Excerpt: A Whisper in the Shadows

Chapter One

London, May 1868

Matilda Wren wanted to make sure she’d heard Inspector William Maxwell, a man she’d just met a few minutes ago when he’d called on her, correctly. “Did you say you wanted me to be your wife?”

“Yes,” the inspector, who appeared to be in his late twenties and had light-brown curly hair and sharp, hazel eyes, replied. “Not in actuality, of course. I’d like you to pose as my wife to assist me with an investigation.”

Tilda slid a glance toward her friend and investigative partner, Hadrian Becket, Lord Ravenhurst. His features were inscrutable, but his gaze was fixed on the City of London inspector.

“Let us sit,” Tilda said, gesturing toward the seating area in the parlor of her grandmother’s house in Marylebone. She took one of the chairs while Hadrian claimed the other, and Inspector Maxwell occupied the settee. “I confess I am surprised by your request, Inspector. Or are you Detective Inspector?”

“Inspector,” Maxwell replied. “Though I am hoping to be Detective Inspector at the conclusion of this investigation.”

“I see.” Tilda was more than surprised by the man’s request—she was thrilled. While she’d worked in tandem with Scotland Yard on several cases now, they would never officially ask her for help. “I must ask, do your superiors know you have asked me to help?”

“They do. I am conducting a secret investigation in which I will change my identity. The scheme requires me to have a wife, and, well, your recent success with helping to catch the Levitation Killer recommends you.”

“Miss Wren did not just help to snare the murderers, she solved the case,” Hadrian said with a bit of ice to his tone.

Tilda couldn’t help feeling pleased that he would ensure she received credit. But she wanted him to have the same. “Lord Ravenhurst is being modest. He was instrumental throughout the investigation of the Levitation Killer. Rather, killers,” Tilda corrected as there was more than one person responsible.

The inspector looked toward Hadrian. “I didn’t realize you were so involved, my lord. There was no mention of you in any of the stories published about the case.”

That was because Hadrian had asked that his name be left out of the reporting. While some of his peers and colleagues were aware he assisted with investigations, the majority of them would likely not approve of his involvement, particularly if it distracted from his duties. Though Hadrian had never indicated that was the case, Tilda sometimes wondered if their investigations took him away from his responsibilities in the Lords.

“I prefer my involvement to remain anonymous,” Hadrian said blandly.

“I do understand,” the inspector replied. “Well, I don’t think this is a case where your assistance will be required,” he added, with a brief smile.

Tilda slid another glance at Hadrian. She didn’t think he would like being excluded, but then again, perhaps it was time for him to pay more attention to his duties as earl.

“Tell me about this investigation,” Tilda said to the inspector.

“Yes, of course.” Maxwell positioned himself toward Tilda. “I’m investigating a friendly society. Are you familiar with them?”

“Somewhat,” Tilda said. “They are organizations formed to provide for the welfare of their members. They are rather like a brotherhood, are they not?”

“In many cases,” Maxwell said with a nod. “They are often formed with a specific goal or like-minded pursuit, perhaps centered on a trade or a religious belief. This society was formed just over six months ago, and membership is confined to a specific ward in the City.”

“Where is that?” Hadrian asked.

The inspector glanced in his direction but looked at Tilda as he responded. “It is called the Coleman Street Ward Amicable Society. Their headquarters are at the Swan and Hoop in Moorgate.” This was all very close to the City of London Police headquarters in Old Jewry. “There is suspicion that this society is committing fraud. One of the things the Amicable Society provides is the same sort of benefits as a burial club.”

“I’m familiar with those,” Tilda said, her curiosity piqued. “People pay a few shillings or pence a week in order to collect money to pay for a funeral in the event someone in the family dies.”

“Precisely,” the inspector said. “Friendly societies operate in much the same way but also offer benefits for illness and sometimes on the birth of a child. However, friendly societies are required to be registered. And yes, the Amicable Society is registered.”

“How did the police become aware of this potential fraud?” Tilda asked.

