Murder at Bray Manor: a historical cosy mystery

by Strauss, Lee

  “Wilson is on his way, see there, he’s at the door.”

  “It’s okay. I can walk.” Basil took a step and swooned. Ginger stepped out at once and caught him just in time.

  “You might be concussed,” she said. “You hit your head on that brick wall pretty hard.”

  Wilson moved like a hurrying penguin and ducked to take on Basil’s weight. “Where to, madam?”

  “I don’t think he’s ready for the stairs. Let’s put him on the couch in the telephone room until he regains his strength.”

  It was a slow journey. At least the leather couch was six feet long so Basil could stretch out.

  “Felicia, be a brick and bring the inspector some water.” Ginger could’ve called for a maid, or assigned the task to Wilson, but she felt her sister-in-law was in need of something to do.

  Wilson left and returned shortly with a damp cloth.

  “You can leave us now, Wilson. I’ll tend to the inspector.”

  Ginger removed her coat, hat, and gloves and draped them over a chair. Pulling the ottoman up to the couch she sat, using the dampened cloth to gently work away the blood from the inspector’s face. He kept his eyes closed and though he winced at the tender points, Ginger sensed that he enjoyed the procedure, too.

  “Too bad Haley isn’t here,” she said. “She’d be a better nurse to you.”

  Basil’s lip curled up on one side. “I’m quite content with you.”

  The way he said it, a sanguine whisper, made Ginger’s heart skip a beat. She quickly reprimanded herself. Be professional!

  Basil’s hand rested over his abdomen. Ginger had caught him favouring his lower left side in the past.

  “What kind of injury did you sustain in the war?”

  “Gun shot. Lost my spleen and almost my life, but for a miracle I can’t explain.”

  “France?”

  “First battle of Ypres. I’m afraid I didn’t last long. Turns out I wasn’t much good at soldiering. My commanders determined I was no longer fit for the front and needed to engage in an essential homeland occupation.”

  Ginger hummed. “That’s why you joined the Metropolitan Police Force?”

  Basil watched her through swollen eyes. “Yes. If I couldn’t serve Britain on the battlefield abroad, then I could damn well serve her at home. I had to preserve my dignity somehow.”

  “Weren’t you tempted to leave the force when the war ended?” Ginger knew Basil didn’t need to work since his family was monied. She would never admit it to Basil, but she had looked into his past the last time their paths had crossed.

  “I thought I would be,” Basil said. “But in the end, I found I quite liked it. Working at the Yard gives me a reason to get up in the morning and a sense of satisfaction when I go to bed at night.”

  “I take it your wife wasn’t as enthusiastic.” Ginger felt at liberty to ask such a personal question since Basil had offered word of his divorce freely.

  “Policing is a demanding taskmaster. It takes a man’s time and suppresses his emotions. Emelia wanted more than I could give on both fronts and found someone else who could.”

  Ginger had suspected adultery, as the courts weren’t gracious about granting divorces on other counts.

  “Were you happy together once?” Ginger asked softly, knowing she had crossed the line into something very familiar, something a mere acquaintance would never ask. “Before the war?”

  Basil sighed, and for a moment Ginger feared he wouldn’t answer her. She quickly added, “I’m sorry. That’s too personal. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s okay, Ginger.” His hand rested on hers.

  Shots of electricity raced through her being. She stilled, not wanting to break the spell.

  “I thought we were happy, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Ginger felt sad for the inspector. She, at least, could be thankful to have experienced deep love and true happiness in her life, even if short-lived.

  Basil shifted, his hand moving from Ginger to his side, and winced.

  “Are you in much pain?” Ginger asked. “I can track down some aspirin.”

  “I would like that. Thank you.”

  Felicia finally arrived with the requested water, and Ginger immediately sent her to fetch aspirin. She helped Basil raise his head to sip from the glass. The telephone rang causing them both to startle, and Basil grimaced with the suddenness of his movement. Ginger quickly answered it.

  “Bray Manor, Lady Gold speaking.”

  She handed the candlestick apparatus to Basil and said, “It’s Scotland Yard.”

