by Lee Strauss
“Missus Mum?”
“Yes, Scout?”
“Sumtimes Lizzie makes me pray.”
“That’s good. We can pray together when we’ve finished here if you like?”
“I fink it would be nice.”
“Okay.” Ginger smiled, then continued her recitation.
“We rose from our knees strengthened to bear the afflictions that hung over us. Suddenly we heard amid the roaring of the waves the cry of ‘Land! Land!’ At that moment, the ship struck on a rock; the concussion threw us down. We heard a loud cracking as if the vessel was parting asunder; we felt that we were aground, and heard the captain cry, in a tone of despair, ‘We are lost!—’”
“Missus Mum, it’s scary.”
“Too scary?”
“No! Keep reading.”
“I went on deck, and was instantly thrown down, and wet through by a huge sea; a second followed. I struggled boldly with the waves, and succeeded in keeping myself up, when I saw, with terror, the extent of our wretchedness—”
“Missus Mum?”
“Yes, Scout?”
“I am afraid.”
“Should I stop reading?”
“Not of the book.”
“Oh, of what then?”
“I’m afraid I’ll never be posh, Missus.” His lower lip quivered. “I’m not like you and the mister.”
“Oh, Scout,” Ginger’s chest ached for the lad. “You don’t need to be posh. Just be you.”
“But you want to change me. How I talk, how I dress, this fancy room.”
“You don’t like your new things?”
“I do, I do. Just, I’m afraid of getting too used to it. You’ll change your mind one day, you will.”
“No, Scout,” Ginger said firmly. “I promise you I won’t, I give you my word, and my word is my bond.” There was a look in Scout’s eyes, a flash of maturity that gave Ginger a brief glimpse into the future, a possible future, and she shivered at the thought that maybe it wasn’t Scout’s fear she might tire of him, but Ginger’s fear he might one day tire of her.
Scout sniffed and, before Ginger could offer a handkerchief, wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“You must know that I’m very fond of you, Scout,” Ginger said gently. “Would it frighten you terribly if I said that I love you with a mother’s love?”
Scout’s eyes widened, glistening with emotion. “I luv ya too, Mum.”
Ginger’s heart nearly burst, aware that Scout had dropped the prefix, “missus”.
“How wonderful for us both. Now, shall I keep reading, or do you want to take a turn?”
Scout snuggled under his covers. “You can keep reading. I’ll take a turn next time.”
“Very well, but you must promise.”
“I promise.”
Ginger continued, and when she got to the end of the chapter, she closed the book.
“Aw, Mum, is that all?”
“That’s all for now.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“What about your evening prayers?”
“That’s why I got my eyes closed.”
“I see. Do you still want to say them together?”
“Nah, I fink I’m too old for that. I’m fine now.”
“Yes, right. Very well, then. Good night, Scout.” She kissed him gently on the head before turning out the light and closing the door halfway.
Ginger’s emotions were mixed. She triumphed in what she felt was a victory with Scout but also berated herself for waiting so long to take over from Lizzie. Her maid had been caring for Scout primarily for almost a year, since Ginger had taken him in off the streets, and had done all the motherly things Ginger, in her new role now, was meant to do. Ginger knew she often treated Scout as though he were younger than he actually was, and it grieved her to think that she had missed his childhood.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning Ginger was dealing with correspondence in her study at Hartigan House when Pippins interrupted with a quiet knock.
“Madam, a Mrs. Northcott is here to see you.”
“Really?” Ginger sat back in surprise. “Please show her in.”
Moments later, Mrs. Northcott sat in one of the wooden chairs that faced Ginger’s desk.
“I’m sorry to bother you at home, Mrs. Reed,” she said, “but I rang your office and Miss Gold informed me that you’d yet to come in. I thought I’d take a chance, hoping to catch you and came post haste.”
Mrs. Northcott was clearly agitated.
“It’s quite all right, Mrs. Northcott,” Ginger said soothingly. “What have you discovered?”
