“Make your wishes, everyone!” Ginger proclaimed. A period of silence followed, and Ginger wished dreadfully that for that one moment in time, she could read minds.
She picked up the crystal dish of brandy sauce that Pippins had placed in front of her, put only a small spoonful of the stiff white cream on Scout’s piece of pudding, since it did have alcohol in it, a larger dollop for herself, then passed it along.
“Brandy’s the best part of the whole thing,” Mr. Doyle declared when the bowl reached him, and he added a generous amount to his portion. He took a bite. “Not bad for something that’s been on fire.”
“It’s basically fruit cake,” Sally answered. “I was married to an Englishman for many years. I’m no stranger to plum pudding, but like you, Mr. Doyle, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”
“It’s tradition,” Ginger said. She’d been raised in Boston, but still these two Americans made her feel that she needed to come to the defence of her British heritage.
“It’s got nothing on chocolate cake,” Mr. Doyle replied. He picked something out of his teeth. “What’s this? Oh, look, a sixpence!”
Scout stared down the table in shock. “There’s money in the pudding?”
“Yes, Scout,” Ginger said with a smile. “Perhaps you’d like to finish yours now?”
Scout dug around on his plate until his spoon hit something hard. “I found one!” His smile crumpled. “It’s only a button.”
Ginger chuckled. “That means you’ll stay a bachelor this year.”
Mr. Lester appealed to Ginger. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t touch mine. I mean, after I added the brandy butter.”
“It’s quite all right,” Ginger said lightly. “But you’ll never know what you might’ve lost out on.”
Mr. Lester pushed the pudding to the middle of the table in front of him.
Mr. Doyle raised a bushy brow. “If you don’t want it?”
Mr. Lester shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Mr. Doyle chuckled. “I never say no to free money.”
“Lizzie,” Ginger said before her helpful and patient maid departed. “I think we’ll be ready for coffee in the drawing room soon.”
“Yes, madam. I’ll tell Mrs. Beasley.”
Ginger’s attention was captured by the trilling panic of Ruby Doyle’s voice. “Arnold? Arnold?”
Mr. Arnold Doyle was grabbing at his throat, making gurgling sounds as his thick tongue protruded from his mouth and his face turned purple. Had he accidentally swallowed his coin?
“Dr. Gupta!” Ginger turned to Manu Gupta who was already on his feet, rushing from his place on the opposite side of the table.
Before the doctor could respond to Arnold Doyle’s distress, the man grew limp and his head fell forward, his face landing firmly in what remained of his pudding.
5
The room erupted in chaos.
“What happened?”
“Is he dead?”
Ruby Doyle rushed around the table, shoved at her husband’s shoulders, and screamed. “Arnold!”
“Give the medical man space,” Basil instructed.
Dr. Gupta lifted Arnold Doyle’s bloated face and lowered his ear to listen for breath. He frowned and placed two fingers at the man’s throat, then stared back at Ginger and shook his head.
Ambrosia grasped the collar of her blouse. “Dear Lord.”
Ruby covered her face, now red and tight as she desperately tried to hold in a sob.
“He choked to death?” Alan Lester said, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Oh, Ginger!” Louisa squealed. “Might I be excused? This is just too ghastly.”
“Yes, of course,” Ginger said. To Felicia she said, “Would you mind taking Scout to his room?”
“But, Mum,” Scout said, “this is jolly excitin’.” Ginger cast him a surprised look. It was the first time Scout had resisted her in any way. It actually made Ginger’s heart leap. As her ward, Scout had always obeyed, as if he were a servant, but just now, he sounded like a son.
“This is no place for children,” she said. “Now run along.”
Mrs. Davenport slumped in her chair, fainting.
“Mary!” Mr. Davenport said.
“I’ll get smelling salts,” Ginger said. By now Pippins and Lizzie had heard the commotion and arrived.
“I’ll get them, madam,” Lizzie said.
Anna Reed, who’d been sitting beside Mr. Doyle, had long since scurried away from the dead man and hovered behind her husband’s chair.
