by Lee Strauss
A low disgruntled murmur resumed.
Turning to Ginger, Basil Reed said, “I believe it would be best if we gathered everyone into the sitting room.”
“Certainly.”
Basil gave instructions, and he and Ginger watched as her guests filed after Pippins as if he were the Pied Piper.
Once the drawing room was emptied of all—except poor Lord Turnbull—Ginger closed and locked the door.
“Might I use your telephone?” Basil asked.
“Of course. You know where it is.”
“Please, watch that no one leaves the sitting room.”
Haley positioned herself with Ginger who stood in the arched entranceway to the sitting room, preventing access to the front door.
The fresher air from the foyer awakened Ginger’s nose to the unpleasant odour that had attached itself to the group: a mix of cigar and cigarette smoke, heavy perfume, and nervous sweat. Haley noticing it as well, wrinkled her nose. “What a fine-looking, smelly bunch we are.”
“Indeed,” Ginger said, keeping her voice low. “What do you think caused Lord Turnbull to die so suddenly like that?”
“I don’t think it was a heart attack,” Haley said. “If you remember, his speech had slurred before he fell and I noticed him having a faraway look.”
“You don’t think he was simply inebriated?”
“Lord Turnbull didn’t appear to be a man who couldn’t hold his liquor. He put quite a few glasses of champagne away over dinner and never stumbled with his speech once.”
Ginger turned to Haley with searching eyes. “You think he was poisoned.”
“I think it’s more than likely he was poisoned, but I wouldn’t swear to it before a post-mortem has been performed.”
Ginger folded her arms over her chest. “I wonder what the poison was—if it was indeed poisoning.” Her gaze scanned the drawing room. Except Pippins and Basil Reed, everyone was accounted for: Mrs. and Alfred Schofield, Lord and Lady Brackenbury, Ambrosia and Felicia, Harriet Fox, Andrew Bailey, the Moreaus, Dr. Longden, and William Hayes.
She sang softly to herself, “I wonder who the killer is?”
People dealt with stress in different ways. Some liked to close their eyes and doze off, like Lady Brackenbury and Ambrosia: some stared into space with a faraway look, such as Harriet Fox and Felicia. Others, simply put out, constantly checked their watches, like Dr. Longden and Mrs. Schofield. Then there were those who got agitated, shifting their weight from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching their fists, continuously running palms over well-oiled hair or fussing with their ties, like Alfred Schofield and William Hayes. The latter to the point of showing uncharacteristic behaviour for one in his profession. He strolled swiftly towards the doorway, exclaiming, “Lady Gold, you have no legal right to hold us here. Lord Turnbull has obviously suffered a stroke or heart attack.”
Haley stepped forward. “Mr. Hayes, you will step back and cooperate with the police.”
William Hayes pushed her aside and made a run for the foyer.
“Stop right there!” Ginger had wondered if the small Remington derringer she’d tucked into her garter would come into play before the evening was out. She pointed it at William Hayes, pushing the hammer down with a menacing click. A loud gasp escaped the lips of the onlookers. Ginger stood straight, legs spread, her dress tight against her knees, elbows locked, and gun pointed.
“It’s been a while since I’ve used this thing, Mr. Hayes,” she said, staring him straight in the eye. “But I haven’t forgotten how.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chief Inspector Reed returned, his eyes wide with speculation as he took in Ginger’s stance with the gun. William Hayes made a quick retreat back to his position in the sitting room and Ginger relaxed her hold.
“Just doing my job, Chief Inspector,” she said with a smile. She lifted the hem of her dress until it reached her garter and slipped the weapon back into place.
Chief Inspector Reed froze as he watched her, shook his head and cleared his throat. He stepped around her into the sitting room, with the whole of Ginger’s staff behind him. Pippins, Mrs. Thornton, Lizzie, Grace, Marvin and Scout.
“Hold up there, young man,” Ginger said, pulling Scout back before he could get wind of the tragedy. She winked at him. “You can wait here with me.”
“Aw, can’t I see the body, missus?”
