by Lee Strauss
Ginger and Basil shared another look. Ginger was quite happy to let him share whatever news he deemed appropriate at this stage of his investigation.
Instead of answering he said, “Were either of you present at the soirée held here on the thirty-first of December 1913?”
“1913?” Mrs. Schofield said. “What could that possibly have to do with the body in the attic?” She gasped. “Don’t tell me it’s been there for that long!”
“Just answer the question, please,” Basil said.
Mrs. Schofield fiddled with her pearls. “Well, yes I was here. Mr. Schofield, my husband, was still alive. It was the last formal affair we attended before he passed away.”
Alfred shook his head. “I was too young for such things.”
“Does the name Eunice Hathaway ring any bells?”
Alfred shook his head, but Mrs. Schofield stared into space as if digging up old files.
“Yes,” she said. “She was the young lady on the arm of Lord Maxwell Turnbull. It was quite the scandal, you know, since Lord Turnbull had only been recently widowed and an appropriate time of mourning hadn’t yet passed. Besides, she was a commoner and he was a Lord. The peerage was up in arms. It was in all the papers.”
Ambrosia released a quiet derisive huff at the apparent slight to her class.
Mrs. Schofield eyed her slyly then continued. “Before too long Miss Hathaway was in her cups, as they say, always a glass of champagne in her hand, holding it high so everyone would see her ring.”
“A ring?” Ginger said, thinking of the broken phalange.
“Yes. A tremendous ruby with four small diamonds around it. It quite dazzled in the electric lights, but how she flashed it about was simply off-putting. Everyone there had known Lady Turnbull. The young woman’s behaviour was appalling.”
Lizzie produced another hot pot of tea. Alfred took the moment to saunter over to Basil, hands in his trouser pockets.
“So mate, it’s been a while, eh?”
Basil stood. “Indeed.”
Ginger looked at the two men in surprise. “You know each other?”
“Indeed, we do,” Alfred said. “Lieutenant Reed was in the same regiment as my brother—God rest his soul. Our old chap, Basil here, got invalided out before it was half over.” He slapped Basil on the back, causing the Chief Inspector to wince. “Missed the best part at the end, you did,” Alfred continued. “Lucky you.”
“You’re pretty lucky too, I’d say,” Basil said. “You’re here and standing.”
Alfred chuckled. “Righto. By the way, how’s your wife? Emelia isn’t it?”
Basil stiffened. “She’s fine. What about your sweetheart? Sorry, I forget her name.”
That produced a laugh. “I’ve already forgotten her name too, old chap!” He went to slap Basil again, but Basil sidestepped out of the way in time.
Felicia had disappeared and returned with freshly applied make-up. Red lipstick outlined rosebud lips, and her eye shadow was far too dark for the time of day. She approached Alfred and giggled at him flirtatiously. “Am I to understand you live next door?”
Alfred smiled in return, his eyes scanning her feminine form from her youthful face to her exposed ankles and her t-strap shoes. “I used to,” he said. “Grandmother nursed me back to health after the war, and now I feel it’s my duty to take care of her, so I drop in as often as I can.”
“Oh, so sweet!” She batted her eyes. “A true gentleman.”
“Grandmother’s a good old bird.”
Felicia stroked Alfred’s arm. “You know London then, do you? You must take me around, show me the sights.”
Ginger watched this interaction with alarm. She didn’t trust Alfred Schofield. Not in the least. “Felicia,” she called. “Do me a favour, darling, and telephone the medical school. Ask for Miss Higgins and warn her about the excitement outside.”
“Must I?” Felicia whined like a girl much younger than her actual age of twenty-one. “Can’t you do it?”
Ginger kept her composure. “I would, but I must see to the Dowager Lady Gold and our guests. Pippins has the number.”
“Then why can’t he do it?”
“Felicia, child!” Ambrosia sputtered. “Has Ginger not done enough for you that you can’t do one little thing in return!”
Felicia left with a huff, and at least for now, was safely out of Alfred Schofield’s claws.
