by Strauss, Lee
“Exactly!”
“But, to be fair,” Haley added reluctantly. “Felicia hadn’t been presenting her best side over the weekend. And, an inspector worth his own weight would never let his personal feelings sway how he handled a case.”
Ginger harrumphed. Haley was right, of course, but Ginger couldn’t help but feel slighted. She was sure the inspector had shown feelings for her beyond ordinary proper protocol. Had she read the signals wrong? Then again, he did tend to blow hot and cold.
And so did she. Subconsciously she’d known of the cycle she’d fallen into with Basil, one of flirtation and restraint. They were bad for each other that way. And why should she care about an indefinable relationship with this man, when her heart still belonged to another?
Basil’s job might be his priority, but family was hers.
“It makes me sick knowing that Felicia is sitting in a jail cell as we speak,” she said. Her mind went to Daniel. She silently asked for forgiveness for failing to take proper care of his sister.
Haley poured coffee from the vacuum flask on the sideboard. Since Ginger’s arrival, coffee had been set out and it and the tea were regularly topped up.
“And here I had you and the good inspector pegged to be together,” she said.
Ginger groaned with exasperation. “Haley, dearest. I can promise you that scenario will never happen.”
Haley paused with her coffee cup midway to her mouth as her wide jaw fell open. “Wow, you are angry.”
Ginger stated simply, “I’m furious.”
“Where is Inspector Reed, anyway?” Haley said. “It must be mighty awkward with him staying here.”
“He’s left. Took a room at the Chesterton Inn.”
“I see,” Haley said after a sip. “That’s for the best, then.”
“Indeed.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ginger and Haley arrived at the police station the next morning to see Felicia. Ginger scanned the station searching for Basil Reed and hoped against hope that she wouldn’t see his face.
Haley nudged her with her elbow and whispered, “He’s not here.”
Ginger clung to Haley’s arm and whispered back, “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too, honey,” Haley said warmly. Ginger found her friend’s Boston accent calming. Haley’s speech was always slow and relaxed, lazy around the consonants, soft like a lullaby. The quick, crisp and sometimes indecipherable accents of the English sounded extraordinarily sharp to Ginger’s ears in tense times such as these.
Constable Ryan manned the front desk and Ginger approached. He, at least, had the decency to look sheepish.
“Lady Gold and Miss Higgins here to visit Miss Felicia Gold,” Ginger stated matter-of-factly.
“Yes, madam,” The young constable squirmed behind the desk, his ruddy cheeks growing red. “We don’t generally allow more dan one visitor at a time, madam, unless t’person is accompanied by a solicitor.”
Ginger pierced him with a green-eyed glare. “I don’t think you need to abide by that rule in this instance. We’re not going to help her escape.”
“Right, um, yes, well, since it’s you, I’m sure it’s fine.”
The constable opened a drawer and removed a large iron ring that had a number of dangling keys and opened the jail cell.
Felicia’s eyes were red and her flawless skin blotchy.
“Ginger!” She wiped away a stray tear with a well-manicured fingernail. Pearl polish, Ginger noted. The same one used to paint the knobs of the knitting needles.
Ginger removed her gloves and took Felicia’s hands—they were cold and damp—and held them tightly in her own. “How are you holding up?” she asked.
Felicia trembled yet stood tall. “I’m all right, all things considered.”
Releasing Ginger’s hands, Felicia reached for Haley’s. “So good to see you, Miss Higgins. Thank you for coming.”
“We’ll do whatever we can, to help,” Haley said.
“I’ve called my solicitor in London,” Ginger said. “And he’s recommended the very best defence solicitor in England. I will meet with him after the inquest.” She stared deeply into Felicia’s eyes. “You’ll be cleared and free in no time.”
Felicia collapsed onto the hard wooden bench. “Oh, I do hope you’re right.”
Ginger sat alongside her. “I am right. This is all a terrible, terrible mistake.” Ginger thought of Basil Reed and how embarrassed he’d be when he was proved wrong.
“Has anyone else been to see you?” Ginger asked. She didn’t want to say Smithwick’s name aloud, but Felicia’s eyes registered understanding.
“No. No one.”
“Are they treating you well here?”
“Well enough I suppose,” Felicia said, listlessly. “The food is edible.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Not really.”
Ginger was worried about Felicia’s lethargy. The torpid edge to her voice. Her normal spirited self had been cut off at the knees by this mess. Already Ginger missed her sister-in-law’s feistiness. This sense of brokenness scared her.
“We’re off to the inquest,” Ginger said, keeping her voice strong. “We just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine, Ginger. I really don’t want you to worry so much about me.”
Ginger would worry, but she wouldn’t sit around and do nothing. The inquest was sure to provide answers. Then this nightmare would be over.
The village of Chesterton didn’t have a crown court, so the inquest was held at the Chesterton Inn. Ginger assumed she’d see Basil there but she didn’t expect to run into him, literally.
Ginger and Haley were entering the large gathering room at the back of the inn, just as Basil was stepping out, and for a short uncomfortable moment, they were standing nose to nose. The bruising on Basil’s face had somehow made him even more appealing and the scent of his cologne…
“Lady Gold,” Basil said with surprise. “I beg your pardon.”