“Certainly not!” It seemed he’d already heard. How quickly bad news traveled amongst the ranks. Scout smiled his toothy grin and her heart ached to protect his innocence. The lad had seen so much hardship already in his young life: she wouldn’t expose him to this as well. She waved Felicia over.
“Felicia, would you mind taking young Scout to the kitchen?”
Felicia glanced back at Ambrosia whose head was pressed against the wing of the chair. Her chin tilted up, her mouth open, and her eyes closed. A soft snore was heard as she exhaled.
“I’d be happy to,” Felicia said. “I think Grandmama is quite knackered at the moment.” She knelt to the boy’s level. “Do you like biscuits?”
Scout nodded shyly. “Uh-huh.”
“Great. Let’s go and see if we can find some!” Felicia took Scout’s hand and they disappeared down the hall to the kitchen.
Ginger turned her attention back to the drama going on in the sitting room.
Chief Inspector Reed announced to the room, “The police are on their way, at which time I shall see you one by one and you shall make a statement. After that, you shall be free to go.”
To Ginger, he added, “May I use your study to conduct the interviews?”
“Of course, Chief Inspector.”
Ten minutes later Pippins showed Sergeant Scott and Constable Newman into the room.
Basil nodded to the men and got right to the point. “Newman, I need you to watch this room, ensure that no one leaves until released by me. Scott please take the drawing room and watch the body. Make sure no one but the forensics team, and persons I authorize, enter.”
Pippins left with Sergeant Scott to unlock the drawing room door.
Basil Reed consulted his pocket-sized notebook. “Lord Brackenbury, I’ll see you first.”
“Haley?” Ginger said quietly. “Would you mind distracting Lady Brackenbury until his lordship has finished?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Ginger led Chief Inspector Reed and Lord Brackenbury down the dimly lit passage to the study at the back of the house. The room had French windows that opened out to the garden terrace, not easily seen in the darkness of night.
“Help yourself to my father’s chair,” Ginger said to Basil Reed. “My chair now,” she amended.
Two leather chairs faced the desk. Lord Brackenbury sat in one; Ginger claimed the other.
Chief Inspector Reed stared at her. “Lady Gold, I’m accustomed to doing the interviews on my own.”
“Are you really? It’s my understanding that there are always two in the room—for proper documentation and such—, and since your two officers are currently needed elsewhere, allow me to be of assistance.” Ginger picked up a pad of paper and fountain pen from the desktop. “I’m ready to take notes.”
Basil Reed sighed and conceded. “Very well. But I’ll hold you to the strictest confidence, Lady Gold.”
“As God is my witness,” she said.
Straightening his tie, Chief Inspector Reed began, “Lord Brackenbury, let’s be swift so you can take your wife home. I’m certain you’re both fatigued.”
The elderly man nodded. “We are.”
“What is your relationship with the deceased?”
“I have no relationship. I only encountered the man at occasional social affairs where we had acquaintances in common.”
“Have you ever been in a business relationship with Lord Turnbull?”
“I have not.”
“Can you recall the night of the thirty-first of December 1913?”
“I can. Unlike my poor wife, my mind is as sha
rp now as it was then.”
“Brilliant. Then you’ll remember Eunice Hathaway. What are your thoughts about her on that night?”
“Miss Hathaway was a young, flighty thing, acting the part, but not at all suited for it.”
“The part?” Ginger asked. Basil Reed shot her a look. She ignored it.
“She acted as if she knew the ways of the upper class, like she was one of us. She most definitely was not.”
“It’s my understanding the Hathaways are quite well off,” Ginger said.
“Well, yes,” Lord Brackenbury said. “It’s well known they made their fortune in African gold. New money, you see. And …” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “I’m not one for gossip, mind you, but word does get about. Miss Eunice was adopted. It was believed she was the love child of Mr. Hathaway and that Mrs. Hathaway agreed to take her in to avoid a scandal.”
“Really?” Ginger said. “She and Miss Hathaway must’ve had an interesting mother-daughter relationship.”
