2
Christmas Eve morning was a relaxed affair, with everyone helping themselves to the breakfast buffet Mrs. Beasley had masterfully provided whenever they sauntered down to the morning room. Ginger and Scout along with Ambrosia were the early risers, joined later by Basil and Felicia. Ginger drank another cup of tea as an excuse to prolong her stay whilst Scout ran off with Boss, and Ambrosia sought out her maid, Langley, in order to give her further instructions regarding her needs for the day. Sally and Louisa were apparently enjoying a nice lie-in, suffering as they probably were from their long journey.
“Did you sleep well, love?” Ginger asked Basil.
“Splendidly. Murder rarely takes place over Christmas, which is jolly good for my department.”
The goodness of mankind could be seen once in a while, and Ginger was reminded of the Christmas of 1914, when British and German soldiers called a one-day truce, and instead of shooting at one another played a game of football and exchanged gifts.
“I slept marvellously too,” Felicia quipped as she shook open a linen napkin and placed it on her lap. “Thanks for asking.”
“You’ve never had a problem with sleeping, dear, since I’ve known you,” Ginger replied with a chuckle. “Which is why it never occurs to me to enquire.”
Basil and Felicia had almost finished their plates of scrambled eggs, grilled kippers, fried sliced tomatoes, and buttered toast, when Sally and Louisa strolled in.
“Now I remember why I never came back before now,” Sally said. “Such long stretches away from home wreak havoc with a person’s beauty sleep.”
Ginger got to her feet and poured a cup of coffee for her stepmother, adding milk and sugar the way she knew Sally liked it, and handed it to her.
“God bless you,” Sally said. She blew on the brew carefully before taking a sip. “Not bad. It hits the spot.”
Ginger watched as her American relatives skipped over the black pudding and baked beans and stuck to the scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.
“We have quite a large gathering for dinner tomorrow,” Ginger said.
“Any handsome, single gentlemen?” Louisa said. “Hopefully with money?”
“There are plenty of suitable bachelors in America, Louisa,” Sally said. Ginger didn’t blame Sally for wanting to keep her only child close to her on American soil.
“Speaking of Americans,” Ginger said. “Do you happen to know a Mr. and Mrs. Doyle from New York?”
Sally turned her cat eyes on Ginger. “I believe I do. Why?”
“They’re coming for Christmas.”
“Is that so?”
Ginger was impressed with Sally’s calmness about the arrival of more guests. She wasn’t one who liked to share the stage, but then she had come unannounced. “Yes, they’re staying for a couple of days,” Ginger answered.
“I see,” Sally murmured.
“How well do you know the Doyles?” Ginger asked. Mr. Doyle had made it sound like he and Ginger’s father had been good friends.
“Not well at all. He had dealings with your father, but we only met socially once or twice. Years ago, really.” Sally sipped her coffee then deftly changed the subject. “Who else is coming?”
“Basil’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reed,” Ginger began. Basil’s gaze flickered her way with a look of helpless apology. His parents hadn’t made life particularly easy for Ginger. She continued, “Our good friend Dr. Gupta and his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, Reed family friends.”
Louisa pouted. “Not a single gentleman in the mix.”
“This is England, and unfortunately, quite normal since the war,” Felicia said. “The female to male ratio is dreadfully skewed. Far more of the former than the latter.”
This revelation caused a frown of consternation to come over Louisa. Still so young and naïve, Ginger thought. Checking her wristwatch, Ginger was astonished at how fast the morning had gone.
“It’s almost time to go.”
“Go where?” Felicia asked.
“It’s a Christmas Eve tradition in the Hartigan family to help serve Christmas dinner for the less fortunate. Reverend Hill is expecting us at St. George’s Church.”
Sally stood. “Not for this Hartigan, I’m afraid.”
“Nor this one,” Louisa said. She stared at Basil pointedly. “Did you know that Ginger once gave her winter coat away? Silly girl. And on such a cold Christmas Eve.”
Before Ginger could respond to the accusation, Sally cut in. “I’ll be spending the remainder of my morning resting in my room. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course,” Ginger said. Truthfully, she was glad to leave Sally and Louisa behind. They made behaving in a Christ-like manner rather difficult.
