by Lee Strauss
Ginger called to her friend, “Haley, are you all right?”
Haley stared up and whimpered. Ginger could see fear and vulnerability in Haley’s eyes, and it shocked her. She’d never once seen her friend as anything but strong and secure.
“Please, get me out of here.”
“I’ve got you,” Basil said. “Let’s go.”
Basil helped Haley out of the cellar, and she collapsed on the dirty floor. Ginger crawled over to examine her. “What did they do to you, Haley? Is anything broken?”
“No. I’m fine. I just need to get my breath.”
“How did you end up here?” Basil asked.
With a trembling hand, Haley pushed flyaway curls off her face. “I was waiting for the bus. Someone came up behind me and put a cloth over my mouth. I immediately smelt the chloroform, but it worked too quickly.” She nodded towards the cellar. “Next thing I knew I was down there.”
“We should go,” Basil said. He leaned down to retrieve his pistol, but before he could grasp it, another voice thundered through the room.
“Stop right there, mister, or the lady gets it.”
Ginger turned to the voice, and her blood drained to her feet. Lorenzo “Bugs” Bugini filled the doorway.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Hands in the air where I can see them,” Bugs instructed.
Ginger saw no compassion or empathy in Bugs’ soulless eyes and discerned it would be useless to try to convince him to let them go. The expression on Basil’s face made it clear he’d come to the same conclusion. Still sitting on the floor, Ginger held her hands up.
“So this is the scheme,” Basil said, stalling. “Someone becomes a liability to your boss, you shoot them, Selkirk cleans them up and embalms them, and Watts falsifies records to clear them as cadavers.”
Bug’s chuckled. “You think you’re a smart toff, eh?”
Basil shrugged. “I know that you’re going to hang for doing Sabini’s dirty work.”
“I’m the one with the revolver, copper. I think you should be the one worried about dying. You and your two girlfriends.” He waved his revolver at the cellar door. “Now get in the hole.”
“All of us?” Ginger said, astounded. “There’s hardly room for one.”
“Do it, or I’ll take you outside and finish this now.”
Ginger wondered why he didn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t allowed to make a decision that big without consulting his boss. On the other hand, piled one on top of the other, they were sure to suffocate while they waited. Maybe Bugs had figured that out too. Saved him bullets.
Basil’s pistol remained on the floor out of reach. If she could create a distraction, maybe—
Ginger tried to stand. “Ow!”
Haley reached for her. “What’s wrong?”
“I turned my ankle.”
Bugs narrowed his suspicious gaze and waved his revolver at them, which gave Basil enough time to dive for his pistol.
Two shots rang out, and both men dropped to the ground.
Time seemed to inexplicably stop, and in the sudden silence, Ginger heard her pulse thundering in her ears.
Basil lay on the ground. A patch of red blossomed on his shirt.
No! “Basil!” Ginger dived to the chief inspector’s side.
Basil stared at her with glassy eyes. “I’ve been hit.”
Blood oozed from Basil’s stomach. Ginger removed her scarf and pressed it against the wound to stop the flow of blood.
Haley hurried over and squatted beside them. “Chief Inspector Reed, keep your eyes open. Can you do that for me?”
She looked at Ginger. “You need to go find help.”
“My ankle is turned! I wasn’t faking that.”
At that moment, Ginger remembered Bugs. He lay in a heap, unmoving. “Is he dead?”
Haley stepped over to the Italian’s fallen body and checked for a pulse. “Yes.” She looked at Ginger. “Don’t let Basil fall asleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ginger’s mind flashed back to when she had been left alone with the wounded and dying during the war. She knew she had to keep Basil talking.
“That was very brave of you, Basil.”
He spoke slowly, “I was only doing my duty.”
Ginger kept her pressure on the wound. “Does it hurt very much?”
Basil grunted. “I’ve been shot before.”
“In the war. I remember.”
“Invalided out early.”
“Yes.” Ginger knew that. Basil had suffered a good amount of shame as a result. He’d confessed to her once that it was why he had gone into public service. To make up for his perceived failure as a soldier.
“Lost a spleen,” Basil added.
Which meant he was more prone to infection. Pulling Basil’s shirt out of the way, Ginger risked taking a look at the fresh wound. The bullet had entered very close to the scar from his last operation. She pressed her scarf against his skin. The blood flow appeared to be slowing.
“Good thing you can’t lose a spleen twice.”
“Ginger, if I—”
“Shh! You’re not going anywhere.”
“But if—”
Ginger laid a finger to his lips. She didn’t want to hear what he was about to say. Did he want her to give Emelia a message? Was he about to make a confession? It didn’t matter what it was because Ginger refused to entertain the notion that Basil wouldn’t be able to deliver his messages himself.
All the anger and offence she’d been holding against Basil dissipated with the horror of losing him. On the spot her forgiveness was complete. Unless he died. That she’d never forgive.
In the distance, sirens blared, growing louder with each passing second. Soon the ambulance would be here.
“You are going to get better, Basil, and then you’re going on holiday! I insist. Somewhere safe and warm, with palm trees, and salty sea air.”
Basil struggled to smile. “Sounds lovely. Will you be there?”
