by Lee Strauss
“With only twelve chapters, it would have to be from the apocryphal book of Ecclesiasticus.” Ginger pointed to the bookshelf. “There’s a Bible with the Apocrypha on the bottom right.”
Basil retrieved the thick, leather-bound book and thumbed through it.
“Ecclesiastes 23:15. The man that is accustomed to opprobrious words will never be reformed all the days of his life.”
Ginger’s forehead crumpled. “Opprobrious words.”
“Expressing scorn or criticism.”
“What could it mean?” Ginger asked. “Do you think it’s referring to a specific person?”
“I don’t know.”
“The word ‘reform’ possibly refers to the revolution in Russia.” Ginger said. “It was a Russian aristocrat that was killed.”
“Let’s go with that theory. Who would’ve benefited by receiving this message? Who would want to send it?”
Ginger stared at the easel again.
“We’re forgetting about the rest of the code. Applying the same system, we get nothing. 8h would be H8. 849h is HdI8. Doesn’t make sense.”
Basil emptied his glass and set it on the sideboard. He turned, his hazel eyes boring into hers.
“Ginger.”
Ginger stilled, dread creeping through her as she guessed at what Basil was about to say.
“It’s not necessary,” she said softly.
“I daresay it is. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I must. I know I’ve wronged you. I’ve led you to believe I cared about you beyond our burgeoning friendship and that’s because I do care about you. I wasn’t trifling with your feelings. I’d never do that.”
“You’re interested in me?”
“Yes.”
“But?” If Basil’s wife had not been unfaithful, if he hadn’t been separated from his wife for as long as he had, Ginger would never have opened her heart to him.
Basil emitted a heavy sigh. “Emelia is my wife. She’s begged my forgiveness. We’ve been married for eleven years. I’m compelled to give it another try.”
Pain squeezed Ginger’s heart. This was her own fault. Despite his indication that a divorce was imminent, Basil was married. She’d known that.
And she respected how he wanted to honour his vows.
“It’s fine,” Ginger said, forcing a smile. “I understand.”
Basil dipped his chin. “I should go.”
Ginger walked Basil through the entrance hall. “We can be good friends.” She extended her hand, a peace offering, and Basil took it, relief spreading across his face.
“Friends.”
Chapter Fourteen
When Haley returned home from her day of classes, Ginger poured them both a sherry and offered a crystal glass to Haley when she entered the sitting room.
Haley took the glass and sipped before collapsing on the settee. She watched Ginger curiously. “Hard day?”
“Interesting day.” Ginger relayed the time she and Basil had spent interviewing Lady Lyon and Princess Altenhofen, and his most recent visit, but excluding his declaration of affection. Some things were personal and meant to be held close to the chest.
“I’m very concerned about Scout,” she said when she got to that part of her narrative.
Haley commiserated. “At least he has you and the work you’re doing with Reverend Hill.”
Ginger flushed at the memory of that awkward moment. Today was apparently the day for declarations. She sipped her sherry before Haley could intuit anything.
Haley nodded towards the easel. “Did your graph help?”
“Not so far. It’s a very troubling case.”
Haley crossed her legs, pulling at the hosiery that had twisted at her ankles. “Certainly not cut-and-dried,” she said.
Ginger held a palm to her lips in an effort to hold in a yawn. She felt emotionally and physically exhausted. “Anyway, enough about me. How was your day?”
“Lectures mostly.”
“Boring?”
“Nothing about medicine is boring to me,” Haley said, brightening at the change of topic. “Only, I’m happiest when I can get my hands dirty. Get in there with a scalpel.”
“I suppose Dr. Watts isn’t calling on you to assist him so much now that Dr. Gupta is here.”
“Dr. Watts favours Dr. Gupta, of course. I miss being his first in line.”
“I guess you’ll have to become Dr. Gupta’s first in line.”
Haley stared into space. “You might be right.”
Ginger giggled and Haley scowled. “For the sake of my education, Ginger, that’s all.”
