Murder at Bray Manor: a historical cosy mystery

by Strauss, Lee

  Murder at Bray Manor

  a historical cosy mystery

  Lee Strauss

  Contents

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Feathers & Flair

  About the Author

  Books by Lee Strauss

  Acknowledgments

  Summary

  MURDER AT BRAY MANOR

  A Ginger Gold Mystery

  Book 3

  By Lee Strauss

  Please note: British spelling is used in this book.

  A poltergeist guilty of murder?

  Ginger Gold receives a letter from her sister-in-law, Felicia, requesting Ginger come straightaway to her late husband’s family home, Bray Manor. Dowager Lady Gold, Ginger’s nervous grandmother through marriage, believes the old manor is haunted.

  Ginger doesn’t believe in ghosts, but is haunted nevertheless by memories of her husband and the lure of his gravesite she just can’t bring herself to visit.

  In order to keep Bray Manor afloat financially, Felicia and Ambrosia have opened the estate to the public for club meetings and special events. Knitters, stamp collectors and gardeners converge weekly—targets for the zeitgeist that seems to find amusement in hiding small things from their owners.

  Bray Manor hosts a dance to raise money for maimed soldiers who struggle with peacetime after the Great War. Felicia invites her flapper friends and her new beau, Captain Smithwick, a man Ginger has met before and definitely doesn’t like.

  When the dance ends with the discovery of a body, Ambrosia is certain the poltergeist is to blame, but Ginger is quite sure the murderer is made of flesh and blood.

  Chapter One

  Ginger Gold folded the letter she was reading and dropped it on the side table. “Haley, do you believe in ghosts?”

  Haley Higgins, an American student at the London School of Medicine for Women, lounged on the settee in the sitting room of Hartigan House as she sipped an after-dinner sherry. She arched a dark brow. “Why? Have you received mail from beyond?”

  Ginger sighed as she put her feet up on the ottoman. She’d removed her strappy shoes but resisted the urge to unsnap her stockings and revert to bare legs. The lace border of her turquoise chiffon tunic draped casually over her knees. This recent frock acquisition from a well-known Parisian fashion house had thick embroidery along the bodice and a cluster of sequins that sparkled in the firelight.

  Boss, her Boston terrier, curled up on her lap. She petted his soft black fur. “It’s a letter from Bray Manor—my sister-in-law, Felicia.”

  “Still unhappy about living in the country?” Haley asked.

  “Frightfully. And I can’t imagine Ambrosia moving from her family home. Even if Felicia was properly matched, Ambrosia would insist that the newlyweds lived there with her.”

  Haley clicked her tongue, commiserating. “Poor Felicia. How is the good Dowager Lady Gold anyway?

  Ginger pushed locks of her red bob behind her ears, picked up the letter, and read.

  Dearest Ginger,

  I hope this letter finds you well. News of your new shop is exciting, and I’m very keen on visiting it one day—hopefully soon!

  I’m writing to you because I’m concerned about Grandmama. Her nerves since we last visited you have grown worse, to the point where she now believes Bray Manor to be haunted. I haven’t seen evidence of the supernatural, but Grandmama insists there is a poltergeist at work.

  Oh Ginger, you promised to visit us and it’s already been weeks! Could I prevail upon you to come speedily? I’m at a loss as to how to comfort Grandmama, and since you are so clever at solving mysteries, perhaps you can figure this one out, too.

  With sincerest affection,

  Felicia

  “A poltergeist?” Haley said. A dark stray curl escaped her faux bob and her lips pursed to the side of her mouth as she blew it off her cheek. “It sounds as if the elder Lady Gold is starting to lose her memory. It’s quite probable that she moves things and forgets that she’s done it. Her only conclusion is the interference of a mischievous apparition.”

  Ginger yawned, covering the chasm with the back of her hand. Since opening her new dress shop—Feathers & Flair—her days had been long, busy, and exhausting.

  “You’re probably right. Though, it’s quite unfair of me to expect Felicia to bear the burden of caring for Ambrosia alone. Felicia’s young and should be free to focus on her own life.”

  “You make a good point, Lady Gold.”

  Ginger had acquired her title through her marriage to the late Sir Daniel Livingston Gold, Felicia’s brother and Ambrosia’s grandson. He was buried in the family cemetery behind Bray Manor. Ginger had yet to visit his grave since her return to London, but something knotted in her chest at the thought of it. She wasn’t quite yet ready to face the past.

  Besides, a journey to Hertfordshire was the last thing Ginger needed at the moment. She had to fight against the irritation she felt at this new obligation.

  “I just don’t know how I can leave Feathers & Flair right now,” she said. “It’s still in its infancy and needs constant attention.”

