Murder at Feathers & Flair Page 6

  Ginger was determined not to look over her shoulder at Basil as she walked away. Let him think she didn’t care—that he hadn’t deeply hurt her.

  Chapter Nine

  Mrs. Schofield had become a regular visitor of Ambrosia’s, much to the dowager Lady Gold’s barely concealed dislike.

  The door to the drawing room was open when Ginger returned, and she could hear the conversation bellowing along the high ceilings into the entrance hall.

  “Did you know that the daughter of the Earl of Dunsworth is competing in the winter games in February—what do they call it now? Yes, the Olympics! In France.”

  “Langley told me about it,” Ambrosia said. “Skating figures or some such thing. Quite unbecoming behaviour for a young lady of her status.”

  “Why shouldn’t women enjoy sports like the men do?” Mrs. Schofield countered. “Men have so many advantages and privileges as it is.”

  “I miss the old way. So much simpler when everyone knew their place. My Felicia—I just don’t understand the child. I feel like I need to put lead in her shoes, just to keep her from floating away.”

  Poor Ambrosia. The war had brought many changes to English society, and Ginger’s dear grandmother-in-law was finding it hard to adjust. Though a grandmother herself, Mrs. Schofield seemed younger at heart.

  “Germany, of course, is not invited,” Mrs. Schofield said.

  “I should hope not!”

  Ginger thought it a good time to poke her head in and say hello. The drawing room had been the first room at Hartigan House to have undergone a décor transformation. Gone were the long, heavy dark curtains, and the excessive wall decorations. In their place were light sheers, geometric wallpaper, and paintings of her parents when they had been about the same age as Ginger was now. A grand piano sat in the corner, woefully underplayed. The room was pleasant and she was happy Ambrosia had decided to make use of it. Perhaps, once this case was solved, Ginger would throw a party.

  “So good to see you again, Lady Gold,” Mrs. Schofield said. “Alfred is coming for dinner tonight. If you’re free, you could join us.”

  Ginger smiled at the older lady. She was always trying to set Ginger up with her grandson.

  “I’m afraid I’ve already made plans for this evening, but thank you so much for your kind offer. Do say hello to Alfred.”

  Alfred Schofield had made quite an impression on Ginger when he had attended her last soirée, and not a good one. He’d flirted shamelessly with her, and Felicia as well, all whilst being involved with someone else. Ginger had no intention of dining with Alfred, now or ever.

  Ginger circled up the staircase, removing her leather gloves as she went. Once in the bedroom that had been hers as a child, she slipped out her hatpin, removed her hat—a black felt wide-brim adorned with a broad red feather—and dropped it into its hatbox. She ran fingers through her hair, lifting the bob where the hat had pressed it down.

  The pink and blue colours of her childhood room had been redecorated with gold and ivory furnishings. A bed with an extravagantly carved wooden headboard and footboard was set against one wall. Two striped ivory and gold chairs sat in front of the long windows, perfect for catching the daylight over tea and for journal writing. A full-length ornately trimmed mirror stood in the corner near a matching dressing table, and beside it was an old gramophone.

  Boss lay at the foot of her bed and watched her with interest. Ginger smiled and went to him, scrubbing his head. “If I’m the most intriguing thing you’ve seen today, then your life is truly boring. I must change that.” She lifted him like a baby and cuddled him in her arms. “I think I shall take you with me more often.” The dog loved her unconditionally and she appreciated the support. Especially now when her heart was heavy. Every time she thought of Basil, she would replace his image in her mind with Boss’s. She had a feeling she’d be thinking about Boss a lot in the next few days.

  Ginger kissed the pup’s head and placed him back on the bed before turning to her wardrobe. She changed into a simple tea dress of soft silk and donned a pair of green satin slippers. She called for Boss and he followed her. They met Ambrosia and Langley on the landing.

  “How was your visit with Mrs. Schofield?” Ginger asked.

  “Exhausting. I don’t know where that lady gets her energy. By the way, have you seen Felicia? I can’t keep track of the child.”

