by Lee Strauss
“Nicely done,” Haley said as she rescued two flutes of champagne from a waiter’s tray as he traipsed by, handing one to Ginger. Taking their places, Haley sat next to Ginger who sat next to Ambrosia who sat next to Felicia, leaving three available chairs between Felicia and Haley.
“What’s on the menu?” Felicia said, casually. “I’m starving.”
“We’ll begin with French onion soup, followed by black haddock with sharp sauce, then filet mignon with chateau potatoes and creamed carrots and finally, clafoutis.”
“Sounds scrummy,” Haley said. “Any chance you were missing France when you drew up this menu?”
“It’s possible,” Ginger admitted.
“What on earth is clawfoots?” Ambrosia demanded.
“Clafoutis,” Ginger explained, “is a French baked fruit and custard dessert.”
“Then why not just call it a fruit custard?” Ambrosia said with a huff. “The French are so pretentious.”
Chapter Four
Ladies in gorgeous gowns and stylish headpieces and men in dinner jackets filled the dining room. The energy increased and the chatter grew loud. A young couple approached—the gentleman wore round pince-nez on a prominent nose and gently guided his wife, a serious-looking woman who didn’t bother with cosmetics. She was also large with child.
Ambrosia gasped imperceptibly. Social etiquette prevented the dowager from expressing her opinions aloud, but Ginger was sure she would get an earful on how women today had no social graces or sense of propriety. A lady should never be seen in public in such a state!
The gentleman guided his wife into the seat beside Felicia and said, “Good evening. I’m Humphrey Roe, and this is my wife, Dr. Stopes.”
“How do you do, Mr. Roe?” Ginger said brightly. Wearing long black satin gloves that reached her elbow, she extended a hand. “And Dr. Stopes, how wonderful to meet you in person.”
“Oh, my hat!” Felicia’s eyes widened in wonder. “You’re the Dr. Stopes? My friends think you’re an absolute brick!”
Dr. Stopes smiled. “Humphrey and I are doing what we can to promote women’s health.”
Dr. Stopes promoted more than women’s health, she was newsworthy because of her controversial agenda promoting birth control, which seemed ironic given her current state of expectancy.
The chair beside Mr. Roe was pulled back, and Ginger was surprised to see Dr. Brennan claiming the empty seat beside Haley.
“Lady Gold, Miss Higgins,” he said, bowing. “How lovely to see you both again.”
“Likewise,” Ginger said.
Dr. Brennan leaned back as his eyes scanned Ginger from top to toe. She forced herself not to shiver in dismay. “Lady Gold, your dress simply begs to be devoured.”
“Dr. Brennan!” Ginger flushed at being spoken to with such spice in front of her in-laws.
“Excuse my forwardness. I meant no offence. I’m just overcome in the presence of so much beauty.” Dr. Brennan smiled at the rest of the occupants at the table before seating himself. “Miss Higgins, I barely recognised you out of your normal tweed uniform. You’re rather pretty when you take the time for it.”
Ginger gaped at the professor, appalled. Haley stared indifferently. If only Ginger had Haley’s ability to let what others said and thought of her fall away like oil on water. Ginger sipped her champagne before making proper introductions. “This is my grandmother and sister-in-law, the dowager Lady Gold and Miss Felicia Gold. Beside you is Mr. Roe and his wife, Dr. Stopes. This is Dr. Sean Brennan, a professor at the medical school.”
Dr. Brennan nodded slightly to the ladies and then reached over to shake Mr. Roe’s hand. To Mr. Roe’s wife he said, “Dr. Stopes, your reputation precedes you.”
Dr. Stopes wasn’t the type to be enchanted with charismatic men. “As long as the message is getting out.”
The French onion soup was delivered by a legion of waiters. There was a moment of silence as each one tasted the entrée before conversation resumed.
Dr. Brennan’s attention reverted back to Dr. Stopes. “Your emphasis on eugenics is raising some eyebrows as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I assure you, Dr. Brennan, my focus is on empowering women. And choosing when to have children is a large part of that. The working class is in need of it most.”
