by Lee Strauss
“Thank you, Mrs. Schofield.”
“Both wonderful men. I was blessed to know them.”
“It’s so gracious of you to say.”
Mrs. Schofield motioned to the young man to step closer. “This is my grandson, Lieutenant Alfred Schofield.” She added proudly, “He flew in the Royal Flying Corps in the war.”
Lieutenant Schofield was handsomely dressed in a pinstriped, double-breasted suit. His facial features were boyish, but his stature and gait spoke of one who’d been enlisted. He doffed his straw hat. “Pleased to meet you Lady Gold.” He motioned to Hartigan House. “Have you moved in?”
“Yes, well, no.” Ginger laughed. “I’m not quite sure. I’ve just recently arrived from America to settle Father’s estate here. I’m not sure if I should stay or sell.”
Lieutenant Schofield looked at her with interest. “I should hope you will stay. I’m sure you’d add so much to London society.”
London society wasn’t much of an interest to Ginger, but she smiled and nodded anyway.
“Perhaps I can show you around sometime,” Lieutenant Schofield said.
“Perhaps,” Ginger said, “once I’m more settled. I really have so much to do.”
“Of course.” Lieutenant Schofield grinned slyly. “I know where you live.”
Ginger wasn’t quite sure how to take the comment. With humour, she supposed and hoped that was how he intended it. She chuckled.
Mrs. Schofield interrupted. “Is the Dowager Lady Gold coming to visit, by chance?”
“As a matter of fact, she is with me already.”
“How wonderful. Please do tell her I’ll call when I’m back from my appointment.”
“I will. She’ll be delighted.”
Ginger excused herself. However, when she glanced back, she caught eyes with Lieutenant Schofield. He was watching her as she knew he would.
Back in the kitchen, Ginger gave Boss over to Lizzie. “Do you have that list of fine dress shops your former employer liked to visit?” she asked.
“Yes, madam. I nearly forgot.” Lizzie dug through her skirt pockets and produced a folded piece of notepaper. “Mrs. Thornton helped me to remember the names of some of the places.”
Ginger glanced over the list. “Thank you. It’s a good start.”
Lizzie bobbed and whisked Boss away. Ginger was grateful that the girl liked animals.
Felicia was nowhere to be seen, however Ambrosia was nursing a pot of tea in the sitting room. Ginger told her about the Schofields.
“My word!” Ambrosia’s hand went to her heart. “She’s going to call?”
“Grandmother, is there a problem?”
“She’s just so … finicky. She always has the best of everything, you know. The best clothes, the finest furnishings, the best advice. Even though I have a title! It’s unnerving.”
“I didn’t realise.”
“She can be quite nosy, too. I’m surprised it’s taken her this long to interfere.”
“I’m sorry, Grandmother. She invited herself. I thought you might like the company. She seemed excited to see you.”
Ambrosia shifted nervously, and put her teacup on the tabouret. “Of course, she’s excited to see me. She can’t wait to rub it in. Oh, my.” She fiddled with her full, pleated skirt. “Mrs. Schofield’s going to look down her nose at my dress.”
“You look lovely,” Ginger said consolingly. “Remember, you are the Dowager Lady Gold. You look down your nose at her.”
Ginger had never thought she’d invoke a title before, but she was concerned at how ruffled the older woman had become.
“Quite right, quite right. Thank you, Ginger.” Ambrosia stood and leaned on her walking stick. “I need to change. How might I procure this Lizzie?”
“I’ll get her for you, Grandmother.”
Ginger tasked Lizzie to help Ambrosia and to send Felicia her way should she run into her. That girl! Ginger would leave without her if she didn’t materialise soon. As if Felicia could sense that Ginger was about to abandon her, she burst on the scene dressed in a dark, pleated skirt, contrasting white blouse and a colourful scarf tied around her neck.
“I’m ready whenever you are, Ginger!” she said as she slipped into an oversized autumn jacket and set a straw hat adorned with purple feathers on her head. “I’ve got plenty of ideas on how we can spruce up the old place. Let’s bring Hartigan House into the twentieth century!”