Pippins returned with news. “There are men loitering in the alley, but off the property. I opened the way next door with clipping shears. You can now quite easily cut through the gardens.”
“Thank you, Pippins,” Ginger said, feeling relieved. Their guests could soon depart.
“Alfred, darling,” Mrs. Schofield said loudly. “Do help me out of the chair. Chief Inspector, will you escort us?”
Chapter Twelve
The next day Ginger drank her mid-morning tea on the veranda in the garden. Who knew how long the weather would remain nice enough to sit outside in the sun? Boss, in agreement, sprawled his small black and white form across the warm flagstones.
Ambrosia and Mrs. Thornton were working together in the garden. The phrase working together was a bit generous. Ginger watched them from under the rim of her hat.
“Mrs. Thornton, you’ve really got to manage the blackberries,” Ambrosia said as she rested against her walking stick. “If you’re not careful, they’ll take over the whole garden. Such a shame they weren’t harvested this summer. Think of all the pies that could’ve been made with all the berries on the ground. And those ripe belladonna berries make a mess when trodden upon. They should be picked soon and destroyed. The plant should be removed. Such a thing isn’t suitable for a city garden. How did one get seeded here in the first place? And the ivy is quite out of control. Before too long, you shan’t be able to see the fence.”
“Why doncha keep to the roses you like so much, Dowager Lady Gold,” Mrs. Thornton said with noticeable irritation in her voice. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
“At Bray Manor we have a groundskeeper to tend to the garden.”
“’Ow nice for ya, madam.”
Ambrosia tsked. “He never lets things get away like this.”
“’Artigan ’Ouse ’as been unattended for some time, madam. Perhaps ’e’d like to visit us ’ere and ’elp us out.”
“Oh my, no. Bray Manor keeps him busy enough.”
The sound of the telephone bell resounded through the open window. Ginger heard Pippins answer. Soon afterward he entered the garden and announced. “Miss Higgins on the line for you, madam.”
Ginger promptly left the two gardeners alone to continue their verbal sparring.
She held the candlestick telephone with one hand and held the earpiece to her ear. “Haley. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s the bee’s knees, Ginger. You won’t believe it, but the body is here in the medical lab.”
“Our body? The bones?”
“Yes. Turns out that my professor, Dr. Watts, works closely with the Chief Inspector. He’s his pathologist of choice.”
“That’s very interesting news,” Ginger said. “Is it all right if I come over?”
“That’s why I called, sugar.”
Ginger had already walked Boss and was dressed for the day. She let Lizzie know she was leaving her pet behind and told Pippins where she was headed. After a three-quarter hour drive through busy morning traffic, she arrived at the London Medical School for Women.
She greeted Miss Knight and asked directions to the lab. Following the woman’s instructions, Ginger was relieved to find Haley eating a sandwich as she waited for her in the hall.
“Finally,” she said as she gobbled up the last bite.
“Traffic was atrocious.”
Haley brushed the crumbs off her lap and led Ginger into the lab.
Without windows and lit by a scattering of bare bulbs, the room was rather gloomy. The linoleum on the floor was scuffed from gurney wheels and rubber-soled shoe
s. All the surfaces and apparatuses were a bland, white ceramic. The remains of the body were spread out on the table with all the fabric and dried flesh removed.
“Normally the bodies that come through here have flesh and blood along with the bones,” Haley said. She pointed to what looked like large built-in filing cabinets. “The cadavers are stored over there. Thank goodness for electricity and refrigeration.”
Ginger focused her attention onto the bones before her, laid out like a skeletal puzzle. “What do you make of them?”
Haley pointed to the area just beneath the jawbone. “The hyoid bone is broken. Dr. Watts says this points to strangulation as the cause of death.”
“I see.” Ginger paused, then asked, “What is Dr. Watts like?”
“He’s intense. Very gifted.”
“Do you have any female instructors?”
“A few, though I’ve heard the percentage of female professors is increasing over time.”
