Murder at Brighton Beach Page 3

  The next thing she knew, Ginger was startled awake by loud knocking on the door. She checked her watch. Oh mercy. An hour had passed, and she’d slept through it! Hurrying to the door, she opened it to Felicia, whose countenance soured.

  “You’re not dressed. Did you order lunch?”

  “I fell asleep.” Ginger’s hand went to her belly. “I can’t believe how this one, barely the size of a plum, drains all my energy. What will I do when it becomes full size?”

  Felicia smiled, her eyes softening with forgiveness. “I’ll order lunch, but you must hurry. I just looked out of the window and saw Basil and Scout heading this way.”

  The lift bell rang, and Ginger thought it was indicative of her husband and son’s arrival.

  Felicia tugged on Ginger’s arm, unceremoniously pulling her into the corridor. The gentleman who’d so quickly captured Felicia’s heart had stepped into view, along with a second shorter man. When the gentlemen spotted them, the one who’d caught Felicia’s eye said, “Good day, ladies. I hope you’re enjoying your visit to Brighton.” Of the two, he was the more attractive and apparently less reserved than his companion who stayed quiet.

  Felicia giggled and patted at her short, dark finger waves. She’d changed into a yellow summer frock of printed georgette with a one-side jabot and a showy bow on the girdle sash. She looked fresh and youthful. Still in her beach clothes, Ginger felt tired and haggard in comparison, a feeling she was most definitely not used to.

  “We just arrived yesterday,” Felicia said. “Today has been lovely so far.”

  “Are you with the Bainbridge party?” Ginger asked. Mrs. Bainbridge had mentioned that the rest of the floor had been reserved for them. When the men nodded, she added, “I’m so sorry to hear about your missing friend. Still no word?”

  “Thank you, madam,” the short one said. “I’m afraid we’ve not had any promising news.”

  Removing his hat, the taller man said, “Please forgive my manners. I’m Davenport-Witt, and this is Findley.”

  Mr. Findley removed his hat. “How do you do?”

  Felicia answered for them both, “Very well, thank you.”

  Davenport-Witt. Where had Ginger heard that name before?

  “Charles is being modest,” Mr. Findley added smoothly. “He’s the Earl of Wincanton and calls himself Lord Davenport-Witt.”

  Ginger scanned Lord Davenport-Witt’s features and a memory formed. The casual suit became a soldier’s uniform, the face thinner, and the blue eyes more youthful.

  “Where did you serve during the war, Lord Davenport-Witt?” Ginger asked.

  The man smiled. “France, as did many an Englishman.”

  “It’s only that you look familiar. Oh, now, it’s me with poor manners. I’m Mrs. Reed. This is my sister-in-law, Miss Gold.”

  The gentlemen took the ladies’ hands in turn, but Lord Davenport-Witt held on to Felicia’s palm. “Gold? Are you a relative of Daniel, Lord Gold?”

  Felicia blushed as she withdrew her hand. “Daniel was my brother.”

  “And my first husband,” Ginger added.

  Lord Davenport-Witt’s eyes flashed with surprise. “You’re Lady Gold?”

  “Formerly.” Ginger still used the handle Lady Gold when she worked as a private investigator or in consultation with Scotland Yard. Not only did the title give her better access when probing for answers, but it also helped her and Basil avoid introducing themselves as husband and wife when on a case together. She added, “I’m afraid my late husband never mentioned you to me.”

  Daniel had never mentioned Lord Davenport-Witt, but Ginger had most definitely heard of him. Her work with the British secret service had brought much-classified information her way. Something about her memory of him, or lack of, niggled at the back of her mind. Whatever it was, she felt a sense of caution.

  Lord Davenport-Witt let out a short breath, and Ginger detected a sense of relief at her apparent lack of knowledge. Whatever he was hiding, he wanted to keep a secret.

  “You knew my dear brother,” Felicia said, her hands clasped at her heart. “You must tell me everything. I have so little of him to remember.”

  “I would be delighted to regale you, Miss Gold. Perhaps you will join Findley and me for dinner tonight?” He glanced at Ginger. “You and Mr. Reed are welcome to join us, of course.”

  “You’re very kind,” Ginger said, “though we have plans to go sailing, so I’m not sure when we will be available. Perhaps you should make plans for tomorrow night, Felicia?”