Ginger stepped back sharply. “Of course.”
“You look well,” he said.
Despite her indignation, her heart twittered in his presence—a visceral response that vexed her. What was the matter with her? She wasn’t a young, impressionable girl, but a grown, sensible woman. She responded coolly. “If you wouldn’t mind moving aside so we can pass.”
Basil’s eyes filled with regret. “I take it you’re still cross at me.”
Ginger scowled.
Haley answered for her. “Just a bit.”
Basil tipped his hat towards Haley. “Hello, Miss Higgins.” He then stepped around them and made his way down the hallway. Ginger watched him as he went. Though he walked tall, he limped slightly, favouring his left side. Ginger let out a breath. She was angry but quite honestly, she could say her anger was no longer directed at Basil. She was angry at the circumstances, which he represented.
Haley took her arm. “Now that we’ve got that over with, let’s go in.”
The room was finished entirely in stained mahogany. A makeshift jury’s station and witness stand had been set up, and chairs arranged in a semi-circle around them. Teeming with people, it was nearing standing room only, and Ginger wondered if all of Chesterton had come out for the show. She doubted the village had seen so much excitement since the war.
Places were reserved for witnesses in the front row and Ginger and Haley shuffled past the spectators to claim two empty seats. Ginger felt the eyes of the villagers watching them, and she entertained a spot of vanity, feeling glad she’d chosen to wear an original Parisian-designed burgundy straw hat with curlicues that covered the top and spilled over to one side.
Low muttering reached her ears.
“That’s the killer’s sister-in-law.”
“Heard it were Miss Gold that done it.”
“Don’t that put the dowager in her place?”
“Pompous hat.”
Haley whispered in Ginger’s ear. “Ignore them.”<
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Dr. Guthrie sat in a disgruntled heap at the end of the row. His white hair sprung from his head as if the man had been electrocuted. His eyes were closed, his pointy chin bearing down, and he emitted a soft snore. Ginger and Haley shuffled past his bony knees, rousing the man who startled with a loud snort.
“Hello, Dr. Guthrie,” Haley said as she sat beside him.
“Oh, it’s you.”
Haley grinned. “That’s what I love about you, Dr. Guthrie. So cheery.”
Her playfulness garnered her a grunt.
The coroner, a short, well-fed man, called the room to order and began the proceedings.
“Please remember that no one is on trial here today. The purpose of this inquest is to establish the identity of the deceased, the place and time of death, and to determine how the deceased came by her death.”
The jury, a collection of citizens from the surrounding areas of Hertfordshire, viewed pictures of the body provided by both the police and the pathologist.
The first witness to be called was the victim’s sister, Mrs. Cecil Dunsbury. She wore a conservative day dress with a finely pleated calf-length skirt. Her hair, recently styled with perfect finger curls, framed her face. Though she stood gracefully upright, the twitching muscles around her mouth betrayed her nerves. The coroner asked her to give evidence to the identity.
“That is my sister in those pictures,” she said softly. She took a moment to dab at teary eyes with a cotton handkerchief. “I also viewed the body at the mortuary.”
Next the coroner called Clement, the gardener who’d found the body, who resided at 31 Racket Street in Chesterton.
“I was cleanin’ up the garden near the lake behind Bray Manor. The fog was real low, crawlin’ through the valley like it does this time of year. I was sweepin’ dried up leaves off the veranda where they’d been blown overnight when from the corner of me eye I sees this dark form on the grass by the lake. At first I thought it was a lap rug or coat just thrown down, but then I sees a bit of white what looked like skin. I walks to the water at the edge of the lake like, and when I saw it was a girl, I ran to the back doors of Bray Manor, yellin’ fer ’elp.”
“And that’s when Lady Gold and her guest Miss Higgins entered the scene?”
“Yes, sir. That’s right.”
“Did you touch the body, Mr. Clement, or in any way interfere with the scene?”
“No, sir. I’d don’t mind cleanin’ up a garden, but when it comes to dead things bigger than a insect, me stomach can’t take it.”
The coroner released the gardener and called on Ginger to give evidence. Slipping awkwardly past Dr. Guthrie’s knees, Ginger walked with all the dignity she could muster, her head high, her eyes alight with fight. Standing behind the witness stand, she scanned the room in defiance, holding Basil’s gaze for longer than she should have.
“Lady Gold,” the coroner said. “You were second on the scene, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. Along with Miss Higgins, my guest at Bray Manor.”
“Please tell us your experience on the morning of the twenty-eighth of October.”
“Miss Higgins and I were having breakfast in the morning room when my dog Boss began to bark. He noticed a man in distress outside the French windows and called attention to his plight.” Ginger smiled at the jury. “He really is a clever dog.”
“Thank you, Lady Gold.” The coroner said, not looking a bit interested in the canine’s intelligence quotient. “What happened next?”
“Mr. Clement pointed out the body, and I ran to see who it was.” Ginger’s heart squeezed at the memory of that short moment when she’d feared the woman on the grass was Felicia.
“Did you touch the body, Lady Gold?”
“The body was facedown. I rolled it onto its side to see the face. Then I let it roll back to the position I found it in.”
