The Wedding of Ginger & Basil

  The Wedding of Ginger & Basil

  a companion novella, a Ginger Gold Mystery

  Lee Strauss

  Praise for Ginger Gold

  “Clever and entertaining, you’ll love this charming Golden Age mystery series. And the fashion is to die for!” - Molly C. Quinn, actress, Castle

  “Another deftly crafted mystery by the master of the genre…” Midwest Book Review

  “I rank Lee Strauss as the best living cozy mystery writer. Her characters are believable but interesting, her stories are fun to follow and her use of language is superb. She makes the 1920s come alive in my imagination. I constantly read cozies and Lee’s Lady Gold Mysteries are the very best.” - LoriLynn, Amazon reviewer

  Summary

  Please note: British spelling is used in this book.

  For fans of Ginger Gold and Basil Reed - this is the wedding you’ve been waiting for! The bride and groom prepare for their big day and, of course, things don’t go exactly as planned. Told from the alternating points of view of many of the beloved characters in the world of Ginger Gold, you’ll find yourself holding your breath, anticipating that happily ever after.

  The Wedding of Ginger & Basil a companion novella best enjoyed after book 7 (Murder at St. George’s Church) in the Ginger Gold Mystery series.

  This is a mystery, but not a murder mystery.

  Contents

  GINGER

  PIPPINS

  BASIL

  MRS. BEASLEY

  FELICIA

  AMBROSIA

  GINGER

  BASIL

  LIZZIE

  SCOUT

  OLIVER

  GINGER

  BASIL

  OLIVER

  GINGER

  Ginger Gold’s Journal

  About the Author

  Books by Lee Strauss

  Murder Aboard the Flying Scotsman

  Acknowledgments

  GINGER

  Ginger Hartigan Gold, soon to be Mrs. Basil Reed, awoke early with the first light of dawn. Once her mind registered the importance of the day, there was no going back to sleep. As if sensing his mistress’ restlessness, her black-and-white Boston terrier pressed a damp nose against her cheek.

  “Good morning, Bossy,” Ginger murmured into the pup’s ear as she cradled him.

  Now, propped up against fluffy pillows in her bed sipping tea, Ginger picked up the two envelopes that sat unopened on her bedside cabinet: one from her half-sister Louisa, and one from her good friend Haley Higgins. She opened Haley’s first.

  Dearest Ginger,

  Would it be the height of conceit if I said I told you so? I know what you’re thinking, “But you didn’t even like Basil Reed!” Not so. I liked him well enough though he made me worried about you, especially where it concerned his late wife. You can’t fault me for that. However, all’s well that ends well. I’m just sorry I can’t be there to share the happy occasion with you.

  Thank you again for your kind offer to come to Boston to help with the murder investigation of my brother Joe. Whoever the killer is, he—or she, perhaps—is long gone. Unlike England, America isn’t an island, and it’s enormous with countless places to hide. Best you stay where you are and make Basil a happy man!

  I’ll be returning to Boston University to finish my medical training. I’ve been offered a summer position with the city coroner thanks to the glowing referral from Dr. Gupta. Family gatherings are tough without Joe, but as they say, the living must keep on living.

  I hope you receive this letter in time. You are always in my thoughts, especially on your wedding day.

  Greetings to Felicia and Ambrosia.

  Sending my love,

  Haley

  Ginger smiled as she wiped a tear from her cheek. “Oh, Haley. I do miss you.” Boss whimpered from his spot at the foot of the bed. “You miss her too,” Ginger said to him. “Don’t you?”

  Boss uncurled himself, pushed up on his paws, and took a moment to stretch—his stub of a tail pushing upwards. A large yawn followed before he padded to the warmth of Ginger’s side and curled up. Ginger laughed at this lackadaisical demonstration and playfully rubbed his ears. “You are so amusing, old boy.”

  She ripped open the other envelope, sure to be less sentimental than Haley’s script.

