Lady Gold Investigates

by Lee Strauss

  “So very pleased to meet you,” Ginger said, politely shaking hands. “I go by Mrs. Reed now, generally.”

  “Oh, yes, you married. I read about it in the society pages.” She paused, glancing at her feet shyly. “I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing in a place like this?”

  With a smile, Ginger encouraged her to continue.

  “I’m a volunteer. I try to come in a couple of times a week.” Then, as if to answer the unspoken question hanging in the air, she added, “It gives me satisfaction to know that I am helping in a small way. My family are Methodists and have close ties to General William Booth and his efforts.” She paused. “And what, may I ask, is of interest to you today here at our humble little shop?” She smiled broadly as she took in Felicia and Scout in one glance.

  Ginger noticed that Felicia looked a bit nervous, as if she had been caught doing something naughty, or perhaps she just hadn’t expected to meet one of her peers.

  “A costume,” Ginger said, “We need to find something my size that would make me look like I was, well, from a rather more humble background.”

  “Oh, what fun!” Miss Littleton exclaimed. She looked like she was about to ask the reason why Ginger would want to do such a thing, but Scout chimed in.

  “An’ I’m lookin’ for an ’at!”

  Miss Littleton shot a questioning glance at Ginger, but propriety forbade her to ask about Ginger’s connection to the lad. “Oh, I am a certain we have something for a handsome young man like you!” At this, Scout’s face immediately turned a bright red. Even his ears had gone suddenly crimson! Ginger held in a smirk. Her charge was reacting to the attractive young lady who’d called him handsome.

  Ginger cast a warning glance at Felicia, who looked like she might burst out laughing.

  While Miss Littleton was assisting Scout in his quest for a hat, Ginger and Felicia took a look around. The clothes were arranged in neat rows according to size and description. Dresses were arranged on hanger racks as were men’s waistcoats and jackets. Ginger was surprised at the condition of some of the items. They looked almost brand-new.

  “Well, let’s start from the feet up, shall we?” Ginger said.

  An hour later they all exited the shop. Ginger carried several different outfits, including two pairs of leather shoes that Felicia had found that looked like they had walked to Scotland and back, originally made from thick leather for durability. Ginger had also acquired a couple of bonnets, as she knew that most women of the working class did not wear hats, but favoured bonnets to keep the hair off the face and away from factory machinery. The frocks she had purchased were typical working women’s wear, one made of dark cotton and the other of wool, to hide the dirt. Scout had found a smart-looking cap that looked almost new, albeit a bit too big. Ginger assured him that one day soon it would fit perfectly as he grew. He also carried an outfit for himself that was worn and patched.

  Not to forget Boss, who’d slept through the shopping experience while waiting in the motorcar, Ginger had found a faded red scarf. When she tied it around his neck, he looked formally dressed and ready for some grand canine occasion. He and Scout were quite a pair, sitting tall in the backseat.

  “Well, I am glad that’s over,” Felicia said as she gathered her skirt and closed the door to the passenger seat. Ginger cringed inwardly. Felicia still had a lot to learn about not taking privilege for granted and that some things transcend social class.

  “There but for the grace of God go I,” she said.

  Felicia stared back with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s a quote from John Bradford,” Ginger explained as she started the engine. “He meant to say that good people recognise that we are all God’s children, and that social standing is temporal. In the end it is meaningless.”

  Felicia said nothing as they rumbled away.

  Chapter Eight

  When Ginger emerged from the fitting room at Feathers & Flair, Felicia couldn’t hold in her astonishment. “Oh my goodness!” It was after hours in the late afternoon and the shop was empty. “That is a transformation.”

  Ginger had tied her bright red hair underneath the bonnet, except for a few loose strands which hung down on her face, and she had scrubbed all her makeup off her face. The dark brown cotton frock had a large, faded white collar and an embroidered belt around the middle which was stained. The hem reached down to her ankles, and though the frock was clean, it had a slightly stale smell. Obviously too large, Ginger had chosen it for the purpose of stuffing in a pillow that she had borrowed from her seamstress, Emma, who used it to support her back while she sewed.

