Murder on Eaton Square Page 4

  Basil thought him rather fast to defend against any possible motives but kept that to himself.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Peck and Mr. Wilding. That will be all for now.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mrs. McCullagh was preoccupied on the telephone making orders for the kitchen, so Basil called on the scullery maid. He’d decided he might as well start from the bottom of the staffing ladder.

  The young girl sat shyly on a chair in the breakfast room. She cast furtive glances towards Braxton that resulted in a red flushing of her cheeks. Basil couldn’t say if Braxton’s presence was helpful in these situations, but he couldn’t very well dismiss the man for being handsome.

  “Constable,” Basil said, pulling the officer to the side.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Basil lowered his voice. “Have a wander about the house, but be discreet. Keep an eye and ear out for anything that might be out of the ordinary.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once Braxton had gone, Basil took a seat beside Ginger at the table.

  “I’m Chief Inspector Reed,” he said, “and this is my consultant, Lady Gold.”

  The maid kept her chin down and eyes averted. “Sir, madam.”

  “Please state your name,” Basil said. “For the record.”

  “Daisy Peele.”

  “How long have you worked for Mr. and Mrs. Peck?”

  “Only a month, sir.”

  New to the household. Did she have a connection to the deceased? Basil wondered. In order for her to have easy access to Mr. Peck, had someone arranged for her employ?

  “How did you come about your employment here?”

  “It was on Lady Clifford’s recommendation that Mrs. McCullagh took me on, sir.”

  “Scullery maid?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And your duties as such?” Basil knew the conventional tasks assigned to the lowest rung, but he wanted to get Daisy used to speaking aloud.

  “I clean the fireplaces and start the fires in the mornings, scrub the floors, wash the dishes, and other such things. Most of my time is spent in the kitchen with the cook.”

  Basil referred to his notes. “Mrs. Johnson?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Did you work for Lord and Lady Clifford?” Ginger asked.

  Daisy nodded. “Two years. Then they—”

  “Yes?” Ginger prompted.

  “I shouldn’t speak out of turn, madam.”

  Ginger smiled. “It’s okay, Daisy, when it’s a detective asking the questions.”

  Daisy seemed to relax. Basil held in a grin. Ginger had a way of making his suspects loosen up.

  “All right, then,” Daisy started. “Apparently, they came into money troubles. I weren’t the only one let go.”

  “I see.” Basil made a note to enquire at the neighbours’, just as a matter of form. Then to Daisy he said, “Did you take Mr. Peck his evening tea last night?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No, sir. It’s not my place to mix with those above.”

  Basil wanted to speak to Mrs. Johnson, the cook, but since midday was upon them, she was busy making the luncheon. Mrs. McCullagh sent in Josie Roth, the parlour maid, with a promise to be next, but that Josie was needed and would Basil mind hurrying things along.

  Josie was petite yet not weak in appearance. Her hair was fashionably short but tucked under a white maid’s cap.

  “How long have you been in Mr. Peck’s employ?” Basil asked.

  “Eight years, sir.”

  “Since he and Mrs. Peck were married?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you take Mr. Peck his evening tea last night?”

  “No, sir. Mr. Murphy usually took care of that.”

  Basil jotted the information about the butler in his notepad.

  “Was Mr. Peck difficult to work for?” From what Basil had witnessed of the man, he wasn’t surprised by Josie’s reluctance to answer.

  “It’s okay,” Ginger said. “What you say to us is in the strictest confidence.”

  “Not very easy, sir.”

  “Was there anyone in this household who held a grudge against Mr. Peck?”

  “Oh, sir, I really wouldn’t know. Below stairs don’t mix with those above much.”

  “But as the parlour maid, you must hear or see things?” Basil knew that maids were often treated as if they were invisible by those “above”, except, of course, when things were wanted.

  Josie stiffened. “I mind my own business, sir.”

  “Josie,” Ginger said kindly. “It’s your duty to cooperate with the police.”

