed to dislike these sorts of clubs and societies?”

Tilda had wondered if he’d caught Maxwell’s scorn—if it was that—and now she knew.

“They seem exclusive for the sheer purpose of exclusion,” Maxwell replied.

Tilda could not find fault with the inspector’s assessment. Indeed, she didn’t understand the need to join such a club, though she did see the financial benefits of the Amicable Society. She smiled at the inspector, appreciating their shared belief. “What an invigorating perspective.”

Hadrian’s brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes darkened. Had he not cared for her response on the matter? Or was his head paining him? She was eager to learn what he’d seen when he’d shaken hands during the meeting.

She was also worried as to how many hands he’d shaken.

When he had multiple visions in a short period of time, the accompanying headache could be quite horrid.

But she hadn’t seen him touching his head or massaging his temple.

Alas, she’d have to wait to ask him about it, as they could not discuss his ability in front of Maxwell.

It wasn’t just that the inspector might not understand, or even believe them, but that it was up to Hadrian with whom he shared his ability. Tilda would never reveal his secret.

“Should we adjourn to the sitting room to discuss what we learned this evening?” Maxwell suggested.

“Yes, I’d like to share what else I discovered from the wives.” Tilda picked up the lantern and led them into the sitting room.

The seating included a wooden settle and a pair of worn cushioned chairs that were probably red at some time but had faded to a dingy pink. Tilda had spent a great deal of time working to rid them of dust that afternoon.

Hadrian glanced about. Tilda had to think this was perhaps the meanest room he’d encountered. Actually, it wasn’t—they’d seen worse a time or two during their investigations.

Tilda set the lantern on a small table and perched on the settle. The two men each took a chair.

“Before I tell you about the wives, is there anything else from the meeting that I should know, aside from the ceremonial claptrap?” Tilda asked.

“It was somewhat dull,” Maxwell said.

Hadrian inclined his weirdly blond head—Tilda much preferred his dark-brown hair. “In that assessment, we are agreed.”

Maxwell looked to Tilda. “What did you learn, Miss Wren?”

“With regard to the administrators, only Mr. Furnier has a wife,” Tilda said.

“She is rather quiet. She was darning a pair of socks and kept her focus on them almost entirely. Mr. Phelps is a widower, and Mr. Nevill has never been married. Dr. Giles is betrothed. He’s to wed next month.

Apparently, he was engaged to be married a few years ago, but his fiancée died.

He and Mr. Phelps are quite dedicated to the benefits of the society because they both understand how difficult it is to lose a loved one.

It’s especially awful if one cannot afford a proper funeral. ”

“Is that why they accept ill members?” Hadrian mused. “It’s not a sound business practice, as they may need to pay out if the member survives the first year.” He shook his head. “I can’t see Furnier allowing that.”

“I agree,” Maxwell said. “He was meticulous in making sure I met the qualifications of membership.”

“That was also my experience,” Hadrian noted. They all fell silent a moment.

Tilda continued with what she’d learned from the wives.

“I asked where the society keeps its records, since all meetings are conducted at the Swan and Hoop. Mrs. Draper said there’s a financial ledger where her husband records the weekly dues as people enter the meeting and pay.

Then Mrs. Burley told me there’s a membership roll that sits on the ceremonial table.

I asked if the canvasser kept a record of his recruitment. ”

Maxwell smiled. “Brilliant.”

“That was when Mrs. Burley took the opportunity to discuss last week’s meeting. Phelps announced that the canvasser had been sacked, and they were looking into possible corruption.”

“He mentioned that during our meeting,” Hadrian said. “But only because someone asked—probably because Phelps hadn’t provided an update. Seems as though it should have been the first thing discussed in the meeting.”

“Did Mrs. Burley have anything to say about the canvasser’s record?” Maxwell asked.

“Only that she wasn’t aware of one. She did say it would be helpful if it existed, for then they could hopefully determine whether Eaton had committed any wrongdoing.

That was when Mrs. Furnier finally spoke up and said Mrs. Burley didn’t know everything .

She said there was a record of Mr. Eaton’s recruitment and that they must trust the administrators to solve that issue.