Ginger quickly got ready to go, looking in on Scout’s bedroom before heading downstairs. The letter to Father Christmas she’d helped him compose was sitting on his desk, and a clean grey sock hung on the bedpost waiting for the jolly man’s visit, but Scout was nowhere to be seen. Despite his change in status, Ginger’s adopted son preferred to play outside with Boss and help Clement take care of the horses.
“Are we all going to fit in my motorcar?” Ginger asked when she approached Felicia and Basil who stood waiting. Felicia wore a green velvet day dress with gold embroidery on the shoulders and the bell sleeves and skirt in a contrasting magenta. She was obviously not concerned about standing out.
“It’s just the three of us,” Felicia said. “Grandmama says she needs the rest if she’s going to face ‘the hordes’ coming for Christmas tomorrow.”
“It’s hardly a horde,” Ginger said, though it was a good thing the dining room table had plenty of leaves. “Going back to today, Scout’s not joining us, at least not this year.”
Felicia hummed. “Yes, I suppose it would be in bad form to parade his good fortune to his own lot, and at Christmastime, no less.”
Basil jingled a set of keys. “How about we take the Austin?” Basil’s winter-green 1922 Austin 7 wasn’t as luxurious as Ginger’s new ivory and chrome Crossley, but perhaps it was better suited for the task at hand. Ginger wouldn’t have to put up with Felicia’s complaints about her driving if Basil took the wheel. She smiled in agreement. “That would be lovely, darling.”
Taking the door leading to the back garden where the garage and stables were located, Ginger paused for a moment to peek into the kitchen. Mrs. Beasley and her staff were bustling about. Short and stout with a round pink face and a serious countenance, Mrs. Beasley was an excellent cook and house manager.
“How are you, Mrs. Beasley?” Ginger said.
Like a fluttering butterfly who suddenly stilled, Mrs. Beasley gawked at Ginger. “I’m fine, madam, and everything is prepared. The duck for tonight and the goose for tomorrow. There are plenty of cakes and puddings. The plum pudding has been ready for several weeks now. Just the brandy butter to prepare.”
Ginger smiled warmly at the verbose woman, feeling quite grateful for her good and loyal staff. She’d heard horror stories from others who weren’t so fortunate with their servants and Ginger intended to reward all hers generously come Boxing Day. “Do take a moment to rest and enjoy a cup of tea today,” she said.
“I will, madam,” Mrs. Beasley returned. “Thank you.”
Outside, the sky was murky grey and the air damp but not terribly cold. Nothing that a little body heat wouldn’t take care of with the three of them in the Austin—Basil and Ginger in the front seat and Felicia in the back. As they drove along the south side of Kensington Gardens in the direction of the City of London, Ginger couldn’t help but think about how different this ride was to the one she’d written about in her journal. Such a far cry from the crushing cold of the windy Boston Nor’easters and the wooden horse-drawn carriages driven by brave coachmen
St. George’s Church, an eighteenth-century limestone structure which extended back from the street, had a square tower at the front. A cemetery sat on one side while the attached hall extended on the other, all of whic
h were made glossy and darker with the rain.
Ginger and the good Reverend Oliver Hill had struck up a close friendship over their shared ambitions of helping the poor. Together they had started the Child Wellness Project, which was now sponsoring the second annual Christmas Eve dinner.
“This won’t take all afternoon will it?” Felicia asked.
“Oh mercy,” Ginger said. “You’re sounding like Sally and Louisa just now.”
“I’m not,” Felicia insisted. “About those two, did you really not know they were coming?”
Ginger shook her head. “They wanted to surprise me, and they did!”
“Wouldn’t they have been surprised if we’d gone elsewhere for Christmas? Some people go south in the winter.”
Inside the hall, tables were set up in long rows and volunteers had done their best to decorate with boughs of green, candles, and even a tree in the corner. A grandmotherly parishioner played Christmas carols on a piano. The air smelled of roast goose and potatoes. Ginger was pleased to see needy families together in attendance along with many of the street urchins that came to the weekly dinners.
