by Lee Strauss
Ginger startled at the stark change of subject.
“Just two friends reconnecting,” Basil said. “I’d like to explain—”
“You’ve nothing to explain, Basil. You made yourself perfectly clear when you left.” And Ginger wasn’t sure she could file Basil into a friendship category. Her heart couldn’t manage it. He had to be either in or out, and she was prepared to put William in. Therefore, Basil was out.
There was a tap on the door, and Ginger released a short breath of relief at not having had to answer Basil’s query.
“Mr. Piper, come on in,” Basil said.
Cecil Piper took the empty chair, pushed up on his spectacles and fiddled with the bowler hat on his lap.
“He wasn’t a good Christian man, you know,” he stated without being asked. “I’ve expressed my concerns to the vicar before, but Reverend Hill only went on about grace and the like. Mr. Edwards was mean to his missus.”
“Are you saying Mr. Edwards struck his wife?” Basil asked.
“There’s more than one way to abuse a person, Chief Inspector.”
Ginger got the impression that Mr. Piper might have been on the receiving end of such abuse in his lifetime. Perhaps from the choir director himself.
“How well do you know the Edwards family?” Basil asked.
Mr. Piper stared at his fingers as he spun the brim of his hat—stalling–as if he needed time to work out an appropriate answer.
“Not well,” he finally said. “Just from church activities and the like.”
“And this gave you the opportunity to form an opinion on Mr. Edwards’ relationship with his wife.”
“I’m not the only one, surely. You only had to have eyes and ears to witness it.”
“Where were you at approximately ten minutes past six, when Mr. Edwards fell to his death?”
“I was heading to the kitchen in search of tea.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Well, I guess not. I turned back to the nave when I heard screaming.”
Once again Ginger recalled the exchange of odd, possibly intimate looks she’d witnessed between Mr. Piper and Miss Edwards. She asked, “How well do you know Miss Edwards?”
Mr. Piper jerked at the question. “N-not at all. Only from the choir, so about as well as anyone.”
Ginger looked at Basil who was frowning. Mr. Piper wasn’t a good liar. The question was, why was he lying?
Mrs. Davies and Reverend Markham were the next to be interviewed and provided alibis for each other as Reverend Markham had moved from Oliver’s office to the kitchen for tea. They also gave Matilda Hanson an alibi, confirming her presence with them for the whole time. No, they hadn’t seen Mr. Piper or any of the other suspects until they entered the church to see what all the fuss was about.
Basil instructed Mrs. Davies before she left her interview. “Please send in Mary Blythe.”
Oliver arrived with Mary and protested. “Surely this isn’t necessary. Mary’s been through a trauma, and now our wedding must be postponed. It’s all very trying.”
“We’ll make it as brief as possible,” Basil said.
Poor Mary Blythe did look a sight. Her brunette hair had fallen out of its pins, and the front panel of her green cotton frock was excessively wrinkled. She crumpled into a ball in the chair, and Ginger fought the urge to encourage her to sit up straight.
“I’m so sorry this has happened so close to what was meant to be your happy day,” Ginger said.
Mary wept into her handkerchief. “It’s awful, simply awful. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Now, now. You’ll still get married. Next weekend or the week after. It won’t make much difference in the long run.”
Mary glanced up at Ginger with teary eyes. “I hope you’re right.”
“Miss Blythe,” Basil said, looking rather uncomfortable. “You entered the church shortly after Mr. Edwards fell. Where were you coming from?”
“Home. I’ve been ill, nerves I think.”
“So you entered from the main entrance of the church?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anyone enter or exit the rear balcony stairwell?”
Mary shook her head. “No.”
“Did you go up to the balcony at all today?”
Mary’s red eyes grew rounder. “No. I only just arrived. I was late for my meeting with Oliver and Reverend Markham.”
Ginger shot Basil a look, which begged for compassion. Basil sighed. “Very well, Miss Blythe,” Basil said. “That shall be all for now.”