” Tilda recalled Mrs. Burley’s affronted reaction.

“Mrs. Burley didn’t appreciate being scolded. ”

“I can imagine,” Maxwell murmured.

Tilda frowned slightly. “I will say Mrs. Furnier seemed almost suspicious about my questions regarding the records. It was one of the few times she looked up from darning her socks. I explained that I was interested in recordkeeping because my husband is a clerk.” She looked to Maxwell.

“Mrs. Draper endorsed my curiosity as another clerk’s wife. ”

“We also learned at the meeting that there’s to be a picnic and the wives are to plan it,” Hadrian said.

Tilda blinked. “Nobody mentioned that.”

“I think it was just decided at tonight’s meeting.” Hadrian inclined his head toward Maxwell. “Your husband was keen to endorse the idea.”

“I most certainly was,” the inspector said. “It will give Miss Wren an excellent opportunity to meet with the other ladies.”

“It does indeed.” Tilda tapped her fingertips briefly against the wood seat. “Perhaps I can persuade Mrs. Furnier to host a meeting, which would give me an opportunity to search for the society’s financial records. Although, I don’t know if she would agree. She seems unlikely to.”

“I want to find Timothy Eaton, the canvasser who disappeared, since Inspector Dolen was not able to speak with him,” Maxwell said. “I’d like to see his recruitment records.”

“What information do you have about him?” Tilda asked.

“He was living at a boarding house in Ironmonger Lane. Dolen interviewed the landlady, but she didn’t have much to say. She described Eaton as charming and attractive, as well as extremely friendly—just the sort of person one might hire to recruit members.”

Tilda would hope she could persuade the woman to say more. “I should like to talk to her, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, but will you do so as Miss Wren, investigator, or Mrs. Harwood, curious matchbook maker?” Maxwell smiled briefly.

“I can’t think of a reason Mrs. Harwood would be asking about Eaton,” Tilda replied. “And I should like to protect my disguise. I shall have to speak with this woman as myself—an investigator.”

Maxwell’s brow furrowed. “You must be very careful not to be detected by anyone who knows you as Mrs. Harwood.”

“We should determine who hired Eaton and for what purpose,” Tilda said. “Did they direct him to recruit people who were ill and to offer a shorter eligibility for benefits in order to persuade them to join? Was the intent to simply fill the society’s coffers, or was it something more nefarious?”

“Such as what?” Hadrian asked. “Do we know if all the money that was collected actually made it into the society’s locked box?”

“That is also a good question,” Tilda said, with anticipation for the coming investigation.

The inspector shifted his attention to Hadrian, a slight frown marring his expression.

“I am still slightly peeved that you inserted yourself into my investigation without speaking with me first. Henceforth, I require that every method and scheme must be approved by me. This is my investigation. Do you both agree?” He looked to Tilda then back to Hadrian.

“I understand,” Hadrian replied.

“Of course,” Tilda said softly.

Maxwell exhaled. “Very good. Ravenhurst, you aren’t going to be compensated as Miss Wren is—not that you need it.”

“I’m perfectly content to not receive compensation,” Hadrian said. “Particularly since I involved myself in your investigation without your consent. I am grateful you are allowing me to continue.”

“Thank you for saying so, my lord,” Maxwell said.

Hadrian gave his head a shake. “Ravenhurst is fine, or Raven, if you’d like. That is how my colleagues address me.”

“I think I’d best get in the habit of calling you Beck.” Maxwell turned his head toward Tilda. “How did you know his name was Nigel Beck when you introduced us at the pub? Did you know that he was going to come?”

“I did not. I gave him that name. His lordship’s surname is Becket. I borrowed part of it.”

“And why Nigel?” Hadrian asked with a half-smile.

Tilda’s gaze found his. “When I was a child, the neighbors had a cat named Nigel.”

Hadrian smirked. “You named me after a cat.”

Maxwell laughed.

“It was the first name that came to me,” Tilda said. “I liked Nigel. He was a good cat.”

Hadrian chuckled, then sobered as he focused on the inspector. “What of the living arrangements?”