by Lee Strauss
She stumbled briefly before her professionalism resurfaced. She wasn't Ginger Gold. She was Antoinette LaFleur. She wasn't doing this for the thrill, but to get to the bottom of Emelia's murder and to help Basil move on.
Chapter Twenty
When the curtain fell, a few hecklers were calling for Cynthia Webb. "We want Cindy! We want Jake the snake!" Word of Cynthia's backstage arrest had failed to reach the main room.
"Go out there and calm the men down," Conway instructed. "Use whatever means necessary."
"But there’re only three of us?" Sorcha complained.
"I'm working on rectifying that situation."
His comment shut Sorcha up. Tonight, she and Nuala were stars—next week they could be outshone by newcomers.
Ginger mused. Had they killed Emelia and framed Cindy in the process? For a chance to become small-time stars? Maybe this duo weren’t as harmless as they appeared.
The three, with big smiles pasted on their faces, headed into the crowd. Mr. Phillip’s gaze never left Ginger, and he made a show of patting his lap. Ginger stroked his shoulder playfully but continued by. She could feel the diplomat's glare pierce her back. She made a show of teasing all the tables as she wiggled by until she reached Basil.
"Hello, handsome," she said loud enough for the neighbouring tables to hear. "Are you new to North Star?"
Basil smirked
Ginger addressed the room, "A North Star first-timer, everyone!"
The room erupted in a roar of hilarity while Basil rolled his eyes.
As if on cue, the piano player attacked the ivory keys with a raucous rendition of "Toot Toot Tootsie Goodbye," loud enough for her and Basil to converse without being overheard.
"What went on backstage?” Basil said. “I was worried Morris had found out you were back there." His jaw twitched with frustration.
Ginger patted his hand. "He didn’t recognize me. He arrested Cynthia. I don't know what he thinks he has on her that's not circumstantial."
"Do you think she's guilty?"
"I don't know. The constable took the snake before I could get a look at it. Perhaps your man at the Yard will be able to tell you if it's a wild scarlet or a coral snake."
"Yes." Basil watched Sorcha and Nuala work the room. "I want to talk to those dancers. Can you introduce me?"
"Yes, but we have to make it look casual and natural. You don't want them guessing you're a detective. Really, you need to relax. You've got the Yard written all over your face."
She reached over to massage his shoulders. "What did you think of my show?"
Basil pulled at his collar. "As a man—I loved it. As your . . . friend, I didn't like it one bit."
Friend. Would their relationship to each other ever be appropriately defined?
"Let's go to the bar," Ginger suggested, "and I'll head them off.”
Billy lifted his smoothly shaven chin when they claimed two empty stools. "What's your poison?" he asked Basil.
"Another whisky," Basil said.
Ginger giggled. "Moi, aussi. Me, too." Anything the dancers ordered from the bar came off their pay, and Billy duly made note.
Basil noticed too. "I'll pay for hers."
Billy was quick to pour their drinks, and Ginger lifted her glass to Basil. "To whatever comes next."
He held her gaze and clinked her glass.
"So, Billy," Ginger called, leaning over the bar. The barman settled his ocean-blue eyes on her in a way that made Ginger shiver. "Did you hear that Cindy was arrested backstage?"
The smile fell off the barman's face. "Word is spreading from table to table. If she did it, she deserves to hang."
"Oh, mon ami. Do you think she did it?"
Billy shrugged.
"Did you know the dancer who died?" Basil asked casually. "Was she popular?"
Billy snorted. "You could say that again. There’s not a man here who didn't scramble for her attention."
Basil swallowed hard. "Did you scramble for her attention?"
"I wouldn't be a man if I hadn't," Billy said stiffly. "Destiny was enigmatic. Not like these other girls who are ten a penny." He glanced at Ginger. "Present company excluded, of course."
"Did you see her the night she died?" Ginger said, adding quickly "I just can't believe no one saw anything."
Billy dried a glass and shrugged. "Last I saw her she was leaving the club—just as alive as you and me." The barman turned abruptly to serve other patrons.
"What's his name?" Basil asked quietly.
