Murder at Hartigan House: a cozy historical mystery (A Ginger Gold Mystery Book 2)

by Lee Strauss

  Ginger had one more stop to make before she needed to get home and assist in the redecorating efforts. She pulled into the parking area at the back of Scotland Yard. Using the rear-view mirror, she took a moment to reapply her lipstick and adjusted her cloche. Satisfied that she looked her best, she exited the motorcar in search of Basil Reed.

  She found him in his office. She’d been there enough times now that the constable at the front desk simply waved her through. Basil Reed stood when he saw her standing in the doorway. Ginger sashayed to the empty chair and claimed it, crossing her legs with flair.

  The inspector cleared his throat and sat behind his desk. “Lady Gold. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I’m throwing a party and I wanted to extend a personal invitation.”

  Basil Reed couldn’t suppress a grin. “Thank you, but I really am quite busy. Solving crimes and such.”

  “Oh, Inspector, I’m aware. That’s why you’ll be pleased to know that this is a working party.”

  Basil’s brow furrowed in a way that was becoming a common occurrence when he considered her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that for my guests, it’s a party, but for you and me, it’s work.”

  “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. Especially since work for me is quite different than work for you.”

  Ginger pressed on. “In this instance, I think we can agree to disagree. But you simply must attend.”

  “Why must I, Lady Gold?”

  Ginger arched a brow, and her green eyes sparkled. “Because I’ve invited the list.”

  “The list?”

  “Yes. The guests who attended my father’s final soirée ten years ago.”

  “Mrs. Gold, I must protest!”

  Ginger noticed how he slipped out of her title, reverting to the address she’d introduced herself as when they met on the SS Rosa.

  “You can protest all you like, Mr. Reed,” She responded in kind. “I intend to find out what happened to Eunice Hathaway.” And, she thought, to find out the truth about her father’s involvement. “You’d be wise to accept my assistance. I’m going to proceed either way.”

  “You are an exasperating woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  “In that case, I will accept your invitation.”

  “Fabulous.” Ginger rose to leave. At the door, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “Will Mrs. Reed be with you?” She was more than a little curious about the elusive Mrs. Reed. Who was this woman who appeared to have abandoned such a fine man as Chief Inspector Basil Reed?

  A shadow flickered behind Basil’s eyes. “I’m afraid not.”

  Ginger hummed. “It’s probably for the best, this time around.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Lord Turnbull wanted me to be his guest, and I told him I couldn’t because I was already attending with someone. I’d ask Lieutenant Schofield, but that would break Felicia’s heart.” Ginger’s green eyes twinkled. “That leaves you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  A week had flown by for Ginger as she oversaw the work being done in the drawing room. New paint and paper on the walls and new furniture around the large brick fireplace freshened the place immensely. There were a few things left to do, but mostly she had to finalise plans with Pippins and Mrs. Thornton for the soirée.

  Ginger was pleased to note that her left-side driving skills had improved after so many trips to and fro in the city. She’d been accustomed to the sounds of noisy horns directed her way, yet today, there had only been a few. She’d even had reason to squeeze the rubber ball section of the horn, which was secured to the exterior of the window frame. Quite thrilling.

  Her eyes darted to the document Mr. Hayes had given her. She had read it thoroughly, and if the solicitor intended on behaving unscrupulously towards her, he wasn’t using this contract to do it.

  Mr. Hayes once again sat in his overly big chair looking small. His physical size didn’t represent the level of his intelligence.

  “How do you do,” she said when she entered his office. Mr. Hayes rose to greet her and shook her hand. “Lady Gold. I trust you found everything in order?”

  Ginger sat daintily in the chair opposite William Hayes, crossed her ankles and retrieved the document from her handbag. “Everything appears to be in order,” she said as she slid the papers across the desk. “You’ll find my signature on the last page.”

  William Hayes thumbed through the document until he landed at the end and studied Ginger’s signature.

  His fingers found each other and tented. “Mrs. Georgia Hartigan Gold,” he said with a grin.