Haley motioned to the skeleton on the table. “The bones are strong, and the sutures in the skull and palate are only partially fused, indicating youthfulness. There is evidence of a single break in the left ulna.” Haley pointed to the forearm bone. “Take a look at this fracture line. Dr. Watts surmises it was from a childhood fall. The ribcage is free of nicks or fractures which points to an absence of abdominal trauma, either from a fist or stab wound. However, the phalanges of the right ring finger are damaged at the inter-phalangeal joint. The breakage must have occurred before the woman was abandoned in the attic. My guess is that someone had trouble removing a ring from our victim.”
“I’m impressed, Haley,” Ginger said. “I had no idea you could deduce so much from bare bones.”
“I’m learning a lot from Dr. Watts.”
Ginger hummed. “Indeed. Where is the good doctor?”
“He’s been called to the hospital. I’m sorry you missed him.”
“Another day, I’m sure,” Ginger said. She rounded the table to the other side, taking in all the evidence.
“Perhaps,” Ginger said. She took a closer look at the skull and broken hyoid bone. “She had nice teeth,” she said. “Probably a great smile.”
Haley agreed. “A nice-shaped head too. No doubt she was attractive.”
“No doubt.”
“Have you confirmed that this is Eunice Hathaway?”
“As much as it is possible. Dr. Watt’s mentioned that your neighbour Mrs. Schofield was brought to Scotland Yard. She confirmed the dress as the same one she saw Miss Hathaway wear.”
Ginger leaned over the bones. “What led to your demise, Eunice? Who did this to you?”
Chapter Thirteen
Later that afternoon, Ginger sat in the office of Mr. William Hayes, solicitor. The building was in Whitechapel on the eastern edge of London City on a street that bordered the well-to-do and the not so well-to-do. It amazed Ginger how quickly neighbourhoods could change in such a short distance. In one, well-groomed streets filled with men in fine suits and top-hats and in the other, ditches dotted with rubbish and dirty youths scampering about suspiciously.
Mr. Hayes was a diminutive man with thinning hair and a weasel-like face. A pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez sat on a small upturned nose. The sturdy desk was crafted with good mahogany and designed to last for centuries, barring a woodworm invasion or fire. The large piece seemed to swallow the solicitor, causing him to appear as a child testing out his father’s things.
This was the man Ginger’s father had entrusted with the estate?
Ginger claimed the chair in front of the desk. She’d chosen a classic cream wool suit and white cloche for this meeting, wanting to look sophisticated and businesslike. Long white gloves reached her elbows and she folded her hands on her lap. “Thank you for seeing me at short notice, Mr. Hayes.”
“No problem at all, Lady Gold. I was expecting you.”
“Of course. Might I ask, how long have you worked for my father?”
Mr. Hayes tented his fingers and searched the ceiling. Ginger mistrusted him even more.
“I do believe he first came to me in thirteen. Yes, the autumn of 1913.”
Again, the year 1913? “If you don’t mind my asking, why did my father change solicitors that year?”
“Mr. Jenkins retired.”
Simple answer. Too simple to be true? Ginger nodded and smiled. “1913 was the year I married Lord Gold. We were wed in America but travelled here on our honeymoon in the summer. Unfortunately we never made it back for the winter soirée hosted by my father. I heard it was a delightful affair. Were you there?”
Mr. Hayes’s finger tent opened, and collapsed, and opened again. “I don’t recollect. That was ten years ago, so my memory is a little fuzzy.”
“At any time do you recall meeting a woman named Miss Eunice Hathaway?”
Pausing for a moment too long, he replied, “No. I’m afraid I do not.”
The solicitor was lying.
“Do you attend a lot of soirées, Mr. Hayes?”
Annoyance registered on his face. “Hardly any at all.”
“Then I’m surprised you don’t remember this one? I heard Hal Sherman sang live. It was New Year’s Eve.”
“Yes, yes, Lady Gold. I remember now. Lovely event. But I confess, I’m not much for social dos.”
This, Ginger believed.
“Was my father in some kind of trouble?”
William Hayes ceased his finger exercises and sat taller—as much as it was possible for a man his size to sit taller—in his expensive leather chair. “Why would you ask that, Lady Gold?”