With a twinkle in her eye Ginger answered, “I didn’t mean to imply anything else.”
“About your case,” Haley said, changing the subject. “Have you and the chief inspector a theory as to why two women at your gala had fainting fits?”
“Lady Whitmore claims it was the flu, but Princess Sophia has made no comment. Originally, I believed it was coincidental to the grand duchess’ demise, but now I’m not so sure.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I’ve had time to ponder.” Ginger tapped at her lips with her well-manicured fingernail. “Both incidences made opportunity for someone to sneak upstairs unseen.”
“Maybe the grand duchess dropped something in Princess Sophia’s drink to create a diversion,” Haley said. “It was clear she and the princess didn’t care for one another, so if it didn’t matter who the grand duchess chose, then why not someone she disliked?”
“Exactly. But if the grand duchess delivered her shawl upstairs at that time why the second victim? Why Lady Whitmore?”
Haley pressed her lips together. “I’m not sure.”
“Perhaps there was a second person in need of a different kind of diversion. Lady Whitmore’s sudden malady prevented Lord Whitmore from going upstairs to retrieve the shawl.”
Haley rested her glass on her lap and nodded. “Someone besides yourself knew Lord Whitmore works for the British secret service.”
“It’s a possibility.”
Voices echoed through the foyer and Felicia burst into the sitting room. She’d brought one of the other gentleman actors home, Matthew Haines, the fellow who played the detective in Sham.
“Oh, Mr. Haines,” Ginger said. “Hello.”
Matthew Haines’s eyes were on the easel and Ginger quickly rose, positioning herself to block his view. “Would you like a drink?” she asked lightly.
Matthew glanced at Felicia and she nodded.
“I can get it,” Felicia said. “What would you like?” Matthew followed Felicia to the sideboard, and Ginger took that moment to rip the page off the easel, fold it twice and slip it under her chair. Haley watched with approval.
Felicia and Matthew joined them, drinks in hand. Ginger noted that Matthew held his drink in his left hand.
“Are you from London?” she asked. She suspected not, but she couldn’t quite place his accent.
“No, I’m an immigrant. Russian, actually. Not something I like to advertise, under the current politic climate.”
“Matthew and Haines are English names,” Ginger said.
“My mother is Russian. She calls me Matvei. My stepfather is as English as they come.”
Boss moseyed over and hopped onto Ginger’s lap. “Mr. Haines, what do you know about the grand duchess?”
Matthew Haines raised a shoulder. “I never had much to do with the Russian aristocracy, and they’re always breeding with you lot—no offence, Lady Gold. I’m just a simple bloke working for my next meal.”
“I see.” Ginger turned her attention to Felicia who seemed in bright spirits. She crossed her legs, bouncing the top one as she’d been known to do when she was looking for attention from the opposite sex. As usual, it worked this time too, and Matthew was quite mesmerized by Felicia’s shapely calf.
Ginger cleared her throat, gaining Felicia’s attention. “And what are your plans now?”
“Now that Mr. McGuire has to drop Sh
am,” Felicia said, “the director is opening early auditions for the next play. Mr. Haines and I are going to learn our lines. I’ve decided to audition for the role of the leading lady.”
Matthew rubbed his moustache and pushed up on his spectacles. He grinned at Felicia mischievously. “What if I want to audition for the leading lady?”
Felicia giggled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why not? Men played the female roles during Shakespeare’s time.” Matthew jumped to his feet and plucked Felicia’s discarded shawl and cloche from a chair. He tied the shawl around his waist like a skirt and stuck the hat on his head.
“Mr. Haines!” Felicia declared. The sitting room filled with the ripple of her laughter.
“I’m Mrs. Plum,” Matthew said with a convincing falsetto. “I’m here to steal the leading lady role from you.”
Felicia played along. “I expect your moustache may be a problem, madam.”
Matthew stroked his upper lip. “Oh yes. This unfortunate creature is hereditary. My grandmother knitted a scarf after shaving hers off.”
