Page 40 of The Detective and the Baroness

“Not exactly fair,” Mitchell murmured.

“When have laws ever been fair toward women and children? And all these court proceedings are public. I’m sure you have seen the newspaper write-ups for the more salacious cases. Only wealthy people can obtain divorces, especially the aristocracy, when bloodlines come into the picture.”

“Yes. I see.”

“Are you asking for a lady?” Rett raised one eyebrow. “As I said, it’s very difficult. Her husband could make all sorts of false allegations, make it fodder for the press, convince the judge the divorce or annulment is frivolous, and that would be the end of it. The best way is to have the parties agree to the divorce and have the man apply for it. It would go much smoother.”

“You are quite knowledgeable. Why did you not pursue a career in law?”

Rett smiled and placed his cup on the table. “Well, I have given it a good deal of thought lately. At twenty-seven, I should settle on a career. When I return to London next, I intend to work toward my certificate. Do you have other questions?”

“I do. It has to do with Danaher. He wasn’t wearing a cloak when I showed up that fateful night. Did he have one on when you encountered him?”

“Danaher? There’s a name I never thought to hear again. Yes, he wore a cloak with a hood pulled low over his eyes.”

Mitchell’s inner alarm began to stir. “I have never been face-to-face with Danaher. I only caught sight of him for a brief moment in the shadows when he shot me. How would you describe him physically since you faced him that night to pay the ransom?”

Rett crossed his arms. “I have to ask why you need to know this. You have piqued my curiosity.”

Mitchell gave a condensed version of the hooded man’s encounter with Corrine. He mentioned her name because he knew he could trust Rett to keep his confidence.

“That would be a fantastical twist in a mystery fiction book if Danaher was not the charred corpse in the cellar.”

Mitchell snorted. “Yes, incredible fiction, to be certain.”

“But you cannot rule it out.”

“No, not entirely.”

“At first, I only saw Danaher with the hooded cloak. When he removed it, I was able to see more of him. He had black hair and an ugly, mottled scar above his left eye, as if someone had cleaved open his forehead, and it had healed without proper stitches. There was also a thin scar from the left side of this mouth down part of his neck. I’d say he was in his forties, but who can be sure? His face itself would be considered good-looking enough if you ignored the scarring. Danaher stood about nine or ten inches over five feet, no more than that. Notice I mention him in the past tense.”

Mitchell smiled. “An extensive description. Perhaps you should be a policeman instead of a barrister or solicitor.” The smile faded. “Lady Addington saw scarring when the hooded Man briefly lifted his head.”

“It cannot be him. Surely not,” Rett gasped.

Mitchell grabbed his cane and stood slowly. “I’m beginning to wonder. I must take my leave as I have another appointment.” Mitchell held out his hand, and Rett stood, came toward him, and took it. “Happy Christmas to you and your family, and get in touch when you return. I appreciate your help.”

“I am glad to assist in any way. And a Merry Christmas to you. I hope everything turns out satisfactorily and you return to work soon. I cannot wait to hear how this concludes, including with the lady in question.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Mitchell hobbled toward the door. Then he stopped and turned. “I will tell you everything when you return. Safe journey to Kent.”

Mitchell stepped out onto the walkway and hesitated. Traveling to Hallahan’s to seek out Corrine, showing up unannounced, smacked of desperation. For God’s sake, he would see her tomorrow. All these new and unwieldy emotions were wreaking havoc on his usually ordered mind. He climbed into the hansom cab and closed the folding doors. When the trap door opened, he said, “Forget Spitalfields. Forty-eight Gloucester Square, if you please.”

“Right away, sir.”

He would see Corrine tomorrow as planned. Yet, his inner alarm trilled insistently. What did she want to see him about?

*

Corrine finished her nursing duties with Doctor Drew and headed into the restaurant. Her brother, Jeffery, was waiting in one of the booths. She had sent him a note two days ago asking him to meet her here at half past eleven. She slid across the bench across from him. Already, Jeffery looked contrite.

“This is about that damnable loan. Corri, I had no idea Father went to Travis with his begging cup out. I was gobsmacked when I learned of it,” he said in a rush. “I immediately sought out your husband—”

“But it was too late,” Corrine interrupted. “Or so Travis says.”

A waitress came to the table. “Good day. Today we are serving roasted herb chicken, roasted potatoes, braised carrots, and green beans. We also have a nice lamb stew.”

Corrine sighed. She hadn’t eaten breakfast or much of anything the past few days. “I will have the chicken. And tea.”