by Lee Strauss
“Nothing to comment on at the moment,” Ginger said breezily.
She drove down Pall Mall past the red-brick Tudor royal residence of St. James’s Palace. She passed slower moving horses and carriages and dodged unsuspecting pedestrians. Felicia held onto her hat, but Ginger thought that a bit dramatic since Felicia was safely inside the cab of the motorcar and in no danger of actually losing headwear.
Ginger avoided getting into a minor accident on the sharp turn at Piccadilly, but a strong spin on the steering wheel put her in the path of some broken glass, and the Crossley jerked to a stop.
Felicia had finally had enough.
“Seriously, Ginger!” She stormed out of the motorcar, slamming the door behind her.
Ginger walked around the motorcar and frowned at the deflating tyre.
Felicia glared at her sister-in-law.
“What?” Ginger said innocently. “That wasn’t my fault. I can’t help it if there is dangerous debris left on the road.”
Eventually, Ginger waved down a black taxicab. The ride past Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens was uneventful, and the cab came to a stop in front of the iron gates belonging to Hartigan House, her home in Mallowan Court in South Kensington.
“Made it with my life intact!” Felicia said as she removed herself from the taxicab.
“Oh, please,” Ginger said as she paid the cabby. “It was a flat tyre, not a blazing crash.”
Ginger’s gardener, Clement, was trimming hedges in the front garden with the help of Ginger’s ward, Scout Elliot.
Young Scout was the newest member of what Ginger considered her family. A waif she’d initially met onboard the SS Rosa on her journey from Boston to Liverpool, Scout had worked in steerage and helped to look after Boss, Ginger’s beloved Boston terrier. When Scout had suddenly been left alone in London without kin to care for him, Ginger hadn’t hesitated to collect him.
“H-ello, missus!” Scout said as Ginger and Felicia approached. “H-ello, Miss Gold.” Ginger was pleased with how Scout worked hard on not dropping his aitches. His front teeth were almost fully grown in, making his face look a little too small for his mouth. Wheat-coloured hair poked out from under his flat cap, which he tipped like a gentleman. Ginger’s heart almost burst with a warm maternal-like affection.
“Hello, Scout. I see you’re hard at work.”
“He is,” Clement said, overhearing. “He’s a good helper.”
Scout’s freckled face beamed with pride. Felicia greeted Scout and Clement and walked briskly ahead of Ginger, disappearing inside.
“You didn’t bring the Crossley home, madam?” Clement asked.
“I’m afraid we had a little mishap,” Ginger said. Clement’s jaw sagged with a look of horror.
“Oh, nothing serious,” Ginger added quickly. “The tyre blew, and there’s a nasty bend in the rim. Such are the hazards of having inflatables, but they are so much nicer to ride on, don’t you agree?”
Clement nodded, not looking entirely consoled.
“Would you mind arranging for it to be towed to the garage?” Ginger gave him the address in Piccadilly. “Pippins can assist you with the telephone.”
“Certainly, madam,” Clement said. He laid his trimming shears down and headed to the servants’ entrance at the back of the house.
Ginger entered through the tall wooden door of Hartigan House that led to a vast foyer with glossy marble floors and a grand chandelier that hung from the height of the second floor. An impressive staircase with an emerald runner curved to the landing. Instead of heading to her room upstairs, Ginger detoured past the sitting room to visit the kitchen at the back of the house. The cook, Mrs. Beasley, was busy preparing the evening meal and giving orders to the maids, Grace and Lizzie.
“Grace, put those long arms to work and reach the lard for me from the top shelf.” Mrs. Beasley was easily under five feet tall and round like a puff pastry. Salt-and-pepper curls escaped her cook’s cap.
“Hello, Mrs. Beasley,” Ginger said. “Don’t forget we must leave early tonight for the choir rehearsal.”
“Madam, I have not forgotten. We will have minestrone soup and shepherd’s pie.”
“Sounds delicious, Mrs. Beasley.” Ginger turned to Lizzie. “Lizzie, where would I find Boss?”
“In front of the fireplace in the sitting room, madam. At least that was where he was when I saw him last.”
