Page 59 of The Detective and the Baroness

Mahone shook his head. “No. He’s been unconscious since coming back from the operating theater. The hospital will contact me when or if he wakes. What have you learned since we last spoke?”

“The late baron’s solicitor, Mr. Dobson, will be in touch with the details. But we discovered a possible motive for Danaher to have been at the baron’s estate that night at the meeting earlier today. He is the illegitimate son of the previous baron.” Mitchell went on to explain about the demand for money and the supposed document.

“The inkwell set was on the desk and freshly used. We dusted it for prints. Danaher could have signed a paper, legal or not, and taken it with him. I will reach out to the Lancaster Station and warn them about Danaher.”

Mitchell sipped his tea. “I will see them as well. If Cillian recovers, I assume he’s in legal trouble. Cillian is already wanted for bodily injury. He was in a knife fight with Miss Ellingford and also may have assisted his father in holding her against her will. You can use those charges to obtain information from the young man—if Inspector Stanhope agrees to reduce the charges in exchange for information. I don’t see why he wouldn’t. He is anxious to have Danaher off the street.”

“I will certainly mention that when I speak with Stanhope.”

Mitchell took a sip of the hot tea. “And what about the baroness?”

Mahone arched an eyebrow. “What about her?”

“She could be Danaher’s next target if he didn’t get the money he wanted from Addington.”

“Then it’s good that she has employed you, Simpson. I’ve no men to spare. You know what the staffing levels are. When the police department was formed in ’29, London’s population was one and a half million. It is now closing in on seven million, and recruitment efforts for the police have not kept up.” Mahone opened his desk drawer and brought out a sheath of papers. “Since PC Baldwin’s murder in October, there has been a public outcry for the police to be armed with revolvers.”

“Perhaps we should. I know it is optional for detectives.” Mitchell shook his head. “I put in for one shortly before I was shot. Talk about irony.”

“Do you have it now?”

Mitchell shook his head. “I took the test shortly before being injured. Stanhope is keeping the revolver for me until I come off leave. I can try and collect it from him.”

Mahone pointed to the desk drawer on the right. “I also have one. It’s locked in here. I do not need it, but you, on the other hand, may. We know Danaher is armed and dangerous. I will do what I can on my end to locate him—I know a detective at the CID at New Scotland Yard headquarters—and will arrange a city-wide search.” Mahone stood, went to a cabinet, and unlocked it. “You might be better served carrying the British Bull Dog revolver. It fits nicely in a coat pocket.” Mahone placed it on the desk. “And here are two boxes of Webley .442 caliber cartridges. I got this from a search in an opium den. It hasn’t been cataloged. Take it. As you are aware, there are no rules or registration regarding guns for the police or the public.”

Mitchell stood, palmed the pistol, and slipped it in his coat pocket. It was a good fit and well-hidden. “Thank you. I appreciate it. We will keep each other informed of any developments?”

“We shall.”

A uniformed constable knocked and entered. “A note, detective.”

Mahone took it and read it. “It’s from the solicitor, Dobson. He wants me to come and see him tomorrow, no doubt to tell me about Danaher. Have a care, Sergeant. Stay safe. And do not hesitate to use your weapon. We know Danaher has no qualms. He tried to kill you already.”

Mitchell picked up the boxes of cartridges. “Actually, he was aiming for my friend. I shoved him out of the way and caught the bullet instead. But your point is well taken. We know what Danaher is capable of. Believe me, I will not hesitate.”

“Jedidiah Danaher is wanted for questioning for this crime. We have no solid proof he pulled the trigger as we have no weapon, and the one eyewitness is unconscious and may not recover. However, he is wanted for kidnapping and extortion in Notting Dale. I would prefer we arrest him. I want him to serve time in prison, at the very least. But if he leaves us no choice—”

Mitchell nodded. “I understand. Goodbye, Mahone.”

Taking his cane and tucking the cartridges under his arm, he exited the police station. The afternoon sun was setting, but he had enough time to travel to Lancaster Station and bring the inspector up to date on Danaher. Soon, the entire force would be out looking for him. Mitchell could only hope they pulled him out of whatever dark hole he was hiding in before he came near Corrine. But if he did, Mitchell would be ready.

No one would ever threaten Corrine. Not while he breathed.

*

Corrine awoke suddenly, sitting upright in bed. She blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the light. Rays from the setting sun poured in through the sheer draperies. It took a moment for her to recall where she was—Doctor Drew’s rental flat. Because her estranged husband had been murdered. The horrific image of the murder scene formed in her sleep-groggy mind, but Corrine shook it away. The sight was not something she would soon forget.

Regardless of recent events, at least the bed was comfortable, and she had slept soundly. It was the first time since the murder that she had been alone with her thoughts. In less than six months, she had gone from being an impoverished nurse and daughter to a viscount, to a baroness, to a widowed dowager baroness without a home. At least she had some money. But it must be budgeted, and the generous monthly stipend to her father and brother would have to be reduced or eliminated. Her father would rail about that. Still, it was time he changed his ways, especially now that he had a young son and Mrs. Robson to support.

And that was yet another shocking revelation. How could her self-seeking father not tell her and Jeffery of the boy’s existence? Or of Mrs. Robson? It was becoming clear that it was time for Corrine to think of herself, her future, and let her father take care of himself.

And that future will include Mitchell Simpson.

Corrine closed her eyes and sighed. Oh, the kisses in the alley. Just thinking of the passion that had flared between them had her insides doing somersaults.

She was in love; there was no denying it.

Exhaling, Corrine stood and slipped on her gown, then her cape. A thought struck her as she snatched the key from the bedside table. Nearly ninety pounds were in the sitting room desk drawer at Wimpole Street. The key was in her jewelry box in her bedroom. She remembered placing the money there when Travis had given her a roll of pound notes for the household and her expenses. She had given Thomason ten pounds to settle any outstanding accounts and to order more groceries.