“A wife of a member of the Amicable Society is the cousin of a sergeant’s wife,” Maxwell explained. “The member recently died, and when the wife tried to collect the benefit of her deceased husband, she was denied because it’s the society’s policy that benefits are not paid for one year.”

Tilda cocked her head, uncertain of what the fraud could be. “Since the society has only existed for six months, why would the widow think she was eligible to collect?”

“Because when her husband joined and paid the entrance fee, he was told he would be eligible to receive benefits after six months.” Maxwell frowned briefly. “The widow insists this is true but, unfortunately, does not have documentation to prove her claim.”

“Does the society have record of him?” Tilda asked.

Maxwell nodded. “He is listed in their membership rolls. However, they refused to pay the benefit, citing that he wasn’t yet eligible.”

“That doesn’t sound like fraud to me,” Hadrian observed.

“It sounds like a dispute over what really happened,” Tilda said.

The inspector pressed his lips together. “In addition to the potential discrepancy in the eligibility of benefits, the woman’s husband was ill when he joined the society. I find it suspect that he was admitted since he was showing symptoms of consumption.”

Tilda’s curiosity was pricked, as was her sense that something wasn’t right. “It’s suspicious that a man who was ill was admitted to the society and that he was told he would be eligible for benefits in six months if the society’s policy is actually one year.”

“Precisely,” the inspector said with a nod. “Sergeant Kilgore—his wife is the cousin of the widow—assigned an inspector to investigate. Inspector Dolen found that the deceased member of the society, Gilbert Cardy, had been recruited by a canvasser soliciting members when the society first began. However, Dolen was not able to locate the canvasser, and the society’s chair, Walter Phelps, said the man, Timothy Eaton, left his post last week.”

“Was Eaton committing fraud?” Hadrian asked. “What would be his motive for doing so?”

“That is what we must determine,” Maxwell replied. “What fraud, if any, was perpetrated, why, and by whom?”

“Have you been assigned to this case along with Inspector Dolen?” Tilda asked.

“Sergeant Kilgore decided someone should investigate from within the society. The administrators of the society said they’d shared all they knew and did not appreciate Inspector Dolen causing a scandal over what amounted to a clerical error by an employee who no longer worked for the society.”

“That doesn’t sound evasive,” Tilda quipped with a half-smile.

“Precisely.” Maxwell nodded. “Inspector Dolen did not believe the society administrators were entirely cooperative. Sergeant Kilgore wants a thorough investigation of the society and thinks it can best be done under disguise. Since the society already knows Dolen, Kilgore assigned me to the case.”

It all sounded rather suspect to Tilda. “I’m trying to determine why the society would accept members who are ill. In the case of this man who died of consumption, they don’t have to pay the benefit because it has not been a year.” Tilda met Hadrian’s gaze and then the inspector’s. “Is that the scheme? The society accepted members who they gambled would die in the first year and thus they wouldn’t have to pay out?”

Maxwell smiled. “You are quite clever, Miss Wren. That is indeed my suspicion. My plan is to join the society in disguise to ferret out this information, and I am hoping you will pretend to be my wife. Your presence will make me appear stable, and you will be able to assist with the investigation.”

Tilda was already invested in uncovering the truth of whatever this society was doing. “Our job is to find proof of their fraud. Or at the very least, reveal the reasoning behind admitting members who are ill and may not live long enough to collect their benefits.”

“Exactly so.” Maxwell regarded her with admiration. “I’m already glad I’ve sought your assistance, Miss Wren.”

“I’m intrigued by this case,” Tilda said. “How will our disguises work?”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” the inspector replied with a grin. “I’ve taken a position as a clerk at a mercantile house on Broad Street, where several society members work. I have taken lodgings for us to reside in, just off Coleman Street, in White Alley. First, however—”

“Wait just a moment,” Hadrian interrupted, his dark brows drawn together over his brilliant blue eyes. “You can’t expect Miss Wren to live with you. That would ruin her reputation.”