  Remaining prostrate, Basil held the receiver to his ear.

  “Reed here.”

  The call was short, and Basil handed the receiver back. He looked at Ginger, regret flashing behind his bruised eyes. “The report on the knitting needle came in. Only Felicia’s prints on it. Blood traces match Miss Ashton’s blood.” He pushed up on his elbows, his eyes pinching closed at the pain.

  Then he held Ginger’s gaze. “Felicia had motive, means, and opportunity. I’m sorry, I have to take her in.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ginger gaped at Basil. She studied his face, searching for a hint of a smile. “You’re not serious. The knitting needle belonged to Felicia. Of course her prints would be on it!” Ginger wished Mrs. Croft’s prints had been found—it would’ve diluted the evidence, but a culture of glove-wearing had eliminated that possibility.

  Basil wrestled up into a full sitting position and swung his feet to the floor with a groan. Ginger no longer felt sorry for him and in no way helped him to his feet. Basil ran fingers through his oiled hair, smoothing it into position, then wiped his hand on his handkerchief. He folded the square piece of cotton and slipped it back into his breast pocket.

  “It’s not personal, Ginger, and I’m sorry to have to do it, but it’s my obligation. Please summon her for me.”

  Ginger glared at him, finding his request inconceivable. When Ginger failed to move, Basil hobbled out of the telephone room in search of Felicia himself.

  Ginger stayed hot on his heels. “You will not go upstairs.”

  He held his side and squinted at her through swollen eyes. “I do believe that my personal belongings are up there.”

  Ginger followed as Basil slowly pulled himself upward, hand steady on the banister. “You will not go to Felicia’s room.”

  “Ginger. I need to take her in for questioning.”

  “You can question her here.”

  “That’s not how the Met works.”

  “We’re not in London!”

  Ginger struggled with her rising emotion. If she wanted Basil to allow her to assist with his investigation, she had to be willing to go where the evidence led. But Felicia? A maternal-type protective instinct enveloped her with surprising ferociousness.

  Basil stilled on the landing. “I’m sorry, Ginger, I truly am. After that phone call with my superintendent, my hands are tied.”

  Phyllis crossed the passage in front of them, her arms carrying a large pile of folded linens. Basil called out. “Miss Howard!”

  The maid stopped in her tracks and then approached. “Can I help you, Inspector?”

  “Please summon Miss Gold for me.”

  Ginger stared hard at the maid. “Do not, Phyllis. Continue on.”

  Basil shook his head then held his hand to his temple. Ginger hoped it hurt.

  “Felicia isn’t a killer,” she said through gritted teeth. “If you arrest her, the real murderer will get away. This farce is a waste of time.”

  Phyllis crossed the passage again, this time with empty arms. She risked a curious glance their way before staring hard at the floor.

  “Miss Howard,” Basil called again.

  The maid’s thin lips pulled down as her eyes darted anxiously from the inspector to Ginger and back, her loyalty to the Gold family in conflict with the authority of the inspector.

  Basil sighed. “This is a murder investigation. Miss Howard, pl
ease let Miss Gold know I need to see her in the entrance hall.”

  Ginger huffed. “At least let me prepare her. Would you take her into custody without proper notice?”

  Ginger stormed down the passage to Felicia’s room, hesitating briefly before knocking. A sideways glance proved that the insufferable inspector had remained in his place, watching her. Rage pricked hotly under her skin. This was absurd! And scandalous! Ginger had never worried about what it would mean to taint the family name before, but now that she was back in England, she understood how damaging and life changing it could be. Felicia’s reputation would be ruined.

  “Felicia darling, it’s me.”

  Felicia beckoned her inside.

  “Is something the matter?” Felicia asked, concern crossing her youthful face. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” She frowned. “Don’t tell me we’ve got another poltergeist.”

