by Lee Strauss
“Invalided out early.”
“Yes.” Ginger knew that. Basil had suffered a good amount of shame as a result. He’d confessed to her once that it was why he had gone into public service. To make up for his perceived failure as a soldier.
“Lost a spleen,” Basil added.
Which meant he was more prone to infection. Pulling Basil’s shirt out of the way, Ginger risked taking a look at the fresh wound. The bullet had entered very close to the scar from his last operation. She pressed her scarf against his skin. The blood flow appeared to be slowing.
“Good thing you can’t lose a spleen twice.”
“Ginger, if I—”
“Shh! You’re not going anywhere.”
“But if—”
Ginger laid a finger to his lips. She didn’t want to hear what he was about to say. Did he want her to give Emelia a message? Was he about to make a confession? It didn’t matter what it was because Ginger refused to entertain the notion that Basil wouldn’t be able to deliver his messages himself.
All the anger and offence she’d been holding against Basil dissipated with the horror of losing him. On the spot her forgiveness was complete. Unless he died. That she’d never forgive.
In the distance, sirens blared, growing louder with each passing second. Soon the ambulance would be here.
“You are going to get better, Basil, and then you’re going on holiday! I insist. Somewhere safe and warm, with palm trees, and salty sea air.”
Basil struggled to smile. “Sounds lovely. Will you be there?”
Ginger held her breath. Was he ready to move beyond Emelia? Really?
Life was about second chances. Here was one on offer to her.
“If you want me to be,” she said softly. “I will.”
His smile deepened. “I do.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was an easy decision for Ginger to volunteer to be Scout’s guardian. Sergeant Scott alerted her to the plans to arrest Marvin. Teary-eyed, Ginger waited next to her Crossley and out of the way of the police.
Sergeant Scott knocked on the door to the Elliot residence. “Police.”
Ginger’s stomach clenched when the door didn’t open. Sergeant Scott pounded. The sergeant had men posted up and down the street and in the back alley in case Marvin Elliot tried to escape.
“Police! Marvin Elliot, open up, or we’ll break the door down!”
Sergeant Scott motioned to the constable next to him, and the fellow lifted his leg, ready to kick the door just as it opened a crack. From Ginger’s position, she could see Scout, his eyes wide with fright and red with tears. Her heart squeezed with maternal longing and a desire to rescue the young lad.
The sergeant and constable stormed in, brushing past Scout. Ginger couldn’t wait any longer. With the help of one of Ambrosia’s discarded walking sticks, she hobbled to the door.
“Scout, I’m here.”
Scout threw himself into her arms and wept. “’E’s gone and ’e ain’t coming back.”
Tears burned behind Ginger’s eyes as she held Scout, his bony shoulders heaving in his grief. “There, there, Scout. Everything’s going to be all right.” Ginger’s voice shuddered, heartbroken for this little family.
Sergeant Scott materialised, his constable on his heels, confirming what Scout had declared. “He’s not here.” The officers ran outside, and Sergeant Scott shouted orders to his men. A manhunt for Marvin Elliot was on.
“’E left me, missus. I’m alone now.”
“You’re not alone, Scout,” Ginger said gently, peeling him away. “You have me. Now, let’s pack your things.”
Scout shook his head. “I canna take your charity, missus.”
Even this tragedy didn’t shake the lad’s pride. “It won’t be charity. It’s a job. You will help Mrs. Beasley in the kitchen, and Mr. Clement in the garden. There’s a comfortable bed waiting for you in the attic.”
With Ginger’s bad ankle, she’d needed Clement to chauffeur her here. She poked her head outside and signalled for him to bring in the suitcase. Scout didn’t have a lot in the form of personal belongings, and what he did have, Ginger didn’t want to take. He wore pretty much all the clothing he owned, his bedding was threadbare and, Ginger suspected, full of bed bugs. She would provide clean things.
“Your duties at Hartigan House require a proper uniform, which of course I’ll provide. It’ll include shirts, trousers, and shoes, along with a hat and jacket. You don’t need those things. All the staff have beds and bedding. Is there anything of sentimental value?”
Scout picked up a framed photo of himself when he was much younger. Marvin and an older man that Ginger presumed to be their uncle, stood behind him. Scout didn’t have any childhood items, no teddy bear or wooden horse.
“I guess that’s it then, missus.”
Clement carried the empty suitcase and put it back in the boot of the Crossley. Ginger sat in the back seat with Scout and placed a palm on his forearm hoping to relay some encouragement.
“Think of this as a new adventure, Scout. There’s plenty for you to learn and experience in the world.”
“What about Marvin? What’s gonna ’appen to ’im?”
Ginger sighed, her chest tight with concern. “I don’t know, Scout. We can only keep him in our prayers and hope for the best.”
Ginger leaned on the walking stick with one hand and held Scout’s grimy hand with the other. He was almost too old for such a relationship, and on any other day he’d grin his toothy smile and pull his hand away. But today, he held tight.
Most of the staff were in the kitchen or staff dining room, and Ginger asked Lizzie to call everyone together. Pippins, Clement, Mrs. Beasley, Grace, Lizzie, and Ambrosia’s maid, Langley. Scout stared up nervously.
