The Wedding of Ginger & Basil

by Lee Strauss

  “Before you go,” Ginger said, “would you know where Scout might be? Normally, he’s in the thick of things, but today he’s quite invisible.”

  “Oh, my guess is he’s in the stable with Goldmine. The horse brings him comfort, that and Boss, as well. He’s been out of sorts with your wedding coming up, madam.”

  Ginger inclined her head. “Oh?”

  “He’s afraid you shan’t have time for him once there’s a man in the house. He says he already feels like you're too busy for him.” Lizzie froze. Had she said that aloud? Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut? Especially after being forgiven such an immense blunder. “Please, forgive me, madam. I don’t mean to speak out of turn. It’s not my business.”

  Lizzie started for the door when Lady Gold called for her again. “Lizzie?”

  “Yes, madam?”

  “Get a vase for the chrysanthemums and place them in my room.”

  Lizzie had nearly forgotten about the tired-looking bouquet. “Yes, madam. I’ll do that right away.

  SCOUT

  Eleven-year-old Scout Elliot had done something bad. For a while, he’d thought he’d got away with it, thought his idea was a good one, and that he’d get what he wanted. Now, he understood that all it would get him was a stint in prison.

  He shouldn’t be so surprised; crime ran in his family. Perhaps he would see Cousin Marvin again . . . if they were lucky enough to be in the same prison.

  “I’m gonna miss you, Goldmine,” he said as he brushed the flanks of the exceptionally beautiful creature—an Akhal-Teke, with hair as fine and golden as an angel’s.

  Of all his chores, Scout loved the stable work the best. The smell of fresh grain, even the scent of horse sweat and dung. Carrying water to fill Goldmine’s trough, forking hay for him to eat, shovelling the manure—he loved it all.

  Recently, Scout had asked Mr. Clement a very important question. “Do you fink I could grow up to be a jockey?”

  Mr. Clement’s gaze had moved from the top of Scout’s newsboy cap to the toes of his scuffed-up boots. “You’re small enough in stature,” he’d said.

  The one thing Scout had rued mightily was how slight and short he was for his age. He thought that maybe being small was one of those rotten bits of life that could turn into something good. “Right, I am,” he’d replied with a new note of pride in his voice. “I just need to learn to ride fast.”

  Mr. Clement’s leathery face had cracked into a smile. “I’ve no doubt you shall succeed at that if you work hard for it.”

  “I shall, sir! I shall!”

  Scout’s lip quivered at the memory as he fought the tears that burned the back of his eyes. He’d no longer get to be a jockey. Not after what he’d done.

  A sour swallow scorched Scout’s throat. He drew a smooth flannel sleeve under his nose.

  Yup, he was no better than Marvin. Scout had been so cross with his cousin when he fell in with those bad folk and got taken away. Their ol’ uncle had died, and Marvin was supposed to take care of him. But Marvin had been stupid, and Scout was left alone to fend for himself.

  Until the missus came and took him to Hartigan House. Gave him a bed, and food, and dumb schooling, but most of all she made him feel safe. No bad guys would come and slit his throat during the night.

  Now, he was the bad guy.

  “I’m so sorry, missus,” he muttered.

  He should’ve left the stable by now, but the thought of going out on his own was paralysing. First, where should he go? Back to east London? Second, how was he to get there? He couldn’t afford a taxicab and didn’t know how to take the bus or tube. It was too far to walk, and he was bound to get lost if he tried.

  Scout patted Goldmine’s long nose as the large animal’s great streamer of a tail swished back and forth to swat at flies. Scout held out a flattened palm with a treat. A bright red, autumn apple.

  “Your favourite, ol’ boy.”

  An evil idea passed through his mind. He could take Goldmine to get away. Not for good, just to get somewhere else, then he’d tell the horse to go home. Horses were clever that way.

  Except, it would hurt the missus if he did that, and he’d harmed her enough already. Especially on this very important day.

