by Lee Strauss
Matilda Hanson and Felicia had finished a conversation, and Felicia left to join Ginger’s visiting half-sister, Louisa. Matilda’s eyes searched the small crowd of guests until they locked on the person she was looking for. Ginger followed her gaze and was startled to find it had landed on Oliver. The happy countenance Matilda had worn whilst conversing with Felicia changed as she studied the reverend. Her eyes darkened, looking forlorn and rather heartsick.
Oh, mercy.
“Beale, old chum,” Oliver suddenly called out. “Over here.”
Stepping through the gathering came a slender man with warm eyes and a large grin. “Hill, you old dog,” the man said, slapping Oliver on the back. “You’re finally tying the knot, eh?”
Oliver laughed. “Something you should consider someday, my friend. So glad you could make it!” Oliver pulled Mary into the circle. “Mary, this is my good friend Captain William Beale. Beale, my fiancée, Miss Blythe.”
William extended a hand. “It’s a privilege to meet you, Miss Blythe. May I extend my congratulations. You’ve found an exemplary man in Oliver.” He pivoted to include Ginger. “Oliver, please don’t delay in introducing me to this beautiful lady.”
“Do forgive me. Ginger, meet my good friend, Captain William Beale. Beale, this is Lady Gold, the owner of this lovely house, and hostess of our party. Ginger, this is my good friend Captain William Beale. We met during the war.”
“He was my chaplain,” Captain Beale explained. “And a grand job he did!”
Oliver grew pink at the praise. “I was glad to serve the king.”
“How do you do, Captain?” Ginger said as she extended a white-gloved hand. Her pale-yellow spring frock fluttered in the breeze. It had a stylish pleat in the skirt, a matching crepe scarf that hung over her left shoulder, and on her head was a playful printed cloche garnished with a cluster of purple grapes, pulled low, leaving the tips of her red bob curled up against her cheeks.
“My day has improved tremendously,” William said with a grin. “Would you be willing to take a turn about the garden with me?”
Ginger found the gentleman to be quite agreeable, even if his thick wavy hair proved to be rogue.
“It would be my pleasure. If you don’t mind my little Boston Terrier joining us,” she added.
The captain laughed. “I couldn’t think of a better chaperone.”
Ginger commanded Boss to follow at her heel as they began their stroll. “Your accent isn’t English, Captain Beale,” Ginger said. “Canadian?”
“Very good. The Brits usually mistake me for American, and the Americans mistake me for a Brit!”
Ginger chuckled. “I’ve only been to Canada once, on a business trip with my father when I was younger. We lived in Boston at the time. Montreal is a lovely city, the most like a European city in all of North America. Imagine my surprise when I learned later on that most Canadians spoke English rather than French.”
“It’s a common mistake,” Captain Beale said with a smile.
“What brings you to London?” Ginger asked. She almost missed the Captain’s answer because she caught sight of the Edwards family looking tense as if they were having a quarrel. Mr. Edwards’ sister, Miss Catherine Edwards, was wearing a tight expression and looked displeased. She was ignoring the harsh words being spoken between husband and wife, her eyes on Mr. Piper. Mr. Piper, in turn, seemed to steadfastly keep his gaze away from Catherine, though he didn’t appear to be looking at anything else.
“I promised myself I’d return to Europe after the war to see it in peacetime,” Captain Beale was saying. “To visit my friends here.” He added more solemnly. “Those who are still alive.”
Ginger reined in her attention in time to respond. “Like Oliver?”
“Wonderful fellow. His spiritual advice and example helped me to keep my hope up as well as my head.”
Louisa’s laughter bubbled from her position in the middle of the garden and her American accent was clearly heard by all. “In America we call this a yard, and we don’t bother naming our houses. It’s not like they can come if called! But I do love London. It’s so old and quaint!” Louisa didn’t even blush. She loved being the centre of attention and was entirely blind to how offensive she could be.
“Who’s that lovely world traveller?” Captain Beale asked with a crooked grin.
“That would be my sister, Louisa.”
