by Lee Strauss
Ginger took another sip of sherry before dropping the bomb. “She’s in the family way.”
“See!” Felicia spouted. “If she’d had access to information regarding women’s health, she’d not be in that predicament.”
“Unmarried women shouldn’t have such predicaments,” Ambrosia said. “Not if they’re well-bred.”
Haley choked on her sherry. “Pardon me.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Ambrosia said with weighted melancholy. “Why do you want to bring a fallen woman to Hartigan House?”
Ginger stiffened. “She has nowhere else to go.”
“There must be other places,” Ambrosia cried. “Where do other women go when they’ve been ruined?”
“She’s hardly ruined,” Ginger said with thinning patience. This was why she wanted to help Miss Hanson, so she wouldn’t be labelled as such.
“She wants to become a doctor,” Haley said.
Ambrosia scowled at Haley’s interference.
“For once, I agree with Grandmama,” Felicia said. “There must be somewhere else she can go.”
“There you see,” Ambrosia said. “Even a modern thinker like Felicia agrees. A girl like that, living here—it would tarnish our family name.”
“Grandmother,” Ginger said. “Where is your compassion?”
“I have compassion—for my own granddaughter. Think of her reputation. Her future.”
“Felicia’s future will be unmarred by Miss Matilda Hanson’s arrival, I assure you.” Ginger faced Felicia. “If your reputation is to be ruined, I’m afraid it will be by your own hand.”
“Ginger! You think so little of me.”
“On the contrary. I think highly of you. Which is why I expect you to welcome Miss Hanson and to assist her in any way you can as she progresses through this difficult time.” She added pointedly, “Certainly, your new friends would approve.”
Ambrosia was about to protest, but Ginger put up her palm. “I’ve made my decision, Grandmother, and I expect you to support me.”
A tap on the door was followed by the entrance of Pippins, who at some point in their heated discussion had discreetly exited the room. “A Sir Bernard Hughes has arrived.”
“Please show him in, Pips,” Ginger said. She stood, straightened her silk skirt, and tried to rein in the negative emotion she was feeling. This discussion with Felicia and Ambrosia had not gone the way she had hoped.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sir Bernard was a hefty man with a pink freckled face, and Ambrosia had arranged for Felicia to be seated beside him. The rectangular room housed a long polished table and chairs with ornately carved legs and backs. A white tablecloth was decorated with candles, and each place setting had china framed with polished cutlery. Ginger’s sister-in-law’s frosty countenance radiated across the table, and Ginger couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for their guest. Mrs. Beasley had outdone herself once again with leek soup, mutton in cream sauce, rosemary-seasoned baked potatoes, and green beans smothered in butter. Grace and Lizzie bustled about placing hot dishes in the centre of the table and filling glasses with water.
“Smells delectable,” Sir Bernard said. He faced Ambrosia. “Thank you once again, Lady Gold, for your kind invitation.”
“I feel it’s my duty to entertain, Sir Bernard,” Ambrosia replied. “You, of course, were high on my list.”
Felicia twisted her neck in the opposite direction with a coinciding eye roll that was not missed by Ginger. Haley held in a smirk.
Pippins entered, announcing the arrival of Reverend Oliver Hill. Ginger flushed. With the stressful way the conversation had gone with Felicia and Ambrosia, she had completely forgotten she’d invited the vicar.
Ginger stood and plastered on a smile like she’d been awaiting his arrival all along. “Hello, Oliver. I wondered if you would make it.”
“My apologies for being tardy,” he said. “My motorcar inconveniently ran out of petrol on my way here.”
“Please, have a seat,” Ginger said, gesturing to the empty chair. She turned her back to Oliver and gave Grace a look. The maid understood and quickly provided a place setting.
Oliver was too keen not to notice, and Ginger leaned over and whispered. “It’s been a little hectic around here today, and I forgot to mention to my staff that you were joining us. Please do forgive me.”
