by Lee Strauss
Ginger glanced at the unconscious form on the floor. "I know how to take care of myself."
Basil ran a hand through his hair, knocking off his hat. "How? How do you know?"
Ginger stared back but said nothing. The British secret service was extremely particular on the secret part of its name.
Scanning the floor for her discarded sheath, she spotted it under one of the wooden kitchen chairs, picked it up, and slipped her trench knife inside before returning it to her handbag. She smoothed out her jade-green rayon skirt, adjusted her hat, removed a tube of lipstick from her handbag, and reapplied the frosted pink.
Basil swooped up the ball of twine that had fallen to the floor and made a good show of tying Billy Foster’s wrists tightly together. With a distinctly irritated voice he asked, "Well, are you going to at least tell me why Foster's on the floor?"
Ginger pointed to the snake head on the counter. "Murder weapon number one. Did you know that venom remains in the jaws even after the snake is dead? After Mr. Foster restrained his victims, he pressed the open jaw of the dead reptile against their neck. With Cynthia Webb, of course, the snake was alive."
Basil paced like a caged animal. "You could've been killed."
"You mean, I could've killed him." As if on cue, Billy Foster emitted a soft groan.
"Ginger Gold, you are exasperating!"
Ignoring Basil's outburst, Ginger said calmly, "Perhaps we should call for an ambulance. Or the police."
Basil glared. Under normal circumstances, he was the police.
"I’m going to look for a police box.” Basil handed her his pistol. "Just in case."
She aimed it at Billy Foster.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Superintendent Morris had arrested Mr. Foster for the murder of Emelia Reed, Jonathon Phillips, and Cynthia Webb, known in Virgina as Cindy Webster. His displeasure—and humiliation that Ginger had solved the murder—was apparent in the purple shade of his skin. He pointed a chubby finger in her direction.
"Lady Gold, had this turned out differently, I wouldn't hesitate to throw your pretty interfering head in jail! Again!"
She offered an ingratiating smile. "You're quite welcome, Superintendent."
Ginger had made one last trip to the North Star to return the ledger to Conway Sayer. She admonished him to quit such practices of pilfering from dangerous mafia-type men if he valued his life. Hopefully, he would heed her words of warning.
Ginger's mind had been so busy she didn't even notice that Goldmine had brought her through their regular riding pattern through Hyde Park and back to the Hartigan House stables. Scout waited for her.
The lad had changed since coming to live with Ginger. He'd put on weight and even grown an inch or two. His speech was more precise and he dropped his 'h's' far less often.
However, he was far less eager, and his smile more hard-earned. Perhaps this was because he no longer had to please people to fill his stomach. Perhaps, despite the improvement of his surroundings, the safety and security Ginger provided, he was just sad.
"Hello, Scout."
Scout's eyes brightened when he saw Ginger and Goldmine approach.
"I can cool down the ol' boy for you, missus."
"That would be terrific." Ginger handed over the reins. "Maybe later, another lesson for you."
"If you don't mind, missus. I think I'm getting the 'ang—hang—of it."
Ginger found Clement in the hothouse she had recently had built at the gardener's request. "Scout's with Goldmine," she said. "Please go and check up on him in a few minutes."
Clement bowed his head. "Yes, madam."
Ginger found Haley, Felicia, and Ambrosia having a late breakfast in the morning room.
"How was your ride?" Haley asked.
"Splendid."
Lizzie appeared with a new pot of tea for Ginger with Mrs. Beasley right behind her.
"I saw you through the window, madam, and fried up some more eggs and kippers for you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Beasley," Ginger said.
Haley snapped the newspaper she’d been gripping. "The Paris Olympics are going well for Great Britain," she said. "Not as well as the United States, mind you."
"Lady Gold?"
Ginger turned at the sound of Matilda Hanson's voice.
"Miss Hanson, please join us."
Miss Hanson stood before them dressed in a coat and hat, gloves on, ready to go somewhere. "I have a taxicab waiting,” she said. “I'm leaving Hartigan House, and I just wanted to say thank you, to you all, for everything."