“Sister? But you’re English! And you look nothing alike.”
“I am English, but my father moved us to Boston when I was eight, to marry an American. Louisa came along a couple of years later.”
Ginger noticed she wasn’t the only one whose gaze had turned to Louisa. Mr. Piper had spared a glance over his spectacles. Oliver took a moment to stare over Mary’s head. Haley, who was currently huddled in a conversation with Matilda, smiled. Felicia rolled her eyes. Mrs. Edwards couldn’t be bothered with the antics of a silly girl, but Mr. Edwards’ gaze lingered in a disconcerting fashion. Catherine Edwards watched her brother and scowled.
“I think I should mingle with the guests, Captain Beale,” Ginger said politely.
“Of course,” the captain said. “How rude of me to hog the lovely hostess all to myself!”
Ginger smiled graciously. “I’m sure no one even noticed.”
Instead of stepping away, the captain took a step closer. “I plan to be in London for some time. Would you allow me to pay you a visit?”
Ginger stilled. Would she?
Besides her husband Daniel, Lord Gold, when he was alive, Chief Inspector Basil Reed was the only man she’d considered stepping out with. Oh, she flirted harmlessly with men at social events, but never to the point that she’d allow them to think there was something to be had between them beyond the conversation they were sharing.
She’d even decided recently that she could remain single. She had money and family and good friends. Her emotional needs were attended to. She found a great sense of gratification working with Oliver and their charity the Child Wellness Project. Plus, she enjoyed her work running Feathers & Flair, as well as the small side private investigation jobs she was hired for on occasion.
However, the captain was a charming man and would be a perfectly fine companion for the time he planned to stay in the city. Why not have a little fun? She forced the image of Basil Reed’s face from her mind.
“I’d be delighted.”
Chapter Three
Mary Blythe did look a bit green.
“Perhaps you should sit down,” Ginger said as she gently guided the bride-to-be past the roses and into a pew.
Mary leaned forward to put her head between her legs. Her hand went to her hat, and for a second, Ginger feared she was going to rip it off to capture her vomit.
“Do you need to lie down? I believe there’s a settee in Oliver’s office.”
“No, I’m fine.” Mary lifted her head and pressed a folded handkerchief on her damp forehead. “I wanted to elope,” she confessed. “I have a nervous stomach and hate being the centre of attention.”
Oh, mercy.
“You’ll be so happy once it’s over,” Ginger said. “Try to think about that instead. Are you going on a wedding journey?”
“Oh, Lord.” Mary bounded out of the pew and ran out of the sanctuary, turning in the direction of the ladies.
“She must really love Reverend Hill,” Felicia said. “Clearly, she’s afraid of crowds.”
She’s afraid of something, Ginger thought, regretting that she had brought up the wedding night. The whole idea of physical intimacy could be overwhelming when one was young and inexperienced. Ginger remembered her first night with Daniel—
“Ginger?”
Ginger snapped out of her reverie. “Yes, Felicia?”
“Shall we go?”
“Yes, but I’d like to say hello to Oliver first,” Ginger said. She was surprised that he hadn’t made an appearance. Oh dear. She hoped he didn't have cold feet.
“We’ll wait for you at your m
otorcar,” William added. Ginger nodded, relieved that William hadn’t insisted on coming with her to speak to Oliver. He’d once confessed to feeling envious of Ginger’s friendship with his old friend, and if Oliver hadn’t been engaged to be married, William said he might’ve felt threatened.
Even so, Ginger questioned William’s possessiveness but extended grace for his behaviour. He was likely still feeling the pinch of her rejection of his proposal and was silently licking his wounds.
The door to Oliver’s office was closed, and Ginger knocked. “Oliver? It’s Ginger.”
Her announcement was met with the shuffling sound of Oliver’s chair being scraped across the floor. He flung the door open, eyes darting down the hall past Ginger, then waved her in. His actions reminded her of more than one situation during the war when Ginger had made clandestine assignations, though Oliver was far too animated to be mistaken for a true secret service man.
“Oliver? Is everything all right?” Ginger was starting to feel like a parrot with the question.