  “Yes, madam. Forgive me, sir. The members of the Peck family don’t get along so well. There’s a lot of arguing, but I think, for some, that’s just the way they do things. It don’t make them bad people.”

  The next person to sit before them was the cook, a tall, red-faced lady with chubby arms crossing a rather ample bosom. A scowl etched her doughy face.

  “I’m very busy, y’know. I only just got lunch out, and I’ve got to start preparing the evening meal. What is it that you got to do with me?”

  “Mrs. Johnson, you are aware that Mr. Peck has passed away?” Basil said.

  “Of course I am. It’s why I’m busy. There’s much to do when there’s a funeral to cater for.”

  Basil shared a look with Ginger and let out a short breath. “I’ll do my best to be brief. How long have you been employed here?”

  “Six years this July. I remember because of Peace Day.”

  “Ah, yes,” Ginger said. Peace Day was the British bank holiday marking the end of the Great War.

  “Do you like your work here?” Basil asked.

  Mrs. Johnson shifted a thick shoulder. “It’s a position.”

  “Do you ever have problems with rodents?” Ginger asked.

  Basil glanced at his wife. Rat poison was always a possibility in poison deaths.

  Mrs. Johnson looked like a duck whose feathers had been ruffled. “My kitchen is kept clean to the highest possible standards, I can assure you.”

  “I meant no offence,” Ginger said. “A rodent problem can be found in any establishment. Even Buckingham Palace, I’m sure. The intelligent thing to do in such a situation would be to treat the matter immediately.”

  “We don’t have a rat problem,” Mrs. Johnson insisted, “but if we did, I do keep a jar of strychnine on hand to eliminate the little beasts immediately.”

  “Did you have any interaction with Mr. Peck?” Basil asked.

  “I stay below stairs for the most part.”

  She paused, then lowered her voice. “If you’re looking into the past of the family members, you might find something less than perfect under Mrs. Peck’s carpet.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s only gossip, mind, and I don’t really know the details. It’s just what I’ve heard.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Johnson,” Basil said. “You may go.”

  Mrs. Johnson bobbed and scurried away like the furry creatures in question.

  “What do you think?” Ginger asked.

  Basil furrowed his brow in thought. “I fail to see a motive, but she obviously doesn’t esteem Mrs. Peck enough to worry about her reputation. I’ll get Braxton to do a background search on the staff to see if there are any past connections we don’t know about.”

  Murphy stepped into the room. “Forgive my intrusion, Chief Inspector, but you have a telephone call.”

  The butler led him to the telephone room then gave him privacy as he answered.

  “Chief Inspector Reed, here.”

  “Hello, Chief Inspector.”

  Basil recognised the voice of the medical examiner.

  “Hello, Dr. Gupta.”

  “Test results have come in. I—”

  “Please wait, Doctor.” Basil didn’t want to risk being overheard, and he wouldn’t put it past the family members or staff to be listening in, not to mention the possibility of an unethical telephone operator.
“I’ll come to you.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was a good time to break from the Pecks as luncheon was being taken. Without a good cause to intrude, it would be less than prudent for the reputation of Scotland Yard to be found insensitive and intrusive, especially when dealing with such a prominent family. Ginger returned to her office on Watson Street, intending to check on matters at Feathers & Flair. Basil had promised to ring once he had more information. Boss needed a walk and was happy to go on a short stroll to the dress shop around the corner.

  The Regent Street shop had the elegance required of a fashion salon: marble floors, high ceilings moulded in gold and dotted with electric chandeliers. The main floor flaunted the designs of all the top designers in the industry, whilst the upper level hosted the tremendously popular factory-made frocks.

  Madame Roux, the shop manager, finished a dress order at the sales desk and then waved the customer off. “Thank you, Mrs. Courtney. We’ll ring you when your gown eez ready!”

  Ginger nodded at the happy customer as she passed. “Good day, Mrs. Courtney.”

  Mrs. Courtney tapped Ginger’s arm. “Your designs are outstanding, Mrs. Reed. You have a bright mind in your fashion designer student, Emma.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Courtney. I’m thrilled you liked them.”