  Ginger regarded her profile in the full-length mirror. Could she pass for a woman with child and close to her due date?

  This will work, she thought to herself. It wasn’t the first time Ginger had played the part of a poorer woman, and she felt a rush of memories come back to her as she gazed at the image in the mirror. She recognised that lady staring back at her. Her experiences as a spy in the Great War had once again equipped her for tasks in the present day that no one, not even her husband, could imagine her capable of. British Intelligence had forbidden all former spies to divulge their activities, even after the war. It was a part of her life that held both good and bad memories for her. Both kinds brought her deep emotion when she recalled them in her quiet moments.

  Casting those thoughts aside, she asked, “What do you think?”

  “I hardly recognise you,” Felicia said.

  “Me neither,” Scout added. His little face pinched with emotion. “I don’t think I like you like this, Mum.”

  “It’s just pretend, love,” Ginger said. “For a good cause.”

  Boss barked approvingly at Ginger’s feet, and Ginger tried but failed to bend over to pat him.

  “Oof! This tummy really is a nuisance.”

  “One more thing.” Ginger walked over to the iron coal-burning stove at the back of the building that kept the shop heated in the winter months, reached down into the cold grate, and brought up a small handful of ashes which she lightly spread on her cheek and the front of her skirt. She also rubbed some on Boss’ back, right side, and the top of his head where he couldn’t lick it off. “Sorry, me ol’ mucker,” Ginger said in a perfect Cockney accent. “I ’ave the notion that you an’ me ’ave an appointment wiv a certain scallywag an’ I need ya to be lookin’ ready for th’ part.”

  Ginger would have loved to have had her camera at the ready at that moment to snap a picture of the expression on Felicia’s and Scout’s faces.

  Fool’s End Workhouse was situated in a very run-down area of East Croydon, not far from the train station. It was a simple three-storey brick pavilion-style building, with a central tower in the middle that looked dirty and in need of a coat of paint on the doors and windows. The main entrance was a squeaky door on the ground floor of the tower. Ginger, Felicia, and Scout, along with Boss, had arrived in the motorcar and had parked a couple of streets away next to a red and white K1 telephone kiosk. The Crossley didn’t match the neighbourhood, nor their current style of dress, and it needed to be kept out of sight.

  “Give us thirty minutes,” Ginger said, as she quieted the engine. “If we don’t return, use that public telephone to ring Basil.”

  Felicia pointed to her wristwatch. “Be careful!”

  Ginger and Scout, with Boss tagging along, approached the workhouse on foot, looking like they had just spent the last week living on the street. The ragged trio entered the reception area which contained a small wooden desk and chair with a phone. The place had a dusty smell and Ginger could see that no one had swept even the office area for quite some time. The windows had bars and there were padlocks on most of the doors leading away from the reception to the interior of the building.

  The station appeared to be untended.

  “’ello,” Ginger called. “Anyone ’ere?”

  The sound of heavy machinery could be heard coming from somewhere in the building as w
ell as the sound of hammers striking stone and metal.

  They walked past the reception area and down a corridor that looked like it led to a larger hall. The place had the ambience of a prison.

  Suddenly, out of a double doorway came a gruff-looking middle-aged man. Heavy-set with greasy, thinning hair, he was dressed in a grey woollen shirt and waistcoat that were stained with grease, as though he had just been up to his elbows in fixing machinery. The same grease had dirtied the lines of his hands.

  ”’ere now. An’ oo are you?” he said in an irritated voice. He pivoted on a worn-out shoe to quickly lock the door behind him with a padlock key. Ginger wondered why he felt the need to lock it.

  “Forgive me, sir,” Ginger said. She made a show of holding her belly as if the child within was causing discomfort, but she also wanted to make sure the pillow didn’t dislodge.

  “My name is Sally Green, an’ this ’ere is my nephew Billy. We’s bin wonderin’ about this ’ere establishment. Billy ’ere is a very ’ard worker an’ things been very difficult fer us in the last while since ’is dad run off an’ ’is mum died. I can’t afford the time to tend to ’im no more, an’ you can see that soon I’ll ’ave another mouf t’ feed. My own ’usband is gone now. The bottle took ’im is th’ sad truth. In any case, I was ’opin’ ta meet the master ’ere.”