“Oh, my,” Ambrosia said, with a flutter. “Is there not a more suitable subject to speak about over dinner?”
“Society has hushed the needs of women since the beginning of time, Lady Gold,” Dr. Stopes said, undaunted by the dowager’s status. “Unnecessary hardships are continually placed on our gender, and it’s time the social muzzle is removed.” She patted her rounded stomach. “The function of our bodies is perfectly natural, and we shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed.”
Ambrosia glanced over her shoulder and muttered to Ginger. “I don’t suppose you can muzzle her.”
“I think your work is fascinating,” Felicia gushed. “We are modern women in modern times.”
“I’m a great supporter,” Dr. Brennan added. His gaze landed on Ginger. “I understand you are behind this wonderful event, Lady Gold.”
Ginger had kept her part in organising the event quiet, so she was surprised Dr. Brennan knew.
“Yes,” she answered. “I feel women should have every opportunity to be educated, equal to men.”
“Obviously I agree since I now have the great pleasure to teach here.” Dr. Brennan’s attention moved to Haley. “How about you, Miss Higgins? Do you enjoy student life?”
“I do, Dr. Brennan.”
The soup bowls were removed soundlessly and replaced with the black haddock. Felicia was conversing with Dr. Stopes, but their voices were too low for Ginger to hear.
The opposite was true with Dr. Brennan and Mr. Roe. They were engaged in a robust conversation about the horse races. Ginger listened in, as she’d been thinking about restoring the stable behind Hartigan House and getting a horse. She loved to ride and loved horses in general.
“I’ve heard some of the races have been . . . compromised,” Mr. Roe said with a grimace.
“How so?” Dr. Brennan asked.
“Word is the Italian mafia is involved.”
Ginger couldn’t keep her surprise to herself. “I’m sorry to be listening in on your conversation, but did I hear you say the mafia? I didn’t think such a thing was in existence in England.” Ginger knew gangs in America were a growing problem, but here?
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Roe said, his tone serious. “The leader’s name is Charles Sabini. He likes to keep things quiet, but it’s believed by many that he’s behind a lot of organised crime in London.”
“I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised, with the rise of ‘Little Italy’ in Clerkenwell,” Dr. Stopes added.
“I don’t know much about organised crime,” Dr. Brennan said, “but I’ve had the pleasure of eating Italian food. I served in Italy during the war. Lost many good men in the battle of Caporetto.” His countenance darkened then cheered again. “But the food—they do this marvellous thing with noodles. It’s their main dish.”
“Is that so?” Felicia said. “I’ve only tasted macaroni made with milk for dessert. Not my favourite, I might add.”
“There are plenty of Italians in Boston,” Haley said. “I’ve had opportunity to eat it on occasion. Quite delectable.”
“I dare say you are right, Miss Higgins,” Dr. Brennan said eagerly, “they cook it with tomato sauce and grated cheese.”
Ambrosia’s wrinkled face wrinkled further. “Sounds dreadful to me.”
“It did to me as well,” Dr. Brennan said, “until I tasted it.”
“I feel I’ve been missing out,” Ginger said.
Dr. Brennan was about to say something when a familiar voice from the front addressed the room.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Dr. Watts stood behind the podium with a small copper megaphone in hand. His shoulders slumped, and the bags under his eyes relayed his state of fatigue. Had Ginger
known of his wife’s illness, she wouldn’t have insisted he participate in tonight’s events.
He lifted the megaphone to his lips. “For those who don’t know, I’m Dr. Watts, chief administrator of the London School of Medicine for Women. Heartily, I welcome you here tonight.”
That elicited a round of polite applause.
“I’m pleased to say that our institution is continuing our tradition of producing bright, young, talented female medical doctors. We’ve recently added instruction for those who wish to pursue forensic pathology, a new and growing science that is beneficial to both the living and the dead. As a pathologist myself, I’m pleased with this new direction.”
He paused, and another round of light applause followed.