“It was quite in name only,” Lord Brackenbury said. “If you can trust what you hear. Miss Hathaway didn’t do much in the way of bringing respectability to the family name or to the reputation of the upper class, truth be told.”
“Do you believe Miss Hathaway got what she deserved?” the Chief Inspector asked.
Lord Brackenbury jerked back with a look of shock on his face. “I most certainly do not! No one deserves to be murdered. The end of our days on earth should be up to God and God alone.”
“That will be all, Lord Brackenbury. Thank you for your time. You may take Lady Brackenbury home.”
“Thank you, Chief Inspector.”
Ginger waited until the older man had disappeared and was out of earshot.
“That was interesting,” she said.
“Indeed, if in fact there is any truth to the rumours. Now, would you mind calling the young lads in?” Basil Reed’s gaze fell to his notes. “Marvin and Scout Elliot.”
Ginger inclined her head. “Am I your secretary now?”
“You are if you want to stay in this room.”
Ginger jumped from her chair. “Understood.”
Moments later the Elliot boys were in the chairs in front of the desk. Ginger leaned against the bookshelf, notebook in hand. Marvin and Scout sat stiffly before the Chief Inspector, frightened expressions on their youthful faces. Scout’s skinny legs dangled, his feet not quite touching the floor.
“It’s all right, boys,” Ginger said gently. She expected that both Marvin and Scout had things they’d rather the chief Chief Inspector didn’t find out about. “You’re not in trouble. Chief Inspector Reed just has a few quick questions about tonight’s event.”
“All right, madam,” Marvin said. “Sir.”
“Mr. Elliot,” Chief Inspector Reed began.”
Marvin and Scout said together, “Uh-huh?”
Basil and Ginger exchanged amused glances. Basil tried again.
“How about I call the eldest Mr. Elliot, Mr. Elliot, and the younger one, Mr. Scout?”
The boys nodded and Marvin answered, “Righto, sir.”
“Mr. Elliot, you assisted Mr. Pippins and Mr. Bailey with the drinks, is that so?”
“Yes, sir. Until the supper. Den I was in the kitchen wiv Scout.”
“While you were serving the drinks, did you see anything suspicious? Someone tampering with one of the bottles, say, or someone behind the drinks trolley who shouldn’t have been there?”
Marvin worked the muscles in his face as if that would help him in remembering. “No, sir. I dinnit see nuthin’ like dat.”
“Mr. Elliot, have you come in contact with any of tonight’s guests outside of this evening, either socially or otherwise?”
Marvin and Scout shared a look. Marvin worked his lips.
“No, sir.”
“Marvin, darling,” Ginger said. “You can tell the Chief Inspector the truth. We know you didn’t do anything to Lord Turnbull.”
Basil nodded and smiled. “That’s true. I just want to solve this crime—if it is a crime—and you never know what little thing might break the case.”
Marvin scratched the back of his neck. “I seen the lady in the red dress, down by the docks. She has no business there unless it’s bad business.”
Ginger couldn’t guess what Harriet Fox would be doing by the docks, but it didn’t speak highly of her character.
“Wat about me?” Scout swung his legs excitedly. “Ya gonna ask me some questions, sir?”
Ginger held in a laugh and saw that Basil was doing the same.
“I am indeed, Mr. Scout. Now let’s see…”
“I saw the lady in the red dress too, outsida the solicitor’s office. Saw dat solicitor come to fisticuffs wiv the dead guy. Right, missus?” He looked to Ginger.
Scout’s eager expression looked to Ginger for validation. It could be assumed that most adults, especially on this side of London, wouldn’t believe him.
“Lady Gold,” Basil said, the humour in his eyes disappearing. “Why is this lad looking to you?”
Scout looked stricken. “Sorry, missus. I shoulda kept me mouf shut.”
“It’s all right, Scout.”
Ginger straightened her shoulders. “If you recall, Chief Inspector Reed, young Scout and I became acquainted on the SS Rosa. He helped me … with my investigation.”