  Scout mused on the concept of marriage as he tackled Goldmine’s left flank. He knew that gentlemen and ladies got married in a church, and then the babies would come. His small mouth pulled down in a deeper frown, seemingly moving the freckles on his nose forward. Would the missus get a new baby? Scout felt a strange unpleasant sensation burn in his chest. It wasn’t like he was the missus’ own son, but she treated him well, and she was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had. It was something the missus and himself had in common—they’d both lost their mothers before they could remember them.

  The missus was so busy that she never had time to see him anymore, anyway. All because of him. A knot of bitterness tightened in his chest. With a new master around, Scout would be invisible. He could leave and not be missed.

  Before he did, he would return what he’d taken. It was the right thing to do. But how? Now that the house was such a bustle of activity, someone was sure to see him. If he were caught, he’d be gaoled for sure!

  He reached up, wrapped his thin, bony arms around the gelding’s muscular neck, and dampened his white-gold mane with his tears.

  The words stuck in his throat and took a great effort to get out. “G-goodbye, G-goldmine.”

  “Scout?”

  Scout jumped backwards, nearly tripping on a pitchfork. His eyes widened with fear at the silhouette in the barn door.

  “Missus?” he mustered. Lady Gold’s features brightened as she stepped towards him. The afternoon light had broken through the clouds and cascaded against her soft skin. Her red hair, wavy around her ears, shone like a bright crimson sun. She wore a purple, oriental housedress that fluttered in the crisp autumn breeze. Her cheeks were blushing, and her breath was as quick as if she’d run to find him. Scout could barely breathe. The missus was the most lovely lady he’d ever seen.

  “Dear, dear Scout,” Lady Gold said. Her words were silky and sounded kind.

  Scout would miss her so much.

  “Yes, missus?” His voice was timid, like a squeaky mouse.

  Lady Gold lowered herself to one knee, not even caring about the hay and dust on the stable floor. Her green eyes, so green they sparkled like dew-covered moss, were sad and caring. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  OLIVER

  Reverend Oliver Hill adjusted his stiff, white dog collar as he readied himself in front of the mirror. He looked forward to the ceremony he was to officiate. His good friend, Lady Ginger Gold, was soon to be married, and Oliver couldn’t be happier for her.

  He squirted oil into his palms, rubbed them together, and ducked for a better look at his reflection. He smoothed the oil into his hair. A shorter vicar had once lived in the parsonage before Oliver, and now for Matilda’s sake, Oliver had had to learn to live with the mirror placement. He’d spent his whole life making adjustments for his long legs, and so this minor inconvenience was nothing new.

  He and his wife Matilda—his wife—he still wasn’t used to saying those words. The three months he’d been married had been the most delightful three months of his life. How blessed he was to have found such a brilliant lady to share the rest of his life. And now, Ginger should enjoy this holiest of unions as well.

  Oliver remembered their first meeting. Ginger had wandered into St. George’s Church and claimed a pew near the back. Oliver spotted her in the nave from his view at his desk in the vestry. He’d learned to give seekers of peace a little time before approaching and offering counsel. Ginger had been reticent, people of her station in life usually were, but Oliver managed to make her comfortable with polite conversation. Gradually, she’d confided that she had become attracted to a man, the first since her dear husband’s death several years earlier, and she couldn’t help but feel torn. Guilty, even. />
  He’d asked her questions about her husband, Lord Daniel Gold, and Ginger’s countenance had brightened. She loved to talk about him, and that in the end was the problem. If she allowed another man into her life, into that place in her life, would she forget Daniel?

  “There are many kinds of love,” Oliver had said. “And sometimes, the way the love is expressed must change. For instance, a mother loves her infant in a different manner than she does when the child is grown and gone. The love you feel for Daniel has changed, must change, but you can still love him. If you’re unable to talk about him with this new fellow, perhaps there are others in your life that would enjoy reminiscing.”

  “Yes. His sister and grandmother.” Ginger sounded much relieved. “They live with me, you know. At Hartigan House.”

  “How lovely.”

  “Yes,” Ginger repeated softly.

  “Can you tell me about the gentleman?” Oliver prompted.

  Ginger’s green eyes glistened. “Perhaps another time. It’s rather soon to speak about it.”

  “Naturally. However, spiritually, you are free to move on, whether it’s with this chap or another. The scriptures are clear about this.”

