Murder at Hartigan House: a cozy historical mystery (A Ginger Gold Mystery Book 2)

by Lee Strauss

  “So how did Eunice end up in the attic room of Hartigan House?”

  Ginger tilted her head. “That’s the big question, isn’t it?”

  Lizzie entered with Boss at her heels. “Are you ready for me to take away the dirties?”

  “Yes, thank you, Lizzie,” Ginger said, then patted her knees for Boss. “Come on, boy.” Boss jumped onto Ginger’s lap and nuzzled her chin before settling.

  Ginger picked up the conversation once Lizzie left. “Mrs. Schofield didn’t have anything nice to say about Eunice. One might gather that there were others who didn’t appreciate her style, too.”

  “Have you had a chance to follow up on any of them?” Haley asked.

  “Funny you should ask. As it happens, I have. Redecorating requires one to drive about, and I’ve taken opportunity to check up on most of them.”

  “Pray tell,” Haley said.

  “Lord and Lady Julian Brackenbury still live at the same elegant Westminster townhouse they lived in a decade ago. Their two sons have grown and left home. Lord Brackenbury has long since been a member of the House of Lords. I got that information from the scullery maid—it’s a wonder how claiming to be an old family friend will get some tongues wagging.”

  “Lord Brackenbury is a man with some influence, then,” Haley said.

  Ginger nodded. “Indeed.” She sipped her tea and continued. “Monsieur Gaston Moreau was a young man in 1913, barely twenty, though he’d already been promoted at his job at Barclays Bank. This is how he knew my father, and apparently, according to Pippins, Father was impressed with Monsieur Moreau’s savvy investment advice. I’m told Monsieur Moreau has since married.

  “Also on the list is Dr. Warren Longden, who continues to practice in Mayfair, Mr. Schofield Senior, now deceased, who came with Mrs. Schofield, and Lord Maxwell Turnbull, the one person I was unable to find new information on. He appears to be a regular guest in the penthouse room of the Ritz Hotel.

  “Besides them, my father and Sally, and the staff which included Pippins, Mrs. Thornton and father’s valet, Andrew Bailey.”

  “Who is now Lord Turnbull’s valet, right?” Haley said.

  “Right.”

  “That’s an interesting twist.”

  “Indeed. Oh, there was also the solicitor Mr. William Hayes.”

  “Didn’t you just visit him? Did it go well?”

  Ginger was suddenly thankful that Haley lived at Hartigan House instead of the dorm. Otherwise they might never have a chance to chat and catch up like this.

  “I saw him yesterday.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I trust him. It sounds unfair, but he just rubbed me the wrong way.”

  “Do you think he knows what happened to Eunice?”

  “It’s possible. As a solicitor, he has privilege and isn’t required to tell the police.”

  Ginger went on to tell Haley about seeing Scout.

  “Small world,” Haley said.

  “It was so good to see him. I’m really fond of the little man.”

  “He’s found a good friend in you, Ginger.”

  “I think we’ve found a good friend in each other.”

  “So what’s your plan now?” Haley asked. “Are you going to interview everyone on the list? If you are, I’d really like to go with you. Don’t forget that one of them may be the murderer, and if they’ve killed once, they’ll kill twice.” She let out a low groan. “Oh, it’s times like this I wish I wasn’t so busy.”

  “It’s fine, Haley. I can take Felicia if need be. Besides, I have a better idea.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “I’m going to host a soirée and invite the names on the list.”

  “Interesting. What’s the theme of the soirée? Why would they accept?”

  “I’ll call it a memorial party, in honour of my father. It would be utterly disrespectful for any of them not to attend.”

  “You will invite the inspector, won’t you? Just in case?”

  “Of course.”

  Felicia entered the morning room just as Haley was preparing to leave.

  “We’re like ships in the night,” Haley said.

  Felicia yawned as she took an empty seat. “I’m just not a morning person.”

  Haley excused herself. “I don’t want to miss my bus. Ginger, you’ll call if you find out anything new?”

  “I will. Have a good day!”