“I’d love to hear your ideas,” Ginger said. “Let’s go.”
In the Daimler, Ginger explained. “Before we visit the decor shops, I would like to drop into a few dress lounges.”
“Lounges?” Felicia said. “That sounds hoity-toity.”
“It is, however, I would like to introduce myself to the fashion designers and personal shoppers. In case I’m in need of a hoity-toity gown one day.”
Felicia laughed. “I like how you think, sister!”
Felicia didn’t seem at all perturbed by Ginger’s driving. Proof that it was Haley’s problem, not hers. Ginger watched her sister-in-law from the corner of her eye.
“How are you doing, Felicia? Really?”
“How do you mean?”
“Are you happy?”
“Of course!” Felicia smacked her cherry-red lips. “I’m one of the bright young things!”
Ginger smiled. “That you are.”
“If you mean am I happy about being stuffed away in dreary old Bray Manor, then the answer is an unequivocal no.”
“Surely it can’t be that bad?”
“There’s just not enough money, Ginger. I mean that in the most respectful way. It’s like a gigantic tomb. We hardly have more staff than you. And I’m quite serious about there being no men.”
“Yes, the manor could use a man about to look after things.”
“Well, I wasn’t talking about those kind of men,” Felicia winked, “but yes, workmen, too.”
“I’d like to come soon,” Ginger said. “To visit Daniel’s grave.”
Felicia sobered. For once she had nothing to say.
Ginger reached over to squeeze her hand. “We both lost a tremendous amount when he died. We can make it through together.”
“He’s been dead for five years. I got on quite all right without you.”
Ginger felt slapped by the anger behind the words.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
Felicia’s mask of joy returned. “Let’s not talk about the past, shall we.” She pointed. “The Ritz Hotel! How fabulous it would be to stay there one day. Ginger, you’re so lucky to be so close to everything. I absolutely adore London!”
Ginger continued through Mayfair, and as good fortune would have it, she found a place to park directly in front of one of the shops just off Regent Street.
“Providence!” Ginger said brightly. Best to keep the mood light.
The lounge assistant was tall and thin, and wore a plain black suit. Though she wore spectacles, it was clear she scanned and then assessed Ginger and Felicia by what they wore. Ginger had felt confident in her Vionnet, until now anyway. Once again she invoked her title.
“Hello, I’m Lady Gold, and this is my sister-in-law Miss Gold. I’m newly arrived in London, and I’m making my acquaintance with all the finest lounges in the city. I’ve yet to order my autumn wardrobe, you see.”
That produced a graceful and slightly apologetic smile. “Zat explains why I’ve not seen you before, madam. I’m Madame Jardin. Please, come zees way.”
Ginger didn’t have to pretend to be delighted by the latest designs from the greatest Parisian fashion designers of the day such as Madeleine Vionnet, Edward Molyneux, and Jeanne Paquin.
Felicia became so excited, Ginger worried she might hyperventilate.
“As you can probably tell, my sister and I have a great enthusiasm for fashion. I’m actually looking for a particular dress. I remember it from the last time I visited in 1913. Stunning. Maybe it was purchased from this lounge. Were you here then?
”
“So long ago? Well, yes, I was here. Tell me about zees dress.”
Ginger described the gown found on the skeleton. “I’m pretty sure it’s a Lucile.”
Madame Jardin clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know ze dress. I would’ve remembered zat.”
Ginger and Felicia made their excuses to leave with Ginger promising to come again.
“What was that about?” Felicia asked.
“I’m curious about a particular dress. Nothing more.”
They visited two more lounges with the same results.
“You must tell me what is so important about this dress,” Felicia said as they approached their fourth store. “Either that, or make a purchase!”
Ginger stopped on the pavement outside the entrance and considered Felicia’s request. It seemed unwise to fill her head with scary stories about a skeleton found in the attic. Before she could come up with a reasonable ruse, a man’s voice interrupted them.
“Lady Gold!”