  Ginger smiled at her beaming shop manager and stated the obvious. “The salon appointment went well.”

  “Bien, bien, Mrs. Reed. And the new girl, Miss Tatum, was a big success in the salon and dramatised Emma’s creations for Mrs. Courtney.”

  Millie Tatum was Ginger’s newest employee. Ginger wanted to compete with the London salons, and so had had a special fitting room designed for clients. It was Millie’s job to model original designs Ginger and Emma had worked on together.

  “Fabulous,” Ginger said. She released Boss from his leash, and he made his way to his bed behind the velvet curtain. “I’m relieved to hear that Miss Tatum has turned out well.”

  “She’s not much for personality,” Madame Roux said, “but her figure eez divine.”

  “Is she still here?” Ginger worried that the young girl might’ve overheard and didn’t want her to have reason to feel offended.

  “No, no,” Madame Roux said. “I let her go home now that our final client has left.”

  Ginger found her seamstress, Emma, in the back room; she sewed madly on the new Vickers sewing machine. Leaning her head over her work, her eyes focused on the needle, and her foot worked the treadle.

  “Emma,” Ginger said. “You are to be congratulated. Mrs. Courtney loved your work.”

  “They’re designs we’ve created together, Mrs. Reed. I admit it was very gratifying to have them so quickly appreciated.”

  “Madame Roux says Millie did a fine job modelling.”

  “She did, madam.” Emma flashed a smile then returned to her creation.

  “Don’t work too late,” Ginger admonished. “I need you to be fresh in the morning.”

  “Yes, madam,” Emma said without looking up.

  Ginger chuckled and felt satisfied with her lot in life. Feathers & Flair was doing well, and Ginger’s staff pleased her, including, she thought pleasantly, Dorothy West, who’d once given her a moment of concern. Over time, the shop assistant had grown competent at running the second floor where the factory frocks were on display. It was the younger lot, much like Dorothy, who ran with this new trend in affordable and accessible fashion.

  Ginger checked on the new factory frocks and gave Dorothy instructions on how to best display them. She reviewed designs with Emma and went over prestigious client schedules with Madame Roux—with the promise to be present for the more demanding clients. Once Ginger was satisfied that everything was running smoothly, she returned with Boss to the office on Watson Street in anticipation of Felicia’s return. Whatever had happened to her? Surely, the task hadn’t taken this long?

  As she waited, Ginger felt a little sympathy for Felicia’s sense of restlessness. One could only tidy up one’s desk so much before one’s entire time was spent watching the telephone and wishing for it to ring.

  Boss, who was curled up on her lap, whimpered and stared up with his deep dark eyes.

  “Did I wake you with my fidgeting?” Ginger asked. She stroked her pet, and he pressed his head into her palm. He closed his eyes, his mouth in that perpetual smile that transmitted forgiveness.

  When the telephone did ring, Ginger startled, then lifted the cradle receiver to her ear.

  “Lady Gold Investigations.”

  “Ginger, it’s me, Felicia. I’m calling from a telephone box on Russell Square.”

  Ginger knew of the location. The white telephone box with a red door was as tall and wide as it needed to be to accommodate one large man who might desire to make or receive a call whilst away from the convenience of his home or place of business.

  “Yes, Felicia? What have you found out?”

  “The sister went to work at the curiosity shop just as she had said.” Ginger noted the hint of disgust in her voice. “A call to her employer would’ve cleared things up for him, wouldn’t it? Why go to the bother of getting us to do it for him?”

  “He mightn’t have trusted the lady in charge. It’s not unheard of for one woman to lie for another.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

  “Are you coming back soon? Boss needs a walk, and I don’t want to close the office prematurely.”

  “I guess so.” Felicia sighed. “My book won’t write itself.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Ginger had only just hung up when the instrument rang again.

  “When it rains, it pours, Bossy, doesn’t it?”

