Ginger Gold Mystery Box Set 1

by Lee Strauss

  Picking up the hem of her dress she sprinted, nearly slipping on the dew. Ginger caught her arm in time, sparing her a nasty fall.

  “Steady, Felicia,” Ginger said.

  “Who is it?” Felicia said, panting.

  “It’s Miss Ashton.”

  “Oh, no!” Felicia pulled away from Ginger’s grip. “Angela!”

  Constable Ryan hurried to block her path. “You mustn’t touch t’body, miss.”

  Felicia’s knees gave out and she folded. Her watery grey eyes demanded an explanation. “What happened to her? Did she fall off the jetty? Did she drown?”

  Ginger held her tightly and spoke, keeping her voice steady. “We can’t be sure. The medical examiner wants to do a post mortem.”

  Ginger gently pushed dark flyaway hair off Felicia’s face. The vulnerability in her sister-in-law’s eyes smote her. “Let’s go inside.” Her voice was gentle. “You’re wet and shivering.”

  “Yes.” Felicia’s voice sounded thin and fragile. She allowed herself to be guided to the sitting room where Ginger sat her in front of the fire and then rang the bell for some tea.

  A folded knitted rug lay across the back of the settee, and Ginger draped it over Felicia’s pale body before claiming the next chair nearest the fire.

  After the tea was delivered, Felicia said, “It’s my fault.”

  Ginger looked up over her teacup. “That can’t possibly be true. Why would you say such a thing?”

  “I should’ve made sure she got home safely, saw that she got into a taxicab. She was my friend. I should’ve known that she’d gone outside to the lake. Instead . . .” She glanced at Ginger with eyes of regret. “I was sulking over the silly quarrel I had with you.”

  Ginger reached over and patted Felicia’s hand. “This is not your fault. Miss Ashton was a grown woman, not a child in your care. Miss Webb got home fine without your help.”

  Besides, there were others around who could’ve watched over her, but Ginger didn’t say this aloud. People like her fiancé Mr. Croft, and the aforementioned Miss Webb.

  Or Captain Smithwick.

  Wilson entered the room and announced Sergeant Maskell and Constable Ryan.

  The two officers stood before the women, helmets in hand, casting sideways glances at each other. Neither appeared comfortable with their unenviable task.

  Wilson had located a Brownie camera, which Constable Ryan held under one arm. “We’ll have to keep dis for the time being,” he said. “Until t’negatives are developed.”

  Ginger nodded. “Of course.”

  “Ghastly business,” Sergeant Maskell said. “Simply ghastly.”

  “Is there something else that you need?” Ginger asked

  Sergeant Maskell gruffly cleared his throat. “We’ll need to run a proper investigation. Unfortunately, this requires us to intrude on your privacy and trespass on your goodwill. We should like to interview everyone in the house who was here last night.”

  “I completely understand,” Ginger said. “Would you like to begin with us?”

  Sergeant Maskell and Constable Ryan shared another look. “If you don’t mind, madam,” the sergeant said. “We’ll be quick about it.”

  “Do proceed,” Ginger said. “But keep in mind that Miss Gold has just suffered a shock. Miss Ashton was one of her dear friends.”

  “We’ll make this as painless as possible,” Sergeant Maskell said. “Miss Gold, how long have you known Miss Ashton?”

  “We served together as land girls towards the end of the war. Being middle-class and older, Angela, Muriel, and Jean had worked there for some time before I showed up. I was underage, but looked old enough, I guess, since the officials believed me when I lied. I don’t think they were picky by that point anymore, and I just couldn’t stand doing nothing while Daniel was daily risking his life. You can only imagine how livid Grandmama was, but I was determined to do my bit. Knowing I could be as stubborn as she was, Grandmama finally relented, but insisted that I came home every night.”

  Felicia sipped her tea, then returned the cup to its saucer with a trembling hand. “We worked on a farm, caring for sheep. The girls were grateful for the extra set of hands; they didn’t care about my society status. Everyone was too tired to worry about such nonsense.” She dabbed a tear from her eye. “Angela was always so courageous. Rounded up those big sheep for shearing, like a pro. I confess, the beasts frighten me. But I’m competitive by nature, and I wouldn’t let fear get in the way of my keeping up with her.”

