Murder at St. George's Church: a cozy historical mystery (A Ginger Gold Mystery Book 7)

by Lee Strauss

  “Sorry, Grandmother,” Ginger said. “We’ll take this into another room.”

  Jenny bobbed. “If you’ll excuse me. I have a train to catch. Farewell, Miss Hartigan.”

  Ginger and Louisa watched in silence as Jenny scampered down the staircase and disappeared on her way to the green baize door.

  Louisa groaned. “It’s so hard to find loyal help.”

  “You might like to try being more agreeable.”

  “I am agreeable.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at work? Why aren’t you at Feathers & Flair?”

  “It got awfully dull after a while. I don’t know how Dora and Emily do it.”

  “It’s Dorothy and Emma,” Ginger said incredulously.

  “Oh, well, yes,” Louisa said with a dismissive wave. “Anyway, Madame Roux said I could leave.”

  Oh, mercy. Ginger feared her shop manager was unhappy with Ginger’s latest employee.

  “Did you at least bring Boss home with you?” Ginger had a dreadful notion that she would have to turn around to retrieve him.

  “Of course. I’m not that irresponsible. He’s in your room.”

  “Fabulous.”

  Before Ginger could make her way there, Pippins approached the bottom of the stairs with a silver platter in one hand. On it was a white envelope.

  “The afternoon post, madam,” he said. “It’s for Miss Hartigan.”

  Louisa was already halfway down the stairs when Pippins said her name, and she hurried down the rest of the way to meet him. Her smile of anticipation dropped when she read the name of the sender.

  “Who’s it from?” Ginger asked.

  Louisa carried it up the stairs as she thumbed it open. “Mama. I don’t know if I can bear to read it.” She handed it to Ginger. “It’s always the same thing. Her pleading for me to come back.”

  “It’s not too late to fetch Jenny.”

  “No! I can’t give in to Mama until she learns her lesson.”

  Ginger stared at Louisa, alarmed. “Her lesson?”

  “She has to stop bossing me around.”

  “Louisa, she’s your mother. She cares about your wellbeing. You can’t fault her for that.”

  Louisa snatched the letter from Ginger’s fingers. “I see that you are on her side.” She stormed to her room and slammed the door.

  Oh, mercy!

  Something would have to be done about Louisa and her bad temperament, but Ginger didn’t have time to deal with her now.

  Boss jumped off the bed when he heard Ginger come in, stretched out his legs, yawned, then pranced to Ginger’s side. She scooped him up.

  “Dear Bossy. I’m sorry for leaving you with my spoiled little sister.”

  Ginger’s bedroom was large and decorated with gold and ivory trim. A full-length ornately trimmed mirror stood in the corner near a matching dressing table, while two striped ivory and gold chairs sat in front of the long windows. The bed featured prominently against one wall with extravagantly carved wood head and footboards. She and Daniel had stayed in this room when they visited London on their wedding journey in 1913, and for the first few months after returning to live at Hartigan House, she couldn’t be in this room without having vivid memories of him.

  Kindly, those memories had faded, and the black-and-white photo of her husband in uniform had once again been safely tucked away into the bedside table drawer.

  Ginger swung open her wardrobe doors.

  “So, Bossy. What shall I wear?”

  Ginger thumbed through the dresses that hung neatly on the rod. Her significant inheritance, along with being the owner of a high-quality retail dress shop had its advantages. Ginger’s collection of dresses was awe-inspiring. All the great designers were represented: Edward Molyneux, Jeanne Lanvin, the Callot Sisters, Lucile, and others.

  William was picking her up at seven o’clock, so she only had an hour and a half to prepare. Hardly enough time, once a bath was factored into the equation, and Ginger had most definitely factored it in. She certainly didn’t want to smell like Anna Howard’s chicken and leek pie. At that very moment, Lizzie was preparing the bath. Ginger had instructed her to put extra lavender in it.

  Ginger turned the key in the bathroom door to ensure her privacy—Louisa wasn’t known to knock— padded across the black-and-white tiled floor, dropped her negligée on the thick yellow bath mat, and slipped into the steamy water that filled the white claw-foot tub.

