Page 49 of The Detective and the Baroness

“That sounds wonderful,” Corrine replied. Mitchell nodded. The waitress gathered up the empty plates and hurried away. “After what you have relayed, I do not feel safe. Danaher could show up at any time and demand to see Travis. I warned him that a hooded man was looking for him. He acted unconcerned.”

Mitchell frowned. “Perhaps you should return to your father’s home until this situation resolves itself.”

“No. I will never return there. I’m so angry and disappointed. My father was always an egotistic creature. Even Mother said so. But this? To have a mistress and a child? I worked my fingers to the nubs, and my brother logged in long hours at the bank. only to keep him and his second family in comfort! Why didn’t my father tell us about them? I can never forgive—or forget.”

“I do not blame you. Not in the least.”

“Tell me about your parents, the Simpsons. Surely, they were better than my father. I want to hear about your childhood. It might cheer me up.”

Mitchell sipped his ale. “Charles Simpson was fifty-eight, and my mother, Clara, was fifty-six when they adopted me. They could not have children of their own. At the time of the adoption, I was about four years old, with no memory of my past life. I cannot recall my biological mother at all. Anyway, my father retired from the Met Police when I turned seven, and they gave me all the love and attention I could ever want. They encouraged my education and extensive reading, and when I told my father I wanted to be a policeman like him, they encouraged that, too.”

“They sound perfect. When did they pass away?” Corrine asked, her voice soft.

“They died within two months of each other just after I turned twenty-one—the downside to having older parents. I still miss them terribly. I cannot fathom what my life would have been like if they hadn’t taken me in. When I was adopted, my name was Mitchell Evercreech. I asked my father once why my last name wasn’t Simpson. He said I should keep the name I was born with and be proud of it.” Mitchell shook his head. “Only I wasn’t born with that name. It was made up using my given name and the place where I was born. Damon showed me the entry in the ledger.”

“That is horrible.”

“That was a common practice in some orphanages, workhouses, and foundling homes. It was Damon who suggested I take my parents’ last name. So I did a few months ago. I should have done it long before now.” Mitchell sighed. “I always meant to find a proper flat to live in, as I have my parents’ furniture, household goods, and my books in storage. I could not bear to part with them. I have been living in rented rooms since they died. I figured I would use the items if I ever got married. In the meantime, I’ve been trying to save money.”

“Money. It’s always at the core of things, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately. I’m sorry your mother died. That must have been difficult.”

Corrine sighed. “It was. My childhood ended the day she passed. I was taken out of school and forced to take over the running of the viscountcy. My father refused to do it. My home was not a loving one like yours. My parents barely spoke near the end of her life. I am not sure what she died of—I was never told. Perhaps she was just weary of it all. The debts. My father’s reckless ways. Well, I inherited it all and am still dealing with it.”

Mitchell took her hand. “You do not have to deal with it alone. Not ever again.”

Taking his hand, she rubbed it against her cheek, reveling in his warmth. Smiling at him, she then released it. “Thank you. That means the world to me.”

“Now, to a thoroughly unpleasant topic—Danaher.”

Corrine took a sip of wine, but the taste of it felt bitter on her tongue. “Is Danaher someone I should be frightened of?”

Mitchell sighed. “He pointed that revolver at Tensbridge without a moment’s hesitation. I saw it and pushed my friend out of the way. The bullet caught me in the leg.”

“You are a hero,” Corrine whispered, admiring and loving Mitchell all the more.

“Not as long as Danaher is possibly still breathing. I assume he may blame me for showing up and ruining his kidnapping/extortion scheme. You are associated with the barony. Danaher wants money from the baron. We have to be vigilant. Anyone caught in Danaher’s orbit is in danger.”

*

“Why are we here, on Wimpole Street?” Cillian asked.

Jedi wondered why he’d even told his illegitimate son he still lived. Granted, the boy was barely twenty years of age, but he might prove useful. “Do you remember me telling you about my father?”

“Aye, some baron or such.”

“Well, he owes me money. Or rather, his estate does. He died some months back. I’ve come to collect the first payment, and I want you standing beside me. I’ll give you a small cut. Watch this dodgy bloke for any sudden moves. You have that knife I gave you?” Jedi asked.

“Aye, it’s in my pocket.”

And safely tucked away in Jedi’s coat was his revolver. Jedi gazed at the night sky as they strolled along the walkway toward the baron’s residence. It was overcast tonight with a brisk breeze. If they had to escape, the cloud cover would work to his advantage. Jedi banged on the door.

When Addington answered, he pointed at Cillian asked, “Who is that?”

“My son. You didn’t say to come alone. Did you give the butler the night off?”

“I did as you requested. He’s gone to the pub.”