Murder at Bray Manor: a historical cosy mystery Read online

  “Miss Whitton,” Ambrosia continued, “works as a nurse at the Croft Convalescent Home, and last but not least,” she said with a lazy flick of her heavily jewelled hand, “the Honourable Mrs. Croft.” To explain the title for Haley’s benefit she added, “Mrs. Croft’s father-in-law is Baron Julius Croft.”

  Miss Whitton reminded Ginger of a younger version of Haley, possessing the same mass of dark curls—only hers were cut short in an actual bob—and a no-nonsense aura. The Honourable Mrs. Croft had a manly sort of appearance with broader shoulders than hips, and large hands, however her full bosom was unmistakably feminine.

  Tea was served by Phyllis, the parlour maid, clad in a black uniform skirt and white apron, and hat. Immediately the knitting needles were drawn.

  “Mrs. Saxton’s daughter is having twins,” Miss Smith said. She raised her needles to present a half-finished baby boot.

  “Are we to knit baby things?” Ginger asked.

  “Not at all,” Ambrosia said. “Some of us are knitting blankets for the convalescent home, some of us winter socks, hats, and scarves for the poor and homeless, and some for our own selves.

  Ginger noted the look of disappointment Ambrosia flashed at Mrs. Richards.

  Mrs. Richards noticed it, too. “I’m not knitting for myself, thank you very much. This is for my daughter.” She held up a lemon-yellow cardigan. “She needs every bit of help she can get to find a husband with so many of our young men gone.”

  “There are never enough wool blankets,” Miss Whitton said, displaying the grey mass draped over her legs. “Winter’s coming, and our veterans don’t deserve to be cold.”

  “I’m knitting this for my Patrick,” the Honourable Mrs. Croft offered. She held up a forest-green jumper. It brings out the green—”

  “Oh for pity’s sake,” Ambrosia sputtered. “Don’t say in his eye. We all know he lost one in the war.”

  The Honourable Mrs. Croft scowled at the dowager. Felicia failed to hold in a giggle, and Ginger thought it a good time to jump in. “I think I’ll stick to knitting a scarf for the poor.” She was good at many things, but knitting was not one. Even a simple, long rectangular creation was a challenge. The lines narrowed when they shouldn’t. At least the flaws weren’t noticeable when the finished project was wrapped around the neck. She thought no one suffering in the cold would mind. “How about you, Miss Higgins?” she asked to keep the conversation civil.

  Haley displayed a near-finished hat. “It helps if you actually knit while you talk,” she said to Ginger’s obvious look of dismay.

  Ginger worked her needles together, knit, purl, knit, purl. When she’d managed a couple of rows, she said, “Mrs. Croft, I take it the convalescent home was started by your family?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Croft replied, a look of pride flashing behind her eyes. “When my son returned home, terribly disfigured, I knew there were other damaged soldiers whose families couldn’t care for their physical and emotional well-being like we could with our Patrick.” She added with forced humility. “It seemed the right thing to do.”

  “A generous response to the needy,” Ginger said.

  “Accolades are perpetually in short supply,” Ambrosia uttered in a near-whisper, her eyes never leaving her handiwork. Mrs. Croft pierced her with a glare.

  No love lost there, Ginger thought.

  “I understand there is to be a benefit dance hosted here at Bray Manor tomorrow evening,” Ginger said in another effort to diffuse the obvious tension between the two women.

  Mrs. Croft’s eyes lit up. “I dare say, there is. Please do say you plan to attend.”

  “As a matter of fact, Miss Higgins and I shall both be there.”

  Felicia squealed, her eyes betraying her excitement.

  Mrs. Croft pushed on. “Marvellous. I can’t wait to introduce you to Patrick.”

  Ginger addressed the room. “Will everyone be attending?”

  “Only because I support the cause,” Mrs. Richards said.

  “I’ll come,” Miss Smith murmured. “Though I’m not likely to dance.”

  “Why not?” Ginger asked.

  Miss Smith looked up over her glasses. “I’m not usually asked.”

  “Nor am I,” Haley said sympathetically. “We can be wallflowers together.”

