Ginger Gold Mystery Box Set 3

by Lee Strauss

  Ginger quickly filled in the paperwork and signed the visitors’ register. She caught the constable's eye when she had finished.

  "Come with me, madam."

  Ginger followed the constable down a narrow passageway, ignoring his fellow service officers as they unabashedly looked on.

  There were several cells, all occupied. London wasn't a sleepy little town, and there was always someone in trouble with the law or one who just had to sleep off a bout of drunkenness. Dressed in a sheer lavender slip dress that layered just above the ankles with a black cape-coat and a feather-trimmed hat, Ginger caught their attention—each cell’s occupant’s head popping up like a weasel from a hole.

  Basil jumped to his feet when he saw her.

  "You have ten minutes," the sergeant said. He gave Basil a man-to-man look of understanding, then left them alone.

  "Ginger," Basil said softly.

  "Hello." Ginger had been Basil's close companion for many weeks, yet felt suddenly shy. "How are you?"

  "I've been better, that's for sure."

  "Indeed." Ginger let out a soft sigh, feeling heavy with the weight of their troubling situation.

  Whispering, Basil spoke through the bars. "You must know I didn't kill Emelia."

  Ginger whispered back. "I didn't believe it for a second."

  Basil rubbed the back of his neck. "Who would do this? Who would want to kill her?"

  Ginger got as close to the bars as she could without touching them. "We need to get inside the club."

  Basil stopped short. “In what capacity?”

  Ginger hesitated. She disliked the idea that came to her, and executing it would be rife with risk, but she couldn’t think of any other way. “There’s a vacancy now that—”

  “No! Absolutely not.”

  “Basil, think about it. How else can we get inside information?”

  “There must be some other way. Not only is what you’re proposing dangerous, there’s your reputation to consider.”

  Ginger had thought of that as well. If news broke that Lady Gold was discovered frequenting a dance club, it would ruffle London high society. Should it get out that she danced, well, it would be scandalous. Ambrosia would surely die of a heart attack. At the very least her grandmother-in-law’s Victorian-era sensibilities would prevent the matron from ever leaving Hartigan House again.

  “I’ll go in disguise.”

  "No. Ginger, I don't want you getting involved like that."

  "It's the only way we'll get the answers we seek," Ginger insisted. "You don't really think Superintendent Morris is going to get to the bottom of this, do you?"

  Basil sighed. Approaching the bars, he said, "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you." His voice cracked. "I couldn't."

  "I'll be careful, Basil."

  "But Conway Sayer has seen you."

  "He barely registered my existence." Ginger wouldn't say it aloud, but she didn't think he was interested in women that way. "Besides, I'll wear a wig. It's amazing how a simple change in hair colour throws people off the scent."

  "No. I don't like it."

  “I don’t like it either, but—”

  Basil snorted. “You’re going to do it anyway.”

  “Yes. I’ll do it to help you.”

  “I don’t want this kind of help.”

  There was one benefit to having Basil locked behind bars. He couldn't stop her.

  Ginger took a step back, offering a small, sad smile. "I'll be back. I promise." She raced away, but not before she heard Basil pound on the bars and swear under his breath.

  The next morning, Ginger called a clandestine meeting with Felicia and Haley in her bedroom. They each sat in one of the two gold and white striped high-back chairs, gaping at Ginger who, with Boss tucked under one arm, stood before them and relayed her plan.

  "You've visited the club, Felicia. What can you tell me about it?"

  "It's frequented by high-society men, mostly married, and young, single women, the kind the Americans call flappers."

  Flappers were young women who defied the propriety of Victorian society in every conceivable way. Not only had the hair and hem length got shorter, the girls drank, smoked, danced, and caroused unsupervised.

  Ginger would fit the definition to a degree, but Felicia even more so.

  Felicia continued to tell her about the layout of the club. "There's a bar at the back of the room, a stage at the front where the girls perform, and the space between is filled with round tables and chairs."

  "Did you ever see Emelia perform?" Haley asked.

  Felicia hesitated. "I might have and not known it. The girls usually go to great lengths to change their appearance."