"Billy Foster. Are you going to get your constable to see what he can find out about him?"
Basil raised a brow. "It would seem prudent."
"Antoinette!" Nuala sidled up beside Basil. "No keeping this handsome man to yourself." She giggled and pressed up against Basil in a way Ginger didn't like. Nuala held out a dainty hand. "I'm Nuala."
Basil accepted her hand and held it to his lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Nuala. I'm Archie."
Ginger straightened in surprise at this nom de plume. Archie? Where did that come from?
"Oh, Archie, such a gentleman calling me, miss." Nuala positioned herself between Basil and Ginger. She whispered sharply in Ginger's ear. "Spread yourself out. Conway doesn't like it when one man dominates unless he's paying."
"I see someone I must say hello to," Ginger said above the din of the club. She finger-waved over her shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes in a flirtatious manner. "Au revoir, Archie."
Conway Sayer stood at his usual position at the club entrance. From that position, he could watch the door, the stage, and the bar. Ginger sashayed his way. "Monsieur Sayer, I'm afraid I'm in need of the toilette."
"That's why I tell you not to drink after the show," he said without empathy.
"Sometimes, nature calls. It cannot be helped."
"Go then, but be quick about it."
Ginger moseyed away, but as soon as she was out of Conway's line of sight, she hurried to the manager's office. There were plenty of pins in her wig to do the trick of picking the lock, and Ginger was inside in no time.
The office was impeccably tidy, a stark contrast to the girls’ changing room. There was a filing cabinet, a desk and chair, even a plant, which, miraculously was still alive given the window faced north and the natural lighting was minimal. The linoleum on the floor was scuffed but swept clean. A broom was tucked away behind the door. There wasn't even a water ring on the wooden desk, not a crumb from a sandwich eaten while working.
Ginger struck gold in the top drawer of the desk. A ledger lay inside which she could flip through without removing. As the club manager, Conway Sayer tracked the funds. Ginger flipped through the few pages looking for anything amiss. Nothing. Underneath that ledger were three others. Ginger slipped the latest one out and pushed it down her girdle.
A further search through the drawers delivered her answer. Italian mafia boss, Charles Sabini. Ginger groaned. Did that man own all the clubs in London?
Ginger was familiar with the extent of Sabini's reach as she had encountered his drug operation not long before. She quickly closed the desk drawers, ensuring that everything was left exactly as she had found it, right down to the inch. She had to hurry back before Sayer decided to look for her.
The manager scowled at her suspiciously when she returned. "Took you long enough."
Ginger giggled demurely. "C’est la vie."
It was Ginger's turn to scowl when she saw Nuala practically pinning Basil to the bar. She forced herself not to stare and made her way to Haley and Felicia. Fortunately, Mr. Phillips had left.
"How are you holding up?" Haley asked.
"This life is exhausting!" Ginger said.
Haley pushed her drink to her friend. "It's Coca-Cola."
"A little cocaine to wake me up," Ginger said taking a sip. "Did you learn anything new from our friend Mr. Phillips?"
"He's a churlish beast," Felicia said indignantly. "When I refused him, he left us, said we were a waste of time."
>
"He did leave us with a little tidbit," Haley said.
Felicia stared back at Haley with a look of surprise. "He did?"
"When we brought up the subject of Cindy's arrest, I overheard Mr. Phillips mutter.
"What did he say?" Felicia demanded, looking put out that she'd missed a potential clue.
"Yes," Ginger added. "What did he say?"
"That's what happens to women who don't know their place," Haley replied.
"Oh, mercy," Ginger said. "That sounds antagonistic, not to mention misogynistic."
"My guess is that Emelia Reed crossed a personal line," Haley said.
Ginger agreed. "What line exactly?"
Felicia's attention tuned in to something happening over Ginger's shoulder. Ginger turned and frowned. Nuala was persistent if nothing else. She was pulling on Basil's arm, intent on taking him somewhere.
Haley shoved her chair back and stood. "I'll pretend to be his sister."
"Good idea. Don’t forget to alter your accent," Ginger said, grateful for Haley's ability to think on her feet. She called after her just in time. "His name is Archie!"