  She lifted the receiver. “Regent 3205. Lady Gold Investigations.”

  “Ginger, it’s Basil.”

  Ginger straightened at the sound of her husband’s authoritative voice.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m at the mortuary with Dr. Gupta.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “Mr. Peck’s cause of death was poisoning. The doctor assures me the heart incident was a result of that and not natural causes.”

  “Rat poison?” Ginger asked.

  “The type of poison is yet to be determined.”

  “Josie said Mr. Murphy took Mr. Peck his tea,” Ginger said.

  “Indeed, but I doubt he would’ve prepared it. It could’ve been anyone who had access to the kitchen.”

  “That would be every family member and all the staff.”

  “I’m heading back to Eaton Square now to continue the interviews.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Very good.”

  Ginger hung up and stared at the office door. Felicia should be back any minute. Ginger didn’t like leaving the office closed so much, but at times, it couldn’t be helped. She collected her things and took a moment in front of the mirror to apply a fresh layer of lipstick and to pin on her hat. Then she donned her summer gloves and grabbed her handbag.

  She stared down at Boss. “What to do with you? If you come with me, you’ll have to wait in the Crossley.”

  Boss sat obediently, but his stub of a tail wagged against the floor. Ginger could tell he was eager for the motorcar ride and didn’t mind one bit if he was left in it to take a nap.

  “Very well, let’s go.”

  Her aggravation at closing the office during the day was alleviated when a black taxicab pulled to a stop at the kerb, and Felicia appeared.

  “Good timing!” Ginger said.

  Felicia eyed Ginger suspiciously. “Where are you off to?”

  “I’m consulting with Basil on the Peck murder case. I’ve only just locked up. Do you have your key?”

  “I do. Did you want me to take Boss?”

  Ginger looked at Boss’ hopeful face then shook her head. “No, he can come with me.”

  The drive through Mayfair and past the Ritz Hotel along the north end of Green Park was pleasant, though she had
to hold her tongue as the motor vehicles and horse-drawn carriages carelessly vied for room on the roads. Soon, she was in the district of Belgravia and on Eaton Square.

  A police vehicle was parked in front of the Peck house, and Ginger pulled her Crossley up behind it.

  She greeted Basil with a kiss. They were newlyweds, after all. “I know we’ve only been parted a couple of hours, but I’m always happy to see you.”

  Basil grabbed her by the wrist, then pushed her back. “No. We must stay professional.” He glanced at Constable Braxton who had the good manners to look away. He whispered into her ear. “But by gosh, Ginger, you are a temptation!”

  Ginger laughed, and Boss barked.

  Chapter Nine

  Once they were admitted to the Pecks’ house, Basil immediately arranged for the family to be gathered.

  Matthew Peck was the first to protest. “What is the meaning of this? Don’t you have any respect for those in mourning?”

  “I do apologise,” Basil said, “but I’m afraid I have disturbing news. The medical examiner has concluded that Mr. Reginald Peck was murdered.”

  His announcement was followed by gasps of surprise and horror. Basil carefully watched the group for signs of anyone who might not be shocked by his words, but no one stood out. If the killer was in this room, he or she was very clever, and capable of concealment.

  A sob came from Deirdre Northcott. She had a handkerchief at the ready and sniffed into it. “Oh, poor Daddy.”

  “Are you certain?” Mrs. Peck asked. “You’re not speculating as before?”

  “I’m afraid it’s been confirmed, Mrs. Peck,” Basil said.

  “What is she here for?” Matthew Peck sneered in Ginger’s direction. “We don’t need spectators. Let our family grieve in peace.”

  “I’m here with my officer, Constable Braxton, and my consultant, Lady Gold, an acclaimed private detective. They will be assisting me with my interviews.”

  Deirdre Northcott narrowed her gaze onto Ginger. “I’ve heard of you,” she said with interest. “I’m a believer in rights for the female gender and follow stories regarding the work of strong women in the city. What you’ve accomplished, Lady Gold, is admirable.”