Page 69 of The Chef and the Countess

“The man threatened bodily harm and said to the woman hostage, and I quote, “Ain’t you a tasty dish. Just like he said.” The woman is Countess Winterwood, your niece. You are aware she is at The Crowing Cock in Spitalfields?”

“I am aware,” William ground out. “And she is a dowager countess.” William had no idea why he added that. It made him sound petulant, like Troy. As Etta had told him on many occasions, Troy had had to learn that abhorrent behavior somewhere. Tasty dish. God above! Troy had just used that phrase to describe Celia the other day.

“Some weeks ago, she was dragged there by your son, Viscount Shinwell, to pay off a debt of some 240 pounds, correct?”

“I met with Hallahan, and we came to an agreement as to the debt. Celia is welcome to return here any time she chooses. It was an ill-advised prank on my son’s part, and I reprimanded him severely.” Not severely enough, it appears.

Morrisey wrote in his notebook, not reacting to William’s reply. “Your recently widowed and impoverished niece came to you, with no other place to stay. Since Lady Celia only recently arrived in London after living away for years, not many men in her acquaintance could be this mysterious ‘he,’ correct, my lord?”

“I could not say,” William growled between clenched teeth.

Morrisey looked up and gave William a curt smile. “I can say, my lord. There is Hallahan and his employees, Bruce Shepherd and Jack Davies. Beyond that, there is only you and your son.”

Damn Troy’s blasted hide! All the threats and warnings had come to naught.

“There was also the arson incident at the property,” the detective continued. “A shed and all its contents were destroyed. I spoke to the brigade captain early this morning, and he said the fire had been deliberately set. He has the proof.”

“Hallahan mentioned the fire at our meeting. It has nothing to do with me,” William stated emphatically.

“Well, we will see where the investigation leads me. And we do have a lead. So, my lord, you state that you have no knowledge of the assault, property damage, or the arson?”

“That is correct,” William replied icily.

Morrisey snapped his notebook closed. “I shall return in three days at the same time. Have your son available for an interview, or I shall send out uniformed officers to forcibly take him into custody. I can do that, for he is a suspect. Top of my list, as a matter of fact.” Morrisey fetched his hat from the nearby table and touched his forelock. “Good day, my lord.”

Baldwin stepped into the room to escort the detective to the door, returned with the tea tray, and sat it before William. “My lord, a note arrived. It is from Mr. Hallahan.” He held out the folded note toward William. He snatched it from the butler and opened it.

Billy Buck. I told you that if anything happened to me, my employees, or my business, I would give your slimy son’s name to the peelers. After last night’s doings at my pub, you have left me no choice but to do so. You also owe me the original debt of 240 pounds, as our agreement is now null and void. I’ll accept a bank draft. If the payment does not arrive by six o’clock the evening after next, I will have no choice but to tell Morrisey about your secret identity. I have witnesses to back up the claim. If you do pay, the police will hear nothing further from me. You have my word.

Hallahan

William crumbled the note in his fist. It was rank extortion, but William had no choice. Hallahan would keep the money for himself or give to Celia. Either way, he’d have to pay. He must protect his criminal identity as it was his only means of income. It also meant he would have to accelerate his plans for his idiot son.

“Listen to me,” William hissed menacingly to Baldwin. “Do not tell the viscount of the copper’s visit. Instruct the staff as well.” He splashed tea into his cup. “Also, no one is to know of this note. You are to go to Brown’s Hotel and ask to see Mr. Silas Foster. He is American. Tell him I am ready to close the deal, and he is to meet me at my place in Hamstead at one this afternoon. The man has the address. Got that? I want you to deliver the message, no one else. See me when you return.”

Baldwin bowed slightly. “Yes, my lord.”

“Tell my valet to have my afternoon suit pressed and ready. Tell the cook to hold breakfast. I will eat at my flat.” William frequently had food delivered from a nearby tavern. A tasty fried steak with all the trimmings and a pint of bitter would be just what he needed to calm his anger.

“Yes, my lord.” Baldwin turned and exited, closing the door behind him.

William stuffed a wedge of cheese and toast into his mouth and chewed furiously. There was nothing else to be done. He had warned his son more than once. Now, he was in trouble with the law. A competent solicitor could see that Troy served little or no prison time, if his stupid son’s involvement was proven. Regardless, the family name would be tarnished, and Etta would never forgive him. His distant wife would blame him—and rightly so—for allowing Troy to run amuck. And Troy in Newgate Prison? That pampered pillock would not handle one night there, let alone several weeks or months.

Foster’s heiress daughter yearned to marry into the British aristocracy. Foster showed William a mini-portrait of the girl—what was her name, Louise? Lynda? Who cared? The girl looked presentable enough.

With this latest development, he had no choice but to act swiftly. He had thought a few weeks of courting would not go amiss, but that plan had gone by the wayside. If he had to, he would throw Troy on a ship bound for America with Foster and his daughter himself. Foster had agreed to put Troy to work in the man’s Pennsylvania steel factory, learning the trade from the bottom up. His son would have to stay in America for several years until this nasty business calmed down. Or until William cocked up his toes, whichever came first.

There had to be an heir. The earldom had to live on, Troy was his only hope. He would get Troy’s assurance on the matter, one way or the other.

No son of his would ever be arrested. Not while William drew a ragged, wheezing breath.