Felicia roared with laughter as Matthew removed his props.
Ginger and Haley applauded the short performance. “Well done, Mr. Haines.”
Matthew bowed.
“Felicia, you’d better start practicing if you hope for a chance to win this part,” Ginger said.
Felicia giggled. “Apparently!”
“Would you like to use this room?” Ginger offered.
Felicia was on her feet collecting her things. “No, we shall use the drawing room. The acoustics are better there.”
Matthew finished his drink and set his empty tumbler on the table. It was then that Ginger noticed scratches on Matthew’s hands.”
“Run-in with a cat?” Ginger said with a smile as she pointed a long fingernail in Matthew’s direction. Matthew made a show of examining his wounds.
“Nah, that’s from my ineffectual offer to help one of the stage hands shift a backdrop around. Deuced thing ended up hitting the floor. Good intentions, though, you know.”
Felicia and Matthew left in good humour.
Haley raised a dark brow. “That was quite the show.”
“Felicia seems to be taken with Mr. Haines,” Ginger said, frowning. Felicia had fallen into the habit of playing with men’s feelings—a cycle of flirting, dating, then growing bored, and often leaving a forlorn man in her wake. She wondered how long before Mr. Haines would be crying in his soup.
Chapter Fifteen
Pippins tapped on the frame of the morning room door. “Madam, a gentleman is here to see you.”
Ginger’s heart did a small somersault. Was it Basil? And blast him for making her heart jump!
Pippins continued. “A Superintendent Morris, madam. From the Yard. He’d like to see Miss Higgins, as well.”
Haley shot Ginger a look before wiping her wide mouth with a linen serviette and followed her to the sitting room. Boss scampered after them.
Ginger hadn’t met Superintendent Morris, had only heard about him briefly from Basil. Whenever Morris’s name came up, Basil was always keen to move off the topic.
“What a surprise, Superintendent,” Ginger said as he entered the sitting room. The man was oversized in height and girth. His trench coat pinched at his armpits and opened to reveal a waistcoat with buttons that looked like they were about to pop. She shook his hand. “Please have a seat.”
“No, no, no, I’ll stand if you don’t mind.” The superintendent turned to Haley. “And you must be Miss Higgins? I’m assuming because of your studious costume and your age.” He nodded as if he’d just performed a magic trick, displaying his gift of deduction.
Haley looked affronted and didn’t offer a reply.
The superintendent’s gaze moved around the room resting momentarily on the Mermaid painting above the hearth. All men did this when they first entered the sitting room. The superintendent’s brow wrinkled when his eyes found the blank easel in the corner, and Ginger was glad she’d removed her investigation sketch.
Ginger and Haley sat, and Ginger motioned to the superintendent. “Please have a seat.”
“I’ll stand if that is all right with you.”
“If that’s what you prefer. How may we help you?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” the superintendent said. “Let me see. You were at the event at, what is it . . . ?” He flipped through his notebook, “Yes, Feathers & Flair.” He laughed. “At first I thought it was a shop for shooting sports.”
Ginger frowned.
“You were there?” Superintendent Morris repeated.
“Yes, of course. It’s my shop. I planned and promoted the event.”
“And Miss Higgins, you were there also?”
Haley was on record with the police as being in attendance. She scowled at the superintendent. “I was.”
Morris swivelled to face Ginger. “Lady Gold, how was it that certain members of the public came to be in attendance?”
“Through personal and public invitation,” Ginger said. “We advertised the gala at the shop.”
“I see. So you didn’t know the grand duchess?”
“No. I met her for the first time at my event.”
The man paced the Persian carpet. Boss looked up from his spot by the fireplace and let out a low growl. Morris continued, “Miss Higgins, would you also say you didn’t know the grand duchess or a lady known as Mary Parker?”
Haley shook her head. “No. Is that her real name? Why would you think I might know her?”
“She’s spent some time in America.”
“I spent twenty years in America,” Ginger said. “I’ve never heard the name before.”
