by Lee Strauss
She’d shared that bed with Daniel. They played Frank Croxton on the gramophone and danced on the shiny wooden floor to Road to Mandalay.
Ginger sank into one of the chairs. Boss, always attuned to Ginger’s emotions, climbed on her lap and nudged her cheek with his damp nose.
“Oh, Bossy. What would I do without you?”
Her fingers petted the animal as she stared blankly at her trunks, suitcases, and stacks of hatboxes.
The last time she’d seen her husband alive had been in the summer of 1918 in France. He thought she was there in her role as a telephone switchboard operator, and she’d let him believe that. Her real role in the war had allowed her to pull strings so they’d have a day and a night’s leave together in a quaint little village near Marseille. For the twenty-four hours they were together, they agreed not to talk about the war. Ginger knew about the danger Daniel was in, and that he’d be heading back to Belgium the next day.
He had no idea how dangerous things were for her. He died before she could tell him the truth. It pained her that she had been denied the opportunity to explain.
A light tapping at the door snapped her to her senses.
“Come in,” she called.
A young maid with dark hair pinned back and a friendly face stepped softly into the room, tea tray in hand, and curtsied. “Hello, Lady Gold. Mr. Pippins thought you’d like tea brought up.”
“Yes, he’s right. I would love a cup.”
Lizzie poured. “Milk and sugar, madam?”
“Just milk. And what is your name?”
“Lizzie, madam.” She bobbed again. “Mr. Pippins also suggested you might like help unpacking?”
“That would be fabulous. My Boston gal refused to accompany me,” Ginger said. “Afraid of the water.”
“Oh, that is sad, madam,” Lizzie said. “To have such a grand opportunity and be stopped by a greater fear.”
Ginger considered her new maid’s perceptiveness.
Lizzie blushed, “Sorry, madam, I spoke out of turn.”
“It’s quite all right, Lizzie. You spoke the truth.”
“I’ll just be a minute to see if Miss Higgins would like tea, and I’ll be right back.”
Ginger smiled. “Of course.” She knew Haley would turn her nose up at tea, being the devoted coffee drinker that she was, and wasn’t a bit surprised when Lizzie returned almost immediately afterwards.
“Lizzie,” Ginger said, brightening. “Let’s start with the trunks, shall we?”
Unlike Haley, who’d helped on the steamship, Lizzie was well-versed in the different styles of dresses. “I was a lady’s maid in my last job,” she explained, “before she moved to Africa.” Her face showed genuine appreciation for the quality of Ginger’s evening gowns made of imported satiny-smooth silk, textured crepe, sheer chiffon and luscious velvet. “Are these from America?”
Ginger nodded at the obvious.
“They’re so lovely!”
“Thank you, Lizzie. There are plenty of dress shops in Boston and New York. Are you familiar with the dress shops in London?” Ginger thought she might be able to track down the Lucile dress. Maybe she could find someone who knew something of the victim.
“Somewhat, madam. My previous lady often spoke of them.”
“I’d be delighted if you could come up with a list of the most popular shops.”
“I suspect you’d want the salons?”
Ginger was pleased that this young girl seemed to know the difference. Salons designed and created unique dresses for each customer. Other shops had begun supplying more affordable factory-made dresses, a growing industry since the war especially with the younger flapper crowd. Ginger frequented both kinds.
Once Lizzie had emptied the trunks, she moved to the suitcases and hung the day dresses and tea dresses found there. Ginger busied herself by organizing her hats and accessories and putting away her jewellery and hatpins.
She remembered the photograph of her husband, so dashing in his lieutenant uniform, and removed it from her handbag.
Sir Daniel Livingston Gold, baronet, the one true love of her life. Ginger remembered how excited she had been to bring him here, to share her London home, and recount all her precious memories. Introducing her new husband to Pippins had been such a thrill. Ginger had thought Pippins to be tall, but her Daniel towered over him. With genuine warmth in his brown eyes and a sincere smile on his handsome face, he greeted Pippins with enthusiasm.