  “That’s me!”

  “Good, well, I’ll file these with the city. Mr. Hartigan’s banker will ring you to officially sign over your father’s accounts.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hayes, for taking such care of my father and his affairs.”

  “You are most certainly welcome, Lady Gold. And I continue to be at your service.”

  “Brilliant. And as my solicitor, you must attend the soirée I’m throwing this weekend. A memorial party in honour of my father.”

  “Oh, I don’t know …”

  “Mr. Hayes, you simply must. I know you don’t favour social events, but even you must admit that meeting people in person is good for business. I’m sure many of my guests might be in need of legal advice at some point.”

  The solicitor’s fingers stilled. “I suppose you do have a point.”

  “It’s settled then,” Ginger said. She handed him his invitation. “This makes it official.”

  Ginger said goodbye to the solicitor then strolled casually to her motorcar. She scoured the street in search of young Scout.

  Just as she approached the boot of the Daimler, he popped out of nowhere like she’d known him to do,

  “Missus,” he called.

  Ginger waited for him to approach. “Hello, Scout. How are you?”

  “Just fine, missus, just fine.”

  “Good to hear it. How was ‘work’ this week?”

  “I saw sumfin ’spicious, missus.”

  “Oh?”

  “Your solicitor got ’imself into a row with a tall man in a bowler ’at. The gent looked to be summon important like.”

  “How bad was the row? Loud talking? Did you hear what they said?”

  “No, missus. But they come to cuffs. The short one almost fell ’ead over ears, ’e did.”

  “Oh dear. Did you notice anything unique about the tall man?”

  “Oi, yes, missus. ’E ’ad a scar like this on ’is fore’ead.” Scout place his fingers in the shape of an L on his own small head. “I saw it in the lamplight.”

  Turnbull. He not only knew Hayes, but they had had words. Things could get interesting if they both showed up at the soirée.

  “Thank you, Scout. This is most helpful.” Ginger handed him four shillings. “Consider this a retainer, should I need your assistance in the future.”

  “Thank ya, missus,” he said with a toothy grin. “I is yer man!”

  Ginger patted him on the head. “Yes, you are.”

  She had plenty to think about on her way home: Hartigan House was officially her house. She, Ginger Gold, owned a large London home in a prestigious area. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered. No longer simply a visitor, she was a London resident. After such a short time away from Boston she felt entirely British—which she was, as her birth certificate and passport proved—and the sensation caused her a measure of consternation.

  For over twenty years Ginger had seen herself as American. When she thought of Boston her heart squeezed with homesickness. Having two homes conversely made her feel like she had none. Was she British or American? Should she stay in London, or go back to Boston as planned?

  She could admit to missing her sister, Louisa, a little bit, but not her stepmother in the slightest. She and Sally had spent the first few years in Boston butting heads and vying for her father’s attention. That cooled when Louisa
was born. Ginger’s desires for adventure skewed more towards what was happening with her friends and colleagues outside of the house, rather than the squawking child inside. Over time it was clear that unspoken lines had been drawn—Sally and Louisa on one side and Ginger and George on the other. It was quite likely that the welcome mat in front of the brownstone’s front door would be whisked away upon hearing of Ginger’s return.

  “Pippins,” Ginger called out as she entered Hartigan House. It occurred to her that she hadn’t asked Pippins and Mrs. Thornton, who were both present at the winter soirée, if they knew anything about Miss Eunice Hathaway. You never knew what little detail might prove to be the thing to break a case wide open.

  Pippins materialised in the sitting room as Ginger removed her coat and gloves. “Hello, Pips. Might I ask you a couple of questions regarding the final soirée hosted here by my father?”

  “Certainly, madam.”

  “Do you remember a Miss Eunice Hathaway in attendance? She wasn’t on the list.”

  “Oh yes. The guest of Lord Turnbull. A … vivacious young woman. She was a surprise for us all.”

  “Did you not like her?”

  “I didn’t know her well to have an opinion.” The butler’s gaze rested on Ginger. “But …”

  “But?”