  “Who is Jean?” Ginger asked. This was the first time the name had come up.

  “Jean Smith,” Felicia’s gaze locked onto her hands cupped together on her lap. “She . . . died.”

  Had the poor girl succumbed to the flu pandemic of 1918? As if the death count from the war wasn’t enough to bear, many souls had gone on from this earth as victims of the disease. Before she had a chance to ask, the sergeant spoke again.

  “Did Miss Ashton, uh, have any, uh, gentlemen friends?”

  Ginger’s chin shot up. “She was engaged to Mr. Croft. I’m sure that’s common knowledge in these parts, isn’t it Felicia?”

  “Well, yes, I would think so. They’ve been engaged for ages.”

  Sergeant Maskell swallowed. “The grandson of Baron Croft?”

  Felicia nodded. “The one and only.”

  Sergeant Maskell spoke to Constable Ryan out of the side of his mouth. “We need to interview the Crofts.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Jot that down.”

  Constable Ryan stuffed a hand into his pocket and retrieved a small notebook. “Yes, sir.”

  “Where would I find the Dowager Lady Gold?” Sergeant Maskell asked.

  “She attends church on Sunday mornings,” Felicia explained. “Normally, I attend with her, but she excused me this once in light of the dance and how late it ended.”

  Ginger had wondered why Ambrosia hadn’t materialized. The lady couldn’t stand it when she wasn’t in the centre of excitement. As if summoned by the poltergeist itself, the tap, tap, tap of Ambrosia’s walking stick on the hard wood of the entrance hall announced her arrival.

  She entered the sitting room with her feathers ruffled. “That motorcar! Old as the hills and slower than black treacle.”

  Bray Manor had one motorcar, a 1904 Coventry Humber. Ginger didn’t doubt Ambrosia’s assessment of its performance. Molasses did probably move faster. Perhaps she should donate her Daimler. It was only five years newer, but the mechanical advancement in automobiles during that period of time had been outstanding. Ginger thought she’d like to buy a new motorcar one day, anyway.

  Ambrosia collapsed in her chair with a huff. “Constantly stuttering and backfiring—my poor heart nearly gave out. I half expected to be shot in the back.”

  Felicia glanced at Ginger in mortification. It was possible that someone had been shot in the back.

  Ambrosia rang the bell for tea, aggressively, as if that would relieve her agitation. “It makes one miss the horses,” she said. “Despite their awful smell. A horse never broke down on the way to church.”

  Having let off steam, the older lady finally noticed the police in the room. Her eyes darted to Ginger.

  “What are they doing here?”

  The sergeant made quick introductions. “I’m Sergeant Maskell, madam, and this here is Constable Ryan.”

  “Grandmother,” Ginger said. “There’s been a terrible discovery down at the lake.”

  Ginger paused and Ambrosia snorted with impatience. “Do go on!”

  “A body’s been found.”

  Ambrosia’s eyes bulged at the news. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Sadly, no, Grandmother. It’s Felicia’s friend, Miss Ashton. She was discovered this morning by Clement. It’s all very shocking.”

  “I’m afraid, madam,” Sergeant Maskell began, “that we’ll have to intrude on your privacy as we proceed with our investigation.”

  Ambrosia flopped against the bac
k of the chair as if in a faint. “What next? The circus comes to town and occupies Bray Manor?”

  “Grandmama!” Felicia cried with accusation. “How can you be so insensitive?”

  “Me, insensitive? I didn’t die on someone else’s property.”

  Felicia tightened the rug around her shoulders and left the room in a huff.

  “I can hardly keep up with the emotional ups and downs of that child,” Ambrosia said after a beat. “We are all far too dramatic.”

  Sergeant Maskell and Constable Ryan observed the interaction between the three Gold women like creatures under a spell.

  Phyllis arrived with the tea and Ginger brought a teacup to Ambrosia. “Drink this, Grandmother. It’ll settle your nerves.”

  Ambrosia shook a crooked finger in the air. “Bray Manor is haunted! Didn’t I tell you, Ginger? The poltergeist has gone too far this time!”