With Lizzie and Scout around, Ginger never had to worry about Boss being well looked after when she wasn’t home. She did miss the little dog when she was out for too long, and went directly to the sitting room to find him. Felicia was there along with Ginger’s American half-sister Louisa, and Ambrosia—also known as the Dowager Lady Gold or Grandmother or, with Felicia, Grandmama—who was sitting in the wing chair. Pippins, Ginger’s long-time septuagenarian butler, poured afternoon sherries. The skin around his cornflower-blue eyes crinkled deeply with pleasure when he saw Ginger.
“Would you care for a sherry, madam?”
“Thank you, Pips,” she said, using the pet name she’d used for the butler since childhood. “That would be delightful.”
At the sound of Ginger’s voice, Boss’ head popped up from his slumber, and he bounded onto Ginger’s lap. “Oh hello, Bossy!” she said as the pup licked her neck. “You missed me, didn’t you? I missed you too!”
Ambrosia, sitting poker-straight in her corset, watched in disgust. “Must you let the animal molest you? It’s so unbecoming.”
“It’s not like we’re in public, Grandmother.”
“I’m here,” she stated as if she were public enough.
“Yes, well.” Ginger sipped her sherry.
“Hey, sis,” Louisa said. “I’m bored.” She patted her red, rosebud mouth in a fake yawn to emphasise her point. Her eyebrows were trimmed into narrow, high arches and her lids shadowed in blue. Her dark hair, styled in a fashionable bob and professionally waved, shone under the electric lights. “Surely, there is something fun to do in London? Where do the eligible bachelors hang out?”
There was a moment in time where Ginger had feared that Louisa and Oliver were soft on each other. How could Ginger have explained that one to her stepmother, Sally Hartigan? Louisa had boarded a ship to England without Sally’s knowledge, and it had taken numerous telegrams to calm her down, reassuring her that Ginger would take good care of her much younger half-sister.
“I think your mother would kill me if you found a British gentleman friend,” Ginger responded. “She’s pretty intent on you going back to Boston soon.”
“But what about what I want?” Louisa whined. “I like it here.”
“You just said you were bored,” Felicia countered. “And I’ve introduced you to plenty of gentlemen who’ve fancied you.”
Louisa examined the rings on her well-manicured fingers. “I guess I just haven’t found one I like.”
Ambrosia rolled large round eyes at the banal conversation.
“I have an idea,” Ginger said. Her green eyes latched onto Louisa. “You can work for me at Feathers & Flair.”
Louisa stared back with dismay. “Are you proposing I be a shop girl?”
“Yes. You’d be perfect for the job. You’re young, charming, and are well versed in fashion.”
“I have money, Ginger. I don’t need to work.”
“Of course, you don’t,” Ambrosia stated. “Young society ladies don’t have jobs. It’s vulgar.”
Louisa frowned as the elder Lady Gold looked down her nose. “Ginger has a job.”
Ambrosia tapped her walking stick onto the floor. “Ginger is a widow. She employs people to work for her.”
“Consider it a diversion, Grandmother,” Ginger said diplomatically. “She’d be entertained there, which is preferable to being idle here.”
Ambrosia grunted, but Ginger could see by the flicker in the elder Lady Gold’s blue eyes that she would be agreeable to anything that removed Louisa from Hartigan House.
“It could be fun,” Felici
a said. “You could try on all the new gowns.”
“I can redirect your earnings to the Child Wellness Project,” Ginger said. “Since you have so much money already.”
The Child Wellness Project was the charity project that had brought Oliver Hill and Ginger together and ignited their friendship. It provided meals for hungry street children twice a week at St. George’s hall.
Louisa’s frown deepened. “There’s no such thing as too much money. I’ll donate half.”
“It’s a deal. You can start on Monday.”
“I think I’ll like being a working woman,” Louisa said to Felicia importantly. “It says ‘independence.’”
“I prefer to offer my time to support good causes,” Felicia shot back.
“Has the decorating of St. George’s been completed?” Ambrosia asked.
“Yes,” Ginger replied. “It looks beautiful. Lovely pink and white rose bouquets—the place smells wonderful. So many candles, we’ll have to watch that we don’t start a fire.”
