by Lee Strauss
Ginger motored through the streets of London like an old pro. At least she thought so. Haley sat stiffly in the passenger seat, and Ginger gave her credit for not criticising her driving skills for once, though by the look on her friend’s face, one would think she smelled bad fish.
Haley’s colour returned when Ginger pulled to a stop in front of the Edwards’ home. “What is it that you hope to find out?”
“I’m not sure,” Ginger said. “Her explanation for her time spent at the mental hospital.”
Ginger used the knocker on the door of their brick house. After a lengthy wait, Ginger thought that perhaps Catherine wasn’t at home, but then the lock clicked, and the door opened.
Catherine Edwards stood on the other side looking much thinner than Ginger remembered. Obviously, the girl wasn’t cooking for herself. Ginger made a mental note to ask Mrs. Beasley to prepare a dinner basket and get Lizzie or Grace to deliver it.
“Hello, Miss Edwards,” Ginger started pleasantly. “How are you?”
“All right, I guess.”
“Miss Higgins and I thought we might come in for a visit. Would that be to your liking?”
Catherine shrugged then opened the door wider, allowing Ginger and Haley to step inside.
The late spring sun had risen brightly that morning, making it hard to adjust one’s eyes to the dim interior. Ginger suspected that the curtains hadn’t been opened since the day Esme Edwards had been arrested, nor the house cleaned or dusted in that time.
Catherine headed to a chair that had a number of empty glasses on a small table next to it. She lifted up a ball of fine yellow wool stabbed with a knitting needle left on the seat before sitting.
Ginger and Haley sat on either end of a short sofa. A wooden grandfather clock across from the hearth ticked loudly.
“Would you mind terribly if I drew back the curtains?” Ginger asked.
Catherine glanced up from her knitting, her brow furrowing as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her.
“Yes. That would be nice.”
Ginger pushed open the old velvet panels and held in the urge to cough as a tornado of dust filtered through the sun’s rays. She unhooked the latch on the window and pushed it open.
“There,” she said, returning to her spot on the sofa. “Fresh air and sunshine. Does our health a world of good.”
Catherine nodded mutely, her eyes remaining focused on her creation.
In normal situations, the hostess would offer the guests some tea. Ginger shrugged at Haley. Perhaps this was a role usually taken on by Esme, and the thought hadn’t even occurred to Catherine.
“How are you managing on your own, Miss Edwards?” Ginger asked.
“I’m very lonely. And very sad.”
“I can imagine,” Haley said. “Losing your brother in such a tragic manner and then to have your sister-in-law taken away.”
Catherine dropped her knitting. “Yes. I’m alone.”
“Would you like some company?” Ginger asked. “I could arrange for a companion.”
“No, thank you. I don’t want a stranger here. Esme wouldn’t like it either.”
“Very well. But if you ever need anything, you’ll let someone know? The reverend or Mrs. Davies, perhaps?”
Catherine kept her eyes on her knitting. “All right.”
“Again, we’re so sorry that this has happened to your family,” Ginger began. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but can I ask, do you think your sister-in-law did it?”
Catherine hesitated then nodded. “She hated my brother.”
“Why is that, do you think?” Haley asked.
“Because he didn’t love her the way he loved me.”
Ginger felt a sense of alarm. Had Theo Edwards violated his own sister? She broached the subject gently. “Did your brother ever do anything to you to make you feel uncomfortable?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he say or do things, like touch you . . . inappropriately, like a husband would with his wife.”
Catherine screwed up her face. “No! Why would you say such a terrible thing? Theo was the best brother in the whole world!”
“I’m sorry,” Ginger said, wondering if Catherine was—as Shakespeare was famous for saying—protesting a little too much. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
Haley shifted forward in her chair. “We know you spent time at the County Mental Hospital. Did something happen there that made you want to leave?”
Catherine burst into tears, and Haley grimaced at Ginger as if to say, “Oops, and, now what?”
