Chapter Ten
M itchell arrived promptly at three o’clock Saturday afternoon and was shown into the sitting room. As always, Corrine, looking exquisite, greeted him warmly.
After they sat, Corrine prepared his tea and handed him the cup and saucer. Good God, he could easily get used to this, sitting in the parlor, conversing and drinking tea with her. Mitchell briefly closed his eyes, imagining Corrine waiting for him after his shift, eager to share how they passed their day while anticipating how they would pass their night. In bed. But the image dissipated, for it was only a dream. His eyes popped open as reality crashed in all around him—the stark truth of her married state.
“Mitchell?”
“I do apologize. Did you say something?”
“Yes. I asked what is in the paper bag you brought?”
Flushing furiously, he handed it to her. Instead of bringing flowers as any courting swain may do, Mitchell had brought her baked goods. “Ginger biscuits from the seller on Carol Street. I saw how you broke your biscuits into pieces and gave them to the children. So I thought you might like some for yourself.”
Corrine opened the bag, then looked up and caught his gaze. “How thoughtful. Thank you.” She reached in and grabbed one. Taking a bite, she chewed and swallowed. Even watching her eat had his insides tumbling with desire. “These are lovely. They melt in the mouth. Here, have one with your tea.” Corrine held the bag toward him.
Leaning forward, he took one and bit into it. “That is a quality biscuit. It’s way above what you usually find in a street cart.”
“You should tell Mr. Hallahan. Maybe he can offer the seller some business. I take it Mr. Hallahan is more of a cook than a baker.”
“I get that impression. I’ll do as you suggest. Now, to business.”
Corrine held up her hand. “Before you give your report, I wish to tell you of an odd encounter. I apologize for not telling you of this sooner, but it flew out of my head with everything going on. It took place the first day you came here. About fifteen minutes after you departed, Thomason told me that a man insisted on seeing the baron. When I opened the door, there stood a stranger wearing a long, hooded cloak—”
This time, Mitchell could not keep the spray of tea from leaving his mouth. Thankfully, it only landed on the front of his wool coat. How mortifying.
Corrine jumped to her feet and hurried to his side. Holding a handkerchief, she brushed at his coat. He gently clasped her hand. Again, heat rolled through him at the touch of her silky skin. “I’m fine, thank you. Please take your seat.”
She handed him the cloth and sat, a look of concern on her face.
“Tell me everything.” Mitchell scrubbed the tea from his coat and placed the damp cloth on the table. “Tell me of the conversation, what he looked like. Because on the day I followed the baron here, a man in a hooded cloak lurked about the street.”
Corrine gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.
“As soon as Addington emerged from the residence, the hooded man waved down a hansom cab,” Mitchell continued. “I told my cab driver to follow the baron’s carriage, and for a while, the hooded man traveled in the same direction. However, the cab pulled off several streets before Addington’s house. I assumed it was a coincidence. I even tried to find the man and the cab, but was unsuccessful.”
Corrine’s eyes widened. “Could this be something?”
“Perhaps, or it could be coincidence. What color was the cloak?”
Corrine sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Dark brown. He had the hood pulled over most of his face and kept his head down. He said, ‘I need to talk to the baron. Now.’ I informed him the baron was unavailable, but he could leave his name and address with the butler, and I assured him that the baron would get back to him.”
“What about his voice?” Mitchell asked.
“Deep. Gravelly. Now that I think of it, the man could have disguised it, as the tone sounded unnatural. All I know is that I felt uneasy. Not fear as such, but a warning not to reveal too much information.”
Mitchell’s admiration for Corrine increased. “Very wise. What happened next?”
“He barked, ‘And who are you, then?’ and I replied I was the baroness. He laughed and said, ‘That old goat remarried? Trying for another heir, is he? He has more gumption in him than I thought.’ Then I realized he spoke of the late baron, Gilbert Addington. I informed him the old baron had passed, and my husband, a distant cousin, was now baron.”
Mitchell’s mind raced. Who could this stranger be? Perhaps he’d hung about the baron’s residence to see if what Corrine had told him was true. Or maybe there was something more to this. “What did he say to that revelation?”