Oliver smiled warmly. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
Ginger sat back relieved until she saw the look of displeasure Ambrosia fired her way. Was the matron still worried that Oliver would charm his way into Ginger’s heart? Or worse, Felicia’s?
Before Ginger could contemplate further, a loud crash at the door leading to the kitchen caused her and everyone in the room to jump. A dish of steamed carrots had been dropped on the floor, splattering across the tiles.
“Good heavens,” Ambrosia sputtered. “What on earth is going on?” To Sir Bernard, she exclaimed, “We’re not usually so disorganised and clumsy, I assure you.”
Ginger stepped around the mess and squatted where Grace rushed to clean it up. “What happened?” Ginger asked.
“It’s Lizzie. She’s upset.” Grace lowered her voice further. “She didn’t know about the vicar being on the guest list. She’s quite taken with him.”
Oh, mercy.
First Dorothy, Ginger’s floor clerk at Feathers & Flair, and now her maid, Lizzie. Who knew how many other single female parishioners were harbouring hopes of love and marriage with Oliver Hill, especially now that word had most probably got out that he was in search of a wife. Ginger understood why the pressure for the vicar to marry was on.
Ginger smiled encouragingly at the table. “Please do begin. I’ll return shortly.”
She found Lizzie crying in the kitchen with Mrs. Beasley shaking a stubby finger at Lizzie’s face and taking a strip off her.
“Mrs. Beasley,” Ginger said, interrupting. “Would you mind if I had a word with Lizzie.”
Mrs. Beasley, her round face registering the shock of seeing her mistress in the kitchen and witnessing the scolding, bobbed in deference. “Of course, madam.”
Lizzie looked like a frightened mouse. “Lady Gold, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drop the carrots. I’m not going to be sacked, am I?”
“I’m not going to dismiss you, Lizzie. Boss wouldn’t forgive me if I did.” That garnered a hopeful look from her maid. Ginger offered a small smile. “You’d tell me if something was wrong?”
“Well, I was just surprised, madam.”
Ginger ducked her head. “By the presence of one of our guests?”
Lizzie brought her hanky back to her face as the tears once again began to flow. “Oh, you know. I’m so embarrassed.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Ginger said. “Reverend Hill is a very eligible bachelor.”
“Isn’t he though?” Lizzie’s tears abated as her eyes glistened with affection. “Even though it’s not my parish, I’ve been attending St. George’s Church every Sunday just to see him. He is so wise and kind and intelligent.”
“I’m sure he thinks very highly of you, Lizzie.”
“Oh, he does. Well, he did. Until now. Oh, Lady Gold, I told a lie! I told him I worked as a telephone operator. I was afraid he wouldn’t see me as more than a maid if I admitted to it. And now he’s seen me!”
Lizzie’s fears had merit. A vicar’s social standing was miles above that of a housemaid.
“I’m sure everything will be all right,” Ginger said, hoping it was true.
“Still, it’s humiliating.” Lizzie twisted her white apron into a knot. “I can’t bear to go out there again, not without having a chance to explain, which I wouldn’t with all the others there. Oh, Lady Gold, would it be so awful if I stayed in the kitchen? I promise I’ll do all the cleaning up once he’s gone.”
Ginger’s heart went out to the girl. Crushes, unrequited love, the social rules that bound English society—it was exhausting.
“That would be fine, Lizzi
e. I’ll tell Mrs. Beasley.”
The maid’s eyes brightened with both relief and worry. “But, not why, madam?”
“No. Not why.”
“Thank you so much, madam.” Lizzie bobbed and then repeated herself. “Thank you!”
Ginger returned to the table and instigated small talk with Sir Bernard since Felicia was still refusing to converse.
“Do you have a preferred pastime, Sir Bernard?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed. I’m in the employ of the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street,” he replied with a chuckle. “Also known as the Bank of England. It’s our mission to promote the good of the people of the United Kingdom by maintaining monetary and financial stability. It can be a challenge at times, I admit, but it’s something to do and worthwhile.” He turned to Oliver. “And you, my good man, which parish do you belong to?”