  “I do believe Mrs. Thornton and Miss Hathaway were acquainted.”

  “Did Mrs. Thornton tell you this was so?”

  “No, madam. It was more in the way they interacted together. Staff is used to being ignored and unseen, and indeed, Miss Hathaway looked through the lot of us working that night…”

  “Except Mrs. Thornton?”

  “Yes, madam. I caught the two of them smiling at each other, just softly, mind you. Not in a way anyone else would notice.”

  “I see. Thank you, Pips. Would you mind fetching Mrs. Thornton for me.”

  “Yes, madam. Er, you won’t mention that I …”

  “I promise not to attach your name to my inquiry. I’m simply interviewing all the staff who were present that night.”

  Mrs. Thornton entered the sitting room a few minutes later, her round face flushed red at being summoned. Ginger hurried to set the woman’s mind at ease.

  “Mrs. Thornton, I have a question for you, nothing urgent, just a curiosity of mine I hope you can relieve.”

  “I’ll do my best to ’elp ya, madam.”

  “You might’ve heard about the tragic discovery in the attic.”

  “Yes, madam. It’s been quite exciting news below.” By below, Ginger knew that Mrs. Thornton wasn’t only referring to the three staff at Hartigan House, but in the servant community in Kensington and probably all of London. She kept a friendly expression despite the distaste she felt.

  “Are you familiar with the name Miss Eunice Hathaway?”

  Mrs. Thornton’s red face instantly became dangerously pale. She reached for the back of one of the chairs. “I’m sorry madam,” she explained. “I’ve been unwell.”

  “Do you need a glass of water?”

  “No, I’m quite all right now.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, madam.” The cook swallowed. “I did know Miss ’Athaway. I worked at the ’Athaway residence for many years, before I came to work at ’Artigan ’Ouse the first time. Watched the young lady grow up, I did. We were all simply shattered when she went missing.”

  The telephone rang and Ginger listened to ascertain if Pippins was going to get if or if she needed to make a dash. Since the phone ceased ringing she surmised that Pippins had answered.

  Pippins entered the sitting room moments later. “Telephone for you, madam.”

  “Do you need anything more from me, madam?” Mrs. Thornton asked.

  “That’s fine for now,” Ginger said. She quickly walked to the telephone in the morning room and picked up the candlestick receiver. “Hello?”

  “Lady Gold? This is Chief Inspector Reed.”

  Full official title. Not a casual call. Ginger’s stomach tensed. “Well hello, Inspector. I was just thinking of you.”

  “You were? Well, you can tell me why in a moment. I promised I’d call with any news of the case.” He paused and Ginger sensed his reluctance.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I received Dr. Watts’s report. His lab analysed the fabric strip found in your motorcar. Dr. Watts says it’s a match to the dress worn by Eunice Hathaway.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Everything came together for the soirée as planned. Though Ginger would have like to have renovated the entire house, she was pleased with the transformation of the drawing room over such a short time. The deep burgundies found in the upholstery and curtains were replaced with lighter shades of rose. The walls were painted and papered with themes of ivory, grey and mint-green. There were far fewer pieces of furniture and accessories, yet enough to house a gathering of this size comfortably. Lizzie had arranged the candle lighting to perfection while Mrs. Thornton’s addition of vases filled with her garden wildflowers added to the relaxed atmosphere, giving the room a light floral scent.

  “Pippins,” Ginger said. “Would you mind putting on a record?”

  Pippins nodded subtly. “Of course, madam.”

  Soon the gramophone filled the room with the Paul Whiteman orchestra.

  “Marvin,” Ginger said, calling out to her temporary waiter, “you look dashing in that uniform.”

  It had been Ginger’s idea to employ Scout and his older cousin Marvin for the night. Pippins and Mrs. Thornton showed their disapproval and doubt in Ginger’s common sense with carefully worded and emotionally toned-down expressions of caution. Ginger had insisted that she trusted these boys and her loyal staff accepted her decision gracefully.

