by Lee Strauss
Ginger sat up in her motorcar, cursing its complicated procedure, and again promising herself she’d get a new motorcar one day. She set the ignition, the throttle, and then the choke before reaching for the starter button with her foot. She put her weight on the button, and the engine sputtered to life.
Pressing the clutch to the floor, she put the motorcar into first gear then, while slowly releasing the clutch with one foot, she added petrol with the other. The motorcar didn’t have a heater, but simply starting the beast was enough to work up a sweat.
Unlike Boston, where snow, and lots of it, was a natural part of winter, Londoners had little practice driving in winter conditions. If it snowed it wasn’t very heavy and didn’t last long. Mostly, it was endless dreary days of rain. Ginger had forgotten after so many winter seasons away, but it all came back to her now.
Ginger signalled to cut into the crowded mass of vehicles that inched their way towards Mayfair. One really ought to draw lines on the road and make clear lanes, Ginger thought. Someone was going to get in an—
The motorcar in front of her suddenly stopped and even though Ginger pumped the brake, it wasn’t enough to keep her from slipping along the sleet buildup and slamming into the vehicle’s back bumper. Her body jerked backwards just as the Daimler was hit from behind. Horns blared loudly.
Ginger clasped the back of her neck and yelped. “Oh, my word!”
She tried to open the driver’s door, but the latch wouldn’t give. She was stuck! A man rushed to the passenger side, swung that door open, and stretched out his hand.
“Madam, let me help you.”
“I don’t know if I can move around the gear stick.” She groaned. “I’ve done something to my neck.”
“Just go slowly, madam. I’m parked on the next street out of ’arms way. I can take you to the surgery.”
Ginger did as she was urged. She eased across the front bench seat, untangling her coat as she passed the gear stick.
“This is so kind of you, Mr . . . ”
“Ward.”
“Mr. Ward.”
The man tipped his flat cap. “If it were my wife, I’d ’ope someone would ’elp ’er in a pinch like this.”
A police officer approached. “Madam, is this your motorcar?”
Ginger stared at the damaged Daimler, both bumpers crushed and the headlamps broken.
“It is. Is it all right for me to leave it here?”
“We’ll have it towed away, madam. Can I have your name and telephone number, if you have one?”
“Lady Gold. Mallowan 1355.”
The officer scribbled the information on his notepad. “Did you see what happened?”
Mr. Ward interjected. “Officer, the lady’s trembling.”
Ginger hadn’t noticed how badly she was shaking until the gentleman mentioned it.
“Yes, very well. Someone will call you, Lady Gold.”
As Mr. Ward ushered Ginger away, she cradled her wounded neck.
“Please would you bring my handbag, Mr. Ward?”
The kindly man darted back to the Daimler, found the bag in question on the floor, and carried it for Ginger. She memorised Mr. Ward’s vehicle registration number and would ask Pippins to send him a token of thanks.
Ginger wasn’t the only driver from the pileup to be taken to the nearest surgery, which belonged to Dr. Warren Longden, the doctor she’d met before on a previous case when a death had occurred in the drawing room at Hartigan House. On that occasion a lord appeared to have succumbed to a heart attack but it turned out to be something far more sinister.
A nurse accompanied Ginger to one of the patient rooms, asked Ginger preliminary questions, and made notes in her file.
While Ginger waited her turn to see the doctor, she mentally reviewed the case. The blue diamond worn by Mary Parker in her role as a Russian grand duchess was a paste. Miss Parker delivered her shawl with its secret message to the upper floor at Feathers & Flair, too early for the intended recipient to have the opportunity to pick it up. Lady Lyon stole the fake diamond, but insisted that Miss Parker was already dead.
Princess Sophia von Altenhofen knew the diamond Miss Parker wore to the gala was fake because the real one was under a mattress in her suite at the Ritz. Lord Whitmore, a British agent, was careful not to incriminate himself in the death of Miss Parker. He gave no information about what she had hidden in the shawl, or about the code written on the cigarette paper. He’d sent his wife on an errand to retrieve the shawl, but she’d failed.