“Everyone,” Ginger began, “I’d like to introduce the newest member of our household staff. This is Mr. Scout Elliot. He will be assisting in the kitchen and in the gardens, and in any other way he can be made useful. He will be unavailable for two hours each weekday mid-mornings for schooling.
Scout gaped up in surprise. “Wot?”
“It’s part of the agreement, Scout,” Ginger said sternly. “Everyone who lives and works at Hartigan House must have some education.”
“You’ll like it, Scout,” Lizzie said. She and Scout had made an acquaintance on another occasion when Scout and Marvin had been hired to help with a singular event at Hartigan House. “Better than cleaning the chimneys.”
“Yeah,” Scout mumbled. “I s’pose yer right about that.”
At that moment, Boss sauntered into the room, his keen hearing and natural curiosity alerting him to the activity.
“Boss!” Scout said, dropping to one knee. The terrier ran to his friend and licked his face in welcome. For the first time in several days, Ginger smiled with sincere joy. She glanced at Lizzie.
“Lizzie, Mr. Elliot is also available to help out with Boss.”
Lizzie grinned. “Yes, madam.”
“Would you take Mr. Elliot to his room and show him the staff lavatory?”
Lizzie bobbed. “Of course.”
“Scout,” Ginger said. “I’ll see you later. You’ll find clean clothes in your room. Please do avail yourself of the bath.”
“Aww, do I ’ave to, missus?”
“Yes, you certainly do.”
As Ginger watched Lizzie and Scout disappear up the servants’ stairwell, a feeling of delight and contentment washed over her.
“That is all,” she said to everyone who remained. She then called for Pippins as the room cleared.
“Yes, madam?” the butler asked.
“Where would I find Miss Gold and Lady Gold?”
“I believe they are in the drawing room.”
“Both of them? Together?” That was hopeful news.
Pippins inclined his head. “Yes, madam.”
“What about Miss Hanson?”
“I believe she is in the library.”
Using the walk
ing stick, Ginger made her way to the drawing room. She was happy to find both Ambrosia and Felicia together. Recently redecorated, the drawing room was designed with shades of ivory, grey, and mint-green. Grand paintings hung on the wallpapered walls, including portraits of Ginger’s parents. The tall windows were covered with pale rose net curtains, cheering the room with warm natural light that filtered through.
A grand piano sat majestically in one corner, and Felicia was playing it as Ambrosia listened. It appeared the two had come to some sort of truce.
“Hello, Grandmother, Felicia,” Ginger said as she entered.
Felicia paused in her playing to greet her. “Hello, Ginger. You look as if you have news.”
“I do.” Ginger hesitated, not sure how to start.
“Get on with it then,” Ambrosia said. “Don’t make us beg.”
“I’ve taken in a street orphan. An eleven-year-old boy. You’ll meet him soon. Lizzie’s sorting him out right now.”
Ambrosia glowered. “You’ve taken in a waif?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Ambrosia knocked the floor with her cane. “First a fallen woman and now a waif. This isn’t a home, it’s a hostel!”
“Well, it’s my hostel,” Ginger said bravely. “If you recall.”
Ambrosia ground her teeth as she let herself fall back into her chair. “I suppose we are also in your debt.” She and Felicia, along with much of her staff had moved in with Ginger after unfortunate events required that they leave their home in Hertfordshire.
Ginger sighed. Ambrosia hadn’t yet recovered from having an unmarried woman who was in the family way sleeping just down the passage from her, and now she’d added a child of the lowest class to the household. She walked over to her grandmother and kissed her lightly on the head. “I know this is a lot to adjust to, Grandmother, but it’ll work out all right. I promise.”
“If you say so.” Ambrosia stood and let out a weary breath. “Can you ask Langley to bring a cup of tea to my room? I must lie down.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sometimes good doesn’t triumph over evil.
Scotland Yard’s efforts to apprehend and charge Sabini remained futile. Basil complained that Sabini’s mafia had a long reach into the law, and nailing him for anything was like catching a fish with one’s bare hands. This continued to be proven true.
It didn’t help that all evidence of Sabini’s drug trafficking had been destroyed in the fire, with only his underlings, like Marvin Elliot, left to take the blame. The body of Lorenzo Bugini was removed from the crime scene, but only his fingerprints along with Dr. Selkirk’s were found amongst those belonging to the victims. At least Dr. Selkirk had been apprehended and charged with accessory to murder after the fact. During his confession, Dr. Selkirk shed light on the reasons Sabini had the last three victims killed. (Sadly, there had been many more.)
Jane Ellery had refused to inject Sabini’s horses with cocaine. They had fought bitterly over this issue, “like only lovers could.” Miss Ellery was expecting at the time of her death, but there was no way of knowing if Charles Sabini had known that.
Evan Jones had been caught stealing cocaine from the warehouse. He was killed as a warning to others with sticky fingers.
Angus Green had, unfortunately, become dependent on cocaine. He’d rung up a tab with Sabini. When his father cut off his allowance, he found himself with a debt he couldn’t pay back, despite, it turned out, several pleas to his father for help. A sad situation.