  Dear Ginger,

  Now I understand why you didn’t want me to get attached to the dashing Chief Inspector Reed. You had your sights on him! Why didn’t you tell me you planned to get married? I would’ve stayed in London for the wedding. Mother won’t let me near the docks after my last “rash act of rebellion,” so there’s no way I can return on such short notice. Besides, the trip home was unpleasant with stormy weather and rocky seas. A tin bucket should not be a girl’s fashion accessory, if you know what I mean.

  Are you aware that in America, Basil is pronounced BAYsil? Like the herb? Which is an odd sort of name for a man if you think about it. But odd names are typical of the English, aren’t they?

  Well, at least give everyone my love, especially Felicia. Mother says congratulations.

  Sincerely,

  Louisa

  “My dear sister, you make me smile.” Ginger let out a contented breath and scanned her bedroom. This had been her sanctuary as a child, and again for the last two years since she’d returned from Boston. Only once had she not slept in this bed alone, and that was on her honeymoon with Daniel. So long ago—eleven years—yet in some ways, it felt like yesterday.

  She’d redecorated recently. Aqua-green walls and plush green-and-white Persian carpets gave it a fresh new look. The ornate wooden furniture—extravagant four-poster bed with matching dressing table and chest of drawers—remained the same. The gold-and-white striped wingback chairs flanking the tall east-facing windows had been replaced by creamy-white pincushion armchairs and the curtains with breezy white netting.

  Basil would like it.

  Daniel would forgive her.

  After laying her teacup and saucer on the bedside cabinet, she opened the top drawer and removed the photo of her soldier.

  “I think you and Basil would get on,” she said to the image. “He makes me happy. I do hope you approve.”

  Whether Daniel would approve or not, her season of mourning him must end. She threw back the covers, swung slender legs off the bed, and pushed herself to her feet. Wrapping the framed photo in an old silk negligée, a gift from Daniel, she buried it underneath the other garments in her chest of drawers. For one last moment, she allowed her mind to wander: meeting Daniel, their wedding, and his death. It was time to put it all away. She had Basil now, and she was excited to begin their life journey together.

  Ginger pulled on the top drawer of her dressing table and removed the small ring box that held Basil’s wedding band. As she opened the box, a harsh dread raced through her. The ring was gone.

  PIPPINS

  Mr. Clive Pippins allowed himself a low grunt as he lowered himself onto a plain wooden chair. He wore a soft grey suit chosen by Lady Gold herself. Over the seven decades he’d been walking God’s green earth, he’d never imagined he’d have an opportunity to wear such a fine suit or be privileged enough to participate in an occasion that would merit it.

  A pair of shiny leather shoes came with the outfit and sat tidily on the wooden floor in front of him. Using a handmade shoehorn, he slipped the shoes on and grinned. They felt as comfortable as his slippers.

  The servants’ quarters were in the attic. Pippins’ small room was orderly with a narrow bed, a short chest of drawers, and a table with a water pitcher and bowl. Seated in the lone chair, Pippins could see a partial image of himself in the mirror. His neck jutted forward, and his head was as bald as a bab
y’s. Skin hung from his bony cheekbones in lines and folds. Funny. In his mind, he was a young man, tall with a ruddy complexion. His eyes, still a brilliant cornflower-blue, were now overpowered by the sagging weight of his eyelids.

  Pippins smiled. There was no greater joy in life than to have witnessed a precocious little girl blossom into a capable and confident lady. When the redheaded baby came into the world, he’d rejoiced with the family. What a lovely addition to the household! And then, soon afterwards, he shared in the grief when Mrs. Hartigan passed away. Joy and sorrow. Two sides of the same coin.

  Little Ginger Hartigan was the only person with whom Pippins had broken protocol. The child had few playmates and was lonely, so Pippins occasionally stepped into that role with games of I Spy and Noughts and Crosses.