“His head snapped upward briefly as if surprised by the news. I thought I saw scarring on the left side of his face, but I cannot be sure. Then he said, ‘I’ll seek out the new baron. I’ll be back soon. Tell him to expect me anytime.’ Meanwhile, I haven’t seen Travis to inform him about any of this.”
Mitchell placed his cup on the saucer. “And have you seen this stranger since?”
“No. Not at all. As I said, I placed the brief meeting from my mind. Should I be worried?”
Mitchell frowned. “When I saw the hooded man, his cloak was black and he wore a mask, which made me suspicious. That was why I’d tried to find him. But the man could own more than one cloak.”
Corrine sat forward, her eyes sparkling. “A long, hooded cloak is not what men generally wear, regardless of class. This man purposely tried to conceal his identity. But why? The fact he asked for the old baron leads me to believe he knew him well enough, or why else comment that Gilbert was trying for another heir? It means he was well aware of Gilbert’s son’s untimely death. I asked Thomason if he recognized the stranger, as the butler had been with Gilbert for years. But he claimed he could not see his face, nor did he recognize the voice.”
Mitchell smiled. “You are clever and resourceful. I can see why the Galway Agency hired you.”
Corrine blushed. “Well, I am not exactly hired, just an occasional operative. I wanted more of a challenge in my life now that I was no longer nursing, and the Galway sisters happily agreed to my suggestion.”
“Regardless, this was well done. You’re thinking like a detective. And your observations are well thought out. The man acted surprised by the news of Gilbert’s death, which could mean he was not in close contact with the old baron. Perhaps several years had passed between visits.”
Corrine passed him the sandwich plate, and he took three wedges. “We should question Thomason. Immediately. From what I could ascertain about the old baron, he became a recluse after his son’s death and his wife’s passing shortly thereafter. He rarely left this house.” Corrine stood. “Shall I ring for him?”
“Yes. Allow me to start with the questioning, but jump in any time you wish. Is the butler aware of the reason I’m here? How many servants do you have?”
“No, I do not believe he knows unless he’s had his ear to the door. Regarding servants, Gilbert did not have many, and Travis has not mentioned anything about hiring more. Only Thomason lives in. He has rooms in the downstairs area. There is a housekeeper/cook, a footman, and a maid-of-all-work. They generally arrive at seven every morning and are gone by six each night.”
“You do not have a lady’s maid?”
Corrine chuckled. “I have never had one. I always looked after myself, and I will continue to do so.”
“Go ahead and ring for the butler.”
*
Corrine nodded, then pressed the buzzer, and immediately sat beside Mitchell on the sofa. “One press is for the butler,” she whispered. “Two presses are for the footman, and so on.” She picked up her teacup and sipped, watching the door.
Thomason, a man in his mid-fifties, or so Corrine surmised, was not the friendliest of servants. But butlers were known to keep themselves removed from emotion, at least in her experience. She’d had to fire the Rothley family butler four months after her mother passed. Corrine remembered the man was aghast that a fifteen-year-old girl had given him his walking papers. The butler hadn’t acted removed from it at all that particular day. In fact, Johnson had insisted on seeing the viscount, and her father had tried to talk her around, but she’d stood her ground. Shortly after firing Johnson, she had to release two maids and the housekeeper. By the time Corrine had accepted Travis’s marriage proposal, they only had one part-time maid. That was Jeffery’s responsibility now.
Thomason entered the room. “You rang, my lady?”
“Yes. Detective Sergeant Simpson has a few questions for you. Please, take a seat.” Corrine waved her arm toward the empty wing chair.
The butler hesitated, for servants of any rank would never sit anywhere in the family’s living area. Looking discomfited, he sat in the leather chair.
“Good afternoon, Thomason,” Mitchell said.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant.”
“Lady Corrine has acquired my services because she is concerned for her husband’s safety. Do you recall the man in the cloak who came to the door last week?” Mitchell asked.
“Yes, I do, sir.”
“What can you tell me about him? Has he been here before? Especially when Gilbert Addington was still the baron?”
The butler’s bushy brows furrowed as if deep in thought. “I told her ladyship I did not recognize him or his voice. And I hadn’t. But something is nagging me about it right here.” Johnson placed his fist against his midsection. “After Master Hayes’s accidental drowning, this house was never the same. The baroness took to her room, and there she died. The baron walked these halls as if he were a living ghost. Visitors were rare, though I recall a man coming here about ten years ago, demanding to see the baron.”
