Page 62 of The Chef and the Countess

“When you lived on the streets?” Celia asked softly.

Liam sat on the edge of the bed and continued with the compressions on her injured side. “Aye. It was horrible. A time in my life I would rather forget.”

“Walter Henning saved your life—as you did mine,” Celia whispered. She groaned as pain shot through her side.

“Celia!” Liam exclaimed.

“Just a slight jolt, nothing more. It’s true what I said, you saved me. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have someone look after you as you do now.”

“Always. I—” A sharp rap on the door interrupted his sentence.

“It’s Fiona. Sergeant Morrisey wants a quick word. I’ve seen his I.D. card.”

Jaysus. Couldn’t the world leave him and Celia alone for more than a few minutes? “Come in.”

A man in a long wool coat and a derby hat entered the room with Fiona directly behind him.

“Detective Sergeant Morrisey of H Division, 1st District.” The older man removed his hat and patted it against his thigh to remove the snow. “Mr. Hallahan. I’m sorry to intrude, but the investigation will not wait. How are you, miss?”

“This is the Dowager Countess of Winterwood,” Liam introduced, his tone firm.

Fiona inhaled sharply, casting a glance at Celia. Well, her true identity was public knowledge now.

“My pardon, my lady,” Morrisey bowed slightly.

“I am awaiting the doctor’s arrival,” she replied.

“Then I will be swift in my inquiries, my lady.” The detective placed his hat on the bed, then pulled a notebook and pencil from his side coat pocket. “Where were you when the man took you as a hostage?”

Hostage? Holy crow. That shook her up a little. She’d had no time until this minute to realize just how much danger everyone had been in, herself included. “I was gathering weapons,” Celia said steadily despite her lingering fear.

The sergeant’s eyebrows shot skyward.

“I located items in the kitchen that could be used, such as rolling pins, cast iron frying pans, knives, and the like,” she continued. “I had them laid out on the counter, but alas, I could not grab one to use before that loathsome man grabbed me from behind.”

“Did he say anything, my lady?”

“It all happened so fast.” Celia concentrated and tried to recall the sequence of events. “He said, ‘Ain’t you a tasty dish. Just like he said.’” Celia frowned.

“He?” the Sergeant questioned. “Do you know who ‘he’ might be, my lady?”

“I have only recently arrived in London. The only men I know work here. Except—” No. Not her so-called uncle and cousin? What other ‘he’ could it be but one of them? She knew of no one else. And a tasty dish? Her cousin had called her that before in the past. It could be a coincidence... It was too terrible to contemplate. By the growing rage showing on Liam’s face, he must have reached the same conclusion. “I am recently widowed, impoverished, and came to stay with my aunt, my only remaining blood relative, only I discovered she is wintering in Italy. My uncle, The Earl of Darrington, and my cousin, Viscount Shinwell, were not very welcoming.” A decided understatement.

Liam snorted. “Shinwell dropped her here to work off his gaming debt. The countess had nowhere else to go, so I offered her a room until she could locate her aunt and friends.”

The detective wrote notes furiously. “An earl and a viscount,” he murmured.

“Is there a problem, Sergeant?” Liam asked. “Are toffs too high and mighty for police inquiries? That must be the case because they’re never brought to justice. Aristocrats get away with all sorts.”

“Steady on, Hallahan,” Morrisey replied gruffly. “I’ll not have that kind of talk. I follow an investigation wherever it leads. My duty is to uncover the truth, regardless of the social status of the individuals involved.”

Tommy burst into the room. “Here’s Doctor Hornsby!”

“I will be fine. Talk to Sergeant Morrisey outside. Tell him everything, including the shed fire, which I believe was not an accident.”

He kissed her hand before releasing it. “Fiona, come sit by Celia. And keep it to yourself about her being an earl’s widow. For now, at any rate.”

“Aye, Liam.”

Celia watched as Liam, Tommy, and the sergeant departed.

Drew placed his doctor’s case on the table by the bed. “Well, Celia. You have been through a lot.”

She nodded in response. Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes, for Celia wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Drew lifted the shirt away from her side. and examined her closely.

“Not deep at all. I wager that you will need a few stitches, but otherwise, all will be well, I promise. I would suggest you stay abed tomorrow and allow for healing. But you must be careful and not exert yourself or lift anything heavy for at least two weeks.”

“Oh, but I cannot stay in bed. The sandwiches—”

“Leave it with me, ducks,” Fiona soothed. “I’ll cover for you tomorrow.”

Celia gave Fiona a trembling smile. She was correct; these people were family. In every way that counted. If only the arrangement could be permanent.