  He’d grieved silently when, eight years later, Mr. Hartigan took the girl to Boston. Little Ginger could brighten the dreariest day, and her departure left a void in Pippins’ heart. Mr. Hartigan had been good enough to recommend Pippins, and he’d stayed employed all those years. It was only when he’d been reinstated at Hartigan House—on Lady Gold’s permanent return to London—that a certain skip returned to his step.

  Ever aware of the time, Pippins hoisted himself to his feet, a simple exercise that had become increasingly difficult as the years marched on. The stairs were trying. Many narrow and worn steps led from the top of the house to the main floor. With fingers bent and crooked, he gripped the well-used bannister, which was loose in some parts. The trick was to go slowly. Respect the pain in his knees.

  He positioned himself in the entrance hall where he stood, hands behind his back, and waited. Apparently, Lady Gold was to be late to her own wedding. That was fine, he thought. It was a lady’s prerogative.

  The doorbell resounded, surprising the old butler. Deliveries were made to the rear of the house, and the taxicabs coming for staff and family were not yet due to arrive. He opened the door to find a well-dressed gentleman with a mass of dark-brown floppy hair and a grin so large it could, most probably, block the sun.

  “Good morning,” Pippins said politely.

  “Is this the residence of Lady Gold?”

  “It is, but she is quite busy, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, I’m aware she’s being married today. It’ll only take a moment of her time, I assure you.”

  Pippins opened the door and offered entrance. “I’ll ask if she’ll see you. Your name?”

  “Smith. James Smith.”

  BASIL

  Chief Inspector Basil Reed instructed the removal men as they carried the last of his furniture destined for storage at his parents’ country home onto the back of the wooden lorry. This reminded him that he needed to pick up the Honourable Harry Reed and Mrs. Elizabeth Reed at the train station in an hour.

  With plenty of time and money, his parents travelled to exotic places. Basil received regular letters from them with postage stamps from Africa, India, and Asia. The most recent post came from Thailand. “Paradise,” they’d said. Basil worried they mightn’t come for the wedding even though the date for the ceremony had been chosen to fit their itinerary.

  “Is that all of it, sir?” the lorry driver asked. His voice echoed in the cleared-out foyer of Basil’s Mayfair townhouse. Basil took in the stripped-down living room. A void replaced the sofa and armchairs. The side table that housed his spirits was gone, and walls that had displayed his artwork were blank. The stone hearth was empty and cold.

  He had suggested that he and Ginger should live as a couple here where they’d have more privacy and quiet than what would be afforded them at Hartigan House. Ginger had said no. She explained that her responsibilities to Ambrosia and Felicia remained, along with her ward, Scout Elliot. And her dear butler, Pippins, who’d been with the family since she was a child.

  Ginger had refrained from mentioning the fact that Basil’s late wife had lived here, but he read that in her look. Even he admitted to disconcerting recollections that triggered memories of the heartache she’d inflicted on him with her scandalous and unfaithful ways.

  “You’re ready to go,” Basil said to the lorry driver. He handed the fellow an envelope with cash and confirmed the load’s destination.

  Basil rechecked his watch. He wasn’t the kind to get nervous—his job dealing with the criminal element in one of the fastest growing cities in the world exposed him to plenty of unnerving situations—but getting married to the lovely Lady Georgia Gold, his beloved Ginger, had him on pins and needles.

  At forty-one years old, Basil often reflected on his life. He’d enlisted in the army in August, 1914. His experience in the Great War had disappointed him. After a mere thirteen months, he was shot in the stomach, lost his spleen, and nearly died. Soon after, he was deemed unfit to fight.

  Working for the London Metropolitan Police had been a way to continue to do his bit for the war effort. Though a member of the peerage and not in financial need, Basil had stayed on with Scotland Yard.

  A small pit of anxiety formed in his gut when he recalled how he’d almost lost Ginger. Now that she’d agreed to be his wife, he’d never be so foolish again. He’d make sure she always knew he valued and loved her. Though there was a decade between them, he saw her as his equal, both socially and intellectually. They would be a team on every level even though his promise to support her work as a private investigator would be a hard one to keep. His instinct to protect her was strong.