“St. George’s Church, City of London,” Oliver replied, his voice tinged with pride.
“I’m sorry to say I’ve not been attending church as I should,” Sir Bernard said.
“God can be found anywhere, Sir Bernard,” Oliver responded, “if you’re looking for him.”
Pippins entered and whispered in Ginger’s ear. “Telephone call, madam. It’s Chief Inspector Reed.”
Ginger patted her mouth with the linen napkin and excused herself from the table once again. He must finally have got her message. She made her way to the study where the receiver of the telephone sat on the top of the desk.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello, Ginger. This is Basil. You rang me at the Yard?”
“Yes, I did.” Ginger, keeping her tone even and professional, relayed the lab results of the soil, and what Haley had discovered about the horse’s hair. She didn’t feel it was necessary to divulge that she and Haley had visited the docks and Saffron stables.
“Is Miss Higgins with you?” Basil asked.
“She is.”
“I’m requesting that she come to the mortuary at the medical school. You might like to come too since you’re investigating for Mr. James Green. We have another body.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
G inger strolled back to the dining room with purpose and announced, “I’m afraid Miss Higgins and I have to leave.”
“Surely not!” Ambrosia said.
“Sadly, yes,” Ginger said gravely. “It’s quite urgent.”
Haley scooted away from the gathering without hesitation.
Oliver Hill stared at her questioningly. “I hope nothing too serious?”
“I’ll know more later,” Ginger responded. “I’ll ring you tomorrow with an update.”
Ginger stopped beside Ambrosia and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Be nice to the vicar, Grandmother,” she whispered.
“It’s not fair they get to leave,” Felicia whined into her shoulder. Ginger resisted the urge to scrub Felicia on the head like she used to when her moody sister-in-law was younger. She missed that eager-to-please, doe-eyed girl.
“What’s up?” Haley said as Pippins helped them into their winter coats.
“That was Chief Inspector Reed. Another unregistered body at the mortuary.”
Her explanation was enough to get Haley into the passenger seat of the Crossley without too much grumbling.
“I hate driving in the dark,” Haley said.
“With me, or just in general?”
“Both. What else did the good inspector have to say? Who discovered it?”
“He was called in by Dr. Gupta.”
“Really? I suppose we can cross him off the suspect list, then.”
“Not necessarily,” Ginger said. “He might feel like we’re closing in on the truth and has reported this body to deflect from his involvement.”
“You’re right, of course, but I hope you’re wrong.”
Ginger glanced at her friend. Haley was in constant denial of possessing romantic aspirations, though Ginger knew it was merely a defence mechanism. Haley had been hurt in the past. “I hope so, too,” she said.
BASIL REED, his sergeant, and Dr. Gupta were awaiting Ginger and Haley when they arrived at the mortuary. Standing near the body, the gentlemen nodded in greeting.
“Thanks for coming in at short notice,” Basil said. “Dr. Gupta hadn’t been expecting a cadaver shipment when it arrived.”
“I was immediately suspicious,” Dr. Gupta said, “and immediately checked the envelope for documents. They were missing.”
Haley went straight to the body. “Same modus operandi as before?” She pulled down the sheet and gaped. “Not exactly.”
Ginger saw the difference right away. This body was female. Slender in an athletic way, with short dark hair brushed off a face with bloodless skin emphasising refined features. Ginger’s stomach pinched at the loss of one so recently strong and determined in nature. “We know this woman,” she said.
Basil was quick to appear at her side. “Who is she?”
“Miss Jane Ellery. She worked as a trainer at Saffron Stables.”
Basil frowned. “Saffron Stables? Owned by Charles Sabini?”
Ginger nodded.
“How did you come to this information?”
Ginger confessed. “Miss Higgins and I took a little jaunt there earlier today.”
Basil’s scowl deepened. Ginger knew he didn’t approve of her sleuthing on her own, but now that she was working as a private investigator, he couldn’t accuse her of nosing in on police business.
“I found a horsehair on the last victim,” Haley explained. “It was trapped in the matting of the victim’s hair.”