Chapter Twenty-One
A fast rapping on Ginger's bedroom door pulled her from a deep sleep. She'd been dreaming about the storm she and Haley had experienced on the SS Rosa when they crossed the Atlantic the previous summer. The sudden and fierce storm had drenched Ginger as she struggled to make it to her stateroom, the deck slippery and uneven as the ship lurched. She fell, bruised her elbows and knees as she slid to the rail, hanging on . . .
An urgent whisper called out. "Lady Gold!"
Boss answered with a short "yip."
Ginger propped up on one elbow, willing her heart to slow. The dream wasn't real, but the rain pounded so hard it sounded like someone was throwing sand against the windows. "Who is it?"
"Matilda. Please, help me."
Ginger jumped out of bed, grabbed her blue silk negligée and slipped it over a matching camisole and bloomers ensemble.
On the other side of the door stood Matilda Hanson, her face a ghostly white. Her eyes rolled back as she slumped, and Ginger barely caught her before Matilda fell to the floor.
"Haley!" Ginger yelled out. "Haley!"
Haley's bedroom door opened, and she flicked on the electric lights. "What's wrong?" Then on seeing Ginger holding Matilda, "Miss Hanson?"
"She's fainted," Ginger said. "Oh, no." With the lights on, she could see a vast stain of blood on the mid-section of Matilda's night clothes.
Haley saw it too. "Let's get her back in her bed."
Ambrosia stood at her door, grey hair peeking out of a night cap, her silk dressing gown wrapped tightly around a soft body. "What on earth is going on?"
"Grandmother, go and tell Felicia to call for a doctor," Ginger instructed. "Then summon Lizzie and Grace."
Ambrosia stared with a disbelieving expression as Ginger and Haley awkwardly carried Matilda. The blood stain was obvious.
"Grandmother! It's an emergency!"
Ambrosia snapped out of her trance and yelled for Felicia. She tapped her walking stick down the hall while muttering, “The child could sleep through the Second Coming,” then used it to knock loudly on Felicia's door.
Ginger was out of breath when they finally had Matilda lying down. She focused on the rising of Matilda's chest. Her breathing was faint, but there. Her pale skin was clammy to the touch. "What's happening?"
"She's miscarrying," Haley said. "She's in shock."
Ginger's heart lurched. Miss Hanson was nearly six months along.
"We'll have to remove her clothing," Haley said, already in the process. "Giving birth is not the most dignified thing in the world."
"And the poor thing won't even have a live babe as a reward." Ginger's heart went out to her new friend. She felt terrible for the disappointed family Oliver had lined up for adoption. She'd once had to deliver a baby in France, but that one had had a happy ending.
"We have to work quickly," Haley said, "before she loses too much blood."
An uproar in the hallway led to the arrival of Felicia and the maids.
"Dear Lord," Felicia said at the sight of all the blood. "Is she dead?"
"No," Haley said. "We need hot water, clean towels, and water for Miss Hanson to drink. And a bucket!"
Felicia instructed Lizzie and Grace to get the requested items and to hurry.
"You should dress," Ginger said to Felicia, "then wait for the doctor to arrive."
"The telephone lines are down," Felicia said, her voice pitched high. "Should I send Clement?"
"Yes," Ginger said. "Do it now."
Lizzie arrived with the bucket then hurried away.
Matilda moaned in pain as her body convulsed.
"Miss Hanson," Haley said, shouting in Matilda's ear. "You have to wake up. It's time to push."
Matilda moaned but seemed far away. Haley slapped her face. "Matilda!"
Matilda's eyes rounded, glassy with pain, as the next contraction hit.
"Push!"
"It's too soon!" Matilda pleaded.
Ginger held Matilda's hand tightly. "You have to push, love."
Haley glanced at Ginger, her worried eyes saying the worst. If the baby wasn't born soon, the mother might die as well.
Matilda yelled with shiver-inducing agony, doing her bit, and a perfect little boy, the size of Ginger's palm, was born.
Everyone knew the baby was dead, and Matilda burst into tears. Ginger felt her own eyes burn with grief and shared a tear.