“That was my investigation.” Basil Reed’s eyes narrowed as a memory returned. “He was your witness?”
Ginger folded her arms across her chest and looked down her nose. “I will not answer that. I will not give away the names of my confidential informers.”
Basil threw his pen on the desktop in a huff. “Unbelievable.”
“Have you finished with these fine young men?” Ginger said stiffly. “I’m sure they’re tired out.”
“Yes, all right. Mr. Elliot, Mr. Scout, you may go.”
Ginger ushered the boys out, found Pippins and told him to call them a taxicab. She then returned to the study. It was enough time for Basil to gain his composure. She slid into one of the chairs, crossed her legs and folded her arms.
Basil stared at her with disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re using kids to do your dirty work.”
“I simply want to give the boys money, a few bob to take the pinch off, but they’re too proud to take it unless I attach a little job to it.”
Basil considered her point. “I have to respect them for that.”
“Well, so do I. I’d never ask them to do anything that would put them in danger, and I’m quite offended that you would assume that I would.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Basil suddenly looked fatigued. “My job has trained me to look for the worst in people. You’ve given me no reason to doubt your character.”
Ginger smiled, reached across the desk and gripped the Chief Inspector’s hand. “You’re forgiven.”
They stared at their joined hands, then at each other before Ginger slowly pulled her hand away and laid it on her lap.
“Lady Gold …”
Ginger held a palm up. “Ginger. We agreed to use our Christian names.”
Basil Reed relaxed in his chair. His hazel eyes settled on Ginger in a way that made her stomach tingle, and his mouth pulled up into a crooked grin. “You’re right, though strictly speaking, I believe Ginger is a nickname.”
Ginger shrugged. “You can call me Georgia if you like.”
“You obviously prefer Ginger, so I’ll stick to that.”
Ginger stood and stuck her hip out defiantly. “You said you thought it was cute.”
The Chief Inspector’s grin grew wider. “And it is.” He cleared his throat then referred to his notebook. “Ginger, please call in … ”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Haley poked her head into the study. “Sorry to bother you, but I thought you’d like to know that the forensics team is here.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ginger and Basil headed for the drawing room with Hale
y. Ginger looked at her friend and said quietly, “How are the troops?”
“The shock seems to have worn off. They’re now demonstrating a high level of irritability. Your class doesn’t take kindly to being inconvenienced, even when one of them dies in their midst.”
“I make no excuses,” Ginger said.
They approached the forensics team. A tall middle-aged man was busy taking pictures, as another stockier fellow measured distances between the corpse and points in the room to document exact positioning. A thick-shouldered man with a bushy mop of white hair squatted next to the body. He opened Lord Turnbull’s shirt and inspected his neck and chest area. The moment he noticed Basil Reed hovering he stood. Knees cracking, he propped himself up with a large hand.
“Hello, Chief Inspector,” he said. “I do apologise for taking an age to get here. The night’s been active, and I’m short of personnel.”
Haley had filled Ginger in on facts of the financial constraints and manpower limitations the London City forensics unit experienced.
“It’s good to see you again, Dr. Watts,” Basil said.
This was Dr. Watts, Basil’s preferred pathologist? Ginger took closer stock. Alan Watts wasn’t what you’d call attractive, but he had a genuine air about him, a face you could trust. Ginger pegged him to be in his late fifties, though his white hair made him appear older.
Ginger stretched out her hand. “I’m Ginger Gold. This is my home.”
“Lady Gold,” Basil corrected.
Dr. Watts’s handshake was firm. “Nice to meet you, Lady Gold. I’ve heard a lot about you from Miss Higgins. She’s one of my best students.”
“All good, I hope,” Ginger said with a smile.
“Well,” Haley said dryly. “Mostly.”
Dr. Watts chuckled. “You have a good friend in Miss Higgins, madam.”
“Dr. Watts,” Basil Reed began. “I’d like to request fingerprints be obtained from Lord Turnbull’s glass, along with the bottles of rum, blue Curacao and lime juice used to make Lord Turnbull’s Blue Marlin.”