  “I believe she’s at the theatre, rehearsing for a new audition.”

  “Oh, dear Lord.” Ambrosia sighed with defeat. “Langley, bring me a pot of tea.”

  The willowy maid bobbed and headed back down the stairs. Ginger and Boss followed her as far as the sitting room where Ginger helped herself to a glass of wine—a 1921 French merlot—and relaxed in front of the fire. Someone had recently been in to feed and stoke it as the flames burned brightly. Ginger curled up in its warmth.

  The front door opened, and Ginger heard the shuffle of someone, she assumed Haley, removing her outer winter wear. Moments later her assumption was confirmed. Haley entered and smiled at Ginger.

  “Now, that’s more like it.”

  “Please join me.”

  Haley moved to the sideboard, poured herself a drink, and lounged on the settee. Like Ginger, she removed her hat and pulled out the hairpins that created her faux bob. A long dark, wavy ponytail landed on one shoulder. To settle herself on the settee, she tugged on the skirt of her wool suit. More than once Ginger had tried to talk Haley into allowing her seamstress to raise her hems, but Haley would have none of it. “Medicine and vanity don’t mix,” she’d said.

  “We missed you at the hospital mortuary today,” Ginger said.

  “I had a class I didn’t want to miss. Ballistics as it ties to forensic science. It’s a relatively new field of study.” Haley grinned. “I mastered the class, having been one of the few to have actually fired a weapon and picked up discharged bullets and casings, thanks to the second amendment.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “Every bullet can be traced back to the firearm it was discharged from. The discharge leaves a distinct marking.”

  “Interesting,” Ginger said with all sincerity. “I’d love to see examples.”

  “Sure. Just visit me at the medical school someday.”

  “I will.”

  Haley scanned the room as if looking for something. “Where’s the boss?” Haley liked to refer to Boss as “the boss,” as if the dog ran the whole show. Boss liked to think he did.

  “I thought he was on his bed. He must’ve gone in search of food.” Ginger stared at Haley. “Do you miss Boston?”

  “Your dog or the city?”

  Ginger laughed. “The city.”

  “Sometimes. I miss baseball and peanut butter.”

  “Really?” Ginger said. “I didn’t take you as a sports fan.”

  “I’m not just talking about watching the game. I love to play it.”

  Ginger leaned in. “I didn’t know that about you.” She smiled. “I have no problem believing you were a tomboy, though.”

  “I still am and proud of it. Being the only girl among three brothers helps.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Enough about me. How was your day?”

  Ginger relayed the interviews with Lord and Lady Lyon and Princess Sophia.

  “I’m not sure which is more alarming,” Haley said. “That Lady Lyon is a kleptomaniac or that the blue diamond the grand duchess was wearing was a fake.”

  “Both are alarming.”

  Haley raised a brow. “And Basil?”

  “What of him?” Ginger said. She wouldn’t admit that even the mention of his name was a stab in the heart.

  “Is it not strange to go on these interviews with him as if nothing had happened between you?”

  “Nothing has happened. And yes it’s strange, but we’re both professionals.”

  “Of course.”

  Ginger was ready to turn the tables. She stared at Haley over her glass. “I met Dr. Gupta today.”<
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  Haley’s eyes darted to Ginger and back to her drink. “And?”

  “He’s nice.”

  “Very nice,” Haley conceded.

  “And very intelligent.”

  “You can’t fool him.”

  “You forgot to mention that he was a Greek, or rather, an Indian god.”

  “Holy mackerel, Ginger!” Haley threw her head back. “You can’t imagine how hard it is to work with him. My physiology betrays me. Dry mouth, rapid heartbeat, and an annoying flush to my cheeks. I find it very difficult to focus when he’s in the room.”

  “Oh, mercy, Haley.”

  “I’m being idiotic, that’s what. I’m like a broom leaning up against the statue of David.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re too hard on yourself. Yes, your wardrobe could use a sprucing up, but you’re frightfully attractive.”

  Haley scoffed. “Don’t patronise me.”

