Page 21 of The Detective and the Baroness

“Drew and I contacted the next name on the list. The man’s name is Liam Hallahan, and he owns a restaurant and pub in Spitalfields. In the morning, before his place opens, he feeds the poor of the neighborhood. Drew offered medical care. He is there now. Why don’t we join him, and perhaps you can assist? After all, you’re wearing your nurse’s uniform. Or am I stepping over the bounds?”

Mitchell couldn’t believe he had discharged all this information on Corrine, but he felt comfortable and at ease in her presence. He knew he could trust her, even after such a short acquaintance.

“Yes,” Corrine replied softly. “Let us go there right now.” She leaned forward and squeezed his hand. “I am glad you told me. I will keep your confidence.”

He felt her reassuring touch through their gloves. He lingered momentarily, basking in the connection, then slowly pulled his hand away. Then he knocked on the roof.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Forty Brick Lane, Spitalfields.”

“Right away, sir.”

The carriage jerked forward, and they locked gazes. Corrine gave him an empathic look. “Your life has had its upheavals these past months. I commend you for pushing onward. I should do the same, starting by admitting my mistake of marrying Travis Addington.”

“Allow me to continue with the case for a while longer before you do anything. Call it my detective intuition, but I believe there is more going on here than we know.”

“Very well, Mitchell.”

As they headed to the East End, a hope bloomed within him—the outlandish possibility that if she detangled herself from her ill-fated marriage, he and Corrine could become—more. The thought was fanciful at his core and not like him at all. But then, no other woman had ever caught his notice like this. Mitchell was swimming in uncharted waters.

Chapter Eight

The 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.