  Felicia let out a soft sigh. “I suppose, if you’ll still be here, Lord Davenport-Witt?”

  Mr. Findley shuffled his weight with a look of impatience. Ginger would guess that the plainer-looking fellow was used to being overlooked and inconvenienced. The phenomenon of being overshadowed by a more attractive, more vivacious personality in the room wasn’t reserved for the gentler sex alone.

  Before a new arrangement could be made, the last door down the hall opened, and the very phenomenon Ginger had been pondering happened. Poppy Kerslake radiated glamour with shiny blonde-bobbed hair, perfectly Marcelled and clipped off a wide forehead with a hairpin made of pearls. Her flawless skin was made up with bright-red lipstick, round pink cheeks, and arched eyebrows plucked to a thin line. She wore a sophisticated blue tunic frock in Mongolian crepe with a satin-flounced collar and cuffs.

  The starlet gave Ginger and Felicia a cursory glance as she elegantly strolled to Lord Davenport-Witt’s side.

  “Charles, darling?” Miss Kerslake’s purr had a distinctive Australian accent. She wiggled long fingers, bare but for a striking opal ring, the large gem glittering with hues of pinks, greens, and blues in the electric lights of the corridor sconces. She linked her bare arm with Lord Davenport-Witt’s, subtly marking her territory. “Are we ready to go?”

  Lord Davenport-Witt returned his hat to his head, and Mr. Findley, a second behind, did the same.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you both,” the earl said, his smile strained, then stepped in stride with Miss Kerslake towards the lift. Miss Kerslake shot a quick look over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing on Felicia as if casting a warning. Lord Davenport-Witt placed a hand on the starlet’s back, guiding her into the lift, then stepped in behind her, Mr. Findley following.

  The lift doors closed, and Felicia grunted. “That minx!”

  Ginger felt a wave of pity. “I’m afraid you’ve got your work cut out for you, love.”

  Felica huffed, spun on the heels of her T-strap shoes, and marched down the plush carpet runner of the hotel corridor.

  6

  “It turns out that Mr. Bainbridge and young Reggie will join us,” Basil said. Since he and Scout had already eaten, he drank tea as the others enjoyed luncheon. “It’s a numbers thing.”

  Ginger lowered her fork. “Mrs. Bainbridge is rather large with child, so I can understand why she wouldn’t want to come.”

  “I offered for him to bring other members of his party, but he was quite reluctant, except for a Lord Davenport-Witt.”

  Felicia tipped her wine glass, spilling a drop on the tablecloth at the sound of the earl’s name.

  “Child,” Ambrosia said. “You’re rather clumsy today. What’s got into you?”

  Basil caught the look shared by Ginger and Felicia and wondered what he and Ambrosia were missing.

  “Butterfingers,” Felicia said. “That is all.” Then without looking at Basil, she added, “Do you know if the earl will be joining us?”

  The corner of Basil’s mouth twitched as understanding dawned. At some point, Felicia had become acquainted with the earl and was clearly taken by the man. Dear Felicia was always infatuated with one fellow or another, much to Ambrosia’s consternation. Surely, the Dowager Lady Gold would be pleased that her granddaughter was finally interested in a man with a title, and by the way the elderly lady’s blue eyes latched on to her granddaughter, she’d caught the nuance of Felicia’s question too.

  “An earl is staying
at this hotel?” she said. “Why have I not been notified? We should’ve been introduced.”

  “We’ve only just found out about the earl ourselves,” Ginger said. “Felicia and I ran into Lord Davenport-Witt and his friend, Mr. Findley, in the corridor when we returned from the beach.”

  Ambrosia placed a well-jewelled, wrinkled hand over Felicia’s. “A good possibility.”

  Despite an obvious interest in this person, Felicia couldn’t keep from protesting. “Grandmama!”

  Ginger broke in. “We’re uncertain that the earl is available for romantic pursuits. It appears that he has been spoken for.”

  “Oh,” Ambrosia said. “By whom?”

  “Miss Poppy Kerslake,” Felicia said sourly.

  “And who is Miss Kerslake in society?” Ambrosia asked. “I’ve never heard of her.”