Morris placed a thick finger to his lips. “Right, right, right.” He spun on his heel mid-pace and narrowed his eyes at Ginger. “Of course, you wouldn’t be likely to tell me the truth, would you, Mrs. Gold?”
Ginger was quick to note how Morris dropped her title. She stared back sternly. “And why would I not tell you the truth?”
“Is it true you spent time in France during the war?”
“Yes,” Ginger said. “Both Miss Higgins and I did. She as a nurse, and I was a telephone operator.”
Morris scoffed. “A nurse and a telephone operator?”
“Yes. What is so funny about that?”
“Let’s say, for the sake of form, that it was true. Where you not both in Beauvais, France during the same week?”
Haley furrowed her brow. “We met there briefly. Forgive me, but what are you trying to get at?”
Ginger’s feathers were ruffled. After the war, she had signed the Official Secrets Act. She was forbidden by law to discuss the details of that time with anyone. Not even Haley, whom she trusted implicitly, and quite honestly, that restriction grieved her. There were times when she longed to talk about the part she had played in the war. If only she could speak about it, she might feel some relief, might be able to fulfill some sort of penance, some sort of absolution. As it was, she was yoked to her secrets—an unbearable sentence on most days. This was why she worked so hard to forget. Keep as busy as possible with work at the shop, find a diversion in solving puzzles that will bring wicked people to justice. Stay “happy” to spread happiness.
Morris was about to break that law for her.
“Superintendent Morris,” she said sharply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m certain Miss Higgins doesn’t.” She hoped Morris would pick up on her meaning, but somehow she doubted this bluff fellow was intuitive enough. A sideways glance at Haley told Ginger that she had got the message.
“Right, right, right.” Morris blundered on. “I understand you’re not permitted to speak of it. Did you meet Mary Parker in France?”
“Who is Mary Parker?” Ginger asked.
“The alias of Grand Duchess Olga Pavlovna Orlova.”
Ginger and Haley shared a look. Why hadn’t Basil informed Ginger of this new information? She questioned the superintendent. “Doe
s Chief Inspector Reed know you’re here?”
“I do not answer to Chief Inspector Reed. In fact, it is the other way around. Now, please answer the question.”
“I did not meet a lady of that name in France,” Ginger stated.
“Neither did I,” Haley said. “Why? Was she there?”
“She was, Miss Higgins. She was there in the same capacity as I believe you and Mrs. Gold were. Miss Parker worked for MI5. She also worked for the Kremlin.”
Ginger huffed at the man’s bull-headedness.
“What are you saying, Superintendent Morris?” Haley asked.
“I’m saying Mary Parker was working for both the Russian government and the British.”
Ginger didn’t know why she was surprised. She’d already guessed that the grand duchess was an agent, but she hadn’t suspected that the lady had been working for two sides.
“It all makes sense now,” Haley muttered, her eyes latching onto Ginger. “My mysterious friend.”
Ginger shrugged subtly, and offered a soft apologetic smile. Ginger’s history working for the secret service during the war wasn’t hers to share, though there had been a million moments when she had wanted to. Especially with Haley. And with Basil. Now that their relationship was strained, she was thankful she hadn’t given in to temptation with him.
When Ginger focused back on Morris her countenance was anything but soft. His indiscretion was uncalled for.
“I think you did know Mary Parker,” he continued, “and she threatened to uncover one of your secrets Mrs. Gold, and you—”
“Broke her neck?” Ginger held up her slender fingers.
“Your gala was a terrific cover, producing a herd of suspects whilst providing none at all!”
“Superintendent Morris!” Haley sprung to her feet. “I must protest.”
Morris ignored her outburst and remained focused on Ginger. He counted on three stubby fingers. “You had means, motive, and opportunity.” He nearly shouted at Haley. “And so did you, Miss Higgins. Together, you could’ve planned this murder.”
Haley, with hands on wide hips and a cutting glare, responded. “Neither Lady Gold nor I had anything to do with this.”