Henry Reed snapped at Basil, “Do something.”
Basil, who was already on his feet, said, “Do remain calm. Pippins, please escort everyone to the drawing room.”
“Make use of the drinks trolley,” Ginger added, certain that everyone could use a little something to calm their nerves.
“Now I wish I hadn’t given Langley the day off,” Ambrosia said. She pressed against her walking stick and rose. “I need to lie down.”
“Grace can assist you,” Ginger offered. Ambrosia waved her off.
“I’m quite capable of doing the stairs on my own. I’m not an invalid yet.”
Lizzie arrived with the smelling salts. Mr. Davenport took them from her hand, held them under his wife’s nose, and watched her stir back to consciousness.
“Please summon my driver,” he said to the maid. Then he turned to Ginger. “You’ll excuse us for leaving early, Mrs. Reed, due to the circumstances?”
“I understand,” Ginger said. “Pippins, please assist the Davenports with whatever they need.”
Ginger and Basil pulled Dr. Gupta aside and they spoke quietly together.
“Cause of death?” Basil asked
“It appears that man simply choked,” Dr. Gupta said. “I would’ve considered poison as a possibility, but we all ate of the same pudding.”
“How unfortunate,” Ginger murmured. She stared with empathy at Ruby who was slumped in her chair and being awkwardly comforted by her brother. Christmas Day would forever be marred for the new widow.
“Perhaps I should take Ruby home with me,” Alan Lester said when he noticed Ginger watching. “Such a shock.”
“I’m afraid I have to ask everyone to remain for the time being,” Basil said with a note of authority. “With all cases of sudden death, it’s police procedure to take statements. If everyone would please return to the drawing room and await my further instructions.”
“But, surely, this is accidental,” Mr. Davenport said. “And my wife—”
Ginger jumped in. “If you and Mrs. Davenport would prefer a quiet room of your own, Pippins can show you to the library.”
Mr. Davenport blew out his jowls. “That’s unnecessary. We don’t need special treatment.”
Dr. Gupta excused himself to use the telephone. “I’ll arrange for an ambulance to pick up the body.”
“What do you think?” Ginger said to Basil once the dining room had cleared out.
“It’s quite likely accidental, but one thing I’ve learned from my years on the force is that things are rarely what they seem.”
6
Ginger’s household kept Boxing Day—the twenty-sixth of December—according to the tradition of boxing up leftover food and treats for the servants. She had given all her staff the rest of the day off after the breakfast buffet was set up, with permission to take whatever remainders they liked, along with a wrapped gift of new gloves for each.
After the uproar of the day before, the house was quiet, with only Ginger and Basil enjoying their breakfast together in relative silence. Felicia and Louisa, still young enough to master having a lie-in, had yet to arrive in the morning room, while early risers Ambrosia and Scout had already been and gone. Ginger wasn’t sure what Sally was up to.
The radio played behind them and a news broadcaster turned to international news. White Hand Gang leader Richard ‘Pegleg’ Lonergan was killed early on Boxing Day.
Basil perked up. “That’s the Irish mafi
a, isn’t it?”
Ginger nodded and kept listening.
Lonergan, along with five of his men, arrived at a Christmas party in a Brooklyn speakeasy. Al Capone was in the club and it’s speculated that he had the killing arranged.
“Crime doesn’t stop for Christmas,” Ginger said, then went on to change the subject.
“I still feel terrible about last night. My guests expected an evening of relaxation and joy and instead got the shock of their lives.” With short meal and tea breaks, the interviews had gone on towards midnight, and by the time everyone had either left or gone to bed, the well-wishing wasn’t Happy Christmas or Goodnight, but Please don’t leave town. After a sip of coffee she added, “And poor Arnold Doyle. His face as he—”
Basil nodded as he chewed a piece of sausage. “What do you know about the man, exactly?”
Ginger had already relayed everything she knew, but didn’t mind going over it again. Speaking aloud often brought more clarity.