  "Because they live a double life?" Ginger asked.

  "It's quite likely," Felicia admitted.

  Ginger put Boss on the floor, and he immediately jumped on the bed and curled into a ball. "What do you know of Mr. Sayer, the club manager?"

  "I don't mind him," Felicia said. "He's there to do a job. Never paid me any notice the few times I was there."

  "I need a costume,” Ginger said.

  "Are you really going to show your legs to a room full of strange men?" Felicia asked incredulously. "You were worried about my reputation. What of yours?"

  "No one will know it's me."

  Felicia was undaunted. "You'll know!"

  "I'll do whatever it takes to clear Basil's name."

  Felicia's look softened. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

  Ginger sniffed but didn't answer. Quite honestly, she wasn't sure anymore. But she did care for Basil and wouldn't stand around to watch him hang.

  Haley intercepted. "What exactly do you hope to accomplish?"

  Ginger set her gaze on her friend. "I'm going to snoop around a bit."

  Haley frowned. "This sounds dangerous to me."

  "Not any more dangerous than what the other dancers face," Ginger said. "Now, any ideas how to get a burlesque costume? I can't exactly ask Emma to sew one for me."

  "Why not?" Felicia asked.

  "I don't want anyone to know what I'm doing, especially my own employees. They'd never look at me the same way."

  "I know!” Felicia said. “There's this terrific shop on Shaftesbury Avenue. I bet I can find something risqué there, and they’ll make alterations for you as well. We're the same size," she added to Ginger's questioning look. "It would work."

  The plan was set: Felicia would procure the costume and attend the club as herself and pretend not to know Ginger.

  Ginger, in disguise, would ask Conway Sayer for a job. She knew there was a vacancy since news of the death of the dancer, her identity as the chief inspector's estranged wife, and Basil's subsequent arrest had hit the morning papers. Ambrosia had been quick to point it all out.

  "And I thought he was such a nice man. Goes to show you never can tell what kind of evil lurks underneath."

  "Grandmother!" Ginger snapped. "A man is innocent until proven guilty. Basil Reed did not kill his wife. It's a travesty that his reputation is being sullied in this manner."

  Ambrosia, for once, had looked properly chastised.

  Ginger dressed in a casual day dress with unassuming two-inch Oxfords. She thought it best to ask for work looking somewhat respectable—she had to face the public to get there, after all, but conveyed her dedication with heavy makeup, such as the doxies wore, at least according to Felicia.

  It'd been several years since the last time Ginger had pretended to be someone she was not. Her days as Mademoiselle Antoinette LaFleur during the war in France were still fresh in her mind. It occurred to her she could resurrect that persona, minus her red hair.

  With a French accent, she addressed her reflection in the full-length mirror. "Hello, mon amie."

  Haley stepped into Ginger's bedroom in time to hear. She stilled as if she had spotted a ghost. "It's been a long time," Haley finally said.

  The first time Haley and Ginger had met was in France. Ginger
worked for the British secret service and Haley as a nurse. Haley had known Ginger as Mademoiselle LaFleur. The truth of Ginger's identity had been a shock to Haley when she had been solicited by Ginger to nurse Mr. Hartigan in the latter stages of his illness.

  Before Ginger could respond, Felicia tapped on the door and burst inside. "The shop I was telling you about had a fantastic wig collection."

  She placed a box on the bed, removed the lid, and lifted out a blonde wig with a long French braid. "What do you think?"

  Ginger brightened. "It's perfect!"

  After pinning her short locks off her face and placing the hair net over them, Ginger donned the wig. She smiled in the mirror, then faced Felicia and Haley.

  "Je suis Antoinette LaFleur." Her French was impeccable. "I am a dancer."

  Felicia clapped her hands. "Very believable. Lady Gold has completely disappeared!"

  "Bon!" Ginger said. Eying the rest of the shopping bags she asked, "Is there more?"

  "Yes. Your costume is ready." Felicia opened the box, tossing tissue paper to the floor, and produced a frock like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. "Voilà."

