Murder at Bray Manor: a historical cosy mystery

by Strauss, Lee

  A number of sturdy looking reeds sprouted up around the jetty. “Could a reed have created the puncture wound?” Ginger asked.

  “Technically, yes. However, the victim was killed before she landed in the water, and there were no other signs of trauma that could’ve indicated cause of death.”

  “What about poisoning? Someone could’ve slipped her something and taken her outside to die before dropping her in the lake. Maybe she was punctured on the way in.”

  “That’s possible,” Haley said. “I’ll suggest to Dr. Guthrie that he test the stomach contents.”

  Ginger squatted low to study the edge of the jetty, looking for some sign of a struggle. A ripped garment or an item that might have fallen off of the killer. She could see nothing unusual, not on the jetty or in the shallow waters alongside it. And not a single damaged reed.

  “I don’t think she was on the jetty,” Ginger said. “I think she was walking along the shore and the killer sneaked up and stabbed her.”

  They left the jetty and followed the shoreline.

  “You said it was too dark to see the lake,” Haley said.

  “It was when I came out, but the clouds obscured the moon. It was only a quarter-moon, but it would’ve shed enough light if there were a break in the clouds.”

  “A crime of opportunity, then?” Haley said. “The killer couldn’t have possibly arranged for Angela to be outside alone just as the clouds broke.”

  “These are modern times,” Ginger said. “The killer could simply have used a torch.”

  “A torch?”

  “A flashlight, my American friend.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Before long, it was time for Ginger to shuttle Haley back to the train station.

  Haley held on to her hat while shouting above the Humber’s engine. “I really wish I could stay, Ginger, but I promised Dr. Watts I’d be back Monday morning to help him with the new cadavers arriving. Plus, lectures have started up again.”

  “Of course you must go back,” Ginger said. “Besides, Scotland Yard is getting involved. There’s nothing more you can do here.”

  Haley poked Ginger in the arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t bring up Inspector Reed again.” Ginger just shook her head. Haley believed Basil Reed to be faking his marital status since a wife had never materialized. Perhaps to keep unwanted female attention at bay. Ginger thought the whole idea romantic foolishness, so unbecoming to one such as Haley who prided herself to be a facts and figures type.

  “Instead of worrying about my love life, Miss Higgins, why not get one of your own.”

  Haley snorted. “I’m married to my work, Ginger, you know that. No man can compete.”

  Out of nowhere, a flash of brown darted in front of the Humber. Ginger slammed on the brakes and swerved sharply, narrowly missing the pup.

  “Ginger!”

  Ginger ignored Haley’s exclamation and drove on calmly. “I need to return to London soon, too,” she said as if the near miss had never happened. “I telephoned Madame Roux earlier and she assured me everything is under control at the shop. It’ll only be for a couple more days.”

  “What’s keeping you here?” Haley asked. “Since the Yard is taking over the investigation anyway?”

  “I’m worried about Felicia. Naturally, she’s shattered by the loss of her friend and with having the tragedy happening at Bray Manor, the poor dear shall never be able to enjoy the view of the lake without envisioning the body there.”

  “Felicia reminds me a lot of you,” Haley said.

  “Is that so?” Ginger was surprised by this since she and Felicia weren’t related by blood.

  Haley regarded her friend with kind eyes. “Yes. You both hide your emotional pain behind a vibrant personality.”

  Ginger started to protest but stopped. Haley was intelligent and insightful. Instead of denying the statement, Ginger sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  The old motorcar jerked to a stop at the station. The Chesterton platform was busy and full of passengers waiting for the last Sunday train to London. A loud whistle announced the steam engine as it snaked toward the station with a final blast of smoke. Haley straightened her skirt and picked up her lone suitcase.

  Ginger gave Haley a quick embrace. “Safe travels, my friend.”

  “And you be careful,” Haley said before she stepped onto the train. “There’s a killer on the loose and he or she could very well be sleeping at Bray Manor.”

