Page 70 of The Detective and the Baroness

“You’re lying. Again. Come with me, Baroness. We’re searching the house. He’s here, I know it. And I aim to find him.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Mitchell was partway up the stairs with the tea tray when he heard muted voices. At first, he thought Drew had arrived earlier than planned, or perhaps Corrine’s brother had returned. But something told him—his intuition, perhaps—that this was not a social visit. A regular visitor would have pulled the front bell. Mitchell hadn’t heard anything, and in the kitchen, where the servants usually worked, he would have. Slowly and carefully, Mitchell retreated to the kitchen and laid the tray and his cane on the counter.

Then he ascended the stairs as quietly as possible, grimacing as his leg ached from the effort. He inched closer, keeping his back to the wall. Mitchell could make out part of the conversation. A decidedly male voice asked where Mitchell was, and Corrine answered, “He went out.”

“Come with me, Baroness. We’re searching the house. He’s here, I know it. And I aim to find him.”

The sitting room door swung open, and Mitchell quickly ducked around the corner to avoid being seen.

“I do not have keys for the top two floors,” Corrine lied coolly. “There are two unrented flats.”

“Then we’ll search the bottom two first. What’s below this floor?”

That voice. Now that Mitchell could hear it clearly, there was no mistaking Danaher’s menacing, gravelly tone. Blast it. The revolver Malone gave him was in his bedroom. How to fetch it? It would not be easy to climb more stairs without his cane.

“The kitchen and storage area,” Corrine replied.

“Take me down there, Baroness. Lead the way. No sudden moves, now. I’ve got this pistol pointing at a vital organ.”

Mitchell descended the stairs as quickly as possible, grabbed his cane, and slipped into the storage room, wedging himself between a pile of crates and boxes. At least he had a weapon of sorts. Thankfully, the sharp pain in his leg had subsided a little.

“A tea tray for two? There is someone else here!” Danaher snarled.

“I was down here earlier and boiled water for tea,” Corrine replied calmly. “Feel the kettle. I left the tea to steep. I told you I’m expecting Doctor Hornsby to return very soon. I thought I would have tea ready for him.”

Mitchell smiled, admiring Corrine’s fast thinking and composed demeanor.

“The sooner I get the money—any money—I will leave this bloody city. What’s in there?”

“The pantry.”

“Open it.”

“It’s locked. I don’t know where the key is.”

Danaher growled in response. “And what’s through there?”

“Storage.”

The footsteps grew closer, and Mitchell held his breath as the door banged against the wall.

“See? It’s nothing but boxes and crates,” Corrine stated.

Danaher kicked a stack of boxes, and they tumbled to the floor. The crash had the sound of breaking dishes. It was lucky the boxes were nowhere near him.

“Damn all toffs and this barony!” Danaher sounded testy and exasperated, which meant he was losing patience. “I visited that stingy skinflint of a father ten years ago. Do you know what he gave me? Two hundred pounds! And more than two hundred thousand pounds are in the accounts—maybe more. You look gobsmacked, Baroness. Did your husband never tell you the extent of his wealth? If he left you next to nothing, then he fleeced you good and proper.”

“I’m sorry your father never acknowledged you or gave you the proper life you were entitled to. But legally speaking, you have no claim on any of the money. According to British law, illegitimate children have no claim on estates or inheritances. I do not think that is just, but it is the law. Gilbert Addington should have set up a trust for you and seen to your education and well-being. I’m sorry he didn’t, but that is no excuse for you to come and terrorize me. I can do nothing. Women mean less than nothing when it comes to wills and legacies.”

“You talk a good game, Baroness. In fact, you talk too much.”

Mitchell peeked around the corner of the boxes to see Danaher pushing Corrine into the kitchen area. He could rush him, but with the revolver digging into Corrine’s back, he couldn’t take the chance he could move swiftly enough to disarm Danaher before he pulled the trigger. Mitchell would have to wait for a better opportunity.

“That door leads outside?” Danaher barked.

“Yes.”