Page 29 of The Chef and the Countess

“I’m here to collect your debt.”

“I surmised,” Hartright replied contritely. “One hundred fifty pounds, correct?”

“One hundred and seventy-eight, to be exact. And I haven’t charged you interest—yet.”

“I have 55 pounds to give you. As for the rest--” Hartright rubbed his chin. “I have to go to my father-in-law. That won’t be a pleasant prospect, what?” Hartright reached into his trousers’ pocket and passed Liam the folded pound notes.

Liam quickly counted the bills and stuffed them in his wool coat pocket. “One hundred and twenty-three are still owing. Payment is required in one week. I will be sending Bruce to collect. Have you seen Bruce in the pub? He’s larger than me, an ex-boxer. You will want to make sure you have the payment.”

“I say, there is no need to threaten me,” Hartright said aghast.

“This is merely a statement of fact. Until you pay in full, you’re banned. If you don’t have the full amount next week, I will start charging twenty percent interest. When you pay, you may return, but there will be no more credit. You will have to play within your means.” Liam wasn’t threatening or aggressive; he just laid the information out straightforwardly. “Understand?”

“Yes, I understand. I will try to have the rest next Sunday.”

Liam nodded, returned to the coach, and climbed in.

“Success?” Drew asked.

“Partial payment. It will assist with the free meal program.” Liam thumped on the roof, and the carriage moved forward. Wright already had the next address. And Liam was not looking forward to this collection.

“Speaking of your meal program, I recently spoke to Damon and his club, The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park. They agreed to offer you a monthly stipend of fifteen pounds. They ask that you set up a separate account for the venture so they can monitor the progress. A daily count of those fed is also required. Any medical supplies I need to treat them every Thursday will also come from that account. A monthly review will be done; if you need more, they can provide it. Do you agree? There is one request: they would like you to present your first month’s results. The meeting is on Thursday, February 17th at 7 pm.”

Liam frowned. These toffs always had a catch, but he understood the need for accountability. “For fifteen pounds a month, I’ll do an Irish jig for them.”

Drew chuckled. “That will not be necessary, however entertaining it might be. They have asked that the name you place on the account be ‘The Hallahan Initiative’ with your name as chief officer and mine as a medical officer. If it all goes well, they can solicit donations on your behalf. More meat and vegetables in the pot means a healthier population. We can expand to provide proper clothes and blankets. Perhaps a few volunteers to free up your staff. But one step at a time.”

“You are quite the force of nature,” Liam stated, duly impressed.

“I was raised in a family that believed in doing good works. I have seen and experienced how unfortunate people live, and I do what I can to lessen their misery. I also have recently come to understand that I cannot assist everyone. My Uncle Harrison is the Duke of Gransford. While a marquess, he toiled anonymously in an abandoned underground train tunnel in Stepney, offering medical care to the homeless and those who could not afford a doctor. He nearly worked himself into an early grave. That will not be me.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “Doctor Damian was your duke uncle?”

Drew’s mouth dropped open. Then he swiftly closed it. “You’ve heard of him? How astounding.”

Liam nodded. “It was too late for my mother. I think we saw him in ‘80. I was eleven or twelve. My mother barely made it to see him. Doctor Damian kept her for four days, comforted her, and fed her hot soup and tea. When I returned, he took me aside and said I had to be strong, that my mother was very sick and wouldn’t recover. He gave me a choice: my mother could die in the workhouse infirmary or at home. We lived in two rooms in a filthy place but kept our living area tidy and comfortable. I chose home.” Liam’s mouth quirked with amusement. “I think your uncle thought me much older because I was already tall for my age. Anyway, he gave me a packet of willow bark powder, and I cared for Mother for the next two weeks until she passed.”

“That would be hard for anyone to deal with. I understand the impact of losing a mother at a young age. That must have been difficult,” Drew said empathically.

Drew had no idea—or maybe he did. Liam wasn’t going to discuss it now, for he had already revealed more than he’d intended. It was best to change the subject. “It’s wise to adopt the ‘not going to work yourself to death’ theory. It’s something I should follow. Ah, here we are.”

“Good luck,” Drew offered. “Call out if you need me.”

Liam climbed down from the conveyance and stared at the house. It was not as majestic as the Hornsby residences but showed a modicum of wealth. He banged the brass knocker, and a man with gray at his temples opened the door.

“The butler, I presume?” Liam questioned.

“I am Baldwin, sir.”

“Is Viscount Shinwell about?”

“He is not receiving, sir.”

“Of course not. He’s still asleep since it’s noon. Then, you can assist with another inquiry. I’m here to take Lady Celia’s trunks. Shinwell deserted her at my place of business, and the dowager countess wants her belongings. She’s about this tall,” Liam said, placing his outstretched hand below his shoulder. “With golden brown hair and blue eyes, she has a cheerful disposition, though I don’t know why, considering how she’s been treated.”

Baldwin opened the door wider to allow Liam to step across the threshold, but he held his hand up to stop him from coming further. “I am glad to hear the countess is safe. I will have her trunks brought down immediately.” Baldwin snapped his fingers, and two tall footmen appeared seemingly out of thin air. “Fetch the trunks from the attic bedroom.”

Attic? What miserable bastards, sticking her up there.