“Lady Gold speaks so highly of you, Mr. Pippins.”
Pippins’ eyes sparkled at her new title, his mouth pulling against his will into a grin. “You have a very fine bride, sir.”
“I do, indeed!”
Ginger smiled at the memory. “Lizzie, is there a frame around I could use?” She held up the photo for size. “I only have this plastic travel frame. So much lighter, you see.”
“Yes, madam. Is that Sir Daniel Gold, madam?”
“It is.”
“He was very handsome,” Lizzie bobbed quickly, “if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“I don’t mind, and I agree.”
Lizzie disappeared for a few moments and returned with an empty silver frame. Ginger slid the photo in behind the glass and set it on the night table beside her bed.
“It’s perfect.”
Chapter Four
A nap did little to alleviate the growing anxiety Ginger felt, but it did restore colour to her pallid complexion.
“I thought you would be ready for refreshments by now,” Pippins said, when Ginger entered the sitting room. “And had them prepared.”
Ginger was grateful for Pippins, not only for his efficiency at his role as butler but also to have a friendly and familiar face to help her resettle. Her father had loaned the butler out to a spinster cousin once the Great War had started, and Pippins had been with her this whole time. Old Cousin Enid had recently passed away, quietly in her sleep, releasing Pippins to serve once more at Hartigan House.
Ginger and Haley each claimed a wingback chair that curled around a large stone fireplace, and Boss settled on Ginger’s lap. Lizzie poured the tea. Ginger caught her gaze lingering on Boss.
“Do you like dogs, Lizzie?”
“Oh yes, madam. I used to have a pet, but I had to leave him when I went into service. I do miss the old hound.”
“I’ll be needing help with Boss from time to time. You won’t mind if I ask for your assistance?”
“Not at all, madam! I’d be pleased as punch!” She bobbed excitedly and left the room.
“The boss has a new friend already,” Haley said wryly.
“He’s the friendly type.”
Lizzie arrived with salmon sandwiches, newly created, Ginger presumed, by the cook whom Ginger had yet to meet. When Ginger reassured the young maid that they lacked nothing, she and Haley were left alone.
Ginger sipped her tea and studied her surroundings. “Strong Victorian style,” Ginger said.
“Oh?” Haley said. She wrinkled her nose at her tea, but sipped anyway.
“Yes, overly opulent and too many accessories and pieces of furniture. You can barely walk through here without bruising a hip.” Ginger found the overcrowded room with its dark décor oppressive.
Haley nodded. “There’s no shortage of places to sit.”
Ginger agreed. “If you don’t mind worn fabric and lumpy cushions. This house hasn’t been updated since the turn of the century. I think that’s what I’ll do while I’m here. I’ll renovate Hartigan House. New furniture, new floors. Clear the walls.”
“That’s ambitious,” Haley said. “I thought you were planning to sell?”
In truth, Ginger didn’t know what she should do. Boston had been home for twenty years, the city was in her blood; but London was her birthplace and her heritage. Her parents and her husband were buried nearby.
“Well, I can’t very well sell it looking like this, can I? And a fresh look is sure to bring a higher selling price.”
“I su
ppose you’re right.”
“And it’s something for me to do while I’m waiting,” Ginger said. “Otherwise I’ll just be wandering this big house like a daft bat while you’re improving your mind and giving practical aid to the citizens of London.”
They’d had this conversation before. Fortunately Ginger had attended college before marriage—her studies in maths and languages were a huge asset during the war—but now, as a war widow, Ginger’s only prospects were to remarry—something she was not ready to do.
George Hartigan had been an intuitive businessman leaving Ginger half of his business assets and this old house. The other half, along with the Boston house, was left to Ginger’s American stepmother and half-sister. In that respect, she really didn’t have a home there anymore.
“You’re certainly not daft,” Haley said, emphasizing Ginger’s fall into British parlance. “I doubt you’ll be wandering around for long. And don’t forget…” She pointed upwards at the ceiling.