“Inspector Reed? What are you doing here?” Ginger wondered briefly if Basil Reed had had the same idea to interview the fashion lounges—she certainly hoped not. He’d never be allowed entrance.
“I’ve come to find you. Your maid Lizzie said you were visiting the shops. She gave me a list.”
Ginger frowned. What on earth could merit such a personal errand?
“What is it, Inspector?”
Basil Reed released the newspaper pinched under his arm and opened it to reveal the front page. “I’m afraid the crime has been leaked to the press.”
The headline of the Daily Mail read:
REMAINS OF UNKNOWN WOMAN FOUND IN ATTIC OF WESTMINSTER HOME
Home to the Hartigan family for nearly three decades, the house has been left empty as widower Hartigan moved to America in 1901 with his young daughter to wed Miss Sally Withers, an American. Mr. Hartigan is recently deceased and his daughter Georgia Hartigan, now Lady Georgia Gold, returned to London to claim her inheritance whence the ghastly discovery was made.
Ginger gasped. “Oh, mercy. This can’t be good for your investigation.”
“Ginger,” Felicia demanded, “what is this all about? It’s just tabloid rubbish, isn’t it?
Ginger put a hand on Felicia’s arm. “I’m afraid it’s quite true.”
“That’s why you’ve been asking about that dress? It was found in the attic!”
Ginger admired Felicia’s quick deduction but feared Basil Reed would be less impressed.
The inspector eyed her disapprovingly. “Have you been investigating, Lady Gold?”
She batted her eyes. “Just asking a few questions, Inspector. I’m sure it can’t hurt.”
Basil Reed let out a frustrated breath. “We can talk about this later. The reason I’m here is to escort you both home. I’m afraid there’s rather a mob of reporters camped out in front of your gate.”
Chapter Eleven
Ginger followed behind Basil Reed’s unmarked forest-green 1922 Austin 7.
“Oh my word!” Felicia said as they approached the house. Situated near the front gate, a cluster of men in suits and hats carried cameras and camera gear. “You’re famous!”
Ginger grimaced. “This is the kind of fame I can do without.”
Basil Reed turned down the alley to the back of Hartigan House. The garden wasn’t exempt and a crowd of journalists waited in the alley expectantly. Basil Reed stepped out and flashed his badge at the men, instructing them to step back from the property and to make way.
“Or I’ll arrest you for trespassing,” he added for the benefit of the stragglers.
He then opened the garage for Ginger and Felicia, waited for Ginger to park and then escorted them through the garden to the kitchen. Flash bulbs went off frenetically, reminding Ginger of the Fourth of July.
“I feel like a film star!” Felicia said.
The reporters began to shout out questions.
“Do you know who the victim is?”
“How’d you come across the body?”
“Lady Gold, are you staying in London?”
The trio made it through the kitchen door with Basil shutting it firmly behind them just as the last question was asked. “Lady Gold, did you know about Mr. Hartigan’s ….”
Ginger blanched. Mr. Hartigan’s what? The police didn’t know about her father’s instructions to keep the door locked, so that bit of information hadn’t been leaked. She wished desperately that she had heard the end of the question.
“Who was that reporter?”
“Which one?” Basil asked. “There are dozens out there.”
“The one who asked the last question?”
Basil Reed shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see him.”
Ambrosia heard them arrive and waddled towards them furiously once they entered the dining room. “Oh, thank the good Lord you’re back! This invasion of privacy is simply dreadful! Please do tell, Ginger, what on earth is going on? And who is this gentleman?”
“Grandmother, do calm down. This is Inspector Reed. Inspector Reed, the Dowager Lady Gold.”
Basil Reed removed his hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Ambrosia was too flustered to engage in social niceties. “Inspector? Ginger, has a crime been committed?
Ginger corralled the distressed woman into the sitting room. “Let’s have some tea, and I’ll explain everything. Everything is going to be all right.” Her voice soothed, but in her heart, she wasn’t certain it would be true. Fear that irreparable damage would come to her father’s name gripped her with a black fist.