  Felicia folded her arms on the table and rested her messy mop of auburn waves on them.

  Ginger laughed. “Good thing Grandmother isn’t here to see you. She’d find your laziness abhorrent.”

  “Where is the old girl?” Felicia mumbled.

  “She’s in the garden taking care of the roses.”

  Felicia pulled herself upright. “She’s always messing around in the garden at Bray Manor, too. I supposed it’s what keeps her fit. Is there tea?”

  Ginger poured what remained in the pot into a clean cup. “I have a project for you.”

  Felicia glanced up suspiciously. “Oh?”

  “I’m hosting a soirée.”

  “Really? How fun! When?”

  “Next weekend. I need your help to redecorate quickly.”

  Felicia perked up, suddenly awake. “How delightful!”

  Ginger called for Lizzie to replenish the breakfast for Felicia then produced the design books she’d picked up, slapping them onto the table. “We need new paint and wallpaper. You can help me choose.”

  Felicia thumbed through the books while she ate. Ginger took the opportunity to take Boss for a walk out the front gate and around the cul-de-sac. No sign of the Schofields today. When she returned, Boss found a comfortable chair beside the fireplace in the sitting room. Ginger gathered the design books and motioned to Felicia to follow her.

  “We’ll focus on the drawing room since that’s where the soirée will be held,” Ginger said. “We’ll have time to attend to the sitting room and the rest of the house later.”

  The drawing room was three times the size of the sitting room, with heavily decorated walls and sun-bleached wooden floors. Satin curtains the colour of deep plum hung in long, heavy swaths framing the elongated windows. A glimpse of morning sunlight forked through in drastic, dusty rays.

  “It’s frightfully dull in here,” Felicia said.

  “New wallpaper will do wonders,” Ginger said. “I’m picturing ivory white on the walls with grey paint on the floors. Do ask Lizzie to give this room a good dusting before we begin planning in earnest. We can all help to pack up the clutter.”

  There were several large paintings hanging on the walls, including a portrait of Ginger’s parents from before she was born. Ginger stared at it wistfully. Her mother was so beautiful, her slender face framed with fiery red curls. Ginger recognised a resemblance that grew more pronounced as she herself aged. She felt an emptiness deep in her soul. Another loss. How different would her life be if her mother had lived?

  The artist had expertly captured the vitality of youth in her father’s eyes. Ginger only remembered him with thinner, greying hair. Her mother’s sudden death had most certainly aged him.

  A baby grand piano sat in the far corner and Ginger carefully lifted the lid. She played a C major scale and winced at the sour notes. “We must get this exquisite instrument tuned by the weekend. Felicia, can you ask Pippins to ring up a piano tuner?”

  “Yes, I will.” Felicia held up the wallpaper book against the wall, carefully studying each page before flipping to the next one. “What do you think of this?”

  Ginger eyed the grey and cream geometric design. “Yes, along with new paint, it would look modern and divine.”

  “Would you like me to order it?”

  “Please, do. And hire someone to put it up. This old stuff will need to be stripped first.”

  “So, who’s invited to the soirée?” Felicia asked carefully. “Grandmama and I could stay a little longer.”

  Ginger smiled. “Of course you are welcome to attend. But to be truthful,
it could turn out to be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? How so?”

  “You do recall the problem of the corpse in the attic?”

  Felicia arched a brow. “How could I forget that!”

  “Well, the dead woman’s name was Eunice Hathaway, and her murder is still unsolved. The last time she was seen was the night of a soirée, hosted in this house by my father.” Ginger paused. “I’m inviting the same people who were there that night.”

  “Ginger! You are an absolute brick! Of course I need to be there now. I’ll be an extra set of eyes and ears.”

  “That would be helpful.”

  “May I ask, will the Schofields be there?”

  Ginger held Felicia’s gaze. “As it so happens Mrs. Schofield was an original attendee. She was with her husband then, but this time I do plan to include Lieutenant Schofield.”

  Felicia grinned. “That’s splendid.”

  “Felicia dear, you must be careful. You know what they say about men.”