  “That’s me. I’m Mr. Crealy.” The stern man looked down suspiciously at Boss. He came a few steps closer to get a better look at Scout and then smiled. For some reason this made Ginger shudder with disgust. Scout immediately took off his cap and said, “’Ow d’ya do, sir?”

  “Well I do just fine,” Crealy replied. He looked at Ginger. “We can always use a good worker. I’m not in the ’abit of takin’ in children who still got family around, and at the moment we got no room fer you ’ere.”

  “Well, I’m ’opin’ to get a job o’ work at the fact’ry after I ’ave my babe, so you won’t see me ’round much.” Ginger knew that Crealy would be reluctant to agree to take a child that had someone who might check on him from time to time, which was why she’d spun the yarn about being an aunt who had been suddenly saddled with a distant nephew, and about to have her own baby. That situation would pose less of a threat.

  “Well, I s’pose we could consider the boy,” Crealy said. After a pause, he added, “’ere, let’s go into my office and see if there’s an empty spot for ’im. Can you leave ’im ’ere now?”

  “We’d ’ave to go an’ get Billy’s belongin’s,” Ginger said. “He has a few more trousers and that but we could be back later in the day.” Of course, Ginger had no intention of leaving Scout there at all.

  “That would aw’right, I s’pose,” Crealy said, “But the lad would be fine to stay while you collected his things.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I promised ’im ’e could say ’is farewells.”

  Mr. Crealy let out a disgruntled sigh, “As you wish.”

  “I was wonderin’ if I could just ’ave a look inside to see where Billy would be workin’ or maybe just a look at the eatin’ ’all or somethin’?” Ginger was hoping that Crealy would be willing to show at least a small part of the building so she could get a sense of where things were. Perhaps she would see something that she could alert the authorities about, or possibly even catch a sight of Eddie. It was a bit of a gamble but Ginger was determined. “Just to appease me own nerves.”

  “Now, you listen ’ere, miss—”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  “Oh, blast it anyway. I don’t want to disturb the work ’ere but maybe a quick look into the refectory would be in order. I can tell ya that all the workers are ’ealthy and ’appy ’ere. They get good, regular grub ’ere and a bath ev’ry week.”

  He led them down the hall and unlocked the large double, swinging doors that led directly into a large hall with stone floors. There were long rows of wooden tables and benches with enough seating for around one hundred and fifty people. On the side were open doors that revealed a large open kitchen, which at the moment was completely empty. On the far end of the hall was another open double door that exposed a short corridor that ended in a T.

  “There’s nothin’ but good food served ’ere,” Crealy began. He looked uncomfortable as if he were trying to distract Ginger from looking down the hallway.

  It was time for Ginger to make her move.

  Crying out, she doubled over and grabbed her midsection. “Ohh! Oh dear!” Scout, who’d stayed close behind her, put a hand on her back as if to steady her.

  Crealy looked worried. “’Old on now!”

  “I’ll be aw’right, th’ baby ain’t due for ’nother two weeks,” Ginger said. “Maybe I can just sit down somewhere.” Crealy and Scout helped her to a bench where she sat down, blowing air out of her cheeks as if in immense pain. She’d never given birth herself, but she’d witnessed the miracle on more than one occasion.

  “The baby’s not comin’ now is it?” Scout said, practically shouting. “The pains ’aven’t come afore now!”

  At this revelation Crealy blanched.

  “Oh, I ’ope not, Billy,” Ginger wheezed. She suddenly let out another long “Oooohh.”

  “Do ya need some water? Mebbe I’ll go and fetch the missus.” Mr. Crealy’s nose wrinkled at being put out in such a manner.

  “Oh, I ’ate to be a bother, but per’aps that’s a good idea,” Ginger said, grimacing for good measure. “Oooh dear. Oh my goodness!”

  Mr. Crealy ran off like a bolt of lightning.

  Chapter Nine

  At that instant Boss suddenly let out a small yelp and bolted down the opposite corridor. Boss hadn’t run from Ginger since he was a puppy and she was shocked at the dog’s sudden behaviour.