  It was shorter than anything Ginger had imagined, much shorter than what she had worn when she danced in France, but similar to what Emelia had been wearing.

  She put the wig back in the box and covered her pinned hair with a tight-fitting cloche hat. Then she handed Felicia the keys to her Crossley. "Can you bring the Crossley to the front of the house?"

  "Really? You trust me with your new motorcar?"

  "Yes. You can take the costume out with you. I'm going to try to sneak out unseen."

  "Brilliant!" Felicia disappeared like a flash of light before Ginger could change her mind. Had Ginger just made a mistake in judgment? She hoped not. Surely, not much damage could happen between the back lane and the front of the house.

  Haley pushed loose curls behind her ears. "I have to get back to the hospital." Her gaze of concern locked on Ginger. "Please be careful."

  "I will, I promise."

  "I won't be able to sleep tonight until you return safely." Haley embraced Ginger before leaving with quick strides. She intended on catching the next wooden, red-painted double-decker bus.

  Boss had watched Ginger's transformation in and out of her French alter ego with interest. Ginger scratched him behind the ears.

  "I'm sorry I'm going to have to leave you behind, Bossy." Was it only yesterday she had taken Boss out on that fateful stroll? No wonder she felt heavy with fatigue. "Lizzie and Scout will take care of you."

  Just as Ginger slipped down the stairs unnoticed, Matilda Hanson appeared on the landing.

  "Lady Gold?"

  Ginger paused, then turned halfway to show only her profile. "Is everything all right, Miss Hanson?"

  "Yes. I just wanted to thank you for the library."

  "You're welcome to read any book you like. I'm afraid I'm in a hurry, but let's have tea together tomorrow."

  Ginger slipped out of the door before Miss Hanson could engage her further. Poor girl. Hartigan House was a golden cage for her. Even with a houseful of women, she must be bored and lonely, since the rest of them were free to come and go and often did. She'd have to remind Haley to bring home another medical textbook for Miss Hanson to peruse.

  Felicia drove up to the front gate with the Crossley, and Ginger got in. Ginger watched with some apprehension as her sister-in-law motored through the busy London streets but relaxed once she realised Felicia had everything under control. Ginger had to admit that Felicia might be a better driver than she was. However, Felicia had learned to drive on the left-hand side. How would she do driving in America?

  "Thank you," Felicia said out of the blue.

  "For what?"

  "For taking me into your confidence."

  "Of course."

  "No, not of course. You and Haley have this special friendship, and I confess to having felt left out." She let out a breath. "I despise how childish that sounds."

  Ginger swivelled to stare at Felicia. "My dear girl. I didn't know. I never meant to make you feel that way."

  "I know. You are good-hearted, Ginger. Much more so than I."

  "It's kind of you to say, Felicia, but I dare say it's not true. You do know that you mean the world to me, don't you?"

  Felicia simply shrugged.

  "Well, you do. Every time I look at you, I see Daniel. No one else on earth can give that to me. Besides," Ginger placed a palm on Felicia's forearm, "you're my sister."

  "In-law."

  "Pfft. In-love, you mean."

  Felicia smiled, a twinkle in her eye, and Ginger knew in that instant Felicia finally believed it.

  They approached the North Star, and Felicia parked the Crossley half a mile away. "You know what to do?"

  "Go to the back entrance and ask for Mr. Sayer."

  "Good. I'll see you there later tonight, Mademoiselle LaFleur."

  Chapter Fourteen

  There were times during the war where Ginger had had to give convincing performances as various personas such as a farm girl, a young boy, a diplomat's wife and even a prostituée. So, no, this wouldn't be the first time Ginger had bared her legs in a room full of strange men.

  But that had been years ago, and she was out of practice. She adjusted her wig, unused to the long braid hanging down her back, and shifted her holdall from one hand to the other. Then, she inhaled deeply to calm herself and knocked on the back entrance.

  A response was slow in coming, and there was a minute or two when Ginger thought she'd been rash to get Felicia to drop her off and leave. She could catch a bus back though, and at least she was in disguise. Ginger knocked again, harder this time, and the door cracked open.