“He had business dealings with my father, I’m not sure what, but according to Sally, I was still in my teens. Mr. Doyle inferred in our correspondence that his relationship with my father had been amiable, but Sally doesn’t remember it that way.”
“Mrs. Hartigan doesn’t seem to remember much,” Basil said.
Ginger recalled the uncomfortable interview she and Basil had had with her the night before. If Ginger hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought her stepmother guilty of something. The way the muscles around her mouth tightened when she talked, her vague responses, and her apparent inability to look them in the eye all hinted at a secret.
If Sally Hartigan harboured guilt, Ginger couldn’t imagine what it would be for; and how it could be connected to Mr. Doyle’s death was a further mystery.
Mrs. Doyle hadn’t been much better, though Ginger could excuse her inability to cooperate through shock and grief.
“Arnold Doyle certainly came across as a man who was used to getting what he wanted,” Basil said. “The question is what had he wanted?”
“Whatever it was brought him to London,” Ginger said. “But why contact me? Why request to stay at Hartigan House when there are plenty of hotels in the city? Why the ruse about his friendship with my father?”
“Perhaps he was on the run,” Basil suggested. “He might’ve burned his bridges in America. Tracking him to a hotel may have been too easy, or perhaps he felt he could protect himself more easily if he stayed away from a public setting.”
“That’s rather unnerving,” Ginger said. “He might’ve brought trouble to our family.”
Basil grunted. “Mr. Doyle didn’t behave like a man who gave the welfare of others much thought. I’ll do some digging, see what I can find about his history.”
“Can you do that?” Ginger asked. “No crime has been committed.”
“That we know of.” Basil refilled his coffee cup from the pot sitting on the table. “Think about all the people around the table who might’ve had something against the deceased, beginning with his worn-down wife, Ruby. It must’ve been hard for her brother, Alan, to watch it.”
“Ruby mentioned Alan was her only sibling,” said Ginger.
“The Davenports were family friends of the Lesters, and Mr. Davenport seemed offended by the man’s existence.” Basil sighed. “And I regret having to add Sally to the list, but she was also acquainted through your father with Mr. Doyle.”
Ginger hated to think that Sally could be involved in anything insidious. And besides, Mr. Doyle’s death hadn’t been ruled suspicious.
Yet.
Ginger called on Boss to join her on her benevolent visit to the bereaved at Alan Lester’s residence. His presence often softened an otherwise tense meeting.
“Give my regards,” Basil said. His hazel eyes twinkled with understanding. Ginger didn’t have to come out and say that she wasn’t merely about to extend her sympathies once again, but was in need of satisfying her curiosity. How were brother and sister handling the sudden death of an aggressive family member?
It was a lovely drive through Hyde Park, though a number of large puddles caused Ginger to yank on the large steering wheel, nearly hitting a horse and carriage. The city streets were better and before long, Ginger arrived in the area where Alan Lester lived in one of a row of townhouses.
Neither rich nor poor, Mr. Lester lived comfortably, however, he didn’t employ a butler, and opened the door to Ginger’s knock himself.
He frowned when he saw her, and Ginger suspected it wasn’t solely because of Boss whose dark head stuck out of the crook of her arm.
“Mrs. Reed?”
“Please do forgive my calling like this,” Ginger said, “but I’ve come to see how you and Mrs. Doyle are faring today. I feel a modicum of responsibility since the occasion of your unhappiness occurred whilst you were guests in my home.”
Mr. Lester was too much of a gentleman to let Ginger stand on the doorstep in the cold wind.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought my dog,” she said. “He’s very well trained and I’ll keep him on my lap. You won’t even notice he’s with me.”
“It’s fine,” Mr. Lester said. “Ruby and I grew up with animals.”
Ginger followed him inside the house and into the sitting room.
Ruby Doyle sat in a high-backed chair that faced the window, and was having breakfast on a tray.
“I’m interrupting,” Ginger said.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Lester said. “We haven’t even poured our tea yet. I’ll fetch another teacup.”