“Your contribution is appreciated and goes a long way to ensuring the continuation of this important institution. On behalf of the staff and student body at the medical school, I can sincerely say we thank you. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal and the dancing to follow.”
The speech was short but effective. Ginger watched as Dr. Watts greeted people with a warm smile and handshake until he made it to the exit and disappeared. So sad about his wife.
And what about Angus Green? Would science help to find his killer? Or would it just take good old-fashioned sleuthing? Tomorrow she’d visit Angus Green’s father.
Once the four courses were delivered and consumed, the waiters provided tea for those who wanted tea, and champagne for those who wanted something stronger. As promised, the orchestra began to play in the ballroom and the music filtered into the dining room.
“If we move to the ballroom the others will join us,” Ginger said.
The ballroom had a similar decor to the dining room minus the carpeting and tables. Instead of a podium, there was a sizeable stage that had tall palm trees flanking either side.
Dr. Brennan stood before Ginger and bowed slightly. “May I have this dance?” he asked with a broad smile.
“I’d be delighted,” she said politely, offering her hand.
The band played a version of the “Minute Waltz” by Chopin. Couples waltzed around the dance floor in a proper and synchronised fashion. That was one thing Ginger could credit the elite—they knew how to waltz.
“You look exquisite tonight, Lady Gold. I may have overstated it before, but your gown is remarkable.”
Dr. Brennan could certainly pour on the charm, Ginger thought. “Thank you.”
“I hope this isn’t too forward,” Dr. Brennan began.
Ginger braced herself. Dr. Brennan had a knack for being too forward.
Dr. Brennan continued, “I know of an Italian restaurant that is apparently all the rage. Pinocchio’s, it’s called. Would you fancy joining me sometime? It would be my honour to introduce you to the concept of spaghetti.”
Dr. Brennan’s offer intrigued Ginger. Her immediate inclination was to decline, but she was also curious. “In ‘Little Italy’?”
“Yes,” Dr. Brennan answered.
Was the mafia really a presence in London? Angus Green’s execution-style death would line up with a mafia-type of killing if Ginger could go by the news coming out of America. It seemed far-fetched, but there were times when London seemed small. One never could tell. Accepting Dr. Brennan’s invitation could be beneficial to her investigation.
Ginger smiled. “I’d be happy to join you, Dr. Brennan.”
They were both free the next evening, but Ginger insisted on meeting him there. She didn’t want it to appear as if they were stepping out together.
Chapter Five
Ginger’s brand-new Crossley Sports Tourer was an absolute dream. She knew the moment she walked into the motorcar dealership and spotted the creamy white vehicle that she just had to have it. It had a nickel-plated grille and headlamps, and the spokes of the inflatable tyres matched the white chassis. Classy.
Ginger settled onto the buttery red-leather seat and took a deep breath. The vehicle still smelled new. Compared to the complexities of the old Daimler, the Crossley was easy to operate. The black soft top was up now with the wet weather, but Ginger waited eagerly for the day when she could fold it back and drive with her face in the sun. She smiled at Boss who sat bright-eyed in the passenger seat. “At least it’s not snowing like in good ol’ Boston.”
Ginger had made the trip to the Green residence in Battersea less than a month earlier. At that time, she’d been under the impression Angus Green, the free-spirited young man that he was, had only been missing, assumedly of his own design. His father, a widower, believed his son was merely playing up, which, in his opinion, was a regular occurrence. The man, quite arrogantly, had made a point of relaying to Ginger his disappointment in his eldest son.
Now, when the thick wooden door of the grand, two-story brick house opened to her knock, a broken man stood before her. His stiff posture had weakened, and his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles.
“Mrs. Gold,” he said, waving her inside. “I wondered if I would have the pleasure of your company again.”
“It’s Lady Gold, actually,” Ginger said. The gentleman had shown an interest in her at their last meeting, and Ginger had omitted her title to let him believe she was married.
Mr. Green paused to consider her. “I see.” His gaze dropped to the dog in her arms.