  “Oh, stop that nonsense,” Ambrosia said. “The men are crippled. They’ll hardly be picky.”

  A corporate gasp quieted the room. Felicia’s hand flew to her mouth as she stared incredulously at her grandmother.

  Ambrosia, feeling the disapproval of her fellow knitters, quickly added, “I don’t mean to be harsh, but that is the reality.”

  “Dowager Lady Gold,” Mrs. Richards said, adeptly changing the subject, yet with a twinkle in her eye. “Are you still being troubled by your ghost?”

  “You laugh,” Ambrosia said as if on guard. “But there is a poltergeist living in Bray Manor. Just yesterday, I left the book I was reading on that occasional table over there, and this morning, a maid found it in the ground floor lavatory.”

  “Is it possible that you carried it there yourself, and simply forgot about it?” Miss Whitton asked.

  Ambrosia dropped her knitting. “Most certainly not! I would never visit the ground floor lavatory.”

  Miss Smith tittered.

  “I’ll ask you what you find so amusing, Miss Smith?” Ambrosia said.

  “Oh, nothing Lady Gold.” Miss Smith’s cheeks warmed to rosy. “I was just reminded that I need to use the ground floor lavatory, myself.”

  Ginger and Haley watched the diminutive librarian leave the room and then shared a look. Had the poltergeist just shown her hand?

  Felicia made several glances at her wristwatch.

  “Do you have another appointment?” Ginger asked, her smile playful.

  Felicia’s shoulders slumped. “I’m afraid I find knitting rather dull.”

  “What’s that on the end of your needles?” Ginger asked. Felicia worked with needles nearly the diameter of her little finger. Large needles produced large stitches which made knitting things like scarves and blankets go much faster. Ginger had used the technique often herself. She pointed to the large, shiny pink dots on the ends.

  Felicia paused her domestic duty and admired her knitting tools. “So boring to work with plain wooden rods. I thought a touch of my new nail polish would make them more interesting.”

  Ginger laughed at her playful sister-in-law.

  Attuning herself back to the group conversation, Ginger caught the last bit of Miss Smith’s question to Ambrosia.

  “. . . The archery association is looking for a new place to meet. There’s a nice patch of lawn at the front of Bray Ma—”

  Ambrosia held up a heavily lined palm. “Let me stop you right there, Miss Smith. I’ve had quite enough of the local populace traipsing about my home.”

  The knitting circle adjourned promptly at nine. Felicia almost sprung to her feet, leaving her knitting basket behind as she hurried away. Wilson accompanied the members to the entrance hall after the obligatory farewells. Ambrosia called on her maid, Langley, and took herself to bed. Ginger and Haley were left alone to enjoy the final embers glowing from the fireplace.

  “Miss Smith is a funny little thing, isn’t she?” Haley said.

  “Grandmother was quite hard on her,” Ginger said. “I fancy Miss Smith isn’t keen on being spoken down to like that.”

  “Who would?”

  “Do you think she’s striking out at Grandmother with trickery? Grandmother can be overbearing and domineering, especially to those she feels are stationed beneath her.”

  Haley huffed. “I’m aware. I’m surprised she’s lowered herself to join the knitting circle.”

  “The war has levelled out the classes somewhat,” Ginger said. “I’m sure having the Honourable Mrs. Croft in the association plays a small part.”

  “How so?”

  “If the Honourable Mrs. Croft can lower herself to knit with the lower class, then the
Dowager Lady Gold must as well.”

  “Complicated business, this class system of yours.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  Ginger removed three sheets of notepaper from her handbag. “These are the member names from all the associations. Miss Smith is also part of the Stamp Collectors Association which met yesterday, but so is Mrs. Richards.”

  “Either of them could be our poltergeist, then,” Haley said.

  “Except that doesn’t answer for the wayward candelabra from the dining room that ended up hiding in here on the floor behind the globe. That happened on Wednesday.”

  “What association meets on Wednesday?”

  “The Gardening Association. Miss Whitton and Mrs. Croft.”

  Haley shook her head, “It’s a mystery.”