  Sergeant Maskell raised a bushy brow. “The poltergeist?”

  Ginger hurried to explain. “Things have been going missing lately.”

  “Not missing,” Ambrosia stated with exasperation. “Moved!”

  The sergeant and constable shared a look. Like almost everyone else, Ginger perceived they believed the poltergeist to be a figment of an older lady’s imagination.

  Not Ginger. She believed her grandmother. The poltergeist existed. Though where Ambrosia thought it was an apparition, Ginger was certain the ghost was one hundred percent flesh and blood.

  Wilson entered the room and declared, “Telephone for you, Lady Gold. Miss Higgins is on the line.”

  “Officers,” Ginger said, not wanting to tip her hand that the call would contain news that should go to the local police first. “Please be seated. I’ll return shortly.”

  Ambrosia didn’t take to sitting alone with strangers, even lawmen, and rang the bell for her maid.

  Ginger took the call in the telephone room. After relaying her message Haley asked, “Can someone pick me up? Or should I catch a taxicab?”

  “I’ll come for you straightaway.”

  “Ginger . . .”

  “It’ll give us a chance to talk in private.” Ginger rang off before Haley could protest further.

  Helmets in hand, the officers stood when Ginger returned to the sitting room. Langley hovered behind Ambrosia and Ginger excused her even though the poor girl had just arrived. She announced her news once the maid had gone.

  “Sergeant Maskell, I’m certain a call has gone into the station from Dr. Guthrie. That was my friend Miss Higgins. She’s a medical student and had accompanied Dr. Guthrie back to the surgery where a post mortem was performed. Miss Ashton did not die of a gunshot wound.”

  “That’s good, then, innit?” Constable Ryan said, his face relaxing in relief. “She drowned in an accident.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Ginger said. “Miss Ashton was dead before she hit the water. I’m afraid it’s most certainly a murder.”

  Both men slowly lowered themselves back into the chairs, expressions slack with uncertainty.

  Oh mercy, Ginger thought. These fellows are in over their heads.

  “May I offer a suggestion?” she asked

  “By all means,” Sergeant Maskell said.

  “Call Scotland Yard for assistance. Ask for Chief Inspector Basil Reed. Tell him I told you to call.

  Chapter Ten

  Wilson was reluctant to hand over the keys to the Humber. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to drive you, madam?”

  “And where would we put Miss Higgins? There’s only room for two on the bench.”

  “Miss Gold sits on the dickey seat at the back.”

  Ginger released a soft snort. Haley was nervous enough about motorcar travel in England. Ginger could hardly imagine her deposited in the back like a piece of luggage.

  “I’d prefer to drive it myself.”

  Wilson’s long nose inched upwards as he handed the key over. “It’s not so easy to drive as the new model motorcars. The process is rather . . . involved.”

  Ginger gripped the key tightly. She’d had plenty of opportunities to drive old vehicles during the war, but she needn’t defend herself to Ambrosia’s butler. “Thank you, Wilson.”

  The Humber was parked in an outhouse specifically built to shelter the motorcar. Ginger took a moment to admire the old thing. A little rusty, it had been well driven over the years. Ginger understood the butler’s attachment.

  The olive-green exterior had two small doors that opened to a single, brown leather bench. Flat black wings scooped up over narrow tyres. Big lamps, like protruding bug eyes, flanked a diamond-shaped grille.

  Recollecting the steps needed to start these old automobiles, Ginger wondered if she’d been too quick to dismiss the butler.

  While standing outside of the vehicle she pulled the choke, located near the right front bumper. Then she hurried to the front of the motorcar, turned the crank beneath the radiator a quarter-turn clockwise to prime the carburetor. Jumping back inside, she inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. To set the idle, she pushed the timing stalk up and moved the throttle stalk down. Pulling the handbrake back, she placed the motorcar into neutral.

  Ginger then jumped back out of the motorcar and turned the hand crank a half-turn, hoping the engine would start. She let out a breath when it sputtered to life. She brushed the dust off her coat, a deep burgundy ankle-length wool garment with a wide fur-trimmed collar and a large single button that fastened at the hip. She wished she’d taken the time to change into proper driving clothes.