Oliver had been waiting in the passageway and immediately put a protective arm around Mary as she left.
“You can speak to her again tomorrow if you must,” Ginger said, “but I do believe the girl is ready to collapse from exhaustion. Did you see the circles under her eyes? She must not be sleeping well.”
“Indeed.”
“Mr. Piper was exceptionally vague,” Ginger continued, aware that she was rambling. She didn’t want to give Basil the opportunity to revisit his question about meeting for a friendly cup of tea. “I think there’s more to the story about why he disliked Mr. Edwards. And he was definitely lying about his connection to Miss Edwards.”
“Ginger?”
Ginger forced herself to look Basil in the eye.
“Yes?”
“Take a breath. I won’t repeat my invitation.” He grinned. “Today.”
Ginger’s throat had grown dry, and she was in sudden need of a glass of water, cup of tea, or quite possibly, something stronger.
Basil closed his notepad and returned it to his suit pocket. “We need to find the murder weapon.”
“Yes,” Ginger said, happy to keep their conversation on the case. “It has to be in this building somewhere.”
“I’ll see what my constables have come up with.”
Ginger gathered her handbag, but before she could get to her feet, Basil asked her to remain for another minute.
“Yes, what is it?” she said.
“I need to apologise.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I want to.”
“She was your wife.”
“But I was in love with you.”
Was? Ginger inhaled, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
“I’m still in love with you.”
She glared at him boldly. “Then why did you stay away for so long?”
“It’s a long journey to South Africa. I was a fool to go so far away, but at the time I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“And you’re in your right mind now?”
“Yes.”
Ginger wanted to believe him, but she was unsure if she could trust again. As much as she tried to pretend it was otherwise, as much as she convinced herself that she had no right to feel offended by a man grieving his estranged wife, Basil’s departure had hurt her deeply.
The office door, left ajar, was suddenly flung open and William Beale filled the space.
Ginger gawked. “William!”
“Darling. Hill convinced the police to let me in. I needed to be sure that you were all right.”
“I’m fine,” Ginger said, holding in her aggravation. “I told you that on the telephone.”
“But a man’s been murdered. You could be in danger.”
Basil stood and strode to William’s side. He stretched out a hand. “I’m Chief Inspector Basil Reed. I can assure you that Lady Gold is safe with me.”
William stiffened. “I am quite aware of who you are, Inspector.” His unspoken words resounded loudly. Lady Gold is indeed not safe alone with you. “I’m Captain William Beale.” He turned to Ginger and extended his arm. “Shall we go?”
Ginger burned with indignation. She nearly refused him, but she didn’t dare make a scene.
“Of course.” Smiling at Basil, she added, “If you need my assistance, you know where to find me.”
Chapter Nine
Felicia had invited Matilda Hanson to luncheon the next day. Miss Hanson, an in
telligent and pretty girl, resembled the Hollywood icon Clara Bow with her teardrop face and rosebud lips. While going through a personal crisis, she and Felicia had formed a friendship. She had been a long-term guest at Hartigan House, though her presence had proved to be a social hardship for Ambrosia who struggled with the mixing of the classes. The matron sat stiffly at the head of the dining room table, looking put out.
“Hello, Matilda,” Ginger said giving Matilda a welcoming embrace before taking her seat at the table. “Good afternoon, everyone.”
“You’re rather chipper today,” Louisa remarked. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night after yesterday’s horrific events. Poor Mary Blythe. Imagine having your wedding disrupted like that. Now, what are they going to do?”
“The ceremony has been postponed,” Ginger said, with a quick glance at Matilda. Their guest’s gaze had averted to her lap but her expression revealed no dismay. “July weddings are as lovely as those in June.”
“Poor Mary,” Louisa repeated.
Ginger simply nodded. She wondered at Oliver’s words, “The Lord moves in mysterious ways.” Perhaps this was a way out for Oliver. Mary was a sweet girl, but Ginger’s feeling that she was the wrong match for the vicar had only intensified.