Ginger went to Catherine and patted her on the shoulder. “There, there now. Everything is going to be all right.” She handed the weeping girl her handkerchief.
“Is it?” Catherine said. “They’re going to send me back to that horrible place. I just know it.”
Catherine opened the handkerchief and blew into it. “I’ll kill myself before I let them put me back there.”
“Oh, Miss Edwards,” Ginger said, thoroughly disturbed by Catherine’s words. “Don’t say such a thing. Your brother’s killer shall be found out, and justice shall be done. I promise you’ll be all right.”
Catherine bounded into Ginger’s arms, nearly knocking her over. “Oh, thank you, Lady Gold.”
Haley left the room and returned shortly with a glass of water. “Drink this, Miss Edwards,” she said. “You’ll feel better.”
“Thank you.” Catherine sipped the water and added the glass to the group of empty ones on the occasional table. She picked up her knitting.
“What are you making?” Ginger asked.
“Baby booties. For the baby.”
Haley raised a questioning brow. Surely, Catherine wasn’t with child?
“Whose baby?” Ginger asked softly.
“Mary Blythe’s. She’s going to be a mother, didn’t you know?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“What are you going to do now?” Haley asked as she and Ginger returned to the Crossley.
“I need to revisit Mary Blythe and ask her if Miss Edwards’ allegations are true.”
“That should be an interesting conversation,” Haley said. “From what I observed, Catherine Edwards isn’t exactly mentally stable.”
“Do you think she’s fibbing?”
Haley lifted a shoulder as she considered Ginger’s question. “It’s possible. Then again, the insane are often the most honest.” Checking her wristwatch, she added, “I’m afraid I can’t join you. I’m due back at the hospital.”
“Would you like a lift?”
Haley grinned as a bus approached. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your case.”
Ginger watched as Haley disappeared onto the red wooden bus filled with strangers looking out at her. The lumbering vehicle moved slowly with the traffic, sure to stop many times before reaching Haley’s destination. Ginger couldn’t understand why her friend preferred that to a quick ride in the Crossley.
As Ginger drove towards the Blythe residence, her mind raced. Was Mary indeed with child? And was it possible that Oliver was the father? She couldn’t imagine this type of indiscretion of her friend, but anything was possible. Was that the real reason he’d agreed to a quick wedding ceremony? It would explain why he wasn’t willing to end the engagement, other than a matter of keeping his word.
Mary Blythe was just leaving her house when Ginger pulled up and parked in front of it.
“Miss Blythe,” Ginger called as she exited her motorcar.
Mary Blythe turned, and a frown formed on her face. “I’m quite busy at the moment, Lady Gold,” she said. “I’ve got errands to run.”
“That’s fine,” Ginger said, catching up. “I’ll walk with you.”
Wearing a cotton floral-print day dress and sturdy pumps, Mary held her handbag close to her chest as she kept her quick pace along the pavement. She wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled low to shade her eyes from the sun, or perhaps, Ginger thought, to keep from having to look people in the eye.
>
“How are you?” Ginger asked. “Are you holding up?”
“So long as the police have the killer and justice is done,” Mary said in a clipped tone.
“Do you believe Mrs. Edwards to be guilty?”
Mary spared a glance in Ginger’s direction. “Isn’t she?”
“It hasn’t been proven by a jury as yet.”
Mary slowed as she pondered Ginger’s point. “But if not her, who else?”
A motorcar rumbled by with a large black dog panting out of the back window. It barked in greeting. The distraction allowed Ginger to avoid answering the question.
Moments later, Mary stopped at a red cast iron Royal Mail cylindrical pillar box embossed with a gold crown and the letters GR on its side. She riffled through her handbag and removed some envelopes.
“Wedding invitations with the new date,” she explained. “I might as well just give you yours.”
“Miss Blythe,” Ginger started. “I have a rather delicate question to ask you, and I wouldn’t if such a serious case wasn’t at hand.”
Mary held out an envelope with Lady Gold written as the recipient. “Very well.”