Ginger’s fingers flew to her lips. “How could I forget that, even for a moment? It must be the time lag between Boston and London turning my brain to pea soup. How irreverent to discuss redecorating plans!”
“I’m certain the lady in red has no opinion at all,” Haley said. “Besides, the police will handle everything and you’ll have plenty of time to consider new colours and whatever else is involved in bringing about a change of interiors.”
Pippins knocked on the door, and Ginger called him in.
“Lady Gold,” he said, “I thought you’d like to be introduced to the housekeeper.
A sturdy, ruddy-faced woman with a cook’s cap and well-used apron stepped forward.
“This is Mrs. Thornton. She is also the cook. You might remember her from your last visit in 1913.”
Ginger did remember Mrs. Thornton from when she and her late husband Daniel passed through, though there hadn’t been time to engage her much in conversation. She’d been the cook’s assistant in those days and known as Miss Thornton. Apparently she’d been given the courtesy title of Mrs. Thornton in the meantime. She looked the same, stout with short, wiry hair under her cap. Her full cheeks tinged pink as she entered a slight curtsy.
“Hello again, Mrs. Thornton,” Ginger said. “So marvellous that you could return to Hartigan House after so many years away.”
“It’s a pleasure to be back, madam,” she said. “’Artigan ’Ouse is a wonderful place.”
“Mrs. Thornton has prepared lamb stew and dumplings for dinner,” Pippins said, “for whenever you are ready.”
“That is so good of you, Mrs. Thornton,” Ginger said, “I hadn’t realised until now that I’m starving.”
“Yes, thank you,” Haley added.
“Pippins,” Ginger called as he and Mrs. Thornton were leaving. The butler stepped back into the sitting room.
“Lady Gold?”
“Is that all the staff there are?” Ginger asked. “Just the three of you?”
“Madam, I took the liberty of hiring a cleaning company to help with opening up the house. I just recently brought on Lizzie Weaver so you and Miss Higgins could be attended to properly, but thought it best to wait for further instruction before employing more staff.”
“Of course, Pippins.”
The dining room had the same extravagant design as the sitting room. The springs in the seats were loose, poking one in a most uncomfortable and delicate manner, and the golden silk fabric worn thin in some places. Ginger noted the chips in some of the porcelain dishes.
“Hartigan House is in need of a bit of tender loving care,” Ginger said to Haley when Mrs. Thornton and Pippins had left. “Less clutter, modern colours. New art. Yes, definitely new art for the walls.” Ginger sighed. “If only there weren’t a skeleton in the attic to cast a shadow over the whole affair.”
Haley lifted a spoonful of stew. “Such an inconvenience when one desires to redecorate.”
“Isn’t it, now. I suppose it was too much to ask to come to London, sign a few papers and sail back to Boston without having a crime to solve first.” Especially one that might involve her father.
“It’s not up to you to solve the crime, you know. Call the police.”
“Haley, dear, you’re newly exposed to high society, so you aren’t aware how ravenous the wolves are. Socialites live for the next scandalous moment. It’s their form of entertainment. Once news gets out that a corpse has been lying in Hartigan House for over a decade, it’ll make the front-page news. It’s not exactly how I wanted to get my photograph in the rags. We’ll be the talk of the town; it’ll be impossible to go out without encountering heated glares and indiscreet whispering.” Ginger groaned. “And Lord help us if word gets out about my father’s alleged telegram with instructions to keep the door locked.”
“I understand,” Haley said. “What if we kept the bit about the telegram to ourselves for now? We’ll agree to release that piece of information if it becomes necessary to solving the case.”
Ginger relented. “That won’t keep the hounds away, but it’s not like I haven’t had to deal with unwanted attention before.”
Lizzie scampered in when Ginger rang the bell. “Please ask Pippins to join us.”
Moments later Pippins entered the room. He stood near the table, back straight and hands cupped against his abdomen.
