‘Well, it won’t be long before he starts at St Bede’s.’
‘And what do you expect me to do in the meantime? Drop him off at the docks every morning?’
‘Not a bad idea.’
‘Be serious, my darling. If it hadn’t been for Old Jack, you’d still be there now.’
‘True,’ said Harry, as he raised his glass to the great man. ‘But what can we do about it?’
Emma took so long to reply that Harry wondered if she’d fallen asleep. ‘Perhaps the time has come for us to have another child.’
Harry was so taken by surprise that he closed his book and looked closely at his wife, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. ‘But I thought we’d agreed . . .’
‘We did. And I haven’t changed my mind, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t consider adoption.’
‘What’s brought this on, my darling?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about the little girl who was found in my father’s office the night he died’ – Emma could never bring herself to say the word killed – ‘and the possibility that she might be his child.’
‘But there’s no proof of that. And in any case, I’m not sure how you’d find out where she is after all this time.’
‘I was thinking of consulting a well-known detective writer, and seeking his advice.’
Harry thought carefully before he spoke. ‘William Warwick would probably recommend that you try and track down Derek Mitchell.’
‘But surely you can’t have forgotten that Mitchell worked for my father, and didn’t exactly have our best interests at heart.’
‘True,’ said Harry, ‘and that’s exactly why I would seek his advice. After all, he’s the one person who knows where all the bodies are buried.’
They agreed to meet at the Grand Hotel. Emma arrived a few minutes early and selected a seat in the corner of the lounge where they could not be overheard. While she waited, she went over the questions she planned to ask him.
Mr Mitchell walked into the lounge as the clock struck four. Although he’d put on a little weight since she’d last seen him, and his hair was greyer, the unmistakable limp was still his calling card. Her first thought was that he looked more like a bank manager than a private detective. He clearly recognized Emma, because he headed straight for her.
‘It’s nice to see you again, Mrs Clifton,’ he ventured.
‘Please have a seat,’ Emma said, wondering if he was as nervous as she was. She decided to get straight to the point. ‘I wanted to see you, Mr Mitchell, because I need the help of a private detective.’
Mitchell shifted uneasily in his chair.
‘When we last met, I promised I would settle the rest of my father’s debt to you.’ This had been Harry’s suggestion. He said it would make Mitchell realize she was serious about employing him. She opened her handbag, extracted an envelope and handed it to Mitchell.
‘Thank you,’ said Mitchell, clearly surprised.
Emma continued, ‘You will recall when I last saw you we discussed the baby who was found in the wicker basket in my father’s office. Detective Chief Inspector Blakemore, who was in charge of the case, as I’m sure you remember, told my husband the little girl had been taken into care by the local authority.’
‘That would be standard practice, assuming no one came forward to claim her.’
‘Yes, I’ve already discovered that much, and only yesterday I spoke to the person in charge of that department at City Hall, but he refused to supply me with any details as to where the little girl might be now.’
‘That will have been at the instruction of the coroner following the inquest, to protect the child from inquisitive journalists. It doesn’t mean there aren’t ways of finding out where she is.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’ Emma hesitated. ‘But before we go down that path, I need to be convinced that the little girl was my father’s child.’
‘I can assure you, Mrs Clifton, there isn’t any doubt about that.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I could supply you with all the details, but it might cause you some discomfort.’
‘Mr Mitchell, I cannot believe that anything you could tell me about my father would surprise me.’
Mitchell remained silent for a few moments. Eventually he said, ‘During the time I worked for Sir Hugo, you’ll be aware that he moved to London.’
‘Ran away on the day of my wedding, would be more accurate.’
Mitchell didn’t comment. ‘About a year later, he began living with a Miss Olga Piotrovska in Lowndes Square.’