Lord Whitmore admitted to having an affair with the princess. Whether or not the princess had been involved in any espionage was unclear.
A tap on the door announced Dr. Longden.
“Lady Gold,” he said kindly. “I hear you’ve got caught up in a motorcar accident.”
“Yes. With the sleet coming on, the road became slippery.”
“A four-car pileup,” Dr. Longden said. He moved the eyeglasses that rested on the top of his grey head onto his nose and referred to his notes. “Apparently you were the third vehicle.”
“How do you know?”
“I just treated the gentleman who was in front of you.”
Ginger groaned. She supposed all the vehicles involved were now on their way to a motorcar garage for repairs.
The doctor dug through the pocket of his white coat and flashed a small but bright torch into her eyes. “Where does it hurt?”
“The back of my neck, all the way up to my skull.”
“Yes. I fear you have pulled the muscles in your neck.”
“I see,” Ginger said. “How do you treat it?”
“Aspirin for the pain. Rest, of course. But it’s imperative that you don’t injure your neck further. Thankfully, the impact was at low speed. I’ll outfit you with a neck brace to speed up the healing process.”
Oh, mercy.
“Perhaps you should lie down while you wait.”
A wave of fatigue washed over her with the suggestion. She almost nodded in agreement, but caught herself before she moved her head. “Yes.”
Dr. Longden helped swing her legs up on the examination table and lowered her slowly until her head rested on a pillow.
Her eyes immediately fluttered close.
A tapping on the door followed. The nurse entered. “Lady Gold, you have someone here who insists on seeing you. Seeing as he’s your vicar, I’ve allowed it.”
Ginger smiled at the sight of Oliver Hill’s lanky body and crooked grin. His ginger brows lifted at seeing her.
“Ginger, I came as soon as I heard.”
“How did you hear?”
“One of my parishioners witnessed the motorcar smash. He recognised you.”
“Darn red hair.”
Oliver smiled. “You are going to be all right, aren’t you?”
“Of course, I am. I’m just waiting for a special piece of jewellery to arrive, and then the good doctor shall allow me to go home.”
Oliver scratched his head. “Jewellery?”
“A neck brace.”
“Ah, of course.”
“It was good of you to come, Oliver. I admit, the whole thing gave me a fright. At first, I thought I may have broken my neck. I was never so glad to be able to wiggle my fingers and toes, especially since they were already frozen stiff.”
Oliver placed his hand on her arm in a gesture of comfort. “I’m always here for you, Ginger.”
Another tap on the door and instead of Dr. Longden, the nurse entered again. “You’re a popular lady, Lady Gold. If he weren’t the Chief Inspector…”
“Basil?”
“I don’t mean to intrude,” Basil said as he removed his hat. “I heard about the accident and when your name appeared on the list of drivers involved . . . I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Like I was telling Reverend Hill,” Ginger said, “I’m waiting on the doctor for a neck brace, and then I can rest at home.”
Oliver stood and moved away from the examination table. The room was sm
all, and the two men juggled to find a spot to stand whilst keeping a comfortable distance between them.
Oliver reached out his hand. “Hello, Chief Inspector. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Oliver Hill, vicar at St. George’s City of London.”
They shook hands while Basil said, “How do you do, Reverend?”
Basil looked to Ginger and back to Oliver. “And how do you two know each other?”
“Ginger . . . Lady Gold, very generously set up a charity through our diocese to help feed the children who live in the streets.”
Basil ducked his chin. “Lady Gold is indeed generous.”
Ginger felt self-conscious. “Reverend Hill does the majority of the work.”
“Well, with the help of my secretary, Mrs. Davies. She’s very good at organizing things.”
Basil drummed his hat with his fingers. “Splendid.”
An awkward silence descended.
Ginger couldn’t help comparing the two men as they stood side by side. Attractive in a conventional way, Basil stood straight with dark hair and brooding hazel eyes. His well-fitted suit and tie, polished leather shoes, and new hat completed the look. He was the law, and there was no denying the authority he possessed.