  That thought was deeply disturbing and even the rattling of the Humber’s engine barely scratched Ginger’s consciousness. Who among the staff could be a killer? Wilson wore a sense of barely concealed entitlement. Langley appeared to always be looking over her shoulder. Ginger could hardly imagine Mrs. Beasley to be the culprit, but often the least likely of the bunch proves to be the villain.

  Phyllis, the most industrious of the lot, had the most opportunity, especially as the poltergeist. As parlour maid, she spent most of her time on the ground floor where the disappearances had occurred.

  The engine rumble suddenly turned into an outright hacking cough, snapping Ginger to attention. The cough was followed by a limp and then a faint as the motorcar came to a full stop.

  “Oh, mercy.”

  Ginger stepped out of the motorcar and unlatched the bonnet. At least the rain had turned to a mere mist, and her wool coat wouldn’t be ruined.

  The war had forced people to learn about things they’d never dreamed of, especially for the women, and fixing the engines of old French vehicles came with the territory. However, everything in British-made cars was reversed, and Ginger had to imagine it like she was looking in the mirror.

  She spotted the problem directly. The v-belt to the alternator had snapped off. A careful scan of the roadway confirmed that she was alone. She moved her hand under her slip and quickly detached the silk hose from her garter. It fell to her ankle and she unbuckled the t-strap of her shoe and slipped it off.

  Ginger removed her gloves to thread the hose around the alternator and managed to tie a tight knot. The hose would do as a substitute for a short distance, hopefully long enough to get the Humber back to Bray Manor. She could already picture Wilson’s barely restrained displeasure when she broke the news.

  The distinctive sound of a motorcar engine, much newer than the one she had been fiddling with, grew closer and pulled to a stop at the kerb. Ginger wasn’t surprised, as it was natural for a good citizen to offer to help another who was in distress.

  She was surprised to see Basil Reed step out of a forest-green 1922 Austin 7.

  “Lovely motorcar,” she said.

  Basil wore a knee-length wool coat with wide lapels, and a full belt tied at the waist, a fashion taken from the military, emphasizing his broad shoulders and manly physique.

  It’d been several weeks since she’d seen him last. His hazel eyes were bright with amusement, lines fanning out toward his temples, which were sprinkled with silver. Her heart rate jumped on seeing him and her hands grew moist. She cursed herself for allowing the handsome inspector to affect her so.

  He tipped his trilby.

  “Yours is . . . one of the originals?” he asked, sounding coy.

  “I expect so.” Ginger realized she was playing with the curl that rested against her cheek and quickly dropped her hand to her side. “So they did send you.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Apparently, I was a special request.”

  “Hmm,” Ginger said, her chin jutting into the air. “Not so special.”

  Basil’s lips twitched as he held in a grin. He nodded to the jalopy behind Ginger. “Do you need a lift?”

  “Actually, I was just about to get it started.”

  “Is that so?” He stepped toward the opened engine and looked. Ginger saw the moment Basil realized she must be short one stocking as his gaze quickly moved from the alternator to her bare foot in her shoe that peeked out from under her coat. She pretended not to notice and instead put on her gloves.

  With Bas
il there to turn the crankshaft, Ginger didn’t have to hop in and out.

  The Humber began to purr and Ginger flashed Basil a wide smile of success.

  “I’ll follow you,” Basil said. “Make sure the old girl doesn’t give up on you again.”

  “Thank you, “Ginger returned. “And I’m sure you’re eager to see the scene of the crime.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ginger drove up the long circular drive in front of Bray Manor with Basil following close behind. The old Humber acted up a couple of times and Ginger feared another round of humiliation was imminent. But the motorcar trundled along, happily proving her wrong.

  The rain started again, and Ginger made quick strides to the protective overhang over the door. Wilson must’ve been watching for her as he opened the door before she could place her hand on the handle.

