Page 22 of The Detective and the Baroness

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.”