Lizzie and Grace produced Mrs. Beasley’s delectable offering of pea soup, followed by grilled mackerel and parsnips in cream sauce. Boss sat at Ginger’s feet in energetic anticipation, and she sneaked him a piece of fish.
“It really is the stuff of novels,” Felicia said. “Perhaps I should write a book now that I live in London.”
“Have you written anything so far?” Haley asked.
“Well, no,” Felicia admitted. “But I could start. I simply do need a hobby, or I’m bound to go back to reckless partying.”
“Oh, please,” Ginger said with a smile. “Do write a book.”
“I can’t imagine writing a book,” Louisa said. She paused before drinking the final spoonful of soup. “I think it would be quite a lot of work.”
“One needs a tremendous imagination,” Ambrosia added. “I do think Felicia has more than enough of that. Child, if you must insist on attempting such a common occupation, I do hope you don’t write mysteries. Very lowbrow. One with good breeding should compose literary works in the vein of Sir Walter Scott or Rudyard Kipling.”
Ginger suspected Ambrosia’s author choices had to do with the title in the first case (Sir) and the well-known place of birth of the other (the Bombay Presidency of British India) and not because she’d actually read the writers.
“I wish I could pen poems,” Felicia gushed. “Poets are so mysterious and awe-inspiring, and poems wouldn’t take nearly so long to write. Louisa lent me her copy of Robert Frost’s latest collection. He recently won a Pulitzer Prize. Can you imagine? I don’t think I could draft a poem to save my life.”
Haley shook her head, her dark curls springing loose. “Me, neither. I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”
“I’m not a big fan of his poem Nothing Gold Can Stay,” Felicia admitted. “Not for literary reasons, of course. Just a superstitious issue over the word, ‘gold.’”
Ginger knew the octave well, being in possession of her own copy of the American poet’s work, and began reciting.
Nature's first green is gold,
her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
but only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Ambrosia’s silver fork landed on her china dish with a clang. “What does that even mean? Leaf subsides to leaf. It’s just a bunch of nonsense.”
“It’s an allegory, Grandmama,” Felicia said. “It’s not meant to be taken literally.”
“If one has something to say,” Ambrosia said, “one should say it plainly. Is the man even English?”
“He’s American,” Ginger said. She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.
“Ah,” Ambrosia said as if that explained things.
“Although, he did live in London for a few years before the war,” Ginger added.
“Foreigners,” Ambrosia huffed. “Can’t be trusted.”
“The poem is a felix culpa,” Matilda said. “It’s Latin for lucky unluckiness.”
Ambrosia rested her teacup and set a rare gaze on her guest. “What on earth are you talking about, Miss Hanson?”
Matilda withered slightly under the dowager’s glare, and Ginger felt she should jump in to save her.
“Felix culpe is a term used when there are fortunate consequences to an unfortunate event. The Catholics use the term for ‘blessed fall,’ as in the fall of man leading to the redemption of humankind through the resurrection.”
Searching for a new fault, Ambrosia narrowed her grey eyes on Matilda Hanson. “Are you a Catholic?”
“I’m not, madam,” Matilda replied. “Church of England, through and through.”
“Felicia,” Louisa whined, “I beg you not to start writing a book while I’m a guest. I’ll simply be bored to tears without you to entertain me.”
“How long shall we, ahem, have the pleasure of your company?” Ambrosia asked.
Ginger was quite sure her intended meaning was, How long until you leave?
“I don’t know,” Louisa responded. “Mama is quite adamant I come home immediately, but I can’t stand the notion of living under her roof. She’s so suffocating! I get a letter from her every day.” Louisa rang for her maid. “Jenny!” she said as the girl entered. “Get me my fan. The heat is exhausting me.”
Jenny frowned and scampered away to do as she was told. Louisa, noticing the mild stares of disapproval, huffed. “It’s so hard to find a good maid.”
Ambrosia stared at Ginger with a stern look of disapproval. Louisa was indeed a force to be reckoned with. No one was more aware of that than Ginger. At least Louisa would be kept out of Ambrosia’s hair with her commitment to work at the shop.