Maxwell shifted on the settee as he regarded Hadrian. “We would sleep in separate rooms, of course. It is my hope that no one will ever know Miss Wren was a part of the investigation. We will be disguised and using different names.”

Hadrian’s features did not relax. Oddly, Tilda noted she still found him exceptionally handsome with his square jaw and aristocratic cheekbones, despite his vexation. Or perhaps even because of it—the fire in his gaze was most arresting. Even the slight bump in his nose added to his appeal.

“That is all well and good, however, it is still highly improper,” Hadrian said. “Miss Wren is an unmarried woman, and to reside with a gentleman who is not her relative would be an irreparable blemish on her reputation. I am confident she would not wish to risk her future professional prospects by agreeing to such a scheme.”

While Tilda didn’t particularly care about her reputation when it came to marriageability, she absolutely needed to ensure that her professional reputation remained above reproach. It was difficult enough to be a woman investigator.

Still, Tilda could see where it would be most beneficial if she could reside in the City with her pretend husband. It would not only lend credibility to their ruse, but it would also aid her investigation to be in the thick of things.

She looked to Hadrian. “Is there any way I could protect my reputation and still reside in White Alley?”

Hadrian’s lip curled with disdain. His disapproval of her even considering the arrangement was obvious. Tilda had never felt the difference in their positions so keenly. Someone of his rank had the expectation—and the privilege—of propriety. This was a job that would ensure Tilda’s livelihood as well as that of her grandmother and the members of her household, which had grown of late as a result of the first two investigations she’d conducted with Hadrian. Indeed, it could have swelled even further with the last one, but Tilda had put her foot down. They were stretched as thinly as possible. Which was why she could not afford to decline this job, even if she wanted to. And she most certainly did not want to.

“You would require a chaperone,” Hadrian replied. “She would need to be someone above reproach, but I still think it’s a risk you oughtn’t take.”

“Duly noted.” Whilst she desperately wanted to disagree with him, she understood the risk to her professional aspirations. If taking this job meant she may never have another, there would be no point in it.

“We can work around it.” Maxwell gave Tilda a reassuring smile. “You’ll simply pretend to live there, and we will ensure you are home safe and sound in Marylebone every evening.”

“I suppose that must suffice,” Tilda said, though she was disappointed. “You were going to say something before his lordship interrupted you.”

“I was going to say that I need to be accepted for membership in the Amicable Society. An existing member will need to vouch for me.”

“How shall we ensure that happens?” Tilda asked.

“Does that mean you agree to assist me?” Maxwell appeared hopeful.

“What compensation are you offering?” Hadrian asked before Tilda could do so, though she had already decided to accept the inspector’s offer.

Tilda gently pursed her lips toward Hadrian. Why was he cross? She wasn’t going to reside in White Alley with Inspector Maxwell, though, in truth, she was still privately trying to work out a way in which she could.

Maxwell again looked to Tilda when giving his response. “Twelve shillings per week.” His gaze swept over Tilda. “I’m afraid I can’t provide reimbursement for your wardrobe. You must dress as the wife of a clerk earning about thirty shillings a week. I am hopeful you can find something suitable.”

“That is not a problem.” Indeed, most of Tilda’s outmoded wardrobe would suffice. She’d only recently been able to afford a few new ensembles from her investigative wages—largely due to what Hadrian had paid her to investigate the first two cases they’d worked on together.

The first had been to solve his attempted murder, and the second was to find the culprit of a murder for which Hadrian had been a suspect. In truth, Tilda didn’t particularly care to waste money on her wardrobe, but her grandmother had convinced her that dressing well would convey her success as an investigator. Tilda had been hard-pressed to argue with that.

“I should be glad to assist you,” Tilda added, anticipation bubbling inside her.

“Splendid,” Maxwell said with a smile that made him rather handsome. His beard and mustache directed more focus to his eyes, and they glimmered with good humor. The inspector went on, “My thought is we have been married for just a year and have moved to the City for my new employment. And I thought you could make matchboxes at home. That would allow you to perchance conduct investigations in the neighborhood whilst I am working.”