  For a moment, he’d fancied himself with Ginger Gold. Highly unprofessional, but natural for a single man. At any rate, they’d become friends in the sincerest form, and he had found God’s choice for a life mate.

  “Oliver?”

  Oliver turned to the angelic voice, and the smile lines on his ruddy face deepened.

  “Yes, love?”

  “What do you think of this dress?” Matilda wore a simple but charming rose-coloured chiffon frock with a large faux flower pinned to the hip. The hem landed modestly at her ankles, revealing T-strapped shoes. “Is it fine?” She spun around to showcase it.

  “You’re beautiful,” Oliver said.

  “Thank you, love, but the dress?”

  “Oh, yes, it’s beautiful too.”

  Matilda laughed. “I suppose, when you wear the same outfit every day, you don’t have to pay attention to fashion.”

  Oliver laughed with her. He couldn’t believe that he’d almost married the wrong girl when, all the while, Matilda was right there under his nose. Not only was she lovely to gaze upon, but she was bright too, a medical student at one time!

  His smile faded as Matilda dashed off to the loo and sounds of sickness reached his ears.

  “Matilda!”

  The toilet rumbled as it was flushed and soon afterwards, his wife reappeared, pale and apologetic.

  “Are you ill? Perhaps you should stay behind and rest?”

  “I’m fine, Oliver. More than fine.” Her hand rested on her abdomen and made slow circles.

  Oliver’s eyes latched onto Matilda’s in question. “You’re . . . a b-baby?”

  Matilda’s face returned to its rosy glow. She nodded with meaning.

  Oliver embraced Matilda with raucous enthusiasm and muttered a favourite expression of Ginger Gold’s. “Oh, mercy!”

  GINGER

  Ginger’s heart ached for the little boy before her, so clearly in emotional distress. His eyes were reddened with tears; his lower lip quivered. This was her ward, her child, even if society and the law would say it could not be so. Before the lad could answer her, she pulled him to her chest and held him tightly. It was more kindness than the lad could process, and he immediately confessed.

  “I did it, missus. I did a terrible fing. I took the master’s ring.”

  His small shoulders shook under the weight of woeful sobs. “I dun’t wanna go to gaol. I’ll do anyfing if you say I can stay.”

  “Oh, dear boy,” Ginger said. “You’re not going to gaol or anywhere but here. Hartigan House is your home and always shall be.”

  Scout broke away from Ginger’s embrace and stared up at her with a look of confusion. “But, missus, I stole from you.”

  For the second time that day, Ginger produced a handkerchief, though she doubted that would save Scout’s sleeve. “Do you have the ring?” she asked.

  Scout stuffed a small fist deep into his trouser pockets and with dirty fingers, presented the gold band. He placed it in Ginger’s open palm.

  “What did you plan on doing with it?”

  Scout shrugged. “Nuffink.”

  “Then why did you take it?”

  Scout released a string of short breaths. “If yer din’t ‘ave the ring, yer couldn’t get married to the new master.. Then you’d ’ave more time for me.”

  Ginger’s heart pained deeply. She had been very busy lately, and she had been absent from Scout’s daily routine. Louisa and Mrs. Beasley had readily stepped in, as had Pippins and Clement. Along with the family animals, which Scout adored, Boss and Goldmine, Ginger assumed that Scout was content and happy. It now seemed he needed a mother, a real mother, more urgently than Ginger had thought.

  “Oh, Scout. I have been dreadfully busy, but I really should have been more available to you. I promise it shall be different in the future. Even with Mr. Reed living with us. Will you forgive me?”

  Scout stared at her, speechless.

  “Scout?”

  “I should be askin’ you, missus, not this other way ’round.”

  “How about we forgive each other, then?”

  “All right.” Despite holding her handkerchief, the flannel sleeve continued to do the work.

  “Great. Now, we really must both get ready for the wedding. Important duties lie ahead for you and Boss.”

  A fragile smile. “Yes, missus. I dun’t ‘ave to ‘ave a barf, do I?”

  “I don’t have to have a bath,” Ginger corrected. She reached for the lad’s hand. “And yes, I’m afraid you do.”