Ginger held her breath. Was he ready to move beyond Emelia? Really?
Life was about second chances. Here was one on offer to her.
“If you want me to be,” she said softly. “I will.”
His smile deepened. “I do.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was an easy decision for Ginger to volunteer to be Scout’s guardian. Sergeant Scott alerted her to the plans to arrest Marvin. Teary-eyed, Ginger waited next to her Crossley and out of the way of the police.
Sergeant Scott knocked on the door to the Elliot residence. “Police.”
Ginger’s stomach clenched when the door didn’t open. Sergeant Scott pounded. The sergeant had men posted up and down the street and in the back alley in case Marvin Elliot tried to escape.
“Police! Marvin Elliot, open up, or we’ll break the door down!”
Sergeant Scott motioned to the constable next to him, and the fellow lifted his leg, ready to kick the door just as it opened a crack. From Ginger’s position, she could see Scout, his eyes wide with fright and red with tears. Her heart squeezed with maternal longing and a desire to rescue the young lad.
The sergeant and constable stormed in, brushing past Scout. Ginger couldn’t wait any longer. With the help of one of Ambrosia’s discarded walking sticks, she hobbled to the door.
“Scout, I’m here.”
Scout threw himself into her arms and wept. “’E’s gone and ’e ain’t coming back.”
Tears burned behind Ginger’s eyes as she held Scout, his bony shoulders heaving in his grief. “There, there, Scout. Everything’s going to be all right.” Ginger’s voice shuddered, heartbroken for this little family.
Sergeant Scott materialised, his constable on his heels, confirming what Scout had declared. “He’s not here.” The officers ran outside, and Sergeant Scott shouted orders to his men. A manhunt for Marvin Elliot was on.
“’E left me, missus. I’m alone now.”
“You’re not alone, Scout,” Ginger said gently, pe
eling him away. “You have me. Now, let’s pack your things.”
Scout shook his head. “I canna take your charity, missus.”
Even this tragedy didn’t shake the lad’s pride. “It won’t be charity. It’s a job. You will help Mrs. Beasley in the kitchen, and Mr. Clement in the garden. There’s a comfortable bed waiting for you in the attic.”
With Ginger’s bad ankle, she’d needed Clement to chauffeur her here. She poked her head outside and signalled for him to bring in the suitcase. Scout didn’t have a lot in the form of personal belongings, and what he did have, Ginger didn’t want to take. He wore pretty much all the clothing he owned, his bedding was threadbare and, Ginger suspected, full of bed bugs. She would provide clean things.
“Your duties at Hartigan House require a proper uniform, which of course I’ll provide. It’ll include shirts, trousers, and shoes, along with a hat and jacket. You don’t need those things. All the staff have beds and bedding. Is there anything of sentimental value?”
Scout picked up a framed photo of himself when he was much younger. Marvin and an older man that Ginger presumed to be their uncle, stood behind him. Scout didn’t have any childhood items, no teddy bear or wooden horse.
“I guess that’s it then, missus.”
Clement carried the empty suitcase and put it back in the boot of the Crossley. Ginger sat in the back seat with Scout and placed a palm on his forearm hoping to relay some encouragement.
“Think of this as a new adventure, Scout. There’s plenty for you to learn and experience in the world.”
“What about Marvin? What’s gonna ’appen to ’im?”
Ginger sighed, her chest tight with concern. “I don’t know, Scout. We can only keep him in our prayers and hope for the best.”
Ginger leaned on the walking stick with one hand and held Scout’s grimy hand with the other. He was almost too old for such a relationship, and on any other day he’d grin his toothy smile and pull his hand away. But today, he held tight.
Most of the staff were in the kitchen or staff dining room, and Ginger asked Lizzie to call everyone together. Pippins, Clement, Mrs. Beasley, Grace, Lizzie, and Ambrosia’s maid, Langley. Scout stared up nervously.
“Everyone,” Ginger began, “I’d like to introduce the newest member of our household staff. This is Mr. Scout Elliot. He will be assisting in the kitchen and in the gardens, and in any other way he can be made useful. He will be unavailable for two hours each weekday mid-mornings for schooling.
Scout gaped up in surprise. “Wot?”
“It’s part of the agreement, Scout,” Ginger said sternly. “Everyone who lives and works at Hartigan House must have some education.”
“You’ll like it, Scout,” Lizzie said. She and Scout had made an acquaintance on another occasion when Scout and Marvin had been hired to help with a singular event at Hartigan House. “Better than cleaning the chimneys.”
“Yeah,” Scout mumbled. “I s’pose yer right about that.”
At that moment, Boss sauntered into the room, his keen hearing and natural curiosity alerting him to the activity.
“Boss!” Scout said, dropping to one knee. The terrier ran to his friend and licked his face in welcome. For the first time in several days, Ginger smiled with sincere joy. She glanced at Lizzie.
“Lizzie, Mr. Elliot is also available to help out with Boss.”
Lizzie grinned. “Yes, madam.”
“Would you take Mr. Elliot to his room and show him the staff lavatory?”
Lizzie bobbed. “Of course.”