Angus Green’s body had been released for burial and the mourners were now gathered in the churchyard at the parish church in Battersea. The air was brisk, with gloomy stratus clouds, but at least it wasn’t raining. As they sang the processional, the vicar led them to the gravesite beyond the church. A flautist played a melancholy tune while the pall-bearers carried the coffin and placed it awkwardly on the grass next to the hole in the ground.
This was followed by a beautiful acapella rendition of Amazing Grace, then silence. The priest, dressed in a white robe over his black pastoral suit, gave a homily sharing the good points of Angus Green’s life, ending in words of comfort. He addressed the group of mourners. “Let us recite together Psalm twenty-three.”
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Amen.”
Without speaking, the crowd quietly dispersed and headed back to the rectory for refreshments.
Ginger didn’t know anyone in attendance besides Felicia and Haley, the deceased’s father, and his brother, so planned to excuse herself and leave early. Besides, Ginger was needed back at Hartigan House. She had a surprise for Scout.
Though Ginger’s ankle had healed sufficiently that she no longer needed a cane, she proceeded across the dormant brown grass with extra caution.
“Mr. Green,” she said to the father, and nodded an acknowledgment to the son. “Allow me to once again offer my condolences to both of you.”
“Thank you, Lady Gold. And we are in your debt for the work you did on behalf of our family.”
“I was glad to help.”
“You’ll find a cheque will soon arrive for you in the post,” Mr. James Green continued solemnly. “As well, we will be sure to let our people know about your services should the topic arise. Now if you will excuse us.”
“Of course.”
Clement waited for Ginger, Felicia and Haley in the Crossley. Ginger had to admit that having a chauffeur on hand had its merits.
“A sad ending,” Ginger said once they’d settled into the back seat.
Felicia dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “Angus didn’t deserve to die like that.”
Ginger patted Felicia’s arm. “Indeed, not.”
“At least they have closure,” Haley said from the front seat. “How awful for them if Angus had continued to be a missing person indefinitely.”
Ginger agreed. “No doubt the Yard is busy trying to match cadaver files with their missing persons’ list.”
“What’s going to happen to Dr. Watts?” Haley asked. Her face blanched whenever she spoke of him. His criminal deceit was a blemish on the medical school and all who were associated with it. Haley had trusted and admired him.
“Since he didn’t have anything to do with the murders, I doubt he’ll hang,” Ginger said, “but he’s likely to be in prison for the rest of his life.”
Haley pinched her eyes together. “I just can’t believe it. He’s offered so much to science—forensic pathology in particular—and his support of education for women made such inroads.”
“His wife’s illness made him vulnerable,” Ginger said.
Dr. Watts had been approached by one of Sabini’s men six months earlier when Mrs. Watts started receiving care at home. Full-time nursing came at a cost, and Dr. Watts thought he’d signed up for a one-time thing.
But the bodies kept coming, and Dr. Watts couldn’t say no to Sabini over the threat of harm to his wife. He’d broken down in tears of shame, admitting that he’d returned Ginger’s pistol to her handbag after Fred had stolen it, and Bugs had used it to kill Jane Ellery.
“I pity him,” Ginger said.
After the funeral, Ginger sought out young Scout and took him to the former stables of Hartigan House. “I was a little younger than you when I moved to America,” she said, “but I remember all the horses my father used to own. Beautiful beasts, with glossy hair, gorgeous long tails, and mis
chief in their eyes.”
“Horses are grand, missus.”
“I agree. These stables have been empty for many years, but not anymore.”
Scout’s impish face brightened. “You got a horse, missus?”
“Indeed.”
Ginger opened the stable door and was hit with the scent of the living: fresh hay, horse breath, fresh manure. Scout gaped at the gorgeous animal that stood before them. His hair was silky-blond and shimmered in the sunlight that filtered in through the windows.
“Blimey!” Scout muttered.
“It’s a special breed of horse called an Akhal-Teke.”
Ginger had asked Pippins to make enquiries, and it turned out that Sabini wasn’t the only horse handler with an Akahl-Teke. Ginger had arranged to make a purchase sometime before the shooting incident at Saffron Stables, and the animal had arrived just that morning. Clement turned out to be more than an expert on gardens, but on horses as well, and Ginger had proclaimed him her stable keeper.
“He’s brand new to the household, just like you, Scout. I thought maybe you’d like to help take care of him.”
Scout’s eyes rounded into saucers. “Are you certain, missus?”
“I am. I think the two of you will become good friends.”
Scout rubbed the horse’s silky flank. “What’s his name, missus?”
“I don’t know. What do you think we should call him?”
“He’s so yellow, like Gold. How about Goldmine, missus.”
“I love it, Scout! A perfect name.”
It’d been a week since Basil had killed Lorenzo “Bugs” Bugini, but so much had happened afterwards, it felt much longer to Ginger.
She’d been to visit Basil every day, and though they never talked about the near-kiss or the imaginary “holiday,” their bond of friendship had clearly grown. Ginger was just relieved that Basil had survived. The doctors had reported that his wound was healing nicely and that he would soon be released from hospital. Though a similar injury, it was not nearly as serious as the damage he’d incurred during the war.