  Sinking down deep, she let out a satisfied sigh. She closed her eyes intending to clear her mind, but the noise of the case just grew louder. There was no sense fighting it, and perhaps she’d think of something vital.

  Miss Howard, Miss Bertram, Miss Edwards, or Mr. Piper could have raced up to the balcony after Theo Edwards had gone up to chastise his wife. Or the killer had been already up there waiting, which would leave Mrs. Edwards, Mr. Simpson, and Miss Blythe. But how could they have known Mr. Edwards would call for a break during the choir rehearsal and go up? Unless it was a crime of opportunity. Mrs. Edwards was already there. Mr. Simpson could’ve been doing some cleaning. Mary Blythe might’ve gone up just to observe.

  The murderer either planned in advance or acted in a bout of passion—removed the pipe from the organ, hit Theo Edwards in the temple, and either pushed or watched him fall to the pews below, returned the weapon to its position in the organ, then joined the rest of the group and expressed shock and horror at the presumed accident, or alleged crime.

  Ginger let her mind go over all the suspects and the interviews, but even in her state of relaxation, her unconscious mind unlocked no new clues.

  She drowsed a little before becoming aware of the cooling water.

  “Oh mercy,” she said splashing water as she got to her feet and grabbed her towel. “I’m going to be late!”

  Back in her room, she chose one of her favourite dresses, a lime-green satin Callot Soeurs. Sleeveless with a V-shaped collar trimmed in soft pink lace. Large pink embroidered circles started at the waist with the skirt losing the green hue. The hem was detailed with inverted arches and long pink tassels hanging from the points.

  “What do you think?” she asked Boss as she twirled in front of the mirror. Boss was mid-stretch on the top of Ginger’s bed, his small behind and stub of a tail high in the air. He yawned and lay down again, looking rather like one of those stone lions at the corners of Nelson’s Column on Trafalgar Square.

  “It’s too last season, isn’t it?” Ginger asked, acknowledging Boss’ yawn. She took another look, back and front. “Oh, it is, isn’t it? But I just love how it looks!”

  Ginger checked her watch. “Perhaps the latest from Molyneux.” She examined a black satin frock heavily embroidered with gold leaf. “I might have time to change if I hurry.”

  Ginger didn’t know why she was so concerned about dressing for William. He loved her no matter what she wore. She could wear a potato sack, and he’d still find her adorable.

  Before Ginger could wiggle out of the Callot, the doorbell resounded through the entrance hall and along the high ceilings to the second floor.

  “Oh, drat. He’s early.” Ginger quickly straightened the tunic of the Callot frock, checked her makeup in the mirror—narrowly trimmed eyebrows over smoky-blue shadow on her eyelids; circles of rouge on her cheeks, and glossy red lipstick on her lips—and added one squirt of Parfum de Coty. She paused to take a breath. Lizzie peeked in. “There’s a gentleman here for you, madam.”

  “Thank you, Lizzie. I’ll be down shortly.”

  Ginger decided she mustn’t look too eager. William was early, after all. He could wait. She thought about changing into the Molyneux but was too exhausted to do it. Instead, she played with Boss.

  Five minutes later, Ginger sauntered down the staircase, smile ready, when she suddenly froze. It wasn’t William waiting for her, but Basil.

  “What are you doing here?” She sped down the steps to face her visitor.

  “I was in the area—”

  “Pfft. You
knew I was having dinner with William.”

  “Oh. Was that tonight?”

  “Don’t play coy with me.”

  Basil grinned. “I’m not. I honestly just dropped in to ask you how your interviews went today. I thought we could share notes.”

  Ginger cocked her head. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  Basil chuckled. “I’m not sure. You smell nice, by the way. I’ve always loved that dress on you.”

  Drat! She should’ve changed into her new Molyneux!

  “You have to leave. William’s going to be here any minute.”

  “Great. I’d love to chat with the good captain.”

  “You would not. I know you Basil Reed, and you just want to cause trouble.”