Mrs. Northcott removed an envelope from her handbag. “This.” She handed over the opened envelope and its contents.
“My maid found it in Virginia’s desk. I’m afraid I required her to do some snooping on my behalf. I just couldn’t rest thinking she may have killed my father.”
Ginger’s curiosity was whetted. The envelope was addressed to Mrs. Peck at Eaton Square. She unfolded the single sheet of paper and read.
Dear Mrs. Peck,
We were acquainted when you were known as Miss Robinson. Actually, acquainted is the wrong word. You see, I’ve recently learned I am your son. I want you to know that I hold no animosity towards you for the exchange you made with the couple I call Mum and Dad, but now that your circumstances have clearly changed, I hope you wouldn’t mind meeting. All confidences will be kept. My request to see you is merely a matter of curiosity. Nature calls a child and mother together. I hope you feel it too.
With warmest regards,
Cyril Wilding.
Ginger’s suspicions had been correct. She glanced up at Mrs. Northcott’s stern countenance.
“This is proof that Virginia lied to my father,” she said. “If the truth about her sordid past had been known, Papa would never have married her.”
This might or might not have been accurate as Ginger knew that love was a powerful force and rather blind when the bearer wanted it to be. She answered kindly, “It’s proof that Cyril Wilding believes her to be his mother, that’s all.”
“If it’s not true, then why is he still in residence in my home?”
“Even if it is true, it’s not proof of murder.” Though Ginger had to admit that the letter combined with Felicia’s photograph was compelling.
“It’s proof of motive,” Mrs. Northcott said. “What if Papa found out? What if he was about to change his will to cut Virginia out of it?”
The possibility had crossed Ginger’s mind. “Do you think Virginia killed her husband?”
“I do,” Mrs. Northcott said. “And I want you to prove it.”
Ginger blinked back. “Are you saying you want to employ me in an official capacity?”
“I do.”
“But the police are actively on the case.”
“Do you know how many murders per year go unsolved, Mrs. Reed? Here in London? Many, so forgive me if my faith in the police isn’t what it should be.”
“Very well. I do have to point out then that just yesterday you were convinced Mr. Wilding was our killer.”
“I stand by the possibility. In fact, it wouldn’t shock me to discover that the two of them worked together to finish Papa off.” Mrs. Northcott’s voice cracked, and she glanced away.
“I’ll do what I can to help, Mrs. Northcott, and as much as I work diligently for each of my clients, I must follow where the evidence leads, even if it goes in a direction not to my client’s favour. Are you prepared for that, Mrs. Northcott?”
Ginger’s proclamation caught Mrs. Northcott off guard. Her lips worked as she mentally processed the possible outcomes.
“I think, Mrs. Reed, that perhaps I need a little more time to think things through. You’re quite right that the police are at work, and with you working so closely with the chief inspector anyway, it seems a needless doubling of efforts.”
Mrs. Northcott got to her feet, blushing with unexplained sheepishness. “I’m sorr
y for this intrusion. I can find my way out.”
Ginger sat back feeling nonplussed. She’d unnerved Mrs. Northcott with her little speech, and couldn’t help but wonder why.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ginger rang Scotland Yard and was pleased that Basil was available to take her call. “Mrs. Northcott was here to see me,” she explained. “She’d discovered something of interest.”
Ginger shared Mrs. Northcott’s findings.
Basil let out a low whistle. “Do you have the letter?”
Ginger had made sure to leave it on the desk, but with Mrs. Northcott’s sudden need to flee, she’d forgotten to retrieve the envelope anyway. Ginger answered, “I do.”
“I’m sending officers to collect Mr. Wilding. I believe it’s time we had a chat. Would you mind terribly bringing me the letter and the photograph?”
“Not at all,” Ginger said. She had had every intention of doing so, even if Basil had suggested sending an officer round to collect them.