  Once on the road, the little automobile motored along proudly. Just as she reached the outskirts of Chesterton the Humber backfired, a shotgun noise that had Ginger braking and ducking. Reflexes from the war. Her heart hammered in her chest as she poked her head up to peek over the dash and through the broad windscreen. Another motorcar slowed up beside her, a new model Bentley.

  The driver called out to her. “Everything all right, madam?”

  Ginger adjusted her broad-brimmed hat and pasted on a smile. “Forgive me,” she said. “My motorcar is a temperamental old thing. I’m fine now.” She put the Humber into gear, and waved a gloved hand. The man tipped his hat and motored off.

  Chesterton was a quaint English village with wandering lanes and brick houses claimed by ivy and wisteria vines. Two-level brick or stone businesses lined the main street with the usual amenities: post office, grocer, ironmonger, chemist, tobacconist, and a public house or two. The Chesterton Inn at the end of the road loomed larger with three floors and twice the width.

  The surgery was on a windy lane off the main street, and thankfully Felicia’s instructions were easy to follow. Ginger pulled up to the kerb. Haley spotted her from inside the entrance doors and met her in the street.

  “Where’s the horse?” she said facetiously.

  “This beauty is barely a step up,” Ginger said with a grin. She patted the bench beside her. “Hop in.”

  The swollen clouds over Chesterton decided now would be a good time to let go of their watery load. Fat drops dotted Ginger’s shoulders. Ginger jumped out to release the hatch of the canopy. “Get the other side,” she instructed Haley.

  Together they drew the canopy over the seat and hopped in for cover.

  “Such an adventure and we haven’t even started driving,” Haley said dryly.

  Ginger worried the Humber would choose this inopportune time to break down, but happily, she was proved wrong, despite several sputters and backfires.

  Haley wasn’t as believing and hung tightly to the door handle. “At least this thing won’t buck us off,” she said stiffly. “Will it?”

  “We’re fine,” Ginger said with a light smile. “What was it like, working with Dr. Grumpy?”

  Haley chuckled. “He is a prickly old thing. Makes me appreciate Dr. Watts even more.” She glanced at Ginger. “Are you returning to London with me tonight?”

  “I can’t. I’m worried about Felicia.” Ginger relayed the story of Felicia see
ing Angela Ashton’s body and falling into a state of shock.

  “Poor girl,” Haley said. “I remember the first time I saw a dead body. I had nightmares for days, and it wasn’t even someone I knew well.”

  Ginger’s mind flickered to her first dead body. Bodies, rather. Bloody war.

  “I think the most Sergeant Maskell and Constable Ryan have had to deal with is disputing farmers or perhaps the odd traffic incident. They both grew pale and lost the will to stand when I presented the situation as a murder.”

  “Oh dear,” Haley said.

  “Thankfully they were happy to heed my suggestion to call Scotland Yard.”

  Haley’s brow jumped and Ginger pretended not to see it.

  “Does that mean the debonair chief inspector will be visiting?”

  Ginger lifted a shoulder. “They could send anyone. How would I know?”

  Haley hummed in a way that Ginger found exasperating.

  “Even if Chief Inspector Reed should be sent, it doesn’t—” Her voice cut off as the motorcar dipped sharply in and out of a pothole.

  Haley shouted. “Watch where you’re going!”

  “I am!”

  Bray Manor beckoned from a distance and Ginger let the topic go. She didn’t know why Haley’s light teasing got under her skin.

  Basil Reed was nothing more than a friend to her. Not even that.

  Not really.

  Chapter Eleven

  They found Mrs. Beasley resting with her feet up in the staff dining room, a plain rectangular space with white walls. A large wooden table surrounded by plain wooden chairs sat in the centre. She wrestled to her feet the moment she learned of Ginger’s presence by the door and bobbed.

  “Hello, madam,” she said, flushing red with embarrassment. “I was just taking a little break after the luncheon for the mistress.”

  “Of course. You’re entitled to rest. I’m just wondering if there are any left overs for myself and Miss Higgins?