  “Wilson, here you are!” She held out the keys, and the butler greedily accepted them. “I’m afraid we’ve had a little incident with the Humber.”

  Wilson’s sombre expression deepened.

  “It’s just a broken v-belt, easy to fix. I might put it in the garage, and then call a mechanic to come out.”

  She motioned to Basil. “This is Inspector Reed. I’m sure he’d appreciate having his motorcar protected from the weather.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Wilson waited for Basil to release his keys, but Basil shook his head. “I won’t be staying long. I’ve booked a room at the Chesterton Inn. I could return early in the morning to start with my inquiries.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Ginger said. “You must stay here. We have plenty of rooms. I’m sure Ambrosia wouldn’t mind.”

  “No, I shouldn’t.”

  “Why not? The crime scene is here. The suspects are quite likely to be connected to the people here. It just makes sense. And Ambrosia would be sure to be comforted with a law keeper about.”

  Basil relented and handed his keys to the butler. “Very well. I’ll accept.”

  Ginger turned back to Wilson. “Please find Phyllis and ask her to prepare a room for the inspector.” Wilson took Basil’s overcoat and hat and hung them on the coat rack before leaving.

  Ginger showed Basil to the sitting room, happy to see that the fire burned brightly, and the room was comfortably warm. “Let’s have a drink, shall we? And I’ll tell you everything I know so far.” She opened the glass cabinet above the sideboard and removed two glasses.

  “Gin and tonic, isn’t it?” She’d remembered his cocktail choice from a previous and equally calamitous affair.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “How was the drive up to Chesterton?” Ginger asked as she prepared the drink.

  “Rather nice. The weather only dampened at the halfway mark. It’s not often I get to drive on open roads.”

  Ginger handed him his cocktail.

  “Thank you.”

  She gave him a nod then took a sip of her merlot. “Shall I begin?”

  Basil crossed his legs at the knee and settled in for the retelling. “Please do.”

  Aware of her one bare leg, Ginger slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet under her as she curled into Ambrosia’s chair—surely, the older woman was sufficiently fatigued and tucked away in bed by now.

  Boss, having heard his mistress’s voice, sauntered into the room and took his favourite spot in front of the fireplace.

  “The reason Haley and I came here was because of an urgent message from Miss Gold. Apparently, there is a poltergeist residing at Bray Manor, and Ambrosia’s nerves are in danger of collapsing.”

  Basil’s glass paused midair. “A poltergeist?”

  “Ambrosia is convinced that the spirit is real, but I have my own suspicions.”

  “Do tell.”

  “To raise funds for the maintenance of Bray Manor, Felicia has organized associations and events to rent rooms—to Ambrosia’s mortification. I applaud her entrepreneurial spirit, and Ambrosia isn’t so humiliated that she’d stop the flow of money. There are currently three associations that meet weekly: a knitting circle, a gardening group, and a stamp collecting club.”

  “And you suspect the poltergeist to be one of the association members.”

  “I initially believed Ambrosia was in need of attention—she can be quite demanding in that respect—and that this new crisis was a ploy to get me to come to Bray Manor.”

  “Were you hesitant to come?”

  Ginger glanced away. She wasn’t ready to confess the real reason she’d been reluctant to come. “I’ve been busy with my new shop.”

  “But now . . .?”

  “I witnessed the trickery first-hand. Someone is having fun at poor Ambrosia’s expense. I hadn’t had the chance to properly investigate before this tragedy happened.”

  Basil leaned forward. “What exactly happened at the ball?”

  “Dancing mostly. You would’ve enjoyed it.” Ginger smiled at the memory of the dances she and Basil had shared on the SS Rosa where they’d first met when she came to England from Boston. “A pleasant mix of social classes, which goes to show you how great the changes are that the Great War has brought us. Before 1914, a mixed event like that would never have happened.”

  Basil removed a notebook from his suit pocket and referred to something he’d written inside. “Were you acquainted with the victim, Miss Ashton?”