  “Haley, I’m not. So, maybe you’re not conventionally beautiful, but you have very pleasant features, and I’m not patronising you when I say that. It’s true. Your eyes are lovely, you have gorgeous dark lashes, and you have an appealing mouth.

  Haley laughed heartily. “Oh Ginger, I love you! And I apologise for being vain. I intend to stop it right now. I’m training to be a doctor. The last thing I need is to get caught up in a romance. Besides with a face like that, I’m sure Dr. Gupta must already have someone.

  Ginger thought it quite likely. The Indian population in London had grown significantly since the empire had acquired India a century ago. Dr. Gupta probably was already attached to a pretty Indian girl. A match with someone as white as Haley would be difficult, even in a progressive cosmopolitan city such as London.

  Chapter Ten

  Having made no headway on the murder case, Ginger decided it was a good time to visit Angus Green’s parents.

  It took forty minutes to drive to Battersea over the Albert Bridge, and Ginger had to stop to ask directions for the address she’d got from Peter McGuire, the stage manager.

  The large two-storey brick house was set back from the road and had a long drive lined with hedges. It was clear that the Green family had money.

  Ginger tapped on the thick wooden door, using the brass knocker shaped like a lion with a ring in its mouth. How would she approach this? She certainly didn’t want to cause Mr. and Mrs. Green undue worry.

  A gentleman opened the door. He stood with his back straight, hands on hips, and an air of self-importance. Ginger saw a resemblance to Angus Green in his eyes.

  “Mr. Green?”

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  “My name is Ginger Gold. My sister-in-law is a friend of your son’s.”

  “Which one?”

  “Angus.”

  Mr. Green snorted. “What kind of trouble is the young fool in now?”

  “Do you have a moment? May I come in?”

  Mr. Green stepped clear and waved Ginger inside.

  The sitting room was tidy and clean, but Ginger got the feeling the room wasn’t used much.

  “Is Mrs. Green at home?”

  “My wife passed away eight years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Green shrugged. “I’d offer you tea, but . . .”

  “No, it’s quite all right. I won’t be long.”

  “Very well. What’s Angus gone and done now?”

  “I don’t know if he’s done anything, actually. It’s just, Felicia, my sister-in-law, is worried because he failed to show up for the final two nights of the play they were in together.”

  Mr. Green chortled. “A play? Aren’t all the men who do that . . .” He stopped short as if remembering there was a lady in the room. “I knew I should’ve held his trust fund until he was thirty-five.”

  Mr. Green showed no concern for his son’s safety.

  “Is this kind of behaviour normal for Angus?”

  “What’s normal for Angus? Nothing’s normal, that’s what! He could’ve gone to university, could’ve been a doctor, could’ve married a baroness. At least his brother, Andrew, has some sense.”

  “When was the last time you heard from Angus?”

  “Christmas. What a circus that was. Ever since Maggie died, it’s just been the three of us bachelors. It’s only me here now. I have a woman come in to clean and cook for me.”

  Ginger heard the loneliness that he tried desperately to hide among his words.

  “I’m sure Angus is fine. My intention isn’t to cause alarm. I’ll let my sister-in-law know that Angus, the free spirit he appears to be, has simply gone on his way.

  “I’m sorry he’s been an imbecile. He’s always off on one lark or the other. I’m sure your sister—Felicia is it?—didn’t deserve an idiot like him.”

  “Oh, they weren’t together. Just friends.”

  Mr. Green blinked slowly like he’d caught her in a lie. Angus Green was dashing and charming. Ginger doubted, as Mr. Green apparently did, that the young Green had women who were merely friends.

  “I’ll bother you no longer.”

  For the first time, Mr. Green smiled. “Actually, I’ve enjoyed the deviation, Miss—”

  “Mrs. Gold.”

  There was a flicker of disappointment in Mr. Green’s eyes, and Ginger said nothing to correct the man’s mistaken assumption she was married.

  Ginger returned to Regent Street and parked her motorcar.

  “Lady Gold!” The raspy voice belonged to Blake Brown. He huffed as he caught up to her.

  “Hello, Mr. Brown,” Ginger said. “Out for a run?”