  Felicia wore a three-quarter-length dressing gown with playful ruffles around the cap sleeves, collar, and down the middle surrounding a string of buttons. She looked younger than her twenty-one years, and Ginger was reminded of the first time she’d met her—a precocious eleven-year-old, dearly smitten with her older brother, and not wanting to share his affections with his new bride in any way. The early days of Ginger’s visits to Bray Manor were spent in a battle of the wills with the child, but Ginger had experience dealing with her own headstrong younger sister, and Felicia soon discovered that her antics did not sway or dismantle Ginger’s confidence.

  Ginger knew the only way a child’s tantrums produced the desired effect was if the child had an audience to witness them. Ginger would smile at Felicia and find reason to ignore her. Soon little Felicia was vying for Ginger’s attention, not Daniel’s, and Ginger was quick to give her the love and maternal affection the motherless child had longed for.

  Felicia’s room—dotted with sentimental dolls and remnants from her younger years—reflected her shielded childhood. Not from heartache—the war held no prejudices when it came to that—but from poverty and want. Despite Felicia’s emotional distress at having her eyes opened to Smithwick’s dark side, she had little experience with real hardship. Even her days working as a land girl in the war were served caring for animals on a farm. Hard and dirty physical work compared to how Felicia now spent her days, but not anything that would break the girl’s spirit. Fear gripped Ginger’s heart. This situation was very different. She swallowed the dry lump that had formed in her throat.

  “Felicia, darling, I have some distressing news.”

  Felicia wrinkled her nose. “Oh dear, what now?”

  “The pathology results from the knitting needle are in. There are traces of Angela’s blood on it.”

  “Oh, my!” Felicia’s shoulder’s folded in with the weight of the news. “Someone used my knitting needle to kill her?”

  “They only found your fingerprints on it.”

  “Of course my fingerprints would be on it.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Felicia held Ginger’s gaze with an unnerving intensity. “I sense a ‘but.’”

  Ginger sat on the bed beside Felicia and took her hand. “Darling, I’m afraid the Yard has set their eyes on you. In their mind, you had means, opportunity and motive. Inspector Reed is waiting in the passage to take you into custody for questioning.”

  Felicia’s eyelashes batted wildly. “I don’t understand. He can’t think I—”

  “Of course not! No one does. He’s only following protocol. I’ll get you the best solicitor—”

  “Am I being arrested? For murder?” Felicia burst into tears. “Oh Ginger!”

  Felicia’s hot tears stirred Ginger’s anger. Such inane injustice. She couldn’t believe Basil Reed would arrest her sister-in-law with hardly a shred of real evidence. It was all purely circumstantial!

  She thought she and Basil were friends, but this, this was the worst betrayal. Curse Scotland Yard for forcing his hand!

  “Ginger, I’ll never be able to show my face in public again. My reputation shall never recover!” Felicia’s eyes registered the worst possibility. “They might hang me!”

  “No one is going to hang you,” Ginger said. Not over her dead body. She held Felicia, rubbing her back as the girl sobbed. “Now, now,” Ginger said soothingly. “Wipe your tears and stand tall. We’ll get to the bottom of this ghastly affair soon enough. Everything will be all right. I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ginger helped Felicia dress in a respectable suit comprising a plaid skirt and long jacket over a complementary gold-coloured satin blouse. Ambrosia, having been summoned by Ginger, arrived all aflutter, looking like a large yellow mellon in her saffron night dress and matching sleeping hat.

  “Ginger! You must put a stop to this! This is outrageous! Reprehensible! The Gold name shall never recover!”

  The dowager’s soft face flushed deep red, and Ginger worried the elderly woman would have an apoplectic attack. “I’m afraid it’s out of my hands, Grandmother. But you must calm yourself.”

  “Calm myself? Calm myself!”

  Langley hovered nervously at the door. “Please get Lady Gold some tea,” Ginger said.

  Boss, sensing the emotional excitement, transferred himself from the comfort of his bed in Ginger’s room to Felicia’s and sat in the middle of the floor where he could view everyone, his big brown eyes scanning the room.

  “Should I pack a bag?” Felicia said as if she was on her way to stay at a friend’s house rather than spending the night in a jail cell.

  Ginger regarded her with compassion the weight of a boulder. She felt crushed by her love for Felicia and her own helplessness in stopping this charade.

