The Detective and the Baroness (The Duke’s Bastards #1)

Chapter Eight

T he carriage pulled up in front of an establishment situated on a corner lot. Corrine stared out the window at the busy street, then at the sign over the door.

“The Crowing Cock?” she questioned, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“It’s not what you think,” Mitchell replied. “Although, as Hallahan also ran a brothel upstairs until six months ago, it fit once. I hope I am not being too bawdy in front of a lady?”

Corrine chuckled. “I was a nurse for ten years, so I have heard and seen all sorts.”

“Drew told me the name comes from cock ale, a nourishing elixir from the early 1700s. It consisted of ale mixed with minced, boiled game cock and spices. It supposedly helped the blood and humors, invigorating the lungs and the like. It is why many older pubs have the word ‘cock’ in them.”

“How fascinating,” Corrine exclaimed. “I did not know that.”

“Drew is certainly full of intriguing statistics. Come, let us head to the rear of the building.” Mitchell took his cane and knocked on the window. It slid open. “Wright, stay put. We won’t be long.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

Corrine slipped the paper bag of ginger biscuits into her case, then she took Mitchell’s hand as he assisted her from the carriage. The street teemed with activity, with many wagons, carriages, a horse-driven omnibus, and a couple of automobiles filling the street. All manner of people strolled along the walkways, occasionally stopping to gaze in a shop window or at the various goods from the many sellers’ wagons.

Mitchell offered his arm, and Corrine took it as they headed toward the alley leading to the rear courtyard. Corrine gasped aloud when she saw the line of people. There had to have been fifty people there, at least, all holding wooden bowls and spoons in their hands. At the front of the line stood two women ladling soup from two large stock pots.

They worked their way through the crowd until they reached a small area behind a wooden partition.

“Doctor Hornsby. I bring you some assistance,” Mitchell announced. “Nurse Corrine.”

Doctor Drew stood. “I certainly welcome it. Over here, nurse. Assist with the children, if you please.”

Corrine could see that the doctor was overwhelmed. There had to have been forty more men, women, and children lined up to see him. Corrine laid her bag on the table and removed her veil. She sat in the chair next to the doctor. Thank goodness it wasn’t cold this morning, but it was chilly enough. Many people shivered, and it made Corrine’s heart ache with empathy.

“There on that paper are the names and locations of the Hornsby-Wollstonecraft free medical clinics,” the doctor murmured. “Refer those needing more immediate and serious care than we can provide.”

“Yes, doctor.”

The next hour and a half passed in a blur. Most people suffered from poor nutrition, hygiene, and various minor ailments, but a few severe cases were referred to the clinics. One woman had visible tumors on her neck. At a glance, Corrine knew the poor lady was not long for this world. So did Doctor Drew. All he could do was give her was willow bark and a packet of hard-to-acquire aspirin powder to assist with the worst of the pain.

Corrine broke the ginger biscuits into pieces and handed them out to the children. Her heart ached to see some without shoes, in December, no less. She watched as Doctor Drew handed out old newspapers and strings to act as temporary footwear.

By half past noon, the courtyard stood empty.

“Lady Addington, I thank you for your assistance,” Doctor Drew said as he stuffed his stethoscope in his bag.

“Sergeant Simpson says you will be doing this once a week?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to assist you. If you will allow it.”

“I welcome it. Your nurse uniform caused more women to stand in the queue, which is already a positive benefit. Some women find it difficult to speak frankly with a male doctor. Be here at ten o’clock next Thursday, my lady, and we will do it all again.”

“I believe I can find some used children’s shoes. I will try to locate woolen mittens as well.”

“Thank you. It would be a help.”

Mitchell came toward them, a tall man with coal-black hair by his side. Seeing them so close together, Corrine could recognize the resemblance. Then she glanced at Doctor Drew. Yes, it was apparent they shared the same loathsome father. It was as if a portrait artist had painted slight modifications in their countenances. They all had the same square jaw and sky-blue eyes, but their noses were dissimilar, though only slightly. The same went for the shape of their mouths. But they were all handsome men…which was precisely what that dreadful duke had set out to do.

“Baroness Addington, this is the proprietor of The Crowing Cock, Mr. Liam Hallahan.”

Corrine held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hallahan. I commend you for feeding the unfortunates of the neighborhood.”

“My lady,” Mr. Hallahan replied gruffly. He took her gloved hand, shook it quickly, and released it. “I’ve luncheon ready for the three of you.”

Doctor Hornsby grabbed his case. “Thank you, Hallahan, but I am due at the clinic immediately.”

“I figured as much.” Mr. Hallahan gave a low, shrill whistle, and a waitress brought forth a paper bag. She handed it to the doctor. “Sandwiches on whole wheat bread with ham, shredded cheese, lettuce, and ground walnuts.”

“A wholesome meal. Thank you,” Doctor Hornsby said softly. He looked genuinely touched by the gesture. He opened the bag and peered inside. “Biscuits and loaf cake as well.”

“I received the first lot of food today from your nob friends. That’s some of it. Come this way, Simpson, Baroness. Your table awaits.”

They followed Mr. Hallahan inside and through the kitchen. There were young lads of about thirteen chopping vegetables or washing dishes while two women operated the three gas stoves. The enticing odors of frying onions and beef made Corrine’s mouth water.

Mr. Hallahan led them to a private booth. There was a teapot and two mugs on the table. “Luncheon today is a beef pie with toasted cheese. I’ll have the waitress bring it directly.” He was gone before Corrine could thank him.