Corrine’s ears perked up at that information. “Can you describe him at all?”
Thomason shook his head. “I am sorry to say I barely gave him a glance. Although I remember he had black hair and scarring on the left side of his face. A rather horrible scar.”
Mitchell and Corrine exchanged astonished looks. Could it be the same man? It had to be!
“What happened next?” Mitchell asked.
“I went downstairs to polish the silver after the baron came to the door. I heard nothing of the conversation. I do not believe the baron asked him in, for their interaction was of a brief duration.” The butler scratched his chin. “But that night, I heard the baron walking across the floor. He had a certain gait that I had come to know. Then, moments later, I heard him walk back from where he had come. Then the door slammed. I never saw the man again, and the baron never discussed it. He remained in his study the rest of the day and refused a tea tray when I brought it. He said he wished to be left alone. He looked—sad. Quite miserable.”
“Gilbert’s son’s accidental drowning was indeed tragic. Do you know anything more about it?” Corrine asked.
“I do not know much, my lady. You could ask the Duke of Allenby or the new Duke of Chellenham. They were both there, along with other friends. The boys were fifteen or sixteen years of age. I heard that there was an inquiry, which ruled it accidental.”
Again, Corrine exchanged shocked looks with Mitchell. Allenby? Chellenham? The dukes married to the Galway sisters? “If you see this cloaked man again, please let her ladyship know or send word to me here.” Mitchell passed him a small card. “I’m taking on investigative cases while I recover. The address is there on the card.”
“I will, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, Thomason. You were most helpful,” Corrine said, smiling.
Taking that as a dismissal, the butler rose from the chair, bowed, and then quit the room, closing the door behind him.
Corrine waited a few moments, then whispered, “Could it be the same man? That seems impossible.”
“Impossible? No, but not probable. Still, I have learned in my police work that there is always a slim chance that something is connected. That could be the case here.”
Corrine tapped her finger against her chin. “Once the hooded man found out the old baron was dead, why would he skulk about the property? To see if I was telling the truth about Travis not being here?”
“Yes. I had that thought myself earlier,” Mitchell replied.
“I will be attending an afternoon tea party at the Duchess of Gransford’s residence the day after tomorrow. She is Doctor Drew Hornsby’s aunt. I have been given an assignment by Althea Galway to gather information on someone. Perhaps I can also gather information on the old baron.”
Mitchell gave her a warm smile, the first she had seen from him. How it enhanced his rugged good looks. “Good for you. Then why don’t we meet in three days at my small office in Gloucester Square? Let’s say at two in the afternoon?”
“Your place?”
Mitchell’s smile disappeared. “It’s not what you think. I mean, we can meet elsewhere, if you wish.”
For all their talk of being friends, there would always be this underlying—tension, for lack of a better word. To Corrine, it proved the attraction was mutual, but it complicated everything.
“I never thought that. I was merely surprised. We can meet at your office. What is the actual address?” She smiled to show she meant what she said.
“Forty-eight Gloucester Square. We are on the bottom two floors.” He stood and then gathered his hat and cane. “I will see you then.”
Corrine stood as well and came to stand before him. For the life of her, she could not stop herself from slipping her hand in his. “Thank you for the biscuits.”
They stood, holding hands, not moving or even breathing. Mitchell’s hand was warm, and a tingling sensation traveled up her arm from his potent touch. This should not be happening. But it was, and she momentarily reveled in that comforting correlation. The sensation was far beyond comfort as her insides fluttered with excitement. Was this desire? Corrine grew hot all over. She released his hand, then stepped back, immediately missing the lost connection.
“You’re welcome.” Mitchell exhaled, placed his hat on his head, touched the brim, and headed for the door. Corrine hurried ahead of him and opened it.
“Saturday afternoon, then.” Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears.
He hesitated long enough to slip on his gloves. “Until Saturday. Good afternoon, my lady.”
Corrine quickly closed the door and leaned against it. Then, she laid her hand over her heart. It thundered in her chest.
Oh, this is not wise.
It occurred to her that they hadn’t discussed Travis, nor did he give her any report, if there had been one.
Exhaling loudly, Corrine promised herself that she would speak to Travis soon. For she could not stay married to him if this attraction to Mitchell flared further.