  “If that trouble is you, then you’re correct.”

  Ginger stared indignantly.

  “And,” Basil continued. “You’re right. You do know me.”

  “You are a brute.”

  “Thank you.”

  The doorbell chimed, and Ginger stiffened.

  Pippins duly appeared. “Shall I get that for you, madam?”

  “It’s all right, Pips. I’m here. I’ll get it.”

  “Very well.” Pippins disappeared, which Ginger knew her kind butler would do. She didn’t want him to witness what would undoubtedly prove to be an awkward situation.

  “Hello, William,” Ginger said. “The chief inspector was just leaving.”

  William’s happy countenance darkened. “Hello, Inspector.”

  Basil held out his hand. “Good to see you, old chap.”

  William shook Basil’s hand with a look of reluctance. “What brings you here?” he asked.

  Ginger thought William’s question quite forward and out of place. “We were discussing the case,” she said, taking his arm.

  Basil didn’t take the hint and make his leave. “Oh yes. Lady Gold has a very clever brain for puzzles,” he said. “A master at the crossword puzzle, too. Have you heard of this new craze? Apparently, the Americans are quite obsessed. I do believe one must have a vast assortment of knowledge to complete one of those correctly.” He grinned condescendingly at the captain and continued, “I’ve found Ginger’s deductive reasoning to be stellar in past cases and believe she shall find this challenging case no different.”

  Ginger felt herself blush at his praises. “You’re overstating my capabilities, Chief Inspector.”

  “Hardly. Captain Beale, you must agree that Ginger is more than a pretty face.”

  William ruffled. “Of course.”

  “We met on the SS Rosa,” Basil said. “Has Ginger mentioned it?”

  “Yes,” William admitted tersely.

  “She convinced me then that a female presence in interviews would help to set the suspect at ease, and you know, she was right!” He locked his eyes on her. “I’ve wanted her at my side ever since.”

  Ginger’s pulse pounded at the less-than-benign meaning. The romantic tension between them was palpable, and William Beale was in no way blind to it.

  “Yes, well, very good,” William said, pulling Ginger away. “Our reservation is waiting. Good day, Inspector.”

  Basil waved them off. “Enjoy your meal.”

  “Well, that was darn awkward,” William said as the taxicab pulled away. “Can’t you do something to keep him at bay?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because—”

  “It’s true we’ve worked on many cases together,” Ginger said, hoping she sounded reassuring. “This is just another one. It’s just work.”

  “Work is what one does when one is in financial need.”

  “One can work for a sense of satisfaction. A sense of purpose.”

  “But don’t you have your dress shop for that? Why do you need to do this private investigator . . . thing? It’s quite unbecoming for a lady.”

  Ginger gasped. “Is that what you really think?”

  The captain had the good sense to look remorseful. “No, no, I’m sorry. It’s just that Reed fellow gets my goat.” He reached for Ginger’s hand and stared deeply into her eyes. “He’s after you.”

  Ginger couldn’t deny it. Basil had admitted it himself.

  William lifted her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. “I don’t want to lose you, Lady Gold.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  William and Basil had both been ill-mannered in their behaviour the evening before, and Ginger hadn’t enjoyed her dinner engagement with William at all, not even finishing her veal cutlets. Well, today she’d get by without seeing either of them. Dining with William was starting to become a habit, and Ginger felt it was too soon in their friendship to get into that kind of routine.

  Tomorrow was the King’s ball, a rousing gala for the wealthy, was taking place at the Ritz ballroom. Ginger had promised William ages ago that she’d attend on his arm.

  Ginger’s mind snapped to the present at the sound of horns blasting at the crossroads where a police officer was impatiently waving her through. Sunday afternoon traffic was usually lighter with the shops closed, but church-goers on their way home from services were making up the difference. Unfortunately, with the murder at St. George’s, the services had to be cancelled. Ginger had attended the parish church in Kensington with Ambrosia and Felicia earlier.

  “Patience, patience!” she said as she changed gears. She stepped on the accelerator and rumbled along just to get stuck behind a slower moving horse-drawn cart.