“Are you in the family way?”
Mary’s cheeks turned cherry red, and her hands began to tremble. She pressed the collection of envelopes to her chest in an attempt to calm them. “Why would you ask me such a thing? Oliver would never . . .”
Oliver would never.
“Miss Blythe, am I to assume the answer to my question?”
The rosiness of Mary’s complexion drained to white. Her brown eyes filled with tears, and try as she might, lips quivering, she was unable to hold in her sobs.
“Oh, Lady Gold!”
Mary produced a handkerchief and cried silently into it, her thin shoulders shaking.
“Miss Blythe,” Ginger said gently. “You’re in a serious situation, and I’d like to help.”
Mary dabbed her nose and stared back with bloodshot eyes. “How can you help? Everything is ruined now. All because of Theo!”
Ginger was quick to notice her use of Mr. Edwards’ Christian name, and her heart dropped. “Was Theo Edwards the father?” she asked.
Mary nodded, her expression pinched in emotional torment. “He lied to me. I feel so foolish.” She took a moment to daintily blow her nose. “I felt so powerful and alive when I was with him. Naïve enough to believe that I was the only one. I was seduced, Lady Gold. I was weak and I’ll never forgive myself.”
“So, you found yourself in this unenviable position and the only answer was a quick wedding.”
Mary nodded, not having the decency to look ashamed. “Oliver made it so easy. The rumour was that he was in search for a wife. I took what I’d learned from my time with Theo. Oliver was quite willing to speed up the process, with a little . . . encouragement.”
Ginger could only imagine, in Mary’s desperate state, how she might’ve teased and seduced Oliver to get what she wanted.
“So, now you’re the liar,” Ginger said.
Mary swallowed. “Yes.”
Wiping her face dry, Mary stared at her bundle of invitations before returning them to her handbag. “How did you figure it out?” she said with a tone of resignation. Her palm pressed against a slightly rounded stomach that was still easily hidden.
“Catherine Edwards,” Ginger said.
“Oh, yes. She came across us once, when Theo and I were arguing. She must’ve overheard. I’m actually shocked she didn’t spill our secret sooner.” Mary straightened her slumped shoulders and waited for a horse and carriage to continue by before asking, “Are you going to tell Oliver?”
“Don’t you think you should do it?” Ginger replied.
Mary shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too humiliating. Please, will you do it for me?”
“Of course,” Ginger said. She’d rather Mary did it, but it wouldn’t be fair to Oliver to allow him to continue without knowing the truth.
Mary glanced about, avoiding direct eye contact with Ginger. “I’m damaged goods now. I’ll have to run away.”
“There are homes in place that are designed to help women in your predicament.”
Mary sighed. “I know about them. Homes for ruined women.”
Ginger only nodded. She’d helped Matilda Hanson who’d found herself in a similar crisis, and brought her to Hartigan House for her confinement, but she couldn’t make that same offer to Mary Blythe. Miss Blythe had lied to Oliver. Almost tricked him into a marriage intending to pass off another man’s child as his. That was unforgivable.
“Miss Blythe, did you kill Theo Edwards?”
Mary stilled. “I confess I’d dreamed about it, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him, but I’m glad he’s dead.” She spun on her heels and practically ran away from Ginger and back to her house, hat brim down and handkerchief pressed to her face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ginger felt ill. Not only did she have to tell her good friend that his fiancée had been deceitful, but also, Mary Blythe had just jumped to the top of the suspect list. She needed to let Basil know about her conversation with Miss Blythe, but first, she had to speak to Oliver.
A dark bank of clouds had rolled in, seemingly out of nowhere, and drops of rain tap-danced on her windscreen. She turned on the wipers to a rather unpleasant scraping sound, but they moved the water so she could see more clearly.
Feeling a sense of urgency, Ginger pressed down on the accelerator. Unfortunately, she didn’t spot the puddle that had gathered in a pothole, and the stream of water that flew up and outwards when her tyre drove through it hit a passing pedestrian. The man, now drenched from the knees downward, raised a fist and shook it Ginger’s way.