“Scout,” Ginger said. “I’ll see you later. You’ll find clean clothes in your room. Please do avail yourself of the bath.”
“Aww, do I ’ave to, missus?”
“Yes, you certainly do.”
As Ginger watched Lizzie and Scout disappear up the servants’ stairwell, a feeling of delight and contentment washed over her.
“That is all,” she said to everyone who remained. She then called for Pippins as the room cleared.
“Yes, madam?” the butler asked.
“Where would I find Miss Gold and Lady Gold?”
“I believe they are in the drawing room.”
“Both of them? Together?” That was hopeful news.
Pippins inclined his head. “Yes, madam.”
“What about Miss Hanson?”
“I believe she is in the library.”
Using the walking stick, Ginger made her way to the drawing room. She was happy to find both Ambrosia and Felicia together. Recently redecorated, the drawing room was designed with shades of ivory, grey, and mint-green. Grand paintings hung on the wallpapered walls, including portraits of Ginger’s parents. The tall windows were covered with pale rose net curtains, cheering the room with warm natural light that filtered through.
A grand piano sat majestically in one corner, and Felicia was playing it as Ambrosia listened. It appeared the two had come to some sort of truce.
“Hello, Grandmother, Felicia,” Ginger said as she entered.
Felicia paused in her playing to greet her. “Hello, Ginger. You look as if you have news.”
“I do.” Ginger hesitated, not sure how to start.
“Get on with it then,” Ambrosia said. “Don’t make us beg.”
“I’ve taken in a street orphan. An eleven-year-old boy. You’ll meet him soon. Lizzie’s sorting him out right now.”
Ambrosia glowered. “You’ve taken in a waif?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Ambrosia knocked the floor with her cane. “First a fallen woman and now a waif. This isn’t a home, it’s a hostel!”
“Well, it’s my hostel,” Ginger said bravely. “If you recall.”
Ambrosia ground her teeth as she let herself fall back into her chair. “I suppose we are also in your debt.” She and Felicia, along with much of her staff had moved in with Ginger after unfortunate events required that they leave their home in Hertfordshire.
Ginger sighed. Ambrosia hadn’t yet recovered from having an unmarried woman who was in the family way sleeping just down the passage from her, and now she’d added a child of the lowest class to the household. She walked over to her grandmother and kissed her lightly on the head. “I know this is a lot to adjust to, Grandmother, but it’ll work out all right. I promise.”
“If you say so.” Ambrosia stood and let out a weary breath. “Can you ask Langley to bring a cup of tea to my room? I must lie down.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sometimes good doesn’t triumph over evil.
Scotland Yard’s efforts to apprehend and charge Sabini remained futile. Basil complained that Sabini’s mafia had a long reach into the law, and nailing him for anything was like catching a fish with one’s bare hands. This continued to be proven true.
It didn’t help that all evidence of Sabini’s drug trafficking had been destroyed in the fire with his underlings, like Marvin Elliot, left to take the blame. The body of Lorenzo Bugini was removed from the crime scene, but only his fingerprints along with Dr. Selkirk’s were found amongst those belonging to the victims. At least Dr. Selkirk had been apprehended and charged with accessory to murder after the fact. During his confession, Dr. Selkirk shed light on the reasons Sabini had the last three victims killed. (Sadly, there had been many more.)
Jane Ellery had refused to inject Sabini’s horses with cocaine. They had fought bitterly over this issue, “like only lovers could.” Miss Ellery was expecting at the time of her death, but there was no way of knowing if Charles Sabini had known that.
Evan Jones had been caught stealing cocaine from the warehouse. He was killed as a warning to others with sticky fingers.
Angus Green had, unfortunately, become dependent on cocaine. He’d rung up a tab with Sabini. When his father cut off his allowance, he found himself with a debt he couldn’t pay back, despite, it turned out, several pleas to his father for help. A sad situation.
Angus Green’s body had been released for burial and the mourne
rs were now gathered in the churchyard at the parish church in Battersea. The air was brisk, with gloomy stratus clouds, but at least it wasn’t raining. As they sang the processional, the vicar led them to the gravesite beyond the church. A flautist played a melancholy tune while the pall-bearers carried the coffin and placed it awkwardly on the grass next to the hole in the ground.
This was followed by a beautiful acapella rendition of Amazing Grace, then silence. The priest, dressed in a white robe over his black pastoral suit, gave a homily sharing the good points of Angus Green’s life, ending in words of comfort. He addressed the group of mourners. “Let us recite together Psalm twenty-three.”
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Amen.”
Without speaking, the crowd quietly dispersed and headed back to the rectory for refreshments.
Ginger didn’t know anyone in attendance besides Felicia and Haley, the deceased’s father, and his brother, so planned to excuse herself and leave early. Besides, Ginger was needed back at Hartigan House. She had a surprise for Scout.
Though Ginger’s ankle had healed sufficiently that she no longer needed a cane, she proceeded across the dormant brown grass with extra caution.
“Mr. Green,” she said to the father, and nodded an acknowledgment to the son. “Allow me to once again offer my condolences to both of you.”
“Thank you, Lady Gold. And we are in your debt for the work you did on behalf of our family.”