  “She’s a starlet,” Ginger replied. “She’s in many popular motion pictures.”

  Ambrosia waved her hand. “Pfft. An earl would never marry an actress.” She steadied her eyes on Basil. “You must invite Lord Davenport-Witt on your little excursion.” She rose to her feet with the energy and determination of someone much younger than her eighty years. “Ring the bell for the porter to come to my room. I’ll have him deliver the note straight away.”

  Unfortunately, as the weather in coastal regions was wont to do, the wind picked up from the south-west that afternoon to create undesirable sailing conditions.

  “Oh bother,” Ginger said. Her eyes darted to the second bedroom of the suite were Scout was quietly reading. “And Scout was so looking forward to it. I hate to disappoint him.”

  Before Basil could respond, a knock on the door interrupted them.

  “Oh hello, Bainbridge,” Basil said, opening the door.

  In the sitting area, Ginger craned her neck to see a portion of Quentin Bainbridge’s form along with young Reggie.

  “I hate to interrupt you, Mr. Reed,” Mr. Bainbridge said, “but I imagine you’ve seen the state of the Channel out of your windows.”

  “Indeed. I fear we’ll have to postpone our outing until tomorrow and hope for calmer seas.”

  “Young Reggie is dreadfully disappointed, and to appease him, I’ve promised a trip to the aquarium. Reggie would very much like it if Scout came along.”

  Ginger watched Reggie’s expression, which remained staid, neither proving nor disproving his father’s statement.

  “I think Scout would be delighted.”

  Scout, having heard the knock and his name mentioned, was found hovering by his doorway. “I would, Dad. I can go, can’t I?”

  Ginger felt mixed about the offer. She wanted to take Scout to the aquarium herself, but she couldn’t deny how happy he looked to spend time with his new friend. She and Basil could take him another time, Ginger supposed. Youths never tired of seeing sea creatures up close.

  “It’s fine with me,” Ginger said.

  “Off you go then,” Basil added with a smile.

  Basil tucked a bit of money in Scout’s pocket and sent him on his way. He turned to Ginger with a raised brow. “How would you like to spend your afternoon?”

  “I’m frightfully put off by the prospect of lounging about all the time. I’m sleeping away my days. Please, Basil, take me away from this couch!”

  Basil lowered himself into one of the chairs. “There’s plenty to see and do in Brighton that doesn’t involve the seaside.”

  “Oh, I know,” Ginger said. “Let’s go to the Royal Pavilion. I’ve heard it’s quite a wonder.”

  Ginger sparked the interest of Ambrosia and Felicia, and soon, the foursome exited a taxicab a few streets north of the Brighton Marine Palace and Pier, in front of the majestic Royal Pavilion, a multi-domed structure with many spires, arches, and decorative features.

  Felicia was sufficiently awed. “It looks like it was magically transported here from India!”

  Briefly, the sun’s rays poked through a mass of clouds to create the illusion that the palace had been made of gold.

  Ambrosia’s walking stick tapped against the concrete, and Ginger smiled as Felicia immediately stepped beside her grandmother and gave her a supportive arm. Felicia and Ginger’s late husband, Daniel, had lost both their parents in a carriage accident when they were children. Ambrosia, already a widow, had stepped in to raise the siblings. Daniel was already a teenager at the time, but Felicia was a young, impressionable girl. Despite Ambrosia’s prickly persona and dated Victorian views, she loved Felicia ferociously and wanted the best for her. Felicia rebelled incessantly, and the fact that her antics hadn’t put Ambrosia into an early grave was a testament to the fortitude the Dowager Lady Gold possessed.

  “I don’t like the wind,” Ambrosia stated. “Far too windy in the coastal regions. I prefer Bray Manor in Chesterton, but London does in a push.”

  Certainly, there was no wind inside the palace, but the interior took one’s breath away, none the less. Room after extravagant room was outmatched by the richly decorated banqueting room. A delightful palette of lemon yellow, lime green, apple red, and deep sky blue, the carpets ran wall to wall. Woven tapestries hung from ceiling to floor and decadent red draperies, trimmed in gold, flounced above long, church-style windows. Several jewel-encrusted crystal chandeliers hung from the painted ceilings, the king among them from the centre of the room, which dropped from a mural of palm branches against a vivid blue dome.