Ginger rose from the table. "You're leaving? Where are you going?"
"I have a sister in Whitechapel. I'm going to work in her husband's butcher’s shop until the next term starts. She doesn't know . . . No one knows . . . I can start over."
Ginger, Haley, and Felicia went to Matilda and gave her a warm hug.
"All the best to you," Haley said.
"Thank you, Miss Higgins. I won't forget that you saved my life."
Ginger linked her arm through Matilda's. "I'll walk you to the door."
Ambrosia remained seated but did say a friendly farewell, though Ginger could sense the matron's relief.
The taxicab had no sooner left when another pulled up in front of the gate.
Ginger couldn't believe her eyes. "Louisa?"
Before her, beaming, with green eyes like Ginger's own, stood a younger, brunette version of herself. Louisa's face had matured in the ten months since Ginger had last seen her.
"What are you doing here?"
"Ginger! I wrote to you that I would visit."
"But I thought you meant to finish your education first?"
"I detest university. Life is my education. Ginger, did you even miss me?"
Ginger embraced her half-sister. "Of course. I'm just surprised."
"Good!" Louisa spoke loudly in Ginger's ear. "Then I accomplished my goal. I wanted to surprise you."
"Does Sally know you've come?" Ginger couldn't imagine her stepmother being all right with this. At least Louisa had brought her maid, Jenny, who stood behind her with head bowed and hands full with a jewellery box and a hatbox.
"She does now. I sent her a telegram from the SS Rosa. That's the steamship you came over on, isn't it? Jenny and I spent the night in Liverpool. Horrible place, by the way. London is much more exciting. Are you going to invite me in?"
"Yes, of course, come in."
Louisa took in the grand entrance with obvious admiration. "Daddy sure took care of you."
"This is my childhood home," Ginger said, somewhat defensively. It wasn't like their father hadn’t left Louisa an inheritance. She shared their Boston brownstone with her mother.
The commotion drew the attention of Pippins and the ladies in the morning room, and Ambrosia, Felicia and Haley filed in.
"I thought Miss Hanson was leaving," Ambrosia said.
"She did. This is Louisa, my American sister."
Ambrosia muttered, "It's like Piccadilly Circus around here."
“Look, Haley,” Ginger said, waving Haley closer. “It’s my sister Louisa. Louisa, you remember Miss Higgins."
"Of course I do!” Louisa gushed. " Darling, Haley! So good to see you again!"
The two of them embraced, and Haley caught Ginger's look over Louisa's shoulder. Oh, mercy!
"This is my sister-in-law, Felicia," Ginger said once Louisa had released Haley, "and my Grandmother, Lady Gold."
"Two Lady Golds," Louisa said. "That must get confusing, or do you still go by Mrs. Gold? I wouldn't if I were you. I've heard pompous titles go a long way here in the old country."
Ambrosia bristled and spoke under her breath to Felicia. "Americans have no manners."
"Oh, Grandmama," Felicia said, not bothering to lower her voice. "Miss Higgins is American and very polite."
"Perhaps we can all have tea in the drawing room," Ginger said. "Pippins, please ask Clement to help bring in Miss Hartigan's things. Grace, please clean Miss Hanson's
old room and let me know when it's ready."
"Ginger, darling," Louisa said with a squeal. "You must give me a tour before tea. And I'll have coffee if they serve it around here."
Ginger shared an exasperated look with Haley, and Haley just grinned. "I'll wait with Felicia and Lady Gold in the drawing room."
There was another knock on the door, and Ginger was beginning to agree with Ambrosia’s assessment of the frequent activity currently transpiring at Hartigan House. Louisa looked at her impatiently. "Don't you have a butler for that?"
"He's busy carrying your bags upstairs." Ginger opened the door to Oliver Hill.
"Oliver?"
"Oh, you've forgotten," he said graciously. "I'm here to see young Mr. Elliot."
"Oh yes, do come in." Ginger said. "It's been busy around here today. Miss Hanson has left—”
"Yes, she mentioned her intentions to me when I was here last," Oliver said.