  Ready to call it a night, Ginger gathered her shawl and knitting basket. “So kind of Felicia to set us up with supplies.” Her eyes landed on Felicia’s knitting basket left behind on the floor. “Oh, oh.”

  “What is it?” Haley asked.

  Ginger picked up the ball of wool and the unfinished afghan her sister-in-law was working on. “It looks like our poltergeist has struck again. One of Felicia’s knitting needles is missing.”

  Chapter Five

  “This is getting ridiculous,” Ginger said. “Do you recall which staff members have come through the sitting room in the last hour?”

  “Phyllis collected the dirty dishes,” Haley said.

  “Wilson followed the ladies out of the room,” Ginger added. “You and I were already seated and facing the fireplace. He would’ve had a chance to slip it up his sleeve.”

  “Ambrosia rang for her lady’s maid.”

  “That’s right. Evelyn Langley assisted her upstairs. As much as grandmother hates to admit it, she doesn’t like to do the stairs, at least not at night when the lighting is dim.”

  “Langley carried Ambrosia’s knitting basket for her. She could have easily collected Felicia’s knitting needle and tossed it into Ambrosia’s basket.”

  Ginger hummed. “A mystery, indeed.”

  As much as Ginger hated to interfere with what went on below stairs, she was desperate to get to the bottom of the matter. Ambrosia would cling to her until she did so, and she did need to get back to London. “I think it prudent for me to question the staff in the morning,” she said.

  Later Ginger ran into Felicia in the upstairs passage and told her about the poltergeist’s latest sleight of hand.

  “These silly games are so juvenile,” Felicia said.

  Ginger agreed. “Indeed. Tell me more about the staff.”

  “Phyllis is the parlour maid, but also helps in the kitchen.”

  “Are the others also performing double duty?”

  “Wilson is both butler and chauffeur, and Evelyn Langley attends to both Grandmama and me. She helps Mrs. Beasley, our cook, and Phyllis when she’s not needed by one of us.”

  It wasn’t uncommon since the war for big houses to scale down on staff and require more from the ones kept on. At Hartigan House, Ginger was guilty of it herself.

  However, the staff themselves wouldn’t be pleased with this new way. Disgruntlement could lead to practical joking—a seemingly harmless way to blow off steam. Perhaps the entire staff was in on it together?

  The next morning Ginger stepped through the green baize door to the servant’s area. Unlike the rooms occupied by family members or guests, the servant side was dimly lit with oil lamps, and several candles were in use. Ginger made her way to the kitchen where many of the staff were busy with various tasks.

  The vast kitchen had a grand cast-iron stove with a brick, wood-burning oven. High-set windows faced the wooded area, letting in natural light, while an electric lamp added to the room’s brightness. A massive wooden table filled the centre of the flagstone floor.

  Mrs. Beasley was almost as wide as she was tall, with a round face and stubby arms. She was busy stuffing the carcass of a headless goose. Short dark hair poked out from under her white cap, and her full cheeks were rosy from her exertion.

  “Langley, put the lemon tarts in the oven,” Mrs. Beasley ordered. “Wilson, I think we need more wood. Phyllis, you can roll out the pastry for the goose pies. It’s in the cold pantry.”

  “I wish I were going to the dance,” Phyllis said. “It sounds so exciting.”

  “Stop your daydreaming,” Mrs. Beasley said. “You’ll be needed for cleaning up afterwards.”

  Phyllis pouted, and abruptly turned her back on the cook. She shuddered to a stop when she noticed Ginger standing in the doorway, and nearly dropped her bowl of potatoes. “Milady,” she said, her voice jumping an octave. Wilson, Langley and Mrs. Beasley turned to face her. The women dipped and Wilson bowed.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, and on such a busy day, so I’ll be quick. Miss Gold has had a personal item go missing. Lately, as you know, Bray Manor has been victim to petty trickery and unlawful handling of items belonging to both Miss Gold and the Dowager Lady Gold.

  “What a terrible matter that is,” Mrs. Beasley said. “We will all keep our eyes peeled.”

  Each one, with their eyes to the floor, nodded.