Ginger raised a brow. “Why won’t you answer the question?”
“I’m bound by confidentiality, even to the dead.”
The solicitor’s refusal to answer heightened Ginger’s concern. As far as she knew, her father had been the epitome of hard work and integrity when it came to his businesses. He had been trusted and well-liked. Was it possible a man of his upstanding reputation had also carried terrible secrets to his grave?
Ginger experienced the light-headed sense of one walking a tightrope without a net. She pushed down her fears and recomposed herself. “What must I do to take care of my father’s affairs?”
William Hayes pushed a stack of papers towards her along with a fountain pen. “Simply sign where you see an X. Once I file with the city registrar, Hartigan House will be legally yours.”
“Perfect. Do you mind if I take these home? I have a personal policy of not signing anything I haven’t thoroughly read.”
“Certainly, bring them back at your convenience.” Mr. Hayes stood and Ginger found herself looking down at the man as she shook his hand.
“Good day, Mr. Hayes.”
Ginger walked quickly down the street but slowed as she reached the Daimler. A group of dirty-faced boys with patches on their knees and holes in their shoes circled her motorcar. They rubbed grubby fingers on the windows as they looked inside.
“Hey!” Ginger shouted impulsively. Instead of scattering, they looked her up and down, and the largest kid, shoving hands in his pockets, scuttled over. “Looky ’ere, lads. Money inna dress.”
“Now don’t be disrespectful, young man,” Ginger said. “Or I’ll tell your mother.”
The big boy laughed and the little ones joined in on his lead. “Tell me muhvah? I ain’t got no muhvah.”
The boys circled in closer and Ginger felt a wave of concern. “Allow me to reach my motorcar,” she said.
“If ya could spare a few shillings, missus, we’ll leave ya be.”
Ginger huffed. “That’s extortion.”
The boy pressed up close, forcing Ginger to step back. “And that there’s a pretty fancy word.” She glanced around for assistance, but suddenly, the street seemed empty as if the boys had been given the stage.
“Let me get to my vehicle, and I’ll give you what you want.”
The circle opened, and Ginger passed by. She was thankful she’d thought to lock the door. She found change in
her handbag, but before she gave it away, she said, “What are you going to do with this money?”
The larger boy dropped his grin. “The grocer just got a barrel of shiny new apples. I ’ave a little sister who ain’t ate nuffin’ all day.”
Ginger’s anger immediately ebbed and she handed out the coins, wishing there were more she could do. The boys left and she sat for a moment deep in thought when a tap at the window startled her.
The familiar face of a young waif with a dirty face and wearing a stained newsboy cap peered at her through the window.
“Scout?”
“Mrs. Gold. Is dat you?”
Ginger stepped out of the car and gave the small boy a hearty handshake.
“I know it’s only been a few days, but it seems much longer,” Ginger said. Scout had worked in the kennel with his older cousin on the SS Rosa when she crossed over from Boston.
“It does, missus.” Scout stuffed small fists into the pockets of his tweed knickerbockers. “How’s ol’ Boss?”
“He’s well. I have a mai—a girl at home who helps me to look after him now.”
“Lucky ’er.”
“How are Marvin and your uncle?”
“They’s good. Hey, missus, I saw wat those lads did. I’m mighty sorry.”
“It’s not your fault for knowing them, Scout.” As she did on the ship, Ginger had an overwhelming urge to scoop up the young boy and take him home. In her care he might have a decent chance at life. She’d even made him the offer, but he declined. As they say, blood is thicker than water.
“Are you going back to work on the Rosa?” she asked.
“Nah. Sumfin terrible happened to the captain, and the coppers and ’igher ups is all over it. Marvin says to stay put for now.”
“I see.” Ginger pulled out a five-pound note. “Take this and buy food for you, your cousin and your uncle.”
“Oh, I couldn’t missus. It woulda be charity.”
“Think of it as a bonus for the extra love you gave to Boss.”
Scout worked his lips wearily.
Before he could refuse, she added, “It’s also a job.”