"And my sister has arrived quite unexpectedly. Miss Hartigan, Reverend Hill."
Oliver extended his hand to Louisa. "It's a pleasure."
"My, Ginger, you never mentioned in your letters how handsome your vicar was. I might've come to London sooner."
Oliver's fair skin blossomed a deeper shade of pink. Ginger held in a chuckle. British ladies were far more conservative.
Oliver's gaze lingered on Louisa. "Are you staying in London long?" he asked.
Louisa giggled. "As long as Ginger can bear to have me around."
"I hope it's a long time then."
Ginger cleared her throat. "You'll find Scout in the garden, Oliver. Quite likely he's still in the stable."
"Nice to meet you Reverend Hill," Louisa said. Her voice echoed across the high ceilings as Ginger grasped her sister's arm and led her towards the drawing room. "Oh, please tell me he's not married."
Ginger groaned. There was no way Oliver hadn't heard that.
"Daddy never brought me to London before," Louisa lamented once tea had been served. "He said the ride over was terrible for Ginger when she was little and wouldn't put me through the trauma. Daddy was so kind. But London is rather fabulous, I'm a little put out now that I missed being here. Everyone speaks with such an adorable accent!"
"Do take a breath to eat a sandwich, love," Ginger said.
"Like you Ginger," Louisa continued, ignoring Ginger's attempt to calm her. "Your American accent is all but gone. I wonder if I'll lose mine over time."
Ambrosia looked alarmed. "How long do you plan on staying?"
"For the summer at least. I told Mama I've had it with her rules. I've got my own money and I don't need her to boss me around. Speaking of Boss, where is the little dog? He's not—" Louisa grimaced as she imagined the worst.
"Boss is in the garden," Ginger said. "He quite loves it here."
"I'm relieved." She turned to Felicia. "You must just love living in London. And such a lovely day. I heard it did nothing but rain here."
Felicia, used to being the most vivacious presence in the room, stared at Louisa with a baffled expression. "London is fabulous, but I hear Boston is wonderful."
"Oh, it is. But the people there don't sit around and drink tea all day."
Ambrosia smoothed out the taffeta skirt of her day dress with stiff strokes and shot Louisa a haughty look of disdain. "We don't drink tea all day."
Chapter Thirty-Four
Louisa Hartigan had taken to life in London like milk and sugar to tea. Felicia had shown her the shopping district and the nightlife—however, she promised Ginger they wouldn't go near the seedier clubs where women took off their clothes. Only the places where modern girls liked to spend their time and have fun. Louisa even went to church with Ginger though Ginger suspected that had more to do with the vicar than God.
All in all, Louisa's presence was less upsetting than Ginger had expected. Sally was even mollified after several telegrams.
"I could see myself becoming a full-time Londoner," Louisa announced as they shared coffee together in the sitting room.
Ginger stroked Boss who was curled up on her lap. "You would miss Boston and your mother over time."
Louisa huffed. "I don't miss them at all."
"You've only been here two weeks."
"I think you underestimate my ability to know my own mind, Ginger. Oliver says he admires a woman who knows her own mind."
"Oliver?" Ginger said, hearing the shock in her voice. "You're on first name terms already?"
Louisa’s eyes glinted mischievously. "I'd make a dramatic vicar's wife don't you think? The vicarage is really rather quaint."
Ginger shuddered with alarm. "You've been inside his vicarage?"
Louisa laughed. "You should see your face! I've only just peeked in the windows."
Ginger shook her head, then sipped her coffee. Louisa's time at Hartigan House would either keep Ginger young or give her grey hair.
Pippins quietly interrupted. "The chief inspector is here to see you, madam."
Ginger's heart leapt into her throat. The funeral was over.
It was over.
Ginger had been torn about whether she should go to Emelia Reed’s funeral or not, but in the end, she’d decided that she'd honour Emelia's memory more by not attending. It turned out that Basil agreed. He'd placated Ginger by saying that everyone at the funeral represented his past. Ginger represented his future.