  Mrs. Beasley couldn’t possibly have taken Felicia’s knitting needle, but the others all had the opportunity. Ginger couldn’t accuse any of them without proof. She hoped a personal talking to would correct the aberrative behaviour.

  “I do hope you’ll do your bit to stop the culprit,” Ginger said. “Please do find me if you have something you need to get off your chest.”

  Ginger left the kitchen feeling as if she had just made a wrong move. Servants had so little to call their own, it felt brash to march into what they considered their domain.

  But no, she had every right to enter the servants’ area. Bray Manor might not be her house, but it was her late husband’s house and the home of close family members.

  She found Haley and Ambrosia in the sitting room.

  Ambrosia was as ruffled as a hen having her eggs stolen from underneath her.

  “I feel simply invaded,” she huffed as she grasped at the high collar of her blouse. “Strangers in the garden, walking on the lawn, traipsing through the house, doing whatever they like with no word to me at all. I can’t believe I let Felicia talk me into this. The associations are bad enough, but now a ball?”

  Ginger helped herself to a cup of tea from the hot pot sitting on the sideboard. “Grandmother, it’s for a good cause. And it’ll be cleaned up tomorrow, you won’t even be able to tell it happened at all.”

  “I do hope you’re right. Although, a good deed such as this might divert the wagging tongues from our other humiliation.”

  “You mean the fact that you’re renting out rooms.”

  “Yes, of course. What else could I mean?” Ambrosia leaned forward on her walking stick and said to Haley, “Would you mind getting me some tea?”

  Haley smiled and spoke softly to Ginger as she approached the sideboard. “I’d die for a strong cup of coffee right now.”

  “I’m afraid Ambrosia believes the brew is evil, but I’m sure I can have a pot mustered up for you if you like.”

  “I can manage without it for now. Tomorrow morning would be much appreciated, though.”

  Ginger sat casually across from the fire and adjusted her rayon day dress, the colour of ripe plums. Her eyes landed on Felicia’s knitting basket and frowned at the single needle. Ambrosia followed her gaze and gasped.

  “Felicia’s knitting needle? Has the poltergeist taken that, too? Where do you suppose it shall show up now? The kitchen? The study? My rose garden? Ginger, I simply can’t take this anymore. You must do something!”

  Ginger worried the elderly woman would succumb to the vapours. Haley hurried over with the requested tea.

  “Are the missing items always found on the ground floor?” Ginger asked.

  Ambrosia stilled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

  Haley muttered, “A poltergeist who knows it
s place.”

  Felicia blew in, her youthful face aglow. “Isn’t this all so intoxicating?! It’s been ages since we’ve had so much life at Bray Manor. I’ve invited my best female friends. We’re all eager to dance with the brave soldiers tonight.” She smiled softly Ginger’s way. “Some of them were childhood friends of Daniel’s.”

  Ginger’s lips felt dry but she resisted moving her tongue over them. She swallowed, curious on why Felicia’s mention of Daniel stirred up complicated feelings. She’d talked of Daniel often over the years, Haley knew all about him, but being here at Bray Manor, it was like picking at an old wound.

  “I look forward to meeting them,” Ginger replied.

  Ambrosia put her weight against the brass knob of her walking stick and stood. Ginger moved to help her up, but Ambrosia waved her away. “I’m quite capable of getting out of a chair.”

  She strutted out of the room and the atmosphere, sparking like lightning, followed her. Haley let out a long windy breath and Ginger laughed. Felicia dropped into an empty seat and crossed her legs, kicking out the top one and swinging it up and down like a water pump.

  “You’re a bundle of nerves,” Ginger said to her.

  “I’m just excited.”

  “Her friend is coming,” Haley said slyly.

  “That’s right,” Ginger said as if she’d forgotten. “Now that you’ve trapped us here for the dance, will you tell us about him?”

  Felicia’s leg pumped harder then came to a full stop. She did a partial turn in her seat and leaned forward. “I won’t tell you his name, except for this, he’s a captain in the army.”

  Haley whistled. “A captain. Impressive.”

  “He’s so fetching,” Felicia gushed. “I can’t believe he’