Page 47 of The Detective and the Baroness

Mrs. Robson held out her hand. “Give it here, James.”

“No,” he replied petulantly, like a small child being told to give up his favorite toy. “You will give it to him.”

Mitchell shook his head. “If Mrs. Robson has it, I will not take it. She needs it for your son.”

Rothley handed the rolls of notes to Mrs. Robson.

“Sit, James. We have much to discuss. Is that all, Sergeant?”

“For now.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Robson.”

He took the bag and his cane and departed. He didn’t envy Mrs. Robson’s upcoming conversation. But Mitchell had more important considerations—Corrine, for one. Her father might be lying about spending the six thousand; he could have all or part of it tucked away elsewhere. It was lucky Mitchell managed to retrieve this much. He could rush to Corrine’s and tell her the news about the money, but there had been enough drama for one day. Meanwhile, he had to secure this money safely. Hopefully, Drew owned a safe. Then, he would travel to his police precinct and ask to see all the reports relating to Danaher and the fire in Notting Dale. He needed proof that what he suspected could be true. Whatever he found, he would compile a full report and present it to Corrine. Things were moving at a rapid pace, rushing toward a conclusion.

Whatever the future held for them, Mitchell and Corrine would face it together.

Chapter Eighteen

Corrine sat in Drew Hornsby’s carriage as the horses’ hooves clomped steadily toward the East End. She glanced at Mitchell’s newly discovered half-brother. He looked very young, earnest, yet self-contained. But, as Corrine knew all too well, medical professionals had to keep a detached air when dealing with patients and humanity at large, or one could fall to pieces. Witnessing tragedy and heartache took its toll. It had done so with Corrine. Staring into Doctor Drew’s lovely blue eyes—so similar to Mitchell’s—she could see the shadows lurking beneath his serene countenance, as if he had seen too much already.

“It must have been quite the blow to learn the identity of your biological father,” Corrine said quietly.

“It was, rather. In the back of my mind, I knew it must be bad, as my mother changed our last name and moved us about until she became sick. I asked her once about my father, and all the blood drained from her face. She firmly stated I was never to mention him again, that he was a bad man who was looking for us. She refused to tell me the reason. To sell me, perhaps, as he had so many others? Once the Hornsbys adopted me, I assumed I was safe. But life takes unexpected turns.”

Corrine sighed. “Yes, it certainly does. Do you resent your viscount father for telling you the truth?”

“No, my lady,” Drew replied softly. “I love him too much to resent him about anything. I understand that he made a deathbed promise to my mother, that he would not tell me the truth of my birth. I accept that, as I have witnessed enough of them in my occupation. I also recognize my bloodline and the various siblings that come with it.”

Corrine nodded. “I think Mitchell is having difficulty accepting the shocking revelations.”

“When a loving family adopts you, you let down your guard and believe yourself secure. It’s difficult when something comes along and upends that precarious sense of protection. I am still dealing with it. My family has been nothing but supportive. Alas, Mitchell does not have that, as both his parents have passed. It’s one of the reasons I asked him to move in with me for a while. We are assisting each other in our own ways.”

“I think that is brilliant. Well done.”

Drew answered with a slight smile and an incline of his head. The plush carriage stopped in front of Hallahan’s.

“Why not come in and join us for a late supper?” Corrine asked. “Please, Drew, if I may call you that. And I would like you to call me Corrine. We will be working together at the free clinic now and then, after all.”

“You have much to discuss with Mitchell, and I assume some of the conversation is private.”

“Then come in for a drink, at least.”

“Very well, Corrine. I shall.” Drew banged on the roof, and the sliding window opened.

“Yes, sir?”

“Wright, park the carriage. I shan’t be long.”

Drew assisted her from the carriage, and she took his arm as they entered Hallahan’s. The place was alive with vibrant conversation as a haze of tobacco smoke hung over the area. Every table was filled with patrons playing games of cards. Coins and pound notes littered the tables’ surfaces, along with mugs of beer, goblets of wine or port, and overflowing ashtrays. Servers moved skillfully between the tables, gathering empty glasses or delivering platters of finger foods. Corrine’s mouth quirked. They were no doubt leftovers from aristocratic meals.

A waitress came to stand before them. “Hello. I recognize you both. Are you here to meet the detective?”

“Yes, we are,” Drew replied.

“This way, if you please.”

Weaving in and around the tables, the waitress led them through a door into a private room. Mitchell stood.

“I will not stay long,” Drew said. “Corrine invited me for a drink.” Drew pulled out a chair for Corrine across from Mitchell and sat beside his half-brother.