"Excuse me, Louisa," Ginger said.
Basil waited in the entrance hall, trilby in hand. He wore a handsome, tailored suit, cuffed trouser legs just touching his black leather shoes.
"Basil?"
"Hello, Ginger."
"We can sit in the drawing room," Ginger said, as the sitting room was occupied.
"Actually, I can't stay long."
"Oh." Ginger didn't want to speak in the echoing entrance hall. "Let's go outside then." She gathered her spring jacket and closed the front door behind them. Basil faced her as they stood on the front step.
"How was it?" Ginger asked, referring to the funeral.
"Good. Sad. Very sad. But, it was nicely done. Small. Just family."
Ginger didn't know what to say to that, so merely nodded.
"Morris doesn't want me coming back to work yet," Basil said. "He’s still put out that I worked on the case when he had forbidden me to."
"More like he's put out with me and taking it out on you."
"Perhaps." Basil sighed and stared hard at Ginger. "I'm going away for a while."
"Alone?" Ginger said to her surprise. What she really meant was, without me?
"I need some time."
"Of course," Ginger said, working hard to keep her composure. "There's your season of mourning to think about. It would be unbecoming for a chief inspector to be seen out with another woman when the body of his dead wife is barely cold. I mean, what would people think?"
"I don't care what people think, Ginger. I just need some time."
"So you've said."
"I'm not sure how long I'll be away."
The earth stopped spinning. "What do you mean? Where are you going, exactly?"
"South Africa."
"South Africa? You plan to be away a while, then?" One didn't go to South Africa for a quick time of respite.
"I don't expect you to wait for me."
Ginger felt as if Basil had just slapped her with his glove.
"All I've been doing is waiting for you, Basil."
"I know. It's been tremendously unfair. And to go on like nothing has happened would just be an extension of the injustice."
Basil wasn't saying see you later—he was saying goodbye.
"I see," Ginger said. But she didn't see, not really. Basil had loved Ginger when Emelia was alive, but not now that she was dead?
No that couldn't be the case, Ginger thought. He must never have really loved her.
"Well, have a pleasant journey, Basil," she said, proud to be in possession of the British stiff upper lip. "You’ll understand if I don't see you to your motorcar
."
"Ginger—"
Ginger held up a palm. "Please. Don't say anything more. Goodbye, Inspector." She left Basil standing on the front step and carried herself with dignity up the staircase until she reached her bedroom.
Boss had made his way upstairs at some point and watched her from his spot at the foot of her bed as she stood in the middle of the carpet, frozen in one place, staring out of the window, but not seeing.
It wasn't the image of Basil that flashed through her mind but Daniel, her dear lost husband. Oh, how she missed him!
She made quick strides to the bedside table and opened the drawer. Gingerly, she removed the black and white photo of Lieutenant Daniel Gold.
She stroked his image. "How can I blame Basil for being in love with his late wife when I'm still in love with you?"
Easing herself onto the edge of the bed, Ginger held the photo close to her heart. Despite her determination to stay emotionally strong, a tear rolled down her cheek. Sometimes it felt impossible to move on. Blast Daniel for dying, and blast Basil for leaving!
Boss traipsed over to her side, whined, and licked her face.
"Oh, Bossy. I can always count on you, can't I?"
The Boston terrier shook his stub of a tail in agreement. His big brown eyes stared up, full of unconditional love as if to say, “It's going to be okay."
Ginger scrubbed him behind the ears. "I know it is, Boss. I know."
Lizzie knocked on the door. "Telephone call for you, madam."
Ginger really didn't feel like taking a call. "Who is it?"
"Reverend Hill, madam." Lizzie's face flushed crimson. She'd carried a torch for the vicar as well and had suffered some embarrassment over it in the past.
Ginger put Boss down and propped the photograph of Daniel on her bedside table. She really ought to get a telephone put in the library so she wouldn't have to traipse all the way downstairs to her study whenever a call came in.
She paused to get her breath before saying hello.