  “Then don’t go.” Haley stretched, brushed down her tweed skirt that hung mid-calf, and moved to the fireplace to stoke the flames. “Surely, you can employ someone to check in on Ambrosia for you?”

  “I suppose. It just seems so heartless, and I did promise to visit before winter sets in.”

  “Then go.”

  Ginger cast a glance of annoyance at her friend. “Everything is so black and white with you.”

  Haley shrugged. “I’m a scientist.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the telephone bell in the hall.

  “Who could be ringing at this hour?” Ginger said.

  Haley checked her wristwatch. “It’s only nine o’clock.”

  “Really?” Ginger responded with another yawn. “It feels much later.”

  Pippins tapped on the door of the sitting room and stepped in. “Telephone for you, madam,” he said. He was tall and slim with a bald head and skin sagging as it does when one is in his seventies. A loyal servant of the Hartigan family since Ginger was a child, she held the butler in high esteem and with much affection.

  Ginger placed Boss on the floor. The dog stretched his hind legs then situated himself on the round Turkish rug in front of the fireplace and promptly went back to sleep.

  “Who is it, Pips?” Ginger asked, using her pet name for him.

  “Miss Felicia Gold, madam.”

  A pang of concern spread across Ginger’s chest. First a letter and now a telephone call? She hurried to the hall and placed the receiver of the candlestick phone to her ear. “Felicia?”

  “Oh, Ginger.” Felicia’s voice sounded thin and worried through the wire. “I’m afraid.”<
br />
  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “I thought Grandmama was losing her mind with her tales of moving objects, but now I’ve seen it for myself. The coat rack has moved, and I know Grandmama didn’t do it because it’s too heavy for her—and none of the servants admits moving it either.”

  “Oh, mercy,” Ginger muttered. “Don’t panic, Felicia. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

  “I don’t mean to cause trouble, but would you come? Tonight?”

  “Tonight? That’s awfully short notice.”

  “Tomorrow then? Please, Ginger, I don’t know what to do, and Grandmama is just beside herself with nerves.”

  “Very well,” Ginger said, resigned. “I’ll come tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Ginger! I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink until you get here.”

  Haley sat upright when Ginger returned to the sitting room. “Is everything all right?”

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me on a short holiday to Hertfordshire.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Felicia is losing her head and I promised to come straightaway.”

  “It is soon the weekend,” Haley said, “and as it happens, I don’t have any classes tomorrow.”

  “So you’ll come?”

  “Only if we take the train.”

  “I’m not a bad driver!”

  “I’m sorry, Ginger, you know I get ill when you drive, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to traffic running on the left-hand side of the road.”

  “Fine,” Ginger huffed, annoyed that Haley didn’t trust her driving abilities. “We’ll take the train.” She was too exhausted to concentrate on the road for that long anyway. She might even be able to sleep a little on the way there. The rhythmic churning of the train wheels as the steam engine pushed on could make one quite drowsy.

  Ginger patted her thigh and called to her pet. “Hey Bossy,” she said as she scrubbed behind his pointy ears. “How would you like to go ghost hunting?”

  Chapter Two

  Ginger hurried down the wide staircase, circled from the second-floor where the bedrooms were to the marble floor of the entrance hall. Her newly painted fingernail trailed along the banister. She should have asked her maid, Lizzie, to wake her up earlier. As it was, she had dressed quickly in a white Habutai silk blouse, with its fashionable flat collar, tucked into a low-waist velour skirt with a hem at mid-calf. She usually wore something with more flair for the shop, but this outfit suited the train ride scheduled for later that morning. She had chosen a mushroom-shaped hat trimmed with black glycerine feather pompoms. Her shoes, black T-straps.

  She nearly lost her footing on the emerald staircase runner and clung to the banister, preventing a turned ankle.

  Lizzie, with Boss at her heels, had entered the hall in time to see Ginger slip.

  “Are you all right, madam?”

  “I’m fine.” Ginger studied her nails, relieved to see she hadn’t damaged her work. Lizzie usually painted them for her, but she’d been walking Boss—a new morning ritual.

  Ginger smoothed out her skirt and turned on one heel to look behind her. “Are my seams straight?”

  Lizzie drew closer, the nose on her youthful pixie face wrinkling as she squinted and examined the back of Ginger’s legs.

  “The right one’s a bit crooked.”

  Ginger nodded, giving her maid permission to rectify the wayward hose. She hoped she hadn’t forgotten to attach one of the garter straps in her hurry. She pressed a palm against the four points around her thigh until she was satisfied they were all properly fastened.

  Lizzie went to work, and Ginger felt the maid’s adept fingers pushing the seam until it ran up the centre of the back of the leg.

  “There you are, madam.”

  “Thank you, Lizzie. You’re a brick. Now can you do me a favour and pack a suitcase for me?”

  “You’re going away?”