“What an interesting man, and so is his restaurant. Mr. Hallahan acts gruff, but I am guessing there is a complicated man beneath the surface. One who assists his fellow man. What did he mean about the food delivery?” Corrine poured the tea, remembering Mitchell preferred milk. She used the pitcher on the table, added the milk, and handed him the mug.

“The suggestion was one of our enticements to get him to join our informal group. My aristocratic acquaintances send leftover food to various charities. Drew and I asked them to divert some to Hallahan. He can resell it to raise money for his venture or give it to hungry people.”

“I think that is inspired. Thank you for bringing me here. Doctor Drew says I can assist him every Thursday. In the meantime, I have a week to locate children’s shoes and mittens. Unfortunately, I know of places where I can gather them—hospitals and workhouses.”

“That is a depressing thought,” Mitchell observed as he sipped his tea.

“Too many children die. Some are alone. Most clothes and belongings are burned because of fleas and the like, but some are not. I know who to contact. You have given me a purpose, indeed.” Corrine hesitated. She wanted to say so much more, but how to go about it? “Mitchell?”

“Hmm?”

“You interest me. I genuinely like you. I also am attracted to you. Am I being too candid? Tell me the truth, am I being too forward for you?”

*

Mitchell nearly spewed the mouthful of tea he had just taken. As it was, he started coughing. He took another swallow of tea to clear his airway.

Candid? Too forward?

Hell, yes, she was too forward, but he liked it. A great deal. Should he be honest as well? What purpose would it serve? Then again, why deny the mutual interest? Corrine already felt rejection from her husband’s thoughtless rebuff. He’d be damned if he would do the same. Mitchell wouldn’t hurt this lovely lady for the world.

“Forward? Perhaps—or perhaps not. You’re only saying what we are, no doubt, both thinking. And feeling.” He paused. “But whatever we are discerning or dreaming of, we cannot act on it.”

Corrine gave him a sad sort of smile. “No, at this particular time, we cannot. I am a practical woman in all things. I speak my mind. And I keep my promises.”

“And vows,” Mitchell added.

“Most especially vows.”

The waitress picked the right moment to bring the food, for Mitchell’s heart banged like a soldier’s drum. He had never before given voice to his emotions like this. Would it make their future interactions awkward? That was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Oh, my. Look at this meat pie. Baked to perfection,” Corrine enthused. She glanced up at the waitress. “Is it made with a hot water crust?”

“Yes, ma’am. Strong enough to keep in the meat and veg, but buttery and flaky within. Or so Liam says. Enjoy your meals.” The waitress smiled, then moved toward nearby tables.

“And this cheese sandwich looks delicious,” Corrine continued. “It is grilled and golden brown.” She bit into it, and the look of ecstasy on her face aroused him to the point of pain. Corrine swallowed, then met his gaze. “You are not eating. Is something the matter? Is my candor going to cause a chasm to grow between us, for that is not what I want.”

“It’s not what I want, either. We are adults. We can set aside what we discussed—for now.” Taking his knife, Mitchell sliced into the meat pie, and a thick gravy, along with cuts of beef and bits of vegetables, spilled out.

“I feel at ease talking with you. I have from the first. I consider us friends. Does that sound peculiar? Men and women —friends?” She took another bite of her sandwich. Mitchell picked up his and did the same. Delicious.

“It’s possible. And I always believed a couple had to like each other before progressing to the next step. Not that I know much about it.” He should not have said that—any of it—but it was too late to call the words back. It sounded as if he were intimating that they could be a couple in the future. As much as he yearned for it, he never should have voiced his innermost thoughts.

Corrine frowned and placed her sandwich on the plate. Then she daintily dabbed at her luscious mouth with the corner of the paper napkin. Blast his unruly physical reaction to her every movement—and his ill-advised statement about couples.

“I skipped all those stages with Travis. I should have taken the time to get to know him better before agreeing to the marriage, but I could not afford to. I acted selfishly.” She shook her head and put her sandwich down. “And now, I fear I have lost my appetite.”

The sadness and regret in her voice touched Mitchell’s heart. He reached across the table and took her hand, reassuringly squeezing it.

“Don’t admonish yourself. Addington came to you . It’s not as if you pursued him for financial gain. He made a business proposal, and your family’s survival was at stake.” Mitchell glanced at the table across from them. The family of five was staring at them, and the woman, in particular, looked shocked. God forbid anyone show any public display of emotion or empathy. He withdrew his hand. “Come now, eat your meal. This delightful food should not go to waste,” he coaxed gently.

“You’re correct. Thank you, Mitchell. You are a good friend.”

Oh, how he wanted to be so much more. Keeping their interactions friendly, and nothing else, would prove to be a challenge, but he would do it, for he respected Corrine too much to do otherwise. If he were a different sort of man, he could subtly encourage her to divorce Addington while slowly and seductively urging her to come to his bed.

But he wasn’t that man.

The Simpsons had brought him up better than that. For all Corrine’s strength and confidence, underneath it was a vulnerability he would never take advantage of. The decision to divorce Addington must come from her and her alone.

He glanced up at Corrine, who was busily cutting into the beef pie.

“I’m here for you,” Mitchell said, his voice husky with a rare show of emotion. “To assist you in any way. As an investigator and as a friend.”

Corrine met his intense stare, and her eyes shimmered. “Thank you.”

And he meant every word.