Boss lifted his head and watched as Ginger put on her hat and gloves. “I did promise I wouldn’t leave you, didn’t I?”
Boss stretched and strolled to her side.
“Very well, come along.” Ginger slid the envelope with Cyril’s letter to Virginia into her handbag. The incriminating photograph was already tucked inside.
The tapping of Ginger’s shoes along with the light clicking of Boss’ nails on the marble floor reverberated through the hall. Pippins, as usual, suddenly appeared.
“It’s the shoes that give us away, isn’t it, Pips?” Ginger said with a laugh. “One needs slippers if one is to sneak anything past you.”
Pippins bowed, grinning softly as he did so.
Ginger had become quite adept at backing the motorcar out of the garage. There was one slight dent on the rear bumper, barely noticeable, and Ginger chose not to think about it. Boss was always up for a trip in the Crossley and pushed his nose out of the opened window.
Ginger felt a tingle of excitement as she pulled into the parking area behind the two Scotland Yard buildings. Had they got their man? Was Cyril Wilding the killer? Or might it be Virginia in the end?
Constable Braxton greeted her at the front desk.
“Hello, Mrs. Reed. You’ve brought your dog, I see?”
Boss was safely in her arms. “He’s very well trained and won’t make a peep. Besides he’s been here before.”
“Ah, before I came on the scene. It’s not a problem with me, Mrs. Reed.” His lips twitched before continuing. “Might I ask after your family?”
Ginger held in the grin that threatened. The dashing constable surely wasn’t asking after Ambrosia. “Everyone is quite well, thank you. Miss Gold in particular.”
Constable Braxton’s complexion flushed red. “I’ve been caught out. Do pass on my regards.”
“I shall.”
Basil had briefed her a little on Constable Braxton’s background. He came from a good family and had been educated at Winchester.
Ambrosia might come around to another officer of the law in the family if it weren’t for the belief that a true gentleman didn’t have to work. It was only because Basil came from money that she overlooked the work he did at Scotland Yard.
Ginger found Basil waiting for her in his office.
“Darling,” she said, giving him a respectable kiss on the cheek.
“Please sit down,” Basil said.
Ginger claimed one of the empty wooden chairs and allowed Boss to get comfortable on her lap. She then removed the envelope and the photograph from her Coco Chanel handbag—Ginger thought the interlocking Cs were a clever touch—and pushed them across Basil’s desk.
“Cyril Wilding has been apprehended and is in an interrogation room. I can’t let you come in, Ginger, Scott will be present, along with Wilding’s solicitor.”
“Oh, boo.”
“But I shall instruct Braxton to leave the door open a crack whilst he guards the hall. I can’t help it if you wander by.”
“Love, you are the best!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ginger had done her fair share of spying on people without their awareness during her work in the Great War. Generally, in those days, the stakes had been far higher, and her life weighed in the balance should she have ever been caught. Despite knowing she was safe, she sometimes suffered a chill of nerves when she did anything that reminded her of those times.
At twenty-four, Cyril Wilding was the same age as many of the German soldiers she’d encountered on the continent. So young, yet with staggering degrees of authority.
She let the thought go and focused on the interview.
“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Mr. Wilding said tersely. “Surely, your men could’ve asked me whatever it is you want to know without creating a humiliating scene.”
“I do apologise for any social discomfort you experienced,” Basil said. He sat at the table opposite Mr. Wilding whilst Sergeant Scott, an older, heavyset officer wearing a standard black police uniform, sat across from Mr. Wilding’s legal representative. “However,” Basil continued, “it’s proper form here at Scotland Yard to interview potential murder suspects on our premises.”
“Murder suspect? Me? You can’t be serious.”
“We take every murder investigation seriously.”
“You’re referring to Mr. Peck, I’m assuming. I barely knew the man. I think we said a mere handful of words to one another. Why on earth would I kill him?”
Basil opened a folder that sat on the table in front of him and removed a photograph. Ginger knew it was a copy of the one Felicia had taken.