  “You won’t need a bag, love.”

  Felicia nodded her understanding and glanced despondently at the floor.

  Ambrosia had claimed one of the two pink satin chairs positioned near the end of the bed, and Langley, with surprising speed, returned with the tea.

  “Let’s all have a cup before we go,” Ginger said. She didn’t care how long Basil was left waiting.

  Felicia took the chair beside Ambrosia, and Ginger sat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Felicia asked quietly. The energetic confidence that usually laced her voice had disappeared.

  Boss whimpered and strutted to Felicia’s side. She patted her leg indicating permission to jump up and Boss landed lightly in her lap. Boss was devoted to Ginger but he was a sensitive little fellow, intuitive to the one most needing his comfort. Felicia burrowed her face into his soft fur.

  “They’ll . . . charge you,” Ginger answered carefully. “And you’ll spend the night in a cell.”

  “Oh good Lord!” Ambrosia sputtered. “How utterly ridiculous. We’ll never live it down. I shan’t be able to walk the streets of Chesterton again, much less go to church. The gossip!”

  “Grandmother,” Ginger said through pursed lips. “Now’s hardly the time to worry about what other people think. Felicia is in trouble.”

  Ambrosia’s heavy lids blinked and she let out a long sigh. “Of course, you’re right.” She reached for Felicia’s hand. “It’s just that I love you so, child. I can’t bear this and it just comes out all wrong.”

  “I understand, Grandmama,” Felicia said. “I love you, too.”

  “I promise you both that I’ll do everything in my power to clear Felicia’s name and get a prompt release,” Ginger said.

  A tear trickled down Felicia’s face. “Ginger, you are the best sister a girl could ask for.”

  Ginger’s heart almost burst. “We three Gold women—we are all in this together.”

  They finished their tea and Ambrosia hugged Felicia on the landing. “I can’t bear to look at that awful man,” she said, referring to Basil. Ginger felt the same way, though she knew she was being unreasonable. Inspector Reed was simply doing his job.

  The fact didn’t make her heart ache less.

 
; Felicia stood tall as she walked down the staircase, but her nerves gave out on seeing Basil in the entrance hall waiting for her. She leaned into Ginger for support.

  “It’s going to be all right, love,” Ginger said, holding her close. “It’s going to be all right.”

  The next day Haley arrived, wearing her traditional tweed suit with a small suitcase in hand.

  Seeing her friend when she needed her so, made the back of Ginger’s eyes burn with emotion. This in itself perturbed Ginger. Usually, she remained stoic when confronted with danger or stress. Felicia’s plight moved her in ways those other oft-dangerous situations had not. Faced with losing Felicia had stirred her feelings of loss for Daniel all over again.

  Haley stared at Ginger with wide-eyed consternation. “Honey, whatever is the matter?”

  “Have you heard? Is that why you’ve come?”

  “Heard what?” Haley set her suitcase down in the entrance hall and removed her coat and scarf. She handed them to Wilson who then discreetly left the two friends alone.

  “About Felicia’s arrest.”

  Haley pivoted on her low Oxford heel. “What? I hadn’t heard about that. I’m here because of the inquest tomorrow.”

  With all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Ginger had forgotten about the inquest. The knot in her stomach tightened. The inquest could go either way. Cast doubt on Felicia as a suspect, or add another nail to her coffin. They reached the sitting room and she flopped into the nearest chair.

  “It’s been simply dreadful.”

  Haley sat on the edge of the seat beside Ginger and leaned in. “I’m a mass of curiosity. What happened?”

  Ginger relayed the events of the day previous, the interviews, the fracas with Smithwick and finally the analysis report on the knitting needle.

  “Leaving her at the station like a criminal shredded me to bits,” Ginger said. She found it hard to forgive Basil’s part in it and had refused his offer for a lift home. Instead, she’d asked Constable Ryan to do it. “The whole matter is simply horrid.”

  Haley shook her head, dark curls escaping her faux bob. “Unbelievable. Surely, after getting to know Felicia, Inspector Reed can’t seriously think her capable of such a horrendous crime.”