“How can I be of service, Lady Gold?”
“First, please ensure that Lizzie and Mrs. Thornton are occupied elsewhere.”
“Certainly, madam.”
Pippins left the room.
“What are you doing?” Haley asked.
“I want to talk to Pips without interruption.”
Pippins returned, giving Ginger his full attention.
“Mrs. Thornton is gathering marrow from the vegetable plot and Lizzie has taken, er, Boss, for a walk.”
“Good. Pips, Miss Higgins and I believe it’s time to call the police.”
Haley shot Ginger a look of surprise.
“I see,” Pippins said.
“But first, can I have your assurances to refrain from mentioning my father and the telegram? At least initially?”
“Of course.”
“Terrific. Next, I’m assuming there are records kept of every gathering and soirée hosted at Hartigan House?”
“Yes, madam. Food, design, and entertainment were planned ahead of each event and meticulous accounts kept.”
“Can you look back to the winter of 1913? Especially an event that would require evening attire?”
“I believe all the records were packed away and stored in Mr. Hartigan’s, forgive me, I mean your study. Would you like me to search?”
“Yes, please.”
Pippins bowed and left the room.
Haley’s dark brows arched in question. “I thought you wanted to wait a day to call the police?”
“It was just the shock of the moment. I needed time to sort it out, but I feel if we wait, it could be counted as a mark against us—should the investigation go wrong.” Should her father be implicated, Ginger thought, but shame kept her from saying it aloud.
Haley inclined her head and stared at Ginger with soft eyes. “I’m sorry to be leaving you here alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“I start my classes on Monday. I’m to move into the dormitory this weekend.”
“Well, yes, I guess I knew you’d be going.” Ginger poured on her native English charm and forced a smile. “Somehow I’ll manage without you, old girl.”
Pippins returned and stood near the wall until Ginger called him over.
“What did you find out?” she asked.
He opened an old ledger-style book. “Your father hosted a small New Year’s soirée on the thirty-first of December 1913.”
“How many people were in attendance?”
“A dozen, madam.”
“I don’t suppose there is a guest list?”
“There is, madam,” Pippins said as he handed the ledger to Ginger. “It’
s recorded here.”
Ginger laid the book on the table and scoured the page.
“Anyone you know?” Haley said.
Scanning the names, Ginger shook her head. “I grew up in Boston and didn’t become familiar with my father’s London circle.” She paused and then pointed. “Wait a minute, I know this one. Harriet McCallum.”
“Oh?” Haley said.
“I remember her coming to visit us in Boston when I was younger. I do remember my stepmother being less than hospitable. ”
“Sally?” Haley said facetiously. “I can’t imagine.”
“Oh yes. There was a moment when my father left the room that I thought Sally and Harriet McCallum were going to gouge each other’s eyes out.”
Haley smacked her thigh. “Oh, to be a fly on the wall.”
“Miss McCallum had dark strawberry-blonde hair. I think she reminded Sally of my mother.”
“Madam,” Pippins said. “I do recall that Miss McCallum cancelled at the last minute. I forgot to cross out her name.”
Chapter Five
One of the instructions Ginger had forwarded to Pippins in regards to opening Hartigan House was to acquire a telephone.
“Please ring the police, Pippins.”
Lizzie arrived to clean the dining table, and Ginger and Haley returned to the sitting room. “Oh, you’re back,” Ginger said. “Please, bring Boss to me when you’re finished here.”
Lizzie bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, madam.”
The fire in the stone fireplace had cooled to embers. Haley added a log and stoked the coal until it ignited.
“The staff really ought to do that,” Ginger said.
“I don’t mind,” Haley replied. “Besides, poor Lizzie is being run off her feet. She’s dusting and vacuuming, making the beds, serving tea, helping Mrs. Thornton in the kitchen, and walking your dog.”
“You’re right. I need to hire someone to help her.”
Boss bounded into the room with Lizzie after him.