“I confess I’m impressed you’ve gone to so much trouble for this investigation,” Tilda said.

“This case is very important to Sergeant Kilgore,” Maxwell noted solemnly. “I do find preparation and planning to be tantamount to success.”

Tilda was even more excited to accept this assignment. To work alongside a thoughtful inspector in this manner would be a brilliant experience. She could only hope it would lead to more work with the City of London Police.

“We are of a similar mind, Inspector.” Tilda smiled. “How long do you expect this investigation to take?”

“Sergeant Kilgore has asked that we endeavor to complete our investigation within a fortnight.” Maxwell grimaced faintly. “Indeed, he is insistent that we work as quickly as possible. This scheme is a considerable expense.”

“Is he undertaking it because the victim is his wife’s cousin?” Hadrian asked.

Maxwell lifted a shoulder. “I can’t say, but I imagine that is a strong reason for his interest in this case.”

“When shall we begin?” Tilda asked.

“I am moving into the house in White Alley tomorrow, but you needn’t come until Monday as there is a meeting of the Amicable Society at the Swan and Hoop in the evening that we will attend.”

“Certainly. I will arrive early Monday morning before you leave for work.” Tilda glanced at Hadrian who’d sat silently—and stoically—for some time now.

“That would be most agreeable.” Maxwell stood. “I’m delighted to be working with you, Miss Wren.”

“Shouldn’t you call me by my alias?”

“Mrs. Harwood,” he said with a smile. “I accepted the clerk position and obtained lodgings as Mr. Albert Harwood. Your given name is up to you, though I doubt we’ll use it much.”

Tilda had risen, and so did Hadrian. “I’ll be Ivy.” When she was a child, Tilda’s only female childhood friend had been named Ivy. She’d moved to Bristol when Tilda was eight. “I’m pleased you came to see me. You were prompted by seeing my name in the newspaper?”

“Yes, but I did speak with Inspector Teague about you as well,” Maxwell replied. “He recommended you most highly.”

Teague was the detective inspector Tilda and Hadrian had worked with several times at Scotland Yard. Tilda was delighted that he would recommend her.

“I look forward to working with you.” Tilda offered Maxwell her hand.

Maxwell shook it, then Hadrian thrust his hand toward him as well. “Inspector.”

“My lord.” Maxwell removed his glove to shake Hadrian’s bare hand.

Tilda watched as they shook and wondered if Hadrian was seeing any of the man’s memories. After suffering a concussion during an attack on his person several months ago, Hadrian had been gifted—or cursed, depending on one’s perception—with the ability to see others’ memories, either by touching that person or an object they had handled. It had been an incredibly useful skill during their investigations, but the power did not come without turmoil. The visions caused him headaches that increased in intensity with the more visions he had in a short time frame and the longer they lasted.

It was also confounding, as this ability had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Shockingly, they had recently met a father and a son who possessed the same ability. Their experiences had been most helpful to Hadrian as he learned to navigate the new way in which he perceived the world.

After Inspector Maxwell took his leave, Hadrian turned a rather disgruntled expression on Tilda.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tilda asked.

“I suppose I wish you’d discussed this scheme with me before accepting Maxwell’s offer.”

“Why would I do so?” Tilda did not appreciate his paternalistic attitude. “I don’t need your permission, Hadrian.”

“Of course not,” he said quickly. He exhaled. “My apologies. Of course, you must accept whatever professional assignment you wish. I do think you are worth far more than twelve shillings per week, however.”

Indeed, Hadrian had paid her quite a bit more than that when he’d hired her on two separate occasions, as had his mother when she’d employed Tilda most recently. “I am accepting this assignment for the experience and the potential opportunity for future work with the City of London Police.”

“But you need the income.” He knew how tight their finances were. That fact had been an intrinsic part of their first case together. “What good is working with the police if they can’t pay you what you need? Or what you deserve.”