Oliver was taller and more slender, with a tendency to hunch to lessen his height. His blue-green eyes were trimmed with pale lashes. Freckles were sprinkled across his nose. Wayward wavy red hair sprang out in various directions in spite of the weight of the oil he used to manage it Though not model handsome, he had a very pleasing face, always smiled, and possessed a childlike joy. His standard wear of the black vicar’s robe and white collar gave him a commanding presence, although his was of the spiritual kind.
Dr. Longden’s return to the room snapped Ginger out of her thoughts. He stared in surprise at the two men. “Hello, Chief Inspector Reed, Reverend Hill.”
Along with Ginger, the doctor had worked with Basil on the case that transpired in the drawing room of Hartigan House, but how were the doctor and Oliver acquainted?
Oliver answered her unspoken question.
“We’ve missed you at St. George’s, Doctor.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been busy with my practice. Perhaps this Sunday.” He squeezed inside holding the neck brace up in the air. “Um, if you gentlemen wouldn’t mind?”
“I’ll wait for you, Ginger,” Basil said. “I’d be happy to drive you home.”
“No, no,” Oliver countered. It would be my pleasure to give you a lift, Ginger.”
“He’s right, Basil,” Ginger said. “You have other … responsibilities.” The frustrated look on Basil’s face pleased her. After all, there was Emelia Reed to consider.
“Very well. Good day.” Basil said, begrudgingly. He placed his trilby on his head, gave a quick nod, and turned on his heel.
As if he’d just won a round, Oliver beamed.
And who knew? Ginger thought. Maybe he had.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ginger couldn’t escape the notice of Pippins’ ever-watchful eye. It didn’t help that she hadn’t arrived by the back entrance like she usually did when driving the Daimler. Instead, she came through the front entrance assisted by the reverend.
A look of horror crossed the butler’s wrinkled face when he took in the neck brace. “Good gracious, madam!”
“Your mistress has been in a motorcar smash,” Oliver explained.
Pippins hurried to Ginger’s side. “Are you all right?”
“Nothing that a hot bath and a cup of tea won’t cure.”
“I’ll send Lizzie upstairs straightaway to draw you a bath. Where would you like to go right now? The sitting room or upstairs?”
“I believe I’ll go straight to my room.” Ginger longed to finally peel off her wet things.
“I’ll assist Lady Gold upstairs,” Oliver said. Pippins bowed, then went to search for Lizzie.
“Place your arm in mine for balance,” Oliver instructed.
Ginger acquiesced and took hold of the banister with one hand and Oliver’s arm with the other. Unfortunately, they ran into Ambrosia who was on her way down.
“Oh, dear Lord, Georgia! What on earth?”
“It’s nothing, Grandmother. I only got caught in a little motorcar incident.”
“I knew an accident with that thing was inevitable. Everyone has to have an automobile these days. No wonder there’s not enough room on the road for everyone.” She shook her head in disapproval, the soft skin on her face jiggling with the effort.
“The sleet was the culprit, Grandmother.”
“But you’ve been injured!”
“Just a pulled muscle. I’ll be okay in no time.”
Ambrosia narrowed her gaze at Oliver. “Since you’re a man of the cloth, I allow for you to help Lady Gold to her room, but not an inch over the threshold!”
“Yes, milady,” Oliver said seriously. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
Ambrosia continued on, one bony hand gripping the banister and the other on her silver-handled walking stick.
Ginger paused at her bedroom door. “I can make it from here,” she said. “Since you’re officially my friend now, it’s my duty to save you from my grandmother-in-law’s wrath.”
Oliver smiled and bowed. “It’s been my pleasure to take you this far.”
Ginger rested her hand on the doorknob. “Well, thank you.”
“May I ask, and please don’t think me presumptuous or uncaring,” the reverend averted his eyes and then looked directly at Ginger. “Will you still be attending the dance?”
“Dance? Oh, yes, the charity event.” Ginger had been so distracted the last few days that she’d completely forgotten about it.
“When is it, again?”
