Page 62 of The Detective and the Baroness

“Her ladyship has trunks in the next room. They were never fully unpacked. Her jewelry box is there.” Thomason pointed to the light oak dressing table. Mitchell opened it and, digging under the shelf, located the key to the sitting room desk.

Thomason followed him to the sitting room. Unlocking the desk drawer, Mitchell readily found the roll of notes. He peeled off five pounds and handed it to Thomason. “For any delivery charges and anything you feel the baroness will need. She has a small kitchen, so it will require a kettle and a few pots and pans, I imagine. Also, she might appreciate the bedding from her room. It may bring her comfort.”

“Leave it to me. I will see it is delivered this afternoon, Sergeant.”

“Good man.”

“A Merry Christmas, Sergeant, and to the baroness as well.”

Mitchell slipped the roll of notes in his side pocket, then pulled on his gloves. “The same goes for you and the staff, Thomason. From the baroness as well. Try and enjoy the holiday. The detective on the case, Mahone, is very competent. Look out for suspicious characters hanging about and let Mahone know immediately.”

They headed toward the front entrance, and Thomason opened the door. “I will, Sergeant. You can count on me.”

Mitchell touched his forelock and stepped out in the cold air. He glanced about the street again. Since he found no one lurking about, he waved down another hansom cab. “Seven Carol Street,” he instructed the driver.

Once they arrived, Mitchell banged on the roof.

“Yes, sir?” the driver asked.

“I will only be a moment. Then I will need to go to the bank.”

Mitchell stepped onto the walkway and stared at Addington’s residence. The door had boards nailed across it. Mahone must have had it secured. Would the new baron keep this residence? It hardly seemed likely. It was too middle class for the likes of a wealthy baron. Travis Addington had been going to sell it anyway. Mitchell scanned the street. Good, the baker’s cart was here.

Once he stood before the wagon, he touched the brim of his hat. “Good day. Are you the owner of this cart?”

The man, who was in his late thirties, gave Mitchell a wary look. “Aye. My wife and I do the baking early each morning.”

“An acquaintance of mine owns a restaurant in the East End. I would like to give him your name. He might be interested in buying some of your goods.”

The wary look deepened to one of skepticism.

Mitchell reached in his side pocket for his division card. “Detective Sergeant Simpson. This is not a scam. Baroness Addington sings your praises and wonders if you would be amenable to us putting your name forth.”

“I have no idea who the baroness is, Sergeant, but thank her.” The man held out his hand. “My name is Royce Eckley, and my wife is Rosa. She does the biscuits and cakes. I do the breads and scones. We also do tarts when the fruit is in season.”

Mitchell shook Eckley’s gloved hand. “Then you had better give me three of everything so I can send samples to my acquaintance and a dozen ginger biscuits and six scones. I’m not guaranteeing that the man who owns the restaurant will be in contact, but if he does, I will have him use my full name and today’s date. That way, you know he is on the up and up.”

“Thank you, sir!” Eckley immediately started bagging up everything. After Mitchell paid, he lifted the stuffed paper bag and tucked it close as he headed toward the carriage. His wandering gaze came upon a parked hansom. Mitchell stopped, his inner copper alarm beginning to peal. But he could not see anyone sitting inside it. Just his overactive imagination, perhaps.

Once situated in the cab, the driver pulled out onto the street, and Mitchell glanced back through the small rear window to see if the cab was following him. It was not. Overactive indeed. Mitchell settled in the carriage, and his thoughts turned to Corrinne. The sooner he was done with these errands, the sooner he could return to her. But before he went home, he had another stop to make—to the Galway Agency to bring them up to date on the case status. He should have seen them before, but these past weeks had been a whirlwind of activity and emotion. He also owed them their share of the Addington fee. Should he take on any new cases? Or wait until Corrine’s current situation calmed down? He looked out the side window. Snow flurries fluttered downward from the gray sky above. He had enough money to live for a few months and would tell the Galway sisters he would be available again when Corrine released him.

Mitchell hoped that would never happen. Because he was deeply and irrevocably in love with Corrine.

*

One hour later…

“Well, Charlie?”

The young lad stood before Jedi, twisting his cap between his fingerless gloved hands. “A man came to the house. He were in there twenty minutes or more. Before he knocked on the door, he came over and gave me a shilling. I saw him up close. Later, I snuck closer to the house and heard the butler call him sergeant summat or other.”

Sergeant? A soldier? Or a copper? “Give me a description, Charlie. A good one.”

“He were tallish, wearing a long wool coat with a gentleman’s hat. He weren’t no slubber, or skinny either. I reckon he could win a fight easy—muscles and all. The gent walked with shoulders back, determined-like. The git had light hair, not gold as such, and blue eyes like the sky. He weren’t old, and not ugly. But what do I know about it? Oh, and he were lame. He used a cane to get about.”

Lame? Could it be Simpson? The description fit. What in the hell was he doing at the baron’s, back on the job, already? The baron’s house wasn’t even in that peeler’s territory. Simpson was fast becoming a thorn in his side. First, he’d assisted in foiling Jedi’s ransom plan close to two months ago. And now he was somehow involved with Addington? “And then what?”

“I followed him. You said to follow anyone who came to the house. He went to Carol Street. Stood in front of number seven for a tetch, then walked over to a seller’s cart and bought all sorts, bread and the like. He looked over at the cab I was in, but I ducked down quick. He didn’t see me.”