“Oops. Sorry, sir,” she said without stopping. There was nothing much she could do about his damp trousers anyway.
Ginger pulled into the cobbled drive at St. George’s Church and stared at the green Austin 7 in confusion. Basil Reed was here, but why? Had he got a break in the case?
She stepped out of her motorcar, retrieved a bright yellow umbrella from the back seat, and snapped it open above her head. Just as she started toward the tall wooden doors, Oliver and Basil stepped outside, Oliver hatless with a black umbrella and Basil with his trademark trilby on his head.
“Ginger!” Oliver said on seeing her. He approached with Basil on his heels.
“Hello, Oliver.” Ginger’s gaze shot to Basil. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m afraid the church has been vandalised,” Oliver said with a mournful sigh. “Dreadful.”
Ginger scanned the church exterior and saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Where?”
“This way,” Oliver said. “I was just about to show Chief Inspector Reed.”
“Hello,” Basil said, now that Oliver had stopped talking.
“Hello,” Ginger responded coolly. She hadn’t forgotten the embarrassing spat Basil had got into with William the night before. “I didn’t think vandalism concerned the Yard, but of course, with the murder inquiry . . .”
“Exactly,” Basil said.
They rounded the corner, beyond the bed of irises, and Ginger’s mouth fell open. “Oh, mercy.”
Her favourite stained-glass window with Jesus and the saints was broken and the word, “Fornicator,” painted onto the stone exterior.
“I have no idea who would do this or why they would write such a thing.” Oliver stared woefully at Ginger. “I swear, I’ve been the perfect gentleman with Mary. We certainly haven’t crossed any moral lines.”
Thinking of Catherine, Ginger said, “Whoever did this is obviously not in their right mind.”
“Mary can’t see this. Our wedding is already marred by murder. Oh, dear, we’ll have to postpone the wedding again.”
“Oliver, why don’t we see if Mrs. Davies could make us some tea,” Ginger said, more for Oliver’s sake than hers or Basil’s. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him so emotionally frayed.
“Good idea,” Oliver said. “
I’ll do that.” He turned on his heel and left Ginger and Basil staring at his back.
“Poor old chap,” Basil said. “He’s quite rattled.”
“Indeed. So, what do you make of this?” Ginger wanted to keep their conversation civil and professional.
“Someone is upset, obviously. However, it’s not necessarily connected to Theo Edwards’ murder. It could be an unfortunate coincidence.”
“What broke the windows?” Ginger asked. “Have you seen inside the sanctuary?”
“Yes, we’d just come from there.” Basil pointed to the jagged rocks in the flower gardens. “A rock.”
“It couldn’t have been Esme Edwards,” Ginger said, “being locked up.”
“Actually, she was released last night. Not enough evidence to hold her.”
Ginger blinked. Had Esme Edwards been in the house when Ginger had visited Catherine Edwards? Maybe she’d jumped to conclusions, presuming Catherine to be guilty.
“You could’ve mentioned that at the gala last night,” she said tersely.
“I didn’t know,” Basil explained. “Morris made the decision after I’d gone home.”
Superintendent Morris was a large man with a larger ego. Not one of Ginger’s favourite people, she was quite certain Basil’s boss had climbed the ranks to his position through a network of powerful people he knew rather than as a result of competent output on the job.
She huffed, barely concealing the annoyance she felt.
“Ginger, I feel I should apologise.”
Ginger glanced up at him, his hazel eyes soft and imploring. A sudden urge to run a finger along that familiar jawline was so strong, she had to turn away.
“About your friend William, and how I behaved,” Basil said. “It was uncouth of me.”
Ginger swallowed before responding. “I appreciate your willingness to own up to your side.” William had yet to do it, she thought ruefully.
“For a navy captain, he is rather sensitive.”
Ginger shot Basil a disparaging look. “It’s not an apology if you append it with criticism.”