“Oooh,” Louisa said. “I can’t wait. Though, I don’t understand what Oliver sees in Mary Blythe. I would’ve married him, had he asked. It’s like he chose unbuttered bread over a piece of rich cream cake.”
“Louisa!” Ginger said.
Louisa was unrepentant. “Well, it’s true.”
“A little humility wouldn’t hurt you, young lady,” Ambrosia muttered, “though you can’t help it, I suppose, being American.”
“Mary is a fine choice for Oliver,” Ginger said, feeling like a liar. “She was rather nervous today. I hope she does all right.”
“Of course, she’s nervous,” Ambrosia said. “It’s natural to be anxious about getting married.”
“She should read Dr. Stopes’ book, Married Love,” Felicia said. “Knowledge is power.”
“Felicia!” Ambrosia spouted. “What is wrong with a little polite conversation? Must you always be so crass?”
“Why is married love crass, Grandmama? It’s perfectly normal. That’s the kind of thinking that keeps womankind in the dark ages.”
“Oh child,” Ambrosia said with a puff of exasperation. Turning to Ginger, she said, “We must work harder at finding Felicia a husband. She needs taming.”
“Grandmama,” Felicia said. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room. I’ll find my own husband, thank you. And I’ll be the one doing the taming.”
Ambrosia pressed her wrinkled lips together with disapproval. Ginger still wasn’t used to the elderly lady’s newly acquired silver bob hairdo. It had been an impulsive gesture, quite uncharacteristic for her grandmother-in-law, and though Ginger applauded the effort to join the twentieth century, she thought it didn’t quite fit somehow.
“I want to read that book,” Louisa stated.
Ginger stared at her sister, astounded. “No! Sally would never forgive me. Felicia, do not give that book to Louisa.”
“But Ginger, why not?” Louisa pleaded. “I’m almost the same age as Felicia, and she’s read it.”
“You can read it when the time is right, Louisa,” Ginger said. “And that time isn’t now.”
Louisa huffed, placed her empty sherry glass on the coffee table, and got to her feet. She left the sitting room without saying a word, reminding Ginger of the many temper tantrums performed by Louisa in the past.
Ambrosia put her weight on the silver handle of her walking stick and stood. “Felicia, child, would you escort me upstairs?”
Felicia emptied her drink. She shrugged at Ginger with a look that said, since when did Ambrosia need help getting up the stairs? The matriarch was getting older and presumably weaker.
“Where’s Langley?” Ginger asked. Langley was Ambrosia’s lady’s maid.
“She needed time off,” Ambrosia answered. “Her mother or father or some relative decided now was a convenient time to die.”
Oh, mercy. The things Ambrosia was prone to say.
Haley entered just as Ambrosia and Felicia were leaving.
“I sure know how to empty a room,” she said as she headed to the sideboard where the drinks were kept. “Something to drink?”
“Yes, please,” Ginger said. “Even though I just had a sherry.”
“Drinking sherry is like drinking juice,” Haley said. “Gin and tonic?”
“Easy on the gin.”
Haley mixed the drinks and handed Ginger a glass before lounging on the settee. She stretched out her stockinged legs and straightened her tweed skirt. Her dark-eyed gaze took in Ginger’s stressed expression.
“Hard day?” Haley asked.
“William proposed.”
“I see. And I take it you didn’t say yes.”
“No, I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no either. I just wasn’t expecting the question. We’ve only been associating for a month!”
Haley pushed brunette flyaway curls that had escaped her faux-bob behind her ear. “What I’m hearing is Basil Reed’s only been gone for a month and a half.”
Ginger pierced her American friend with a hard stare. “Basil Reed never even crossed my mind.”
Haley’s dark brow arched in a symbol of disbelief. She sipped her drink without replying.
“Fine! I thought of him. So? What am I to do about that? He’s reprehensible, and . . .” Ginger struggled to find the appropriate adjective.
“And gone,” Haley said.
“Yes, and gone!”
Haley sighed. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, Ginger. But Basil Reed doesn’t deserve you. Perhaps you should open your heart to Captain Beale. He seems like a nice fellow.”