“Yes, no, I don’t know!” Oliver folded his long legs and collapsed into his chair. He ran a hand over his red curls, which were escaping the oil that usually restrained them.
Ginger took the chair facing his desk. “Do you have cold feet? It’s quite normal if you do.”
“That must be it. Cold feet. Yes. Mary, she’s a sweet girl. She’s so nervous; I can’t help but wonder if she wants to go through with it. I’ve given her an option to not go through with it, but she insists she wants to marry me.”
“Do you want to marry her?”
“Ginger, the wedding is in two days!”
“It’s not too late. Not until you say, ‘I do.’”
Oliver startled her with a hearty, forced laugh. His behaviour was so uncharacteristic that Ginger felt genuinely alarmed.
“Of course, it’s too late,” Oliver said once he regained control of his emotions. “I asked her to marry me, and she said yes. I can’t renege on my offer. Besides, can you imagine the uproar it would cause in the diocese? They’d remove me from St. George’s faster than, than, than—whatever goes fast!”
Ginger had worried this would happen. Intuitively, she had doubted this union was right for Oliver, but at the time when she could have mentioned it, Oliver had refused to bring her into his confidence. “Oliver, I think you need to take a couple of deep breaths. I’ll get us some tea. Would you like some tea?”
“No, I’ve already had a pot of it. I’m wearing out the carpet to the loo.”
“Yes, right. Well, then, let’s talk about Mary. Tell me all the things you love about her.”
“She’s sweet,” he repeated. “Gentle, kind, and makes a great beef brisket.”
“There you go,” Ginger said. “All the makings of a great wife.”
“She didn’t want a church wedding,” Oliver said. “Can you imagine, a vicar of the Church of England eloping?”
“It seems to me she just doesn’t want a big wedding.”
“You’re right, Ginger. See? If I were a loving husband, I would’ve understood her need. Instead, I bent to the expectation of my parishioners. They would run me out of London if I failed to invite them.”
“You were just doing what you felt was best. Your parishioners matter, and Mary matters. As a vicar’s wife, she must understand that she’ll be in the spotlight now.”
“Exactly!” Oliver said brightly. In the next moment his expression crumpled “Oh, Lord, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Oliver, Mary shall adjust. She loves you. And she’s young. You must give her time.”
“Yes, of course, you’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Ginger. I’m a complete wreck. I’ve never felt so . . . out of my depth before.”
“You shall be fine, Oliver, and so shall Mary. A month from now, this shall all be a distant memory.”
Oliver sighed. “Thank you, Ginger. You are a terrific friend.”
Ginger smiled. “As are you to me.” She stood, and Oliver followed suit. “William and Felicia are waiting for me. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tonight? Right. The choir rehearsal. Mary wants to drop in to listen.”
“How nice.” Ginger had joined the choir ensemble along with Felicia, Louisa, and a reluctant Haley, whom she’d also convinced to join. Haley preferred work as a junior pathologist to hymn singing, but, as Ginger had debated, one couldn’t spend all their time with the dead.
Chapter Four
Ginger parked her polished ivory Crossley motorcar in front of the Savoy Hotel, a luxury hotel situated in Westminster. William, sitting on the luxurious red leather seat beside her, turned expectantly. Ginger couldn’t ignore the fact that Felicia was sitting in the back seat, observing. She glanced over her shoulder with a meaningful look, and Felicia snapped to attention.
“Oh, yes,” she said, then quickly opened the door and slid out. She had the good sense to look interested in something on the street, giving Ginger and William room for a private conversation.
“William,” Ginger began.
William held up a palm. “It’s okay. We needn’t talk about it. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, and when you’re ready, you can give me some kind of signal.”
“A signal?”
“Yes. You can whistle God Save the King.”
Ginger protested, “I can’t whistle,” though it wasn’t strictly true. With two fingers, she could whistle loud enough to challenge a steam engine, but when it came to whistling a tune, she was capable of nothing but a puff of air.