  “That they only want one thing?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you trying to be motherly to me Ginger? I quite have enough of that with Grandmama.”

  “I’m only trying to be sisterly,” Ginger said. “Do be careful.”

  “I will. I just want to have a bit of fun before I’m old and grey. Hertfordshire is so frightfully drab.”

  “Here’s something exciting,” Ginger said, “I bought new furniture. It should arrive today or tomorrow.”

  “That is exciting! I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Please do hang about in case it arrives today. Ask them to put the old things in one of the attic rooms.”

  Felicia winked. “But not the attic room.”

  “No, not that one, if you please.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “I have errands to run.

  Ginger sat in her father’s study to make out the invitations. The room was masculine with dark wood panelling and corresponding desk and chair. Her father had spent many hours running his businesses from this room. And many evenings he had relaxed with a glass of spirits and a cigar in the library, most often with his nose in a book.

  As she expected, Ginger found plain white card amongst her father’s things, along with a working fountain pen. She carefully created a personal invitation for each person or couple on the list and sealed them in envelopes. She could give them to Pippins to post, but decided to hand-deliver them. She’d learn more about each suspect—for that was what they were—if she saw where they lived, and how they lived when not on display at a social event.

  Ginger took the cards up to her room and slipped them into her handbag. She removed her day dress and donned her ivory wool suit. It said, take me seriously. She said goodbye to Boss before heading for the garage.

  “Lord Turnbull,” she said to herself, “here I come.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ginger headed towards the Ritz and realised in time that she was about to pass Dr. Longden’s house, and swung in sharply—protesting horns notwithstanding. The surgery was located only a short walk from the doctor’s residence, and the fact that patients were walking into it prompted Ginger to pull up in front.

  The waiting room was full of people who glanced up briefly as Ginger entered before returning their attention to their magazines and newspapers. She approached the receptionist who stood studiously over an opened file cabinet.

  “Would it be possible for me to see Dr. Longden?”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, uh,” Ginger read the name card on the desk, “Miss Bird. I’m not in ill health. He’s a friend of my family and I have something to tell him.”

  “You should arrange to meet him outside of office hours, madam,” Miss Bird said mid-file. “He’s very busy today.”

  “Yes, I see that. Could you tell him Lady Gold was here?”

  The receptionist paused in her filing. “Gold? I don’t recall the name.”

  “Gold is my married name. My family name is Hartigan. George Hartigan was my father.”

  Miss Bird finally gave Ginger her attention. “Yes, I remember Dr. Longden mentioning the loss of a patient who died in America. Boston, wasn’t it?”

  “It was.”

  A nurse entered the waiting room and called for the next patient as another having just seen the doctor, left the surgery.

  “I’m sorry, but he really is very busy today. Would you like me to give him a message?”

  Ginger relented. “Here’s an invitation.” She handed Miss Bird the card. “It’s for a memorial party in my father’s honour. I’m sure Dr. Longden will want to be there.”

  Miss Bird held the invitation firmly in one hand. “I’ll be sure to give it to him.”

  Ginger hadn’t any doubt that the serious woman would do just that.

  Her next stop, the Ritz. As expected, she had trouble getting information from the man at the desk. Even her title didn’t hold much punch with him. Feeling exasperated, Ginger was about to leave the invitation with the pouchy man, when Lord Turnbull himself stepped out of the lift. An L-shaped scar on his tall forehead marred his handsome facial features. His dark hair combed neatly to the side, was shiny from brilliantine. Ginger knew the man was the one she sought because she recognised her father’s former valet, Andrew Bailey, walking one step behind him.

  “Lord Turnbull!”

  The man stopped and turned toward Ginger. He smiled when he took her in, obviously pleased with what he saw.

  “And who, may I ask, is addressing me?”

  “I’m Lady Gold.” She held out a gloved hand and Lord Turnbull made a show of kissing it.

  “Pleased to meet you, Lady Gold. How can I help?”

  “I believe you knew my father, George Hartigan.” Ginger carefully watched the reactions from both men: Andrew Bailey’s eyes rounded at her father’s name. Lord Turnbull stiffened before forcing the return of his smile.