Ruby looked up at Ginger, her eyes widening. “Good morning, Mrs. Reed. Do have a seat.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Ginger said. “I’m just so very concerned about you. I couldn’t imagine if something so dreadfully unexpected ever happened like that to my Basil.”
Ginger had to tell herself not to come on too strong.
“It’s a shock,” Mrs. Doyle agreed. “Arnold was larger than life, as you saw. His presence filled a room. Life will seem so dull without him.”
Ruby Doyle poured the tea into cups each with a little bit of milk in the bottom.
Ginger added a teaspoon of sugar to hers and stirred it with a tiny silver spoon. “What will you do now?” she asked.
Ruby held her teacup and saucer in front of her. “I don’t know. I have a home in America, but my family is here. I think I’ll probably go back to settle my affairs and return to London when it’s done. Alan has kindly offered to let me live here with him, at least until I’m settled.”
Alan Lester entered with the third tea setting and took a seat. “My home is her home.”
“Will you go back alone?” Ginger asked. She had travelled the Atlantic by steamship more than once and it could be a long, lonely trip on one’s own, especially if the weather was poor and storms rocked the boat.
“I’ll go with her,” Alan said. “As soon as the ticket office opens tomorrow morning, I’ll ring to let them know what’s happened.”
Mrs. Doyle put a thin hand over one of Alan Lester’s. “It’s dangerous.”
“More for you than me.”
“How so?” Ginger asked.
The Lester siblings looked at Ginger as if they’d momentarily forgotten she was there.
“She’s just worried about the trip over,” Alan Lester said. “I’ve never been to America and I hate travelling by boat. I’m a poor swimmer, you see?”
Ginger smiled. “The steamship is so large, you’ll hardly have to worry about going overboard.” Her words were meant to comfort, but she couldn’t help wonder how Mr. Lester had planned to go to Australia if not by ship. What of his water phobia, then?
7
Ginger made an impromptu decision to call in on Mr. and Mrs. Davenport. Not long ago, Mrs. Davenport had had a gown made at Feathers & Flair and Ginger recalled the address where the item had been delivered.
Mr. Davenport’s animosity toward Arnold Doyle had hardly been disguised, and Ginger hoped to get to the
bottom of the reason why. A long row of motorcars was already parked in front of the Mayfair townhouse where the Davenports resided and Ginger claimed a spot down the way, only just tapping the lamppost with her front bumper.
“They really should’ve set those farther apart on the pavement,” Ginger said to Boss. The rain had increased in its intensity, and Ginger popped open an umbrella as she stepped out of the Crossley. Boss watched her with bright round eyes.
“Perhaps you should wait this one out,” Ginger said to him. “It’s damp for your feet, and I’m not sure Mrs. Davenport would approve. I shan’t be long.”
Boss, accepting his fate, remained on his haunches as Ginger closed the door. Ginger took a moment to examine the latest scratch on her poor Crossley, a bright wound, glossy from the rain. Had Ginger not moved her umbrella at just the right moment, she would’ve missed the exit of a lady from the Davenports’ door. Ginger gasped and stepped away from her distinctive vehicle, keeping the edge of her umbrella tilted just so, in order to protect her identity.
Once the coast was clear, Ginger, keeping in step with the other pedestrians on the pavement who were clearly more relaxed during the festive season than Ginger was feeling, approached the Davenports’ front door and knocked. A butler answered.
“Good morning,” Ginger said as she handed over her card.
The butler waved her into the hall and out of the rain. “Please wait a moment, madam.”
When the butler returned, Ginger followed him down a short corridor to a set of open birch-wood doors. Mr. and Mrs. Davenport were seated in chairs facing the roaring fire.
Mr. Davenport got to his feet and approached with an outstretched arm. “Welcome, Mrs. Reed.”
Ginger shook his meaty palm with her gloved hand. “Please forgive my calling unannounced,” Ginger said with a warm smile. “I was in the area and decided to take the chance that you were at home. I’m so dreadfully sorry about the shocking event that occurred yesterday in my home and I wanted to make certain that you both were well.”
Six Merry Little Murders Page 4