“I’m sure Mrs. Davis could use help in the kitchen,” Ginger said. “Felicia, I’ll meet you there in a moment. I’m going to speak to Oliver and Matilda first.”
Oliver spotted Ginger and Basil and approached with long strides. His hair, as red as Ginger’s, was oiled back, his face freckled, and his smile wide. “Happy Christmas!” he proclaimed loudly. He shook Basil’s hand, “Happy Christmas, Chief Inspector!”
Ginger and Basil each returned, “Happy Christmas.”
“How is Matilda?” Ginger asked.
“Very well, thank you. She’s helping Mrs. Davis. We’re nearly ready to begin.” He waved a long arm. “Isn’t this jolly?”
Ginger couldn’t help but share in his joy and laughed. “It is!”
They were approached by a pleasant-looking man in his thirties. His eyes were particularly noteworthy, as he had a noticeable case of heterochromia, with one hazel eye and one blue. His smooth skin crinkled as he smiled. “Can I assume these are our sponsors?”
“Oh yes,” Oliver replied. “Please allow me to make introductions. This is Mr. Alan Lester, a new member of our church. Lester, this is Chief Inspector and Mrs. Reed.”
Ginger offered a gloved hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Lester,” she said. “How kind of you to volunteer.”
“I’m alone and single,” he said, not at all remorsefully. “These people are like family to me now.”
“How wonderful!”
Basil and Oliver had moved along, engaged in light conversation, leaving Ginger with Mr. Lester.
“I understand you’ve quite recently returned to London from America?” he said.
“Yes. From Boston.”
“Reverend Hill told me you’re the former Lady Gold. My sister tells me she is going to be staying with you.”
“Your sister? Oh, you must mean Mrs. Doyle!”
“Yes, that’s right. She wrote to tell me they were coming, and unfortunately I have no room for them to stay with me.”
“Well, you must join us for Christmas dinner then, unless you have other plans?”
“I don’t, as a matter of fact, and I’d be pleased to join you. I don’t see my sister very often and every minute more is a blessing.”
“Very good.” Ginger removed her coat as she was feeling quite warmed up. She smiled to herself. Wouldn’t Louisa and Felicia be surprised now! “I’m needed in the kitchen, Mr. Lester, but we’ll speak tomorrow if we don’t have a chance to do so again today.”
Mr. Lester nodded as she turned to the coat rack in the kitchen and deposited her things. “Sorry, I got caught up in conversation,” she said to everyone there. “How can I help?”
3
It was the first Christmas Eve for Ginger with a child of her own. Even though Scout, in his knickerbockers and flat cap, was, at the age of twelve, hardly a young child, he was small for his age with the wide-eyed innocence of a lad much younger. For the first time, he was seeing the extravagant side of life for himself.
Christmas music played on the gramophone as they decorated the tree with tinsel, colourful ornaments, and small candles. Once they had finished, they enjoyed Mrs. Beasley’s bite-sized mince pies and a glass of sloe gin.
Sally and Louisa sat on either end of the velvet settee, while Ginger lounged in a matching rose and jade pincushion chair. She crossed her rayon-covered legs and smoothed out the satin finish of her gown. Facing the roaring fire, Ginger was soothed by the glowing embers. She loved Christmas, with the scent of the tree, the flickering lights of the candles, and the snapping of the yule log. The sloe gin tickled her tongue and Ginger felt a sense of overall well-being.
Basil sat in the matching chair perpendicular to hers. “Shall I start reading A Christmas Carol?”
“Now?” Sally asked.
“It’s a tradition,” Basil said, “for someone to tell a favourite Christmas story on Christmas Eve.
“Not the one with Jesus at the centre?” Louisa quipped.
Basil grinned. “That one will be covered at length at church tomorrow morning.”
“Scout, go and get the letter you wrote to Father Christmas,” Ginger instructed. “We need to burn it in the fireplace so the smoke can relay our wishes.”
Scout gave Ginger a sideways glance. His time as a hungry waif had taught him that Father Christmas was quite prejudiced when it came to children getting wishes granted on Christmas morning, but he shrugged and headed upstairs, apparently willing to play along.