  At least there were two mysteries solved. Ginger now knew what had happened to Lizzie and what had happened to Basil’s wedding band. Ginger wondered if they would ever discover the real identity of the mystery man who had visited earlier. What did he want if not to steal a ring?

  The bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums responsible for her maid’s stressful morning sat in a glass vase on Ginger’s dressing table. The blooms had perked up during their short time in the water, looking like silk-clad dancers. It really had been a nice idea of Lizzie’s, if poorly executed.

  Her dress, now removed from its crepe cover, hung elegantly on a clothes hanger that hooked over one of the wardrobe doors.

  Lizzie knocked before entering and bent her knees in a slight curtsey. “Are you ready, Lady Gold?

  “Yes.” Ginger frowned at the time registering on her wristwatch. “I believe I’m destined to be late.”

  “I’m sure the chief inspector will wait.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Ginger said lightly as she removed her dressing gown. Lizzie assisted with the wedding frock, and its silk fabric slipped over Ginger’s head like a cold mist of water. It fitted perfectly as Ginger had had it designed and fitted especially for this occasion.

  “It’s lovely, madam,” Lizzie said.

  “Yes, but now we must do something with my hair. Have you heated up the curling iron?”

  “Yes, madam.” Lizzie produced the instrument and unwrapped it from a protective towel. “It’s fresh off the stove.”

  Ginger seated herself at her dressing table and watched the concentration on Lizzie’s thin face as she created shiny, red finger waves. Once Ginger was happy with her hair, she began her makeup. Lizzie was competent enough to apply it for her, but it was something Ginger enjoyed doing herself. Her eyebrows, already plucked in a deep arch, were darkened with a greasy eyebrow pencil. Her eyelids, painted an aqua blue and fringed with two coats of dark mascara, enlarged the appearance of her eyes. She applied rosy spots of rouge under her cheekbones, and peach lipstick warmed her lips.

  “You must help me with my veil. Please, be very careful not to let it touch my face.” Ginger hadn’t time to remove a stain should her makeup brush against it.

  Standing in front of her oval floor-length, wood-framed mirror, Ginger gazed a
t her image. The pearl-grey gown hung from her slender shoulders and tightened about her hips with a matching silk sash attached with a white rhinestone clasp. The netted veil was pinned to her head with a pair of diamond hair clips. Trimmed with delicate white lace, it fell to the floor like a fanciful waterfall.

  Lizzie gasped. “You look so beautiful, Lady Gold.” Her jaw slackened as she slapped a palm over it. “Oh, dear. I know you shall soon be Mrs. Reed, but I fear, you’ll always be Lady Gold to me.”

  Ginger laughed. “That’s quite all right. It takes a while to make a name adjustment, but it happens all the time. You’ll get used to it, and you can’t go wrong with ‘madam’.”

  Lizzie nodded. “Yes, madam.”

  BASIL

  Basil’s fingers deftly tied his black tie and then tucked it into the black waistcoat. His morning coat with tails narrowed slightly at the hips. The trousers were pressed and buttoned up high on his waist. A silk handkerchief was folded neatly in his coat lapel pocket. He nearly used it to wipe his brow but caught himself in time, grabbing a cotton version from the holdall opened on his bed. Sweating? In October? Drat, it must be nerves. Not since the war had he perspired from inactivity. All that waiting in the trenches dodging sniper fire had a way to stoke the adrenaline. Through years of investigating the less-than-honest on the streets of London, he had rarely lost his cool.

  Polished leather shoes, a new double-breasted overcoat, and a trilby hat pressed in place, Basil raced down two flights of stairs and out the door—just as a taxicab pulled up in front of Brown’s Hotel and a young couple stepped out. Basil’s hand shot out to claim it, and he climbed in. Finally, something was going his way.

  “St. George’s Church,” he instructed. “Hurry! I’m late for my wedding.”

  The cabbie pulled into slow-moving traffic. The driver looked thin in the shoulders, even under a thick autumn coat. His long narrow face needed shaving, and his tired eyes glanced at Basil through the rearview mirror.