Dr. Gupta approached the ceramic slab. “Why did I not know about this?”
“It’s in the file,” Haley said, avoiding eye contact. Ginger knew her friend didn’t want to admit that she considered her boss a suspect. Haley would never have said this to his face, and that was why she never made a verbal report.
Dr. Gupta started to protest but was interrupted by Basil. “And that led you to Saffron Stables?”
“Yes,” Haley said. “The lab work came back showing that it was a rare and expensive breed, the Akhal-Teke.” She confirmed what Ginger had already told Basil over the telephone. “Mr. Sabini is the only registered owner of the breed in the area.”
“The horse in question is magnificent,” Ginger said. “A black that’s so shiny it appears metallic.”
“How do you know the hair you found—,” Basil checked his small notepad, “on Evan Jones, was from this horse?”
“I retrieved a sample from the horse’s brush,” Haley said. “It was an exact match.”
Basil grabbed the back of his neck and spun around.
Ginger ignored the obvious frustration the inspector was trying to hide. If he hadn’t crushed her heart, she would probably have rung him first and invited him along.
Sergeant Scott prepared his camera and began to snap photographs.
“Why Jane Ellery?” Ginger said. “Why now? What does she have in common with an actor from the upper class and a man from the docks? What do they all have in common with each other?”
Silence fell as each person was unable to theorise an answer.
“Did you find anything under the nails, Dr. Gupta?” Haley asked.
“I haven’t examined the body. As soon as I found the empty envelope, I called Scotland Yard.”
“Miss Higgins,” Basil said. “Would you mind doing the examination?”
“Not at all.”
Dr. Gupta frowned at the inference. “I have no idea what’s going on here or why? All I can tell you for sure, is that it wasn’t me.” He waved at the body. “I have nothing to do with this.”
“That may be so,” Basil said. “But until we can rule you out, I’d like Miss Higgins to handle the body.”
“Of course.” The doctor hedged before adding, “May I be so brazen as to ask why Miss Higgins isn’t a suspect?”
Haley pivoted to stare at him.
“No offence,” Dr. Gupta said quickly. “But you w
ere the one to ‘discover’ the first two victims.”
“What about this one?” Haley said. “I have an alibi.”
“Miss Higgins has been a great help to the Yard in the past,” Basil said with a sigh. “And you, Dr. Gupta, haven’t a clear alibi for any of the murders.”
Acknowledging defeat, at least for this round, Dr. Gupta nodded curtly and left the autopsy room.
Basil turned his attention back to Ginger. “Lady Gold, would you accept my invitation to accompany me on my round of interviews in the morning? Perhaps we can avoid stepping on each other’s toes.”
A sense of satisfaction swept through Ginger. She was well aware that Basil suspected she’d proceed with her own interviews had he not extended the invitation. “I’d be delighted.”
“Splendid,” Basil said. “I’ve asked Dr. Gupta if any other staff members had access to the lab. He gave me one name. We can meet with him first.”
“Him?” Ginger asked.
Basil made a show of looking at his notepad, but Ginger doubted the reference was sincere. She had an uneasy feeling she knew what he was going to say.
“Yes, here it is,” Basil said, looking at her. “A Dr. Sean Brennan.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
G inger gathered her coat and handbag as Haley did one more check to make sure everything was in order before switching off the electric lights. Ginger threaded her arm through her friend’s as they sauntered down the dimly lit hallway.
“Don’t you find it spooky when you’re down here by yourself?” Ginger asked.
“It’s not the dead that worry me. It’s the living that are hard to trust.”
“Oh, that sounds a bit cynical.”
“Maybe.” Haley shifted her handbag onto her shoulder. “But at the moment, I can’t trust my colleagues.”
“They may be innocent.”
Haley’s dark brows jumped. “Someone’s not.”
They headed up the stairs, and when they reached the entrance foyer, they found themselves alone.
“It’s the weekend,” Haley explained. “It’s a ghost town around here on Friday nights.”