Ginger felt a wave of sadness, knowing that she had missed the stage with her newly adopted son where make-believe was whimsical. Still, she felt she could sneak in one more childish game.
“Surely, you’re not leaving Santa Claus out of the picture, are you?” Louisa said. “And a bottle of Coca Cola? Besides, mailing letters to the North Pole makes a whole lot more sense than burning them in the fire.”
Ginger glared at Louisa, who simply sipped her glass of sloe gin, then smiled back smugly.
Scout returned with his letter, and Ginger made a show of producing one as well. Ginger who thought that Scout might like a train set or model aeroplane, had planted the idea in his mind, and helped him compose his wishes, so that when his gifts were opened in the morning and he found his request there, he couldn’t help but be astonished.
“I added a wish, Mum,” he said. “I hope that’s all right.”
Ginger eyed Scout with interest. He wasn’t the type to be greedy. “What’s your extra wish?” She had to ask in order to make it come true.
“My wish is that Marvin would have a good Christmas and that we’ll see each other again soon.”
Ginger’s heart squeezed with emotion. Poor Scout!
“Who’s Marvin?” Louisa asked.
“Marvin is Scout’s older cousin,” Ginger said. “He’s in the navy now, and couldn’t be back for Christmas.”
Thankfully, the spotlight was removed from Scout with the arrival of Ambrosia and Felicia.
“It’s very warm in here,” Ambrosia said. Still bound to her practice of wearing a corset, she sat overly upright in a wing-backed chair and rested slightly against the silver end of her walking stick. “Is it necessary for it to be so hot? This isn’t India.”
“The fire has receded,” Ginger said. “It’ll cool down before you know it.”
“I like it,” Felicia said. “I’m so tired of cold and gloomy.”
“Felicia, darling,” Ginger began, “Would you play the piano for us? Be a brick and lead us in some Christmas carols and then Basil’s going to read to us.”
Felicia sauntered to the shiny black grand piano, opened the lid and began to play a joyous medley of “We Three Kings”, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”, and “Silent Night”. Even Ambrosia seemed to forget herself and joined in.
When they’d exhausted Felicia’s Christmas music repertoire, Basil produced a volume of Char
les Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, and regaled them all with the tale of the three Christmas Ghosts. For once, Scout appeared dumbfounded.
“Have you not heard this story before?” Ginger asked.
“No, Mum. It’s a first for me. Jolly good story, it is. I feel like I know Tiny Tim, hisself.”
Basil closed the volume, marking his place. “I’ll finish it tomorrow night.”
Scout barely had a chance to protest when the doorbell chimed. Pippins answered the door.
“Merry Christmas, my good fellow!” The loud male voice reached them in the drawing room, and was most definitely American. “I do believe Mrs. Reed is expecting us. I’m Mr. Arnold Doyle.”
4
Ginger awoke to the church clocks striking the hour on Christmas morning. She counted eight and, with Boss nudging her cheek with his wet nose, decided it was a good time to rise. Not wanting to wake Basil, Ginger quietly dressed, choosing a Madeleine Vionnet of baby-blue silk crepe de Chine with a low white satin sash ending in a large bow at the hips. She added a pearl choker necklace and matching pearl earrings, and finished with a light touch of makeup.
“You look beautiful.”
Ginger turned to Basil’s raspy morning voice.
“Sorry, love,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Basil raised himself onto his elbows, and Ginger bit her lip at his tousled hair and pyjama shirt buttoned askew.
“I’m just grateful that you’re able to get the time off work.” Ginger kissed her husband, then went in search of her son. She expected to find him opening the small gifts inside his stocking, but found him sleeping soundly in his bed.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said. “It’s Christmas!”
Scout snapped awake and threw his blankets off. “Oh, Mum, I didn’t miss it, did I?”
“Not at all. Clean up and get dressed and meet me for breakfast.”
The morning room, which had tall French windows overlooking the back garden, was already busy with activity. Ambrosia and Felicia were seated at the table across from the Doyles. The ladies were sipping tea and eating toast while Arnold Doyle had a rather mountainous plate filled with sausages, eggs, and fried bread.
Six Merry Little Murders Page 2