  “Boss, come back here!”

  Ginger and Scout shared a stunned look, and then started running after the dog, an effort not made easy for Ginger by the pillow stuffed in her frock. Boss headed down the empty corridor, turned right, and barked once more. Out of several doorways on either side peeked small children dressed in work clothes, to watch the unusual sight of a small black and white dog running away from a lady obviously with child and her lad, but some adults in tattered staff uniforms reached out a hand and yanked the children back into the rooms.

  Suddenly Boss, Ginger, and Scout burst through another set of swinging doors that opened to a large outer courtyard filled with emaciated children. At the far end of the walled space was a huge pile of rocks and on the left was a large mechanised sifting machine. The children, all dressed in tattered clothing, were engaged in breaking and sorting rocks. One might have presumed the stones were to be used in road building, but in any case, it was back-breaking work. Ginger and Scout caught a glimpse of Boss at the very far end of the yard leaping into the lap of a thin and very dirty blond-haired child. The lad sat on a small bench as he chipped rocks against a large steel anvil with a hammer. He dropped his hammer to hug the dog, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. “B…B…Boss? Is that you?”

  Ginger and Scout ran over to the lad. He had lost considerable weight since Ginger had seen him last, and his clothes were rags hanging on his small frame. He had a large bruise on the left side of his face around his eye, which was half closed from the swelling.

  “Eddie!” Ginger cried once she had caught her breath.

  “Lady Gold? Is that you?”

  He dropped Boss to the ground as he regarded her clothes and her stomach in bewilderment.

  “Shh,” Ginger whispered. “We’re here to get you out of this place.”

  At the sight of the boy’s condition, Ginger’s heart turned over in her chest. This workhouse needed to be shut down!

  Boss suddenly turned and growled in the direction of the other side of the yard.

  “’Ang on, then!” Crealy stood at the door with a miserable-looking middle-aged woman. Her small eyes were filled with anger, and she carried a stick of some kind that Ginger was sure was used for beating. They were accompanied by two men dres
sed in tattered staff uniforms who slowly started towards Ginger and the two boys. Ginger was aware of the vulnerability of her situation but she did not let herself feel intimidated. Instead she rose up straight.

  “Wot’s ’appened to the baby pains then?” Mrs. Crealy asked.

  “This lad is Billy’s brother and me other nephew,” Ginger said, “We’ve been wonderin’ where ’e got off to.” She grabbed Eddie’s hand, ignoring the question.

  “Where d’ya fink yer goin’ wif ’im?” Crealy said.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not sure I like the looks of this place. I think I’ve a mind t’ take these boys ’ome wiv me, such as it is,” Ginger said.

  Mr. and Mrs. Crealy stared at each other. Ginger knew that this was a very complex situation here for them. They couldn’t very well stop an expectant woman from leaving, but if they forced her to leave Eddie here, she would no doubt report them to the police, and they’d be charged with forced confinement.

  Ginger did not wait for a response. “C’mon, lads.”

  She walked the boys past the stunned guards who looked questioningly at the Crealys for some kind of instruction. Mr. and Mrs. Crealy stood there looking enraged and confused at what to do next. Ginger was hoping that they would come to the conclusion that if they just let her and the boys leave, there would be no reason to go to the authorities.

  Ginger led the way out through the corridor from which they had emerged and headed for the exit. The Crealys followed a menacing distance behind. To Ginger’s dismay, someone had locked the door with a padlock. She stopped and stared at Mr. Crealy with a look of impatience.

  Crealy, with a contemptuous frown on his face, unlocked and swung open the door to the pavement outside. The boys, with Boss in tow, walked out into the low light of dusk. Just as Ginger thought they were home free, Crealy stepped in front of her and braced his arm against the doorjamb to stop her exit.

  “I don’t know oo you think you are, comin’ ’ere and takin’ one of my lads. I don’t appreciate the likes of you at all and if I ever see either you or yer nephews around ’ere again…” He let that hang in the air. “An’ don’t ever come beggin’ around ’ere for work or to drop off yer bastard child.” He grimaced as he pointed towards Ginger’s belly.