  “I met her for the first time at the dance. She was a friend of Felicia’s. She and another girl with them, a Miss Muriel Webb.”

  “What are your impressions of Miss Webb?”

  “I would say that Miss Webb lacked the confidence of which Miss Ashton, and of course Felicia, were in possession. I got the feeling that she tried a little too hard to fit in. Miss Ashton was what one would call a serious flapper.”

  Basil stared back with a look of confusion. “Meaning?”

  “She just wanted to have fun and nothing else.”

  “Right. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Unusual behaviour? Strange conversations?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, Miss Ashton was quite hostile towards Miss Webb. Her back was turned to me at the time, so she didn’t know I’d witnessed the confrontation.”

  “What was the nature of the conflict?”

  “Miss Ashton accused Miss Webb of not being able to think for herself. She used unkind language to express it.”

  Basil shifted in his chair, crossing the other leg. “What else do you know about our victim?”

  “She was engaged to Mr. Croft and would have become a Baroness once Lord Croft dies.”

  Basil’s eyebrows jumped at the news. “I dare say.”

  Ginger sipped her wine. She nibbled her lip in contemplation. Something else bothered her. Or rather someone. She wished she could avoid discussing him with Basil. She watched the fire, delaying the inevitable.

  Basil was a good investigator, and it didn’t take long before he probed. “Is there something more, Ginger?”

  Ginger sighed and turned back to face him. “Felicia’s been walking out with a Captain Smithwick.”

  Basil frowned. “Francis Smithwick?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “He and I served in the same regiment.” Just as he lifted his drink to his lips he added, “For a short time.”

  “He was there last night, and I saw him having a terse conversation with Miss Ashton. At one point he grabbed her by the wrist.”

  “So not strangers to each other.”

  “No,” Ginger said tightly.

  “And you’re worried the captain might be involved with other women, possibly with Miss Ashton.” The inspector’s intuition was spot-on, Ginger thought. He added with particular sensitivity, “You’re worried that Felicia might get her heart broken.”

  “Not might, Basil. Will. She definitely will.”

  Basil regarded her carefully. “Are you personally acquainted with Captain Smithwick?”

  “No,” she said without thought, then sighed again. Solving this case
might depend on her complete honesty. “Yes. We met in France.”

  “Were you involved?”

  “No! Of course not. I was married.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend. I just thought that would explain your worry for Felicia.”

  “Right. I do apologize. It was a reasonable question.”

  “I assume Mr. Croft was at the dance as well?”

  “Yes. He and I were dancing when the altercation occurred. He intercepted.

  “A complicated affair.”

  “Indeed. His mother, the Honourable Mrs. Croft was also present. Mr. Croft, her husband, passed away before the war.”

  “I imagine the Honourable Mrs. Croft isn’t too keen on the engagement?”

  “I suspect not. I witnessed more than one dirty look exchanged between them.”

  The war had made the world smaller. How coincidental that both she and Basil had met Captain Smithwick in France, and now, the three of them were together in Chesterton mixed up with a murder.

  Ginger couldn’t help but wonder just how coincidental it actually was. Smithwick was a strategist. She could safely assume he had investigated her since her return to London and had discovered her connection to the inspector. Could she, Basil, and Felicia all be pawns in an elaborate setup?

  Ginger collected Basil’s empty glass and set it beside her own on the sideboard.

  “I should like to start interviews first thing in the morning, starting with Miss Ashton’s family,” Basil said as he stood.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Basil grinned with a look of surrender. “I’d be shocked if it were otherwise.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The scribbled map, drawn by a sleepy Felicia, led Ginger and Basil to a middle-class area of family houses snuggled together in small plots. Basil pulled up to a tired-looking red brick building, in need of some tender loving care.

  Ginger was astounded. “This is Miss Ashton’s home?” She studied the map again, wondering if they’d somehow made a wrong turn, but the directions were simple.

  “You’re surprised a member of the peerage would marry a girl from the middle-class?”