  Basil startled at the shrill ring of his telephone. Had he forgotten to cancel the line? He thought it must be Ginger and answered with a note of anticipation. His eagerness snapped to dismay.

  “Chief Inspector Reed—”

  “Superintendent Morris. What can I do for you?”

  “There’s a body in Notting Hill.”

  His voice was like a foghorn, and Basil held the candlestick apparatus away from his ear.

  “I need you to begin the inquiry,” Morris said.

  “But,” Basil sputtered, “I’m getting married at noon! What about Jenkins? Can’t he take this one?”

  “The crazy bloke broke his arm playing cricket. Don’t ask me how. He’s with the doc right now and shall take over once the cast is on. Everyone else is on a case, including me.”

  Basil sighed. “Very well. I’m on my way.”

  Just before Basil opened the driver’s door of his forest-green Austin 7, a courier pedalled up.

  “Telegram, sir,”

  Basil thanked the lad, read the message, and frowned. It was from his parents. They’d missed their ship and, regrettably, would miss the wedding. They sent their love and looked forward to seeing him at Christmas.

  Swallowing his disappointment, Basil stepped on the clutch and pressed the starter button. The Austin’s engine knocked ominously before puttering to silence. Basil tried again, but the motorcar refused to start.

  “Blimey!” Basil slammed the door getting the tail of his trench coat caught. He disengaged it without tearing the fabric then ran towards the nearest taxicab and waved the driver down.

  MRS. BEASLEY

  Mrs. Beasley, as round as she was tall, tottered about the kitchen instructing the staff: Grace, the scullery maid; Lizzie, the parlour maid; and young Scout, Ginger’s ward, who often helped inside when the outside work was finished. She wouldn’t allow the lad to do more than peel potatoes or sweep the floor, but there was always plenty of that to do. Mrs. Beasley was determined to make sure the food for the drawing room party after the wedding was perfect.

  “Lizzie!” Mrs. Beasley clapped red, pudgy hands in front of the young maid’s face.

  The faraway look and the soft smile the girl wore disappeared.

  “Focus on what you’re doing! It’s about to burn!” Mrs. Beasley scolded.

  “Yes, Mrs. Beasley.” Lizzie’s spindly arm stirred the pot of caramel sauce.

  Lizzie was Mrs. Beasley’s most reliable helper, and when prestigious occasions like this one arose, it was all hands on deck in the kitchen.

>   “If I had a title and all the ease and pleasures of life that came with it,” Grace said to Lizzie, “I’d never give it up for a man, especially if I had my own money to boot.”

  Mrs. Beasley glanced at Grace as she waited for Lizzie’s response. As expected, the girl took a sentimental and romantic view, no doubt from reading those God-awful romance novels Mrs. Beasley disapproved of.

  “True love is willing to sacrifice all,” Lizzie said, swooning.

  Grace scoffed. “That’s naivety and foolishness talkin’.”

  “Tell that to Lady Gold,” Lizzie spouted back. “True love can conquer anything. It’s only those who never have experienced it who are sceptical.”

  “You’re an expert on love, now are you? Just because Mr. L—”

  “You quiet up right now, Grace,” Lizzie said sternly. The wave of red that crept up the maid’s neck wasn’t due entirely to the heat from the stove. One had to be blind not to see that Lizzie was soft on young Arnold Lowery, the greengrocer’s boy who delivered fresh garden produce each morning, and Mrs. Beasley suspected Lizzie of sneaking off to see him. Lowery had brought the Bramley apples currently in the pies now baking in the wood-burning range. The kitchen smelled like heaven.

  Mrs. Beasley had known the delivery boy, with his always-dirty face and impish grin, since he was a small lad. One of eight children, Arnold had had his backside walloped by old Mr. Lowery on more than one occasion. Mostly just juvenile mischief but Mrs. Beasley still didn’t trust him.