Matilda collapsed with exhaustion.
"Have a drink of water," Ginger said. "You've lost a lot of blood." If Haley hadn't been there to deliver the baby, they could be mourning the death of two people instead of one. Ginger held Matilda's head as she drank.
Felicia hovered by the door. "It's over?"
Haley nodded. "Yes."
"The doctor is here."
Dr. Longden, a familiar figure to Hartigan House, was a capable physician getting close to his retirement years. Ginger had full confidence in his abilities, but she was unable to relax until the man had examined Matilda and reassured Ginger that the patient was stable. She would need a lot of rest for the next few days. Haley offered to stay with Matilda for the rest of the night, which comforted Ginger. Matilda would be too weak to call out or to help herself should she need assistance.
Ginger urged everyone to get back to bed and crawled into her own large bed with Boss at her side. "Such a sad turn of events," Ginger said softly as she found comfort in her pet's warm form. "Thankfully, we still have Miss Hanson with us."
With the dramatic event behind them, Ginger tossed and turned, rather than slept. She forced herself to think of something other than the night's tragedy, and her mind went to the murder case, and specifically Conway Sayer.
Ginger couldn't put her finger on it, but something about the man, other than his obvious disdain of women, made her feel ill at ease.
"Move over, Bossy," she said as she crawled out of bed for the second time that night. She turned on the electric lamp on her bedside table and removed Conway's ledger from her costume bag. She puffed up her pillow against the engraved headboard before climbing back in.
Turning the pages, Ginger examined the entries, not sure what she was looking for or hoped to find. There was a row of money coming in, liquor sales mostly, and several for money going out: alcohol, utilities, cleaning and maintenance services, and wages for the dancers. Ginger choked on the meagre amount and muttered, "Cheapskate." At least the girls got to keep their tips.
She watched for patterns, similarities from month to month. She flipped from the end of 1923 to the beginning of 1924 and noticed an anomaly.
It wasn't overly large, just a slight change in the amount coming in, a drop in five pounds a week, but that went up to seven pounds in February and ten pounds in March.
Conway Sayer was pilfering funds. Had Emelia Reed found out? Did Conway kill her to keep her quiet?
; Ginger met Basil at a Regent Street tea room. It was just like old times when Basil was getting a divorce instead of planning a funeral. She wore a copper-coloured rayon day dress with bell sleeves, a contrasting lace collar, and a drop-waist skirt with four-panel layers that stopped mid-calf. She paired her dress with black, two-inch pumps and a white broad-brimmed hat pulled low on her forehead. Basil wore a pinstriped suit, a crisply pressed shirt with black tie, and polished leather shoes. She ordered piping hot coffee with a biscuit and he, a pot of tea and a crumpet.
"We had an eventful night," Ginger said, then filled him in on Matilda Hanson's sad news. "Haley said the baby had been dead for a couple of weeks or so."
"How awful. But I suppose Matilda can get back to her studies now."
"The spring term's over, Basil. She has to wait until autumn."
"Of course. I'm sorry. My mind isn't . . ."
"It's fine," Ginger said. Basil hadn't been the same since he’d lost both Emilia and access to his job. His wasn't the only loss, but Ginger wouldn't stoop so low to compare hers to his.
"What is she going to do now?" he asked.
"She can stay with me," Ginger said after a bite of her chocolate biscuit. "But, I suppose she no longer has to remain housebound."
"It'll be good for her to get outside."
Ginger stared at Basil. Their conversation had become bland and boring. "Yes, a little sun is what she needs."
Over the last three months, she and Basil had seen each other nearly every day and never once had they lacked for inspiring conversation. Now Basil just stared into his tea.
"I think I'm going to go," Ginger said.
"No," Basil's head snapped up. "Please, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make sense of things, and blast, it's difficult."
Ginger relented. "Maybe I can help you. What's the first thing that doesn't make sense?"
His gaze locked onto hers and he swallowed. "It's spectacularly unfair of me to discuss her with you."
"But we must," Ginger said. "Surely, you realise that?"
Basil sighed. "We were happy once. Then the war happened. And even though I wasn't away that long, it was long enough . . ."