  “Yes, of course. Our paths crossed once in a while through business.”

  An understatement. Ginger knew that Lord Turnbull and her father had in fact been business partners.

  “You must’ve heard that he passed away last year?”

  “No. I hadn’t heard. How sad.”

  The way his mouth twitched slightly when he spoke caused Ginger to wonder at the truthfulness of this statement. Lord Turnbull was doing his best to distance himself from George Hartigan. Why?

  “My deepest condolences, Lady Gold.”

  “Thank you, Lord Turnbull. The reason I’ve called on you is to give you this.” She handed him his invitation. “I request your presence at a memorial party for my father.”

  “I see.” Lord Turnbull’s dark eyes moved from the card to Ginger’s face. He smiled stiffly. “I’m afraid that shan’t be possible.”

  Ginger grabbed at his arm. “Oh, you must! It won’t be a large gathering, just a few who knew my father. Like Mr. Bailey! Surely, as my father’s former valet, he would want to be there, and he can’t possibly come if you don’t, Lord Turnbull.”

  Lord Turnbull struck Ginger as the type of man who found it hard to say no to women—at least she hoped so. She made sure to keep strong eye contact and smiled widely. “Please. You can even bring a companion if you like.”

  “Perhaps I’d like to make you my companion?”

  Ginger laughed. “I’d love that, but unfortunately, I’ll already be there with someone.”

  Lord Turnbull’s mouth pulled up into a half-grin. Ginger perceived he was a man who liked a challenge. Nothing could be more entertaining than pursuing a woman who was already taken.

  “I’ll most certainly attend, Lady Gold.”

  “Fabulous.” She squeezed his arm and winked. “The party wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  Ginger’s next stop was Monsieur and Madame Moreau. Monsieur Moreau showed extreme gratitude at the invitation. Unfortunately, Madame Moreau was away shopping. “I can’t wait for you to meet her,”
he said.

  “I look forward to it,” Ginger replied. She believed she had good intuition and insight into people and found that Monsieur Moreau appeared genuine. No guile or secrets, just honest emotion.

  Lord and Lady Brackenbury were quite the opposite. Ginger had to break through two rounds of servants before she was finally granted an audience. The couple was older, near retirement age, and obviously well set in their ways. It was clear that Ginger was upsetting their routine.

  “So sorry to intrude,” Ginger said warmly. “I’m Lady Gold, daughter of George Hartigan.”

  Lady Brackenbury turned to her husband and spoke loudly, “Who?”

  Lord Brackenbury removed a pipe from his mouth and spoke loudly in return. “George Hartigan’s daughter.”

  “George?”

  “He’s the fellow who died abroad.”

  “He died?”

  Lord Brackenbury nodded at his wife, then turned to face Ginger. “I’m sorry. My wife’s hearing is going, along with her memory.” He slid the pipe back into his mouth, though Ginger was quite certain the instrument wasn’t lit.

  “I understand,” she said. “Father passed away last summer before he could return to London to say goodbye to his friends. I’m hosting a memorial party in his honour and would love you to come.”

  Lord Brackenbury frowned. “We didn’t really know your father that well …”

  “There won’t be very many people there, and quite honestly, I don’t know many of Father’s London friends and acquaintances. I found your names in his diary.” A half-truth. “It would mean so much if you could come. No need to stay long.”

  Lord Brackenbury sighed, removed the pipe, and then conceded. “Lady Brackenbury does like a party. It’s been a while since I’ve taken her anywhere. All right then, we’ll come.”

  Lady Brackenbury tapped her husband’s arm. “What?” she shouted.

  “We’re going to a party!”

  “A party?”

  “Yes!”

  Lady Brackenbury smiled. “I do love a good party.”

  Ginger left the Brackenburys and inwardly celebrated her success. Outside of Dr. Longden, she had met each one in person. She really didn’t know what to make of Lord and Lady Brackenbury, or quite understand their connection to her father. Ten years makes a big difference at their age. They were likely both a force to reckon with a decade earlier.