  “Thank ya, madam,” the boy said. He was tall and lanky as many sixteen-year-old boys are. Ginger was pleased when Pippins had produced a suit in Marvin’s size, once worn by a previous footman.

  “It’s your job to help Pippins with the drinks. Make sure the glasses are washed and dried.”

  The kitchen buzzed with energy. Mrs. Thornton had Scout peeling vegetables. Ginger held in a smile that threatened to burst through as she watched him. Part of the job requirements was for Scout and Marvin to bathe. Marvin jumped at the opportunity. However Scout was quick to express his disapproval. Marvin dragged Scout into the bathing room, but his noises of dissent could be heard all the way down the hall.

  “It smells scrummy, Mrs. Thornton,” Ginger said.

  “Thank you, madam. I ’ope you and your guests enjoy it.”

  “I hope it wasn’t too much for you?”

  “Pfft. This is a small affair.”

  There was a new face in the kitchen, a tall girl about Lizzie’s age, with dark hair and large eyes. She bobbed when she saw Ginger.

  “Hello,” Ginger said. “Who might you be?”

  “I’m Grace Duncan, madam.”

  Mrs. Thornton spoke up. “You told me to go a’ead and take on ’elp, madam.”

  “Of course. Welcome to Hartigan House, Grace.”

  Everyone had accepted the invitation: Dr. Longden, Mr. Hayes, Monsieur and Madame Moreau, Lord and Lady Brackenbury, Mrs. Schofield and Alfred Schofield, and Inspector Reed. Lord Turnbull telegrammed to say he’d be bringing a guest. With Ginger, Haley, Felicia and Ambrosia they numbered fifteen.

  Ginger double-checked her reflection in the full-length mirror in the foyer. The sheer gold and emerald Callot Soeurs evening dress she wore sparkled in the light of the chandelier. She accented this with a delicate jewelled headband containing a featured emerald that rested on her forehead, and several ropes of pearls around her neck. Her favourite piece was the black feather boa draped elegantly over her shoulders.

  Dressed this way, she really ought to be going out dancing and having a jolly time. If only this were a real party instead of a ruse to smoke out a killer. She wouldn’t lose sight of that goal, especially with her father’s reputation on the line.

  Inspec
tor Reed’s pronouncement that the fabric strip found in George Hartigan’s motorcar was a match to the victim’s dress was a blow. Her father was now personally tied to the case and there was nothing she could do about it. There was no way she would tell Basil Reed that her father had instructed Pippins to keep the door locked—that would only cast more doubt. She knew Pippins would remain discreet, though she couldn’t expect him to lie under oath. Oh mercy, please do not let it come to that!

  What was the relationship between George Hartigan and Eunice Hathaway? Miss Hathaway had been wearing an haute couture gown, which made sense since the Hathaway family, though not peerage, were highly respected and wealthy.

  Mrs. Schofield remembered Eunice Hathaway wearing a large ruby ring on her finger. What happened to that? Had that been the motive for the crime? A mugging gone wrong?

  “You’re deep in thought.”

  Ginger startled at Haley’s voice, then smiled at her friend. “Yes. This puzzle perplexes me.”

  “My mind has been meddling as well.”

  “Eunice Hathaway was seen leaving Hartigan House with Lord Turnbull. How did she then end up in the attic?”

  “You’re sure to know more by the end of the evening,” Haley said encouragingly.

  “That’s the plan. By the way darling, you look divine.”

  Haley blushed. “I thought I’d put in a little effort for the cause. Lizzie lifted this from your wardrobe. I hope you don’t mind.”

  The beaded ivory evening dress was the most feminine item Ginger had ever seen Haley wear. “Not at all. Indeed, I wish now I had invited an eligible bachelor. Come to think of it there are three unattached men joining us tonight.”

  “The doctor and the lawyer?” Haley said. “Aren’t they ancient?”

  “Well, yes. But there’s also Lieutenant Alfred Schofield, though you might have to arm-wrestle Felicia for him.”