  “Such opulence,” Ambrosia said. “I would say the young king outdid himself.”

  “He started building when he was the Prince of Wales, and later as Prince Regent,” Basil explained.

  Though Ginger was thoroughly English—born in London—from the age of eight, she had been raised in Boston, Massachusetts, and had missed out on the finer points of monarchical history.

  However, she was aware of the more recent historical points of interest. “It’s hard to believe that this palace was used as a field hospital.” Ginger stared at the large photographs of injured men, in beds, row after row, with a large chandelier hanging incongruously from the ornate, domed ceiling above.

  It wasn’t difficult to spend an hour or two gawking at the painted ceilings and lavish furnishings—the palace was well occupied by others with the same idea. Ginger grew fatigued, and Basil seemed to notice.

  “Are you ready to go back to the hotel?” he asked.

  “Quite,” Ginger replied.

  Felicia stepped quickly to Ginger’s side. “Over there.”

  Perplexed by Felicia’s tense demeanour, Ginger followed her gaze. Understanding fell when she spotted Lord Davenport-Witt with Miss Kerslake at his side, and she explained the significance to Basil.

  “They don’t look that bothered by the fact that a friend of theirs is unaccounted for,” Basil said.

  As if he could feel he was being watched and talked about, the earl stepped in their direction, his eyes lighting with recognition when he saw them.

  “Oh, hello,” he called out.

  Poppy Kerslake looked none too delighted, and Ginger could see the flash of warning in her eyes when her gaze landed on Felicia. Felicia, never one to be intimidated, smiled brightly in return.

  “Lord Davenport-Witt, Miss Kerslake, what a surprise!”

  “One must do something to keep amused,” Miss Kerslake said.

  “I suppose it is rather difficult,” Felicia concurred, “when one’s good friend is missing and presumed to have encountered misfortune.”

  Ginger hissed in her sister-in-law’s ear. “Felicia!”

  The corner of the earl’s lip tugged slowly upwards. “It’s true; our holiday time has taken a sour turn. I hope yours is better, Miss Gold?”

  “Delightful so far. Tomorrow we’re going sailing. We would be out there right now, if not for the weather. Do you sail, Lord Davenport-Witt?”

  “Not as much as I’d like.”

  Ginger glanced at Basil. Was it just her or had everyone, but the earl and Felicia, disappeared from the room? Miss Kerslake’s cheek
s were red with umbrage, while Ambrosia looked as if she’d burst with delight. It was such a rare emotion to witness that Ginger felt like she’d stepped into the pages of her book.

  Basil cleared his throat. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you both, but we were just about to head back to the hotel.”

  “I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again,” Lord Davenport-Witt said.

  The taxicab ride was nearly unbearable with Felicia and Ambrosia, uncharacteristically in agreement, singing the earl’s praises all the way back to the hotel.

  7

  The next day turned out to be perfect for sailing. A short taxicab ride delivered them to the jetty where a forty-four-foot wooden sailing boat awaited them. It had two masts, three sails, and was edged with varnished teak benches.

  “’Ad to store ’er inland during the war,” the captain said, “but since then, I’ve polished ’er up and take ’er out whenever I can.”

  “She’s a beauty,” Basil replied.

  “Indeed, she is,” the captain’s face beamed with pride. “I said to the missus, gotta share the joy with visitors like you, eh? Can’t be ’oggin’ ’er all to myself.”

  With light-hearted anticipation, Basil, Ginger, Scout, and Felicia, along with Quentin Bainbridge, his son, Reggie, and Lord Davenport-Witt, boarded the vessel.

  Scout and Reggie leaned over the starboard side of the sailing boat and giggled as they ran their fingers through the wake. And the light breeze kept the occupants cool and in motion.

  Ginger, with Boss on her lap, and Felicia sat in the stern of the vessel—the latter with her eyes continually darting to the earl—whilst the men smoked at the bow. Basil could see the appeal. The earl was tall, confident, and a rather worthy seaman himself. He produced a package of cigars, offering it to Basil and Quentin Bainbridge. “Cigar, gentlemen?”

  Basil, who smoked on rare occasions, thought this one was as good a time as any. “Yes, thank you, old chap.”