“You don’t mind?” Ginger asked presumptuously. Although Lizzie took good care of the small pup when Ginger was away, she didn’t like to leave him too often. And these past weeks she’d been busy—either running down false leads about Angus Green or attending classes at the medical school.
“It’s fine,” Mr. Green grumbled. “Just keep it on your lap.”
He led her to a sitting room that was warmed by a low-burning fire. A tea set for two was on the table. A young man dressed in expensive trousers sat in a pincushion chair, legs crossed at the knee.
“Am I interrupting?” Ginger asked.
“Not at all. This is my son, Andrew. Andrew, this is Lady Gold. If I remember correctly, her sister-in-law was acquainted with your brother.”
“That’s correct,” Ginger said.
Andrew stood to greet Ginger and shook her gloved hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“As you can see,” Mr. Green said, “We were just about to have tea. You must join us, Lady Gold. Andrew, get another setting.”
Ginger sat in a matching chair next to Andrew then looked at Mr. Green who stared into space with hollow eyes. Gone was the irate, frustrated father. Before her sat a man who was devastated by the loss of a beloved son. “I’ve come to offer my condolences,” she said kindly.
“Thank you,” Mr. Green said, focusing on Ginger. “I just wish the Yard would release his body so we could have a proper burial service. My in-laws are in Scotland awaiting word.”
Andrew returned and poured for the three of them. The younger Mr. Green supported his father’s views. “It’s difficult to move on when we can’t even have a funeral.”
“Have they told you anything?” Ginger asked. She didn’t want to give away what she knew.
Mr. Green shook his head. “That’s what’s so very frustrating. They won’t tell us anything.”
“You must know how he died?” Ginger said.
“Only that it’s suspicious circumstances.”
“Do you happen to know,” Ginger started gently, “if Angus was involved in anything illegal?”
Mr. Green considered her carefully. “Why do I get the feeling that you know something, Lady Gold?”
“I’ve been known to investigate matters, as a private citizen, with some result, Mr. Green. My sister-in-law, Miss Felicia Gold, asked me to look into it.”
Mr. Green leaned in. “If you know something, I beg of you, please tell us.”
Ginger hesitated. “If the police haven’t come forward, they must have a reason.”
“Fiddlesticks!”
Ginger jumped at the man’s exclamation. She glimpsed a bit of the old Mr. Green a
s anger flashed behind his eyes.
“We have a right to know, Lady Gold,” Andrew said with control.
Ginger inhaled deeply. She agreed, of course. Before she could relay what she knew, Mr. Green made her an offer.
“We’ll hire you. You said you’ve had good results with your private investigations? Work for us.”
Ginger sipped her tea, careful not to spill any on Boss who was curled up in a ball on her lap. “I’m not officially a private investigator, Mr. Green.”
Mr. Green harrumphed. “Officially, unofficially. So long as the job is done.”
She turned to Andrew. “What do you think, Mr. Green?”
He smirked. “I’d be interested in seeing what a lady investigator could do. Anything is better than the nothing we know now.”
Ginger decided to let the gender slight pass. “Very well, I’ll take the job.”
She proceeded to give a price since she didn’t want the gentlemen to think she worked for nothing. She planned to donate the total amount to the Child Wellness Project—the charity she and Reverend Oliver Hill had started to help street children. They provided bi-weekly free meals for the poor.
“Tell us what you know,” Mr. Green said.
Ginger told them about the body showing up as a cadaver at the mortuary and the apparent cause of death. Both men blanched at the news.
“That’s why you asked if Angus was involved in anything illegal,” Mr. Green said.
“Yes. It’s come to my attention recently that there is mafia activity in London.”
“You think Angus might’ve been involved with the mafia?” Andrew Green asked incredulously.
“I don’t know. It’s what I intend to find out.”
Chapter Six
This was Ginger’s first official job as a private investigator, and she was more determined than ever to find Angus Green’s killer. She slowed the Crossley behind an over-full, wooden-panelled bus painted bright red as she motored back across the Albert Bridge. Instead of turning back towards Hartigan House, she headed in the direction of the theatre district.