“Saturday night.” Oliver gestured to his neck. “I can understand with your . . .”
Ginger placed her fingers along her neck brace. The aspirin Dr. Longden had given her had worked, and her neck didn’t feel nearly as sore as it had earlier. The weekend was four days away.
“I think I should be all right to attend, Oliver, but I don’t think I’ll be doing any dancing.”
“I’ll pick you up since you no longer have a motorcar. It’ll be good for the people to see your dedication. Oh, I do hope that doesn’t sound unfeeling. Your health and wellbeing, of course, take top priority.”
“It’s okay, Oliver. I want the charity dance to be a success as much as you do.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at seven.”
It sounded suspiciously like a date. She’d agreed to friendship, but Ginger didn’t want Oliver to believe it could ever be more than that. “Miss Gold and the dowager shall need a lift, too.”
“Splendid. I’m honoured to drive all the Gold ladies. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Oliver paused at the door before he left, taking in her discomfort. “I’ll find your maid.”
“Thank you, Oliver.” Ginger had to admire the vicar’s thoughtfulness.
She eased into one of her bedroom chairs and attempted to strip out of her wet clothing. Her hosiery was particularly difficult to remove, and Ginger was tempted to get the scissors and just cut the darn things off.
She collapsed in relief when Lizzie tapped on her door.
“Bath is ready for you, madam. And Reverend Hill told me you need help undressing.”
“That’s correct. I do.”
Lizzie expertly removed Ginger’s clothing, all the time remaining professional and discreet. “The reverend is quite a handsome man, isn’t he?”
Ginger stilled. “I suppose he is.”
“Do you know if he’s married?”
Though Ginger had no right to feel anything regarding the vicar, her maid’s question annoyed her.
“It’s my understanding that he’s currently content without a wife.”
“I see.” Lizzie wrapped Ginger in a satin dressing gown and helped her to the bathroom.
Black and white tiles covered the floor. A rectangular yellow mat lay in front of
the porcelain claw-foot bathtub. Ginger removed her collar and handed it to Lizzie, then carefully lowered herself into the tub. The warmth of the streaming water felt silky. Hoping the hot water would loosen the muscles of her neck, she dipped down until the water touched her chin.
“I added some salts to the water,” Lizzie said. “I’ve heard it’s good for relaxing the body.”
“Thank you, Lizzie, you’re a gem. I’ll ring when I’m ready to get out.”
Lizzie placed the hand bell on the edge of the tub, turned off the tap, and left Ginger alone.
Ginger was about to ring the bell when Lizzie tapped on the bathroom door. “Madam, there’s a caller for you. I told him you were indisposed, but he said it was urgent.”
Ginger’s mind raced through the possibilities. She couldn’t imagine a caller who could possibly have an ‘urgent’ message other than Oliver or Basil. “Who is it?”
“A Captain Smithwick, madam.”
Despite the warmth of the bathwater, Ginger’s blood cooled.
“Where is he now?”
“In the sitting room.”
Ginger held her breath as she recalled Felicia’s plans for the day. It would be dreadful for her to accidentally run into him after how he had treated her in the past. The captain had led her sister-in-law to believe that he fancied her, in fact was preparing to ask for her hand in marriage. In the end, the blighter had admitted to Ginger that he was only using Felicia to get to her.
Ginger could relax. Felicia was auditioning with Matthew Haines at the Abbott Theatre today.
“Tell the captain I’ll be with him shortly.”
“Yes, madam. Please wait, and I’ll help you to get ready.”
Ginger’s head began to throb as her neck tightened, and she reluctantly agreed she could use her maid’s help. Lizzie returned before too long, and soon, Ginger was out of the tub, dry, and with the neck brace fastened around her neck.
If it hadn’t been for the supposed urgency, Ginger wouldn’t have worried about letting the captain wait. As it was, her curiosity was piqued. Basil had obviously made an attempt to contact the captain, and here he was in her sitting room.
“The green tea dress shall do,” she said to Lizzie. “The white scarf for my neck. It won’t hide this unbecoming collar, but it’ll mask it a little.