Ginger smiled at her stepsister. “Shall we go?”
“Go?” Louisa said with a pout.
“To Feathers & Flair!” Ginger said dramatically. “Today’s your first day as my new employee.”
Chapter Ten
After dropping Louisa off at Feathers & Flair and calming Madame Roux with hopeful reassurances that Louisa would make a fine addition to the staff, Ginger headed to St. George’s Church. She was concerned about Oliver’s emotional wellbeing, which was why Boss sat in the passenger seat, panting happily with his nose pressed against the window. There was nothing like a little unconditional love from a gentle animal to calm the soul. Ginger was just happy that Clement had got the tyre fixed so quickly. A patch and a bit of air didn’t take a lot of time.
An unwelcoming rope blocked off the front entrance—a disturbing and ominous sign, Ginger thought. A scar of violence on what was meant to be a place of peace and sanctity.
“This way, Bossy,” Ginger said as she headed down the stone pathway along the side of the church. She knocked on the hall door then pulled the cord that rang a small iron bell.
The wooden door swung open. Ginger was surprised to find Matilda Hanson standing there in her blue day dress and simple pumps, with her short brunette hair pinned off her face.
“Oh, hello again, Matilda.” Ginger chided herself for not asking her lunch guest about her plans for the rest of the day.
“Lady Gold, come in.” With Boss at her heels, Ginger followed her friend into the kitchen. “Thanks again for the lovely luncheon.”
“I’m sure it’s Felicia who deserves the thanks, but you are always welcome. You are family now.”
Matilda smiled with gratitude, and it warmed Ginger’s heart. Matilda had lost a child and almost her life, and Ginger was delighted to see how well she was doing. Of course, the fact that there had been a child at all had to be kept a secret at all costs, and in that regard, Matilda grieved her loss alone.
At least her reputation had been saved.
“I’m helping Mrs. Davies reorganise now that the wedding is postponed,” Matilda offered when they entered the kitchen.
“Have they set a new date?” Ginger asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Matilda said, keeping her gaze averted. “You can ask Reverend Hill yourself. We were just about to break for tea.”
As if conjured up, Oliver entered just as Matilda finished speaking. He heartily welcomed Ginger. “So nice to see you again so soon, even though the circumstances are less than pleasant.” He squatted to scrub Boss behind his pointy ears. “Hello there, fellow.” In a gesture Ginger had never seen before, Oliver swooped the small dog into his arms and let the pup lick his face. Ginger had been right to bring him along.
“Such a good dog, you are,” Oliver said, smiling genuinely.
“Miss Hanson kindly invited me to join you for tea,” Ginger said.
“Of course!” Oliver turned to Mrs. Davies and opened his mouth, but Mrs. Davies was already setting a fourth place at the plain, but functional, kitchen table.
Matilda poured the tea, fumbling slightly with Oliver’s cup. “So sorry,” she said.
Oliver, who’d been watching her intently, waved away her apology. “Not to worry.”
Ginger couldn’t help noticing how the two of them watched each other. They clearly shared a genuine affection for one another.
Mrs. Davies set out anchovy canapés and eggs with foie gras. “These will have to be thrown out soon.”
Ginger took in the vast amount of hors d’oeuvres meant for Oliver and Mary’s reception, and her stomach knotted. “I’m afraid I’ve just eaten a rather large luncheon, Mrs. Davies. I hope you don’t mind if I just drink tea.
“Please have something, Lady Gold. We must all do what we can.”
Ginger and Matilda each took one egg half and a slice of cheese to appease the hard-working church secretary.
“Delicious,” Ginger said, meaning it.
Despite the look of it, Mrs. Davies was an expert cook.
“Your hard work is not in vain, Mrs. Davies,” Oliver said keeping positive. “We’ll use the food intended for the reception at the next Child Wellness Project hot meal tomorrow night.” He let out a short breath. “A silver lining for the street children.”