  “Just to Hertfordshire. I plan to catch the last train home tomorrow evening, but do be sure to include a little of everything, just in case. My Schiaparelli evening dress, the silver Vionnet, and my new Kate Reily.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “And throw in several headbands. I’ve already packed my hats. The boxes are stacked by the dressing table.” For such a short trip, Ginger would only take along a few hats. Hat boxes were cumbersome to travel with, especially when one wasn’t taking one’s own motorcar. Headbands did well in a pinch.

  “Yes, madam,” Lizzie said. Her eyes strayed to the dog sitting obediently at her side. “Will Boss be going with you?”

  Ginger perceived the attachment that had grown between Lizzie and Boss over the last couple of months. “I’m sorry to separate the two of you,” she said sincerely, “but it’s only for a couple of days.”

  Ginger called for Boss to follow her into the kitchen. A trip to the countryside would be good for the dog and, though she was grateful to Lizzie for minding Boss, Ginger thought the time away would do to remind him that she was his mistress.

  As usual, Madame Roux, the shop manager Ginger had employed for Feathers & Flair, was at the Regent Street store, preparing for opening. She always arrived first to turn on the lights and review the receipts from the previous day.

  “Hello, Madame Roux,” Ginger said warmly.

  “Good morning, Lady Gold.” Yvette Roux was a thin woman in her mid-fifties. She maintained a perfect posture and carried herself with grace and sophistication. Today, she wore a navy-blue French crepe dress with her black and silver hair partially covered in a matching velvet hat.

  Feathers & Flair was bright and inviting with tall windows that let in natural light. The floors were polished white marble. The walls, creamy white. Electric crystal lamps hung from high ceilings that sported intricate mouldings painted gold. All the trimmings in the room were gold, a design choice Ginger had made to honour her family name.

  The white brightness of the room was a perfect backdrop for displaying the latest in women’s fashions. Ginger wanted to provide for those eager for a new frock immediately by supplying factory-made dresses. And for those willing to wait and pay for the service—she sold one-of-a-kind gowns.

  Madame Roux hadn’t been keen on a shop that sold both factory-made dresses and unique designer dresses. She felt it would confuse the customer. “Who is the client?” she questioned. “Society women or the middle class?”

  Ginger had convinced her that, since the war, fewer women could afford personal fashion gowns, but still wanted the quality that many well-known designers were providing in factories. And the younger crowd actually craved the rack dresses, wanting the experience of choosing a dress and walking out in it in the same hour.

  Ginger admired the dresses gracing the mannequins in the window. She found the jade Molyneux particularly pleasing and decided she must order one for herself.

  “Is everything up to your expectations?” Madame Roux said. Her dark brown eyes grew bright as she gave Ginger her full attention.

  “Yes, of course. Only, I’m afraid I’m needed in Hertfordshire for the weekend. I know it’s sudden, and that the shop has just been open for a short while …”

  Madame Roux laid a reassuring hand on Ginger’s arm. “Do not worry, Lady Gold. I have years of experience running dress shops exactly like this one. It is why you employed me, no?”

  Ginger smiled at the competent woman, her worry lessening to a certain degree. “Indeed, Madame Roux. I’ll be back on Monday, so it’s just for a couple of days. Hopefully, before the Paris order arrives.”

  “I’ll look after that for you, Lady Gold, should you be detained.”

  Typically, Ginger would inventory the new product herself. She held in the sigh she felt building in her chest. This was why she employed Madame Roux. She should trust her to do her job.

  “Perhaps you can swap a couple of the older dresses from the window. It’s important to keep the sho
wcase fresh.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “When I return we can plan a Christmas sale.”

  “An excellent idea, madam.”

  Ginger double-checked the cash drawer, counted the float, straightened the scarves on a display rack, and ran a finger along the velvet hats to ensure they were dust free. She studied the stock in the back room where the extra dresses, hats, and accessories were stored. One corner was reserved for dress creation with a brand-new Singer sewing machine set up and ready to go.

  Ginger walked the white floor tiles one more time taking everything in. Pride bloomed in her chest. She loved her shop and already felt a sense of anxiety at leaving it creep in.

  “You go on,” Madame Roux said. “The girls will be in shortly. Everything will be fine.”

  The “girls” were her three other employees: a seamstress, a fashion student at the Royal College of Art, and the floor clerk.

  “I’ll leave you the telephone number where I’ll be staying,” Ginger said. She found a pencil in the cashier drawer and scribbled on a small notepad. She pushed it over to Madame Roux. “In case you need me.”

  Chapter Three

  Ginger bought tickets for a private first-class compartment made from polished mahogany and lit with shiny brass lanterns. The seats were upholstered in olive-green though Ginger wouldn’t have minded if the padding was a tad thicker.