“What happened next?”
“The police were called.”
“How long until they arrived?”
“My guess is twenty minutes.”
“And what did you do in this time?”
“Do? Nothing. We waited. It was traumatic for us all.”
“At what point was the decision made to call the medical examiner?”
“Miss Higgins noticed a wound on Miss Ashton’s back.” Ginger added proudly, “She’s training to be a doctor. At first, it just looked like another spot of mud.”
Haley was called on next to confirm Ginger’s evidence. “As a nurse,” the coroner said, “were you able to determine the nature of the injury?”
“Only that there was a puncture wound. I thought it might be a bullet wound based on the diameter.”
Sergeant Maskell was next to provide testimony.
“The telephone rang, a call from Bray Manor at nine minutes past eight the morning of the twenty-eighth.” He spoke to the jury. “There’s a big clock on the wall by the phone, a new electric one, so it don’t run out of battery, and I looked at it when the report came in—that’s how I know the exact time.”
“By your account, what time did you arrive at the scene?”
“About twenty minutes later. That’s how long it normally takes, and the roads were muddy that morning from the rain. In fact, I remembered to check my wristwatch and it was half past eight on the nose.”
“And what did you find when you got there?”
“The butler, what’s his name?” He hesitated. “Oh, yes, Wilson, showed us—me and Constable Ryan, that is—to Livingston Lake at the back of the manor. I knew we’d been called there because of a body, they said that much over the telephone, so I searched the ground and spotted something lying half in the water not far from the jetty.”
“Who else was present at the scene?”
“Besides myself and Constable Ryan, Lady Gold, Miss Higgins and the butler.”
“At what point did you determine the medical examiner should be called?”
“Well, at first I figured the young lady had possibly drunk too much at the dance and wandered onto the jetty only to fall in and drown. When the injury on the back was pointed out by Miss Higgins, I concluded the poor woman’s death could be the result of foul play.”
“Was it your decision to involve Scotland Yard?”
Sergeant Maskell paused as if he wanted to claim responsibility but not enough to perjure himself. “No, it was not.”
“Whose was it, then?”
“It was Lady Gold’s idea, sir.”
Ginger scoffed inwardly, rueing the fact she’d suggested they asked for Inspector Reed specifically. However, she had to concede, the end result would as likely have been the same, and Basil did treat Felicia with more respect than another inspector might have.
Oh, her emotions! She really wanted to be cross with Basil Reed.
Haley poked Dr. Guthrie in the ribs when the coroner called on him to come forward.
The coroner instructed, “Please state your name and official capacity.” Ginger wondered if the coroner was testing the man’s mental state.
Now that he was on the stand, Dr. Guthrie came alive, speaking with the authority given to him by the county. “Dr. Peter Guthrie, medical examiner and police surgeon for the village of Chesterton and outlying areas such as the property known as Bray Manor.”
“Please give your evidence.”
“I arrived to find the deceased behind the residence known as Bray Manor. She was face down on the grass bordering Livingston Lake, the lower half of the torso submerged. After ascertaining that the woman’s life was indeed extinguished, I had the body transported to the mortuary where I performed a post mortem.”
“Please relay the results of your examination.”
“The absence of water in the lungs rules out drowning, pointing to the victim either being thrown, or falling into the water after death.”
“Were there any indicators in the stomach contents?”
“A good amount of champagne, but no poisons of any kind.”
“Were yo
u able to determine the time of death?”
“There are many factors involved in narrowing down the window of time during which a deceased person’s life was extinguished. Body temperature is a useful factor, but given the corpse was cooled by the lake and the exterior temperature being as low as it was, the time of death must be ascertained in other ways. According to Sergeant Maskell, the victim was last seen alive after the dance, at midnight. Rigor mortis was in the rigid state, and lividity was set. Therefore my estimate for time of death is between midnight and five in the morning.”
“And the cause of death?”
“A foreign object piercing the heart.”
“And what is the object?”
“I’m unable to say conclusively.”
“Not a bullet wound?”
“No. There was no exit wound nor a bullet lodged in the body.”
“I see. Can you say with all certainty that the injury wasn’t accidental or self-inflicted?”
“I can.”
“Is it possible a knitting needle could produce this type of injury and inflict deadly harm?”
“Yes, it is.”
“That is all, Dr. Guthrie.”
The coroner appeared satisfied with the evidence presented, and after an appeal to the jury, gave his verdict: wilful murder by a person or persons unknown.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ambrosia was in a horrible funk when Ginger and Haley returned from the inquest. They had barely got inside before the older woman assaulted them, bejewelled fingers slicing the air.
“What happened? Are they going to let Felicia go?”
“It wasn’t a trial, Grandmother,” Ginger said. “It was an inquest to determine the nature of death.”
“Were there very many people there? Oh goodness, how the tongues must be wagging. I’ll never be able to show my face again. My granddaughter arrested, and everyone knowing it. For murder no less!”
Other tongues might be flapping but Ginger bit hers. Ambrosia’s fears for Felicia only manifested as concern about what people would think about her. The dowager, Ginger reminded herself, was still decidedly entrenched in high society propriety.