“Can’t whistle, eh?” William said, his lips tugging into a smile. “Well then, how about you pull on your right ear?”
Ginger worried she might do something like that without the intended meaning attached.
“How about I just say, “Please ask me again.”
William’s eyes sparkled with hope. “Splendid! Clear and simple. That’s what I admire about you, Ginger.”
“I’m clear and simple?”
“No!” Mortification flashed across the captain’s face. “I mean, you are straightforward and unpretentious. What you see is what you get.” William’s expression grew pinched. “Oh dear, I’m making a mess of things.”
“It’s fine, William.” Ginger patted his arm reassuringly. “I know what you mean. So, I shall see you at the wedding tomorrow?”
“Indeed. Do you wish me to pick you up in a taxicab?”
“I can meet you there. I’ll get Clement to drive us. Haley, Felicia, and Ambrosia are coming along as well.” Ginger generally preferred driving her own motorcar whenever possible, but when alcohol was involved, as it was sure to be at the reception, Ginger always opted for a taxicab or arranged for Clement to drive.
“Until tomorrow, then,” William said. He leaned over to kiss Ginger, and she immediately offered her cheek. Even though they were in her motorcar, they were still in public.
Felicia took William’s place when he left.
“Poor Captain Beale,” Felicia said.
Ginger shot her a sideways glance before pulling the Crossley into traffic. “Why do you say that?”
“He’s clearly smitten with you, Ginger. I guarantee an offer of marriage is not far off.”
Ginger kept her face bland, her eyes not leaving the road in front of her. She changed the subject. “Oliver and Mary are both having a case of the pre-wedding jitters.”
“I saw that too,” Felicia said. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you failed to comment on Captain Beale’s intentions towards you.”
“Nothing to comment on at the moment,” Ginger said breezily.
She drove down Pall Mall past the red-brick Tudor royal residence of St. James’s Palace. She passed slower moving horses and carriages and dodged unsuspecting pedestrians. Felicia held onto her hat, but Ginger thought that a bit dramatic since Felicia was safely inside the cab of the motorcar and in no danger of actually losing headwear.
Ginger avoided getting into a minor accident
on the sharp turn at Piccadilly, but a strong spin on the steering wheel put her in the path of some broken glass, and the Crossley jerked to a stop.
Felicia had finally had enough.
“Seriously, Ginger!” She stormed out of the motorcar, slamming the door behind her.
Ginger walked around the motorcar and frowned at the deflating tyre.
Felicia glared at her sister-in-law.
“What?” Ginger said innocently. “That wasn’t my fault. I can’t help it if there is dangerous debris left on the road.”
Eventually, Ginger waved down a black taxicab. The ride past Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens was uneventful, and the cab came to a stop in front of the iron gates belonging to Hartigan House, her home in Mallowan Court in South Kensington.
“Made it with my life intact!” Felicia said as she removed herself from the taxicab.
“Oh, please,” Ginger said as she paid the cabby. “It was a flat tyre, not a blazing crash.”
Ginger’s gardener, Clement, was trimming hedges in the front garden with the help of Ginger’s ward, Scout Elliot.
Young Scout was the newest member of what Ginger considered her family. A waif she’d initially met onboard the SS Rosa on her journey from Boston to Liverpool, Scout had worked in steerage and helped to look after Boss, Ginger’s beloved Boston terrier. When Scout had suddenly been left alone in London without kin to care for him, Ginger hadn’t hesitated to collect him.
“H-ello, missus!” Scout said as Ginger and Felicia approached. “H-ello, Miss Gold.” Ginger was pleased with how Scout worked hard on not dropping his aitches. His front teeth were almost fully grown in, making his face look a little too small for his mouth. Wheat-coloured hair poked out from under his flat cap, which he tipped like a gentleman. Ginger’s heart almost burst with a warm maternal-like affection.
“Hello, Scout. I see you’re hard at work.”
“He is,” Clement said, overhearing. “He’s a good helper.”
Scout’s freckled face beamed with pride. Felicia greeted Scout and Clement and walked briskly ahead of Ginger, disappearing inside.