  “They really ought to have a separate lane for the animals,” she said to Boss, who sat upright in the seat next to her, his nose propped on the open window. “It’s one thing to have a motorcar repaired after a crash, but quite another to fix a horse, don’t you think?”

  Boss yipped in agreement, and Ginger reached over to tickle his head.

  “We could walk faster than this,” she muttered in frustration. Adjusting the rearview mirror, she used the time to reapply her lipstick. Finally, the driver of the cart turned onto a side road, and Ginger was able to pick up speed.

  She was heading to Mary Blythe’s house. She’d promised Oliver she’d have a word with Mary. She dearly hoped Mary had had a change of heart regarding being wed to Oliver and was only in need of a nudge of encouragement to follow through with her convictions.

  The Blythe family was middle-class and lived in a small stone house with a middling garden guarded by an English springer spaniel. Ginger was making an assumption she’d find Mary at home—for she was unlikely to seek out a new church to attend whilst engaged to the vicar of another—and was grateful to be proven right.

  Carrying Boss carefully past the docile Blythe family pet, she knocked on the yellow door. Mary’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Lady Gold?”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Blythe. I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I’m wondering if you have time for a visit.”

  “Of course,” Mary said politely.

  “Is it all right if my dog comes inside? I’ll keep him on my lap and out of harm’s way. Otherwise, I can return him to my motorcar.”

  “It’s fine. We’re dog lovers here.” Mary reached out to stroke Boss. “He’s a dear little thing.”

  Mary left Ginger alone in a cosy and tidy parlour whilst she prepared the obligatory tea. The room still carried a morning chill, but Boss did his part to warm her by curling up on her lap.

  In short order, Mary returned with a tea tray—she’d already had the kettle on—and set it on a tea table between them. Ginger couldn’t help but notice the circles around Mary’s dark eyes and gathered that she herself wasn’t the only one suffering from lack of rest. Ginger felt a wave of pity for the bride-to-be and wondered if she was about to overstep by nosing into what, as Haley would have no problem pointing out, was none of her business.

  Well, she was here now. At the very least, she could offer some comfort and commiserate with Mary in her misery.

  “Are your parents home?” Ginger asked. With the forthcoming conversation being of s
uch a delicate nature, she didn’t want to get interrupted.

  “No. They’ve gone to have tea with my uncle and aunt.”

  Ginger took her first sip of tea, then asked, “How are you doing, Miss Blythe? It must be such a tremendous disappointment to have to postpone your wedding.”

  “Yes, it is. Dreadfully.”

  “But your love for Reverend Hill can weather the storm, I’m sure. It’ll only be another two weeks or so, I gather?”

  Ginger watched Mary’s expression carefully.

  Mary wrung thin hands. “I hope you are right.”

  Leaning towards Mary, Ginger smiled gently. “I hope it’s not too forward of me to say, but you don’t appear very happy. Are you sure this is what you want?”

  Mary’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you really want to marry Reverend Hill? Do you love him?”

  Shock registered on Mary’s face. “Oh, Lady Gold, you mustn’t ask me such a thing.”

  Ginger sipped her tea, then said, “I believe you’ve answered my question. It’s not too late, Miss Blythe. It’s not too late to do the right thing.”

  Mary’s eyes glistened with worry, and Ginger could almost see her wheels spin.

  “No,” she finally said. “I’m going to marry Oliver.”

  Ginger held in the sigh that she felt building, letting her breath out slowly and quietly. “Splendid. I’m sure it shall be a very happy day.”

  Mary forced a smile. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about, Lady Gold?”

  Ginger felt a tad embarrassed at having her motives for the visit being called out.

  “Well, I suppose we’d be amiss if we didn’t talk about what happened to poor Mr. Edwards. Not to bring up a sore point, Miss Blythe, but someone killed that man and wouldn’t you feel better if his murderer was caught before you walked down the aisle?”

  “Yes. Of course. But I don’t know how I can help.”

  Stroking Boss languidly, Ginger casually asked, “How well did you know Mr. Edwards?”