“This was snapped the other day. It is you, is it not?”
Cyril Wilding’s youthful brow furrowed deeply. “I say, who’s been following me? I didn’t give permission for this.”
“They were actually shooting a photograph of this young lady here,” Basil said pointing. “Your image was captured quite by accident. I’d like to point out the item in your hand.” Basil slid a magnifying glass towards Mr. Wilding. “You may use that if you think it will be helpful.”
Mr. Wilding picked up the magnifying glass and stared at the photograph. From her spot by the door, Ginger could see the young man losing colour.
Mr. Wilding laid the magnifying glass down. “It’s rat poison. What of it?”
“Well, Mr. Peck was poisoned. And you’ve been a guest of Mrs. Peck’s for long enough to have committed the deed.”
Mr. Wilding’s solicitor shook his head. “You don’t have to comment.”
“I will anyway,” Mr. Wilding said, “because I didn’t do it.”
Basil pressed on. “Why did you buy rat poison?”
Mr. Wilding stared at his fingernails. “There are mice in my room. I didn’t want to embarrass my hostess, so I thought I’d just take matters into my own hands.”
“Indeed?” Basil said.
“Besides,” Mr. Wilding continued, “why would I want to kill anyone?”
“Ah yes, motive,” Basil said. “Means and opportunity aren’t enough; one must also determine why.”
Basil presented the letter.
Cyril Wilding’s neck flushed red as awareness gripped him. “Where did you get this? This is personal correspondence, and you have no right to it.”
“Regardless, Mr. Wilding, it presents a plausible motive. Firstly, you discover the identity of the woman who brought you into this world, and then you find out that she has money that you feel you have a right to. Only, you discover she can’t gain access to the funds. Then it occurs to you that as Mr. Peck’s wife, she would most likely inherit a significant part of Mr. Peck’s estate. It must’ve been quite a disappointment for you at the reading of the will.”
Cyril hit the table with his fist. “I did not kill Mr. Peck. And these documents don’t prove anything. I simply wanted to locate my mother, and it turns out she was wondering about me as well. It’s been a joyous reunion. At least, it was until this deplorable turn of event
s.”
“Mr. Wilding, why did you purchase the poison?”
For the first time, Mr. Wilding appeared frightened. “Someone asked me to.”
“Who?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Because your answer will incriminate the person who made the request?”
Mr. Wilding got his courage back. “Are you charging me with murder? Do it or let me go.”
“If you insist,” Basil said. “Mr. Cyril Wilding, you are arrested on the suspicion of the murder of Mr. Reginald Peck.”
Sergeant Scott handcuffed Mr. Wilding, and Ginger knew it was her signal to leave before either Mr. Wilding or his solicitor spotted her. She winked at Constable Braxton who remained at his post, a clear look of confusion on his face.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ginger was stunned to run into Virginia Peck in the Scotland Yard waiting area.
“Mrs. Peck?”
The new widow, dressed head to toe in black, returned the look of surprise. “Mrs. Reed? What are you—oh, yes, you assist your husband.”
Ginger kept her eyes soft as she drew closer. “I’m sorry about Mr. Wilding.”
Mrs. Peck’s chin jutted upwards in defiance. “I hope they haven’t arrested him.”
“I’m afraid they have.”
“Well,” Mrs. Peck said with a derisive huff. “Scotland Yard’s about to find itself pretty red-faced shortly.”
Ginger felt her defences rise. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I killed my husband. I’m here to confess.”
Oh mercy.
“I’m afraid they have compelling evidence against Mr. Wilding,” Ginger said.
“Purely circumstantial, I’m sure.” Mrs. Peck sidestepped Ginger. “Officer?”
Constable Braxton lifted his gaze. “Yes?”
“I’m here to turn myself in. I’m a murderer. Please take me away.”
Ginger cast a disbelieving glance at Basil, who’d just entered the room in time to hear Virginia Peck’s last declaration.