  “No,” he said with a heave. He held up a hand. “Allow me a moment to get my breath.”

  Ginger had pity on him and stopped.

  “I know why you’ve risked your vascular health to catch up with me. It’s regarding the death of Olga Pavlovna in my shop.”

  “Yes! Why did you not call me back for the story? I thought we had an . . . understanding.”

  “I’m not sure what understanding that might be Mr. Brown. The police have taken over the investigation. I’m assuming that’s how you found out?”

  “Well, yes,” Mr. Brown admitted. “I do have a contact at the Yard.”

  “Then what do you need from me?”

  “An exclusive. Your shop, and I might add, your reputation are on the line. Don’t you want to give your side?”

  “My side? I’m hardly responsible for the violent actions of others, and am actually a victim since, as you’ve said, the news has tainted my business.”

  Blake Brown started writing fiercely with his small chewed-up pencil on a well-worn notepad. “Can I quote you on that?”

  “No! Please, Mr. Brown. You can’t print anything I say right now!”

  “Can’t I at least ask you questions? How long was the grand duchess dead before she was discovered?”

  “No comment.”

  “I understand there was a jewel theft involved. What do you know about the blue diamond the grand duchess wore that night?”

  “No comment.”

  “Are you under investigation?”

  “What? No! I had nothing to do with the grand duchess’s death. And no comment.”

  “Actually, that was a comment. Don’t you find it odd that death seems to follow you?”

  Ginger frowned at how Blake Brown’s comment had become truth since she’d left Boston for England.

  “I find it incredibly annoying that you’re following me, Mr. Brown. And if you don’t resist, I’ll have to file a complaint.”

  “Very well. I think I have what I need.” Blake Brown smiled and tipped his hat.

  Ginger stopped dead in her tracks and scowled at the back of the man as he sauntered away with the contentment of a cat who’d just eaten a bird.

  Though opening hours had begun, Feathers & Flair was still closed to the public. Ginger tapped on the glass of the front door, and a nervous Dorothy West let her inside.

  “Oh, madam, it’s dreadful. I can’t stop seeing that po
or lady on the floor of the dressing room, all blue in the face. I don’t know how you manage to go on.”

  “We all must manage, Dorothy.” Ginger considered the shop assistant and not for the first time, second-guessed her decision to employ her. “You must pull yourself together. I intend to have the doors open within an hour, and you must be ready.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  On hearing Ginger’s voice, Madame Roux looked up from the cash register, a bundle of receipts in her hands. “I haven’t had a chance to settle these, but from a cursory glance I can say the gala did quite well, financially speaking.”

  Socially speaking, it could be a lame duck. Ginger glanced at the door, and not one customer was outside hoping to get in.

  “I brought in extra cleaning women because of the gala,” Madame Roux said. “They should be finished shortly.”

  Ginger was pleased with how spotless the front showroom looked. Emma Miller was busy tidying up the window display. All evidence of the gala and the crime had been removed from Feathers & Flair. The floors shone with polish, the electric lights highlighted all the latest fashions on racks and mannequins. Not a spot of dust could be found anywhere. Even the gold mouldings on the ceilings had been wiped down.

  “Oh, Madame Roux, before I forget, please see that all sales are accounted for.”

  Madame Roux stared back. “Are you suggesting that someone took something without paying?”

  “Not at all.” Her mind went to Lady Lyon’s confession. “Well, maybe. I’ve come across a distressing piece of information, and I just want to make sure.”

  “Very well.”

  Ginger assisted Emma in restocking the gowns and accessories on the ground floor. Empty shelves, hooks, and gaps in the displays would never do. If it hadn’t been for the murder, they would’ve been ready on time.

  “Has anyone been upstairs?” Ginger asked. “Dorothy?”

  “Yes. Rack dresses weren’t of interest to last night’s crowd. Everything is in order. I’ve tidied up, just the same.”

  Ginger unlocked the doors at ten o’clock and felt a wave of relief when an actual line assembled. The faces were younger, and quite likely the second level crowd.