Tilda appreciated his concern—and his unwavering confidence in her abilities. “I am hopeful the pay will increase once I demonstrate my capability. ”

He appeared placated by her argument. “I confess I’m greatly disappointed that I will not be part of this investigation.”

“It will be strange conducting it without you.” Tilda realized she was disappointed too. She now understood his irritation during her interview with Maxwell. “I would feel the same if you had been hired and I had not.”

He let out a low, rather humorless laugh. “That is unlikely to happen since my participation in our investigations shall remain anonymous.”

“Will they, though?” Tilda asked. “You worry about my reputation if I took up residence with Maxwell, but what of the inordinate amount of time we spend together during our investigations? Surely people recognize that you call here regularly, and we move about town together quite frequently.”

Mostly, they visited places where no one would account for their presence. However, they’d once attended a reception at Northumberland House, which had required Tilda to dress as a high society lady. They’d also traveled out of London by train on two occasions. “Don’t you think there are people who have correctly assumed that you have something to do with my investigations?”

“Perhaps, and I would hope that is all they think,” Hadrian replied with a touch of concern in his gaze. “I have made it clear to those in my inner circle that I assist you with investigations and that our association is purely professional. I admit there could be those who wonder if there is something else between us. Beyond professional association, I mean.”

Tilda’s breath snagged in her lungs. Just before Maxwell had arrived, there had been a charged moment between her and Hadrian. Their hands had almost touched. She’d been sorry they were interrupted but now reminded herself it was for the best.

They’d shared a kiss several weeks ago, and it caused an awkwardness between them. However, over the span of their last investigation, they’d returned to their easy, warm friendship, and, of course, their mutually satisfying professional partnership.

Still, the specter of something beyond those things hung about, as evidenced by the moment they’d shared before Inspector Maxwell had arrived and now again with Hadrian’s comment regarding how they may be perceived.

Blast. Hadrian was a good friend and a trustworthy, valuable assistant. She hoped their relationship would continue in that manner. Anything else would potentially ruin what they had. Furthermore, Tilda wasn’t interested in romance, and she was completely against marriage. That wasn’t just because of her business aspirations—her parents’ marriage had been unhappy, and Tilda did not wish to risk the life she enjoyed currently. She was independent and ran her grandmother’s household. It was more than a woman could dare hope to attain, and Tilda was quite content. A husband would ruin everything she’d accomplished and what she hoped to achieve.

“Perhaps you’ve had similar concerns regarding our association,” Hadrian said. “I noted you referred to me as ‘his lordship’ or ‘Ravenhurst’ in front of Maxwell rather than Hadrian.”

“It seemed appropriate.” Tilda hadn’t given it much thought, but Hadrian was likely right. She hadn’t wanted the inspector to think she and Hadrian were that familiar. But, of course, they were. A delicate heat fluttered through her, and she decided it was best to move on to a new topic. “Did you see anything when you shook the inspector’s hand?”

Hadrian shrugged. “Nothing of import.”

“But you saw something?” she prodded.

“I saw what seemed to be the interior of a police station. As I said, there was nothing remarkable.”

“Well, we aren’t investigating Inspector Maxwell,” Tilda said with a sigh.

“I am not investigating anything.” He did still sound a trifle cross or at least disappointed.

Tilda did not like leaving him out, but this wasn’t her investigation to manage. “I will miss working with you,” she said quietly. “I do have other inquiries from potential clients. Perhaps I’ll have need of your assistance when this investigation is concluded.” She gave him a hopeful look.

Hadrian’s expression was enigmatic. “You know where to find me.”

He turned and took his leave. Tilda frowned. She understood that he felt excluded and would hate to be in his position.

However, she was a private investigator, and he was an earl. They’d been fortunate to work on several cases together, with excellent results. That didn’t mean they would always be a partnership.

Tilda hoped this wasn’t the beginning of the end of their association.

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