“He is nice. And I like him, but . . .”
“You don’t love him?”
“No. But perhaps love is overrated. At least the second time around.”
“Ginger, you’re a rich, independent woman. You don’t need a man around that you don’t love.”
With impeccable timing, Boss let out a long, low whimper.
“Oh, Bossy. You’re right. I have you. I don’t need a man.”
“That said,” Haley continued, “there are different kinds of love. Maybe you’ll never love a man again like you loved Daniel, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find someone who makes you feel loved. Someone who makes you laugh, and with whom you can carry on an intelligent conversation.”
“But, Haley,” Ginger said with a smile. “I have you for that.”
Laughing, Haley responded, “I’m not going to be around forever.”
“Oh, mercy. You’re not threatening to go back to Boston again, are you?”
“I’m just saying I don’t know what I’m going to be doing when I am finished at the medical school.”
Ginger took a long pull of her gin and tonic and made a face. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, then. You’re coming to the choir rehearsal tonight?”
Haley sighed. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into joining the choir. I sing like a foghorn.”
“You sing fine,” Ginger said. “And it’s fun. You have to admit it.”
“It’s interesting.”
“Besides, Oliver needs all the support he can get.”
“Don’t tell me he has cold feet.”
“Frozen solid, I’m afraid.”
Chapter Five
Ginger found Oliver pacing the area in front of the pulpit.
“I’m not used to being on this side of things,” he said as she approached.
Ginger patted him on the back. “You only have to do it once.”
A stout, older vicar had entered the church and strode down the aisle towards them with quick short strides. He pulled at the white dog collar that fit snugly around a full, soft neck.
“So sorry I’m late, Hill. I promise to be on time tomorrow morning.”
“That’s quite all right. Mary hasn’t arrived.”
Oliver explained to Ginger, “Mary and I are meeting with Reverend Markham to discuss a few last-minute matters.” He then proceeded to make introductions. “Lad
y Gold, this is Reverend Markham. Markham, this is my good friend, Lady Gold.”
Ginger held out a gloved hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Reverend Markham said with a genuine smile. “I’ve heard good things about the charitable work you do with Reverend Hill.”
Ginger smiled in response. “How kind.”
“Reverend Markham is performing the ceremony,” Oliver explained.
Theo Edwards’ impatient voice interrupted their huddle. “Lady Gold!”
The choir had gathered in their position adjacent to the altar. Ginger was the only person in the small ensemble not there.
“Oh, I’m wanted.” She pinched Oliver’s arm and whispered encouragingly. “It’s all going to be fine.”
As an alto, Ginger took her position beside Miss Bertram, Miss Howard, Louisa, and Haley. The soprano section in front of her consisted of Miss Edwards, Felicia, Matilda Hanson and Mrs. Davies. The men, Mr. Robson and Mr. Piper, stood behind them.
Theo motioned to his wife, Esme, sitting before the organ in the loft at the back of the church, and the raucous tones began.
“Can’t they do something about that organ?” Louisa muttered.
“Like a new organist, per’aps,” Mr. Robson grumbled from behind. “There’s nothin’ wrong with the organ.”
Catherine Edwards glared over her shoulder at the man. “My sister-in-law is a splendid organist.”
Theo Edwards jabbed his arms into the air and shouted, “What on earth are you folks chattering on about?”
Mr. Robson shouted back, “What? Can’t ‘ear ya over the racket comin’ from the balcony.”
Theo turned, cupped his mouth, and thundered, “Esme!”
Ginger shared a look with Haley. This could take a while.
Oliver hovered over by the vestry. Ginger smiled when he looked her way, but he didn’t smile back. Then Ginger realised it wasn’t her Oliver was looking at but Matilda standing in front of her. His eyes were soft and flickered with deep emotion.
Oh mercy! Oliver was getting married to the wrong girl!
Matilda Hanson’s history was blighted, but God had forgiven her and Oliver never judged. Ginger couldn’t believe she’d missed the signals, but when she thought back, she could remember how well Oliver and Matilda had got along, and how sincere their friendship appeared to be.