  "What do you want?" Conway Sayer regarded her with thinly veiled contempt.

  "Good morning, sir," Ginger began with a thick French accent. "I would like to apply for a job as a dancer. I understand that you have a possible new vacancy."

  Mr. Sayer eyed her with suspicion. "What do you know about that?"

  "Only what I've read in the morning paper."

  "What's your name?"

  "Antoinette."

  "Do you have any experience, Miss Antoinette?"

  "Oh, yes," Ginger answered truthfully. "I performed in France before coming to London."

  Mr. Sayer eyed her up and down, not with personal interest, but with the eye of a businessman. He opened the door wider.

  "Show me something?"

  “I beg your pardon?”

  "Sing or dance. Show me what you can do."

  "Well, all right." Ginger smoothed out her skirt and cleared her throat before breaking out into “You've Got to See Mama Every Night.” She'd been blessed with a good ear and a strong, clear voice. She jutted her hips to the right and threw her arms into the air as she held the final note.

  "You've got the job, Miss Antoinette," Mr. Sayer said without a smile. Clearly, this was just a job to him.

  The room was without windows, so the lighting came solely from dim electric light bulbs. The club itself was classy enough with turquoise walls, polished walnut wood trim, and brass fixtures. Round tables dotted the carpeted floor with leather upholstered chairs pushed in neatly.

  A young man was setting up the bar, the muscles of his biceps strained against his white shirt as he dried glasses and put them on the shelves behind him. Ginger thought he might work double-duty to prevent fights and rabble-rousing. He watched her with clear blue eyes as Mr. Sayer showed her the room.

  "New lass, boss?" he called out.

  Mr. Sayer scowled. "Not that's anything to you."

  Ginger approached the barman and extended her hand. "I'm Antoinette."

  The barman's eyes squinted. "French?"

  "Oui, monsieur."

  "Delightful." He approached, and Ginger noted a distinctive limp. War wound, likely. He extended a hand. "Billy Foster."

  Ginger smiled flirtatiously. If she hoped to gain any information from this
man, she had to play the game his way. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Foster."

  "Miss Antoinette!" Conway Sayer growled.

  Ginger giggled and skipped after the club manager. "Je suis désolée!"

  Mr. Sayer led her to a connecting hallway. "This takes you to the dressing room."

  Ginger had been here earlier with Mr. Sayer as herself, and she was pleased that the disgruntled man had shown no signs of recognition. He opened the cupboard that had belonged to Emelia, now empty.

  "You can put your things here."

  "Does it lock?"

  "No need. Our girls are honest." He pierced her with a look that challenged her to be anything but honest herself.

  "Of course, Mr. Sayer."

  They were interrupted by a youthful and pretty redhead who entered the dressing room carrying a small suitcase and a large square shape that looked like a type of bird cage, but it was impossible to say as a thin blanket was draped over the top.

  "Cindy," Mr. Sayer said, his relief almost palpable. "This is Antoinette. Show her the ropes." He disappeared before Cindy could object.

  Cindy's brown eyes assessed Ginger competitively.

  "Hello," Ginger said. She found it strangely disconcerting facing the dancer. It was almost like looking in the mirror. She was the same height, of similar build, and wore her red hair in the same style bob as Ginger.

  "You're French," Cindy said. A statement, not a question.

  "Oui."

  Cindy went to one of the mirrors. The countertop was filled with perfumes and other items that Ginger assumed were personal to Cindy.

  Cindy flicked a wrist toward an empty chair. "You can sit there."

  "It doesn't belong to anyone?" Ginger suspected it had been Emelia's spot.

  "Not anymore."

  "Oh, sounds like a story there."

  "She met her maker last night." Cindy shrugged as if Emelia meant no more to her than a travelling salesman.

  "How awful," Ginger said. She pulled out the chair and sat. "Do you know what happened?"

  Cindy shook her head. "Likely a disgruntled lover." She leaned in closer to the mirror and applied a dark-red lipstick. She smacked her lips then added, "It's an occupational hazard."