The facts of the situation could no longer be withheld under the circumstances, and Ginger intended to round up all the members of the Hartigan House household into the sitting room to explain.
However, she hadn’t anticipated company. She blinked back her surprise at the presence of Mrs. Schofield and her grandson, Alfred.
“Oh my,” Ginger said. “I’d forgotten you were dropping in.” Mrs. Schofield stood to greet her and they loosely embraced. “So good to see you again. I do apologise for the circus outside.”
“We’d only just arrived when the crowd appeared. So good that Alfred had assisted me inside.”
“Hello again, Lieutenant Schofield.”
“Please do call me Alfred.”
“Alfred.” She didn’t extend an invitation in kind. “Such providence that you are here for your grandmother.” She waved at Basil Reed. “This is Chief Inspector Reed from Scotland Yard.”
To Basil she said, “Certainly there must be a way to escort the Schofields home. They only live next door.”
“If it’s possible to stay on private property, there is. Is there access through the back garden?” he said.
“I believe there is, though it may be grown over. Pippins?”
The butler, who waited quietly to the side by the doorway, stepped forward. “Madam?”
“Please see to the pathway, and clear it if possible.”
“Yes, madam,” he said, then disappeared.
Ginger instructed Lizzie to refill the teacups. She then took a seat on the settee and motioned for Basil to sit on the other end.
Felicia flopped into an empty chair. “This day just gets better and better. We never have any excitement at Bray Manor. It’s frightfully dull.”
“I’ll take dull any day!” Ambrosia said. She sat upright on the edge of her seat and sipped her tea. The china cup rattled on the saucer, evidence of her nerves.
“I, for one, am more than curious,” Alfred said. He stoked the fire before leaning against the mantel in what Ginger thought was a pretentious pose. He ducked his chin to gain a view out of the window. “Pray tell, what has caused this uproar of camera-toting fellows.”
Ginger shared a look with Inspector Reed who cleared his throat before speaking.
“I can only tell you what the press already knows. Regretfully, Lady Gold made a grisly discovery upon her recent arrival.
Remains of a woman’s body were found in the attic.”
The news, so shocking, caused the room to go immediately silent. Ambrosia nearly dropped her teacup, which thankfully was empty, and set it down with a rattle.
“You can’t be serious,” she finally said.
Felicia squealed, “It’s so scandalously delicious!”
“Do be quiet, child!” Ambrosia snapped.
Mrs. Schofield’s white bony fingers fussed with the high collar of her blouse. “Oh my. Is it anyone we know?”
“We are still confirming the identity, madam,” the inspector said.
Alfred whistled. “Blimey! How did she get nobbled?”
Ginger and Basil shared another look. Ginger was quite happy to let him share whatever news he deemed appropriate at this stage of his investigation.
Instead of answering he said, “Were either of you present at the soirée held here on the thirty-first of December 1913.”
“1913?” Mrs. Schofield said. “What could that possibly have to do with the body in the attic?” She gasped. “Don’t tell me it’s been there for that long!”
“Just answer the question, please,” Basil said.
Mrs. Schofield fiddled with her pearls. “Well, yes I was here. Mr. Schofield, my husband, was still alive. It was the last formal affair we attended before he passed away.”
Alfred shook his head. “I was too young for such things.”
“Does the name Eunice Hathaway ring any bells?”
Alfred shook his head, but Mrs. Schofield stared into space as if digging up old files.
“Yes,” she said. “She was the young lady on the arm of Lord Maxwell Turnbull. It was quite the scandal, you know, since Lord Turnbull had only been recently widowed and an appropriate time of mourning hadn’t yet passed. Besides, she was a commoner and he was a Lord. The peerage was up in arms. It was in all the papers.”
Ambrosia released a quiet derisive huff at the apparent slight to her class.
Mrs. Schofield eyed her slyly then continued. “Before too long Miss Hathaway was in her cups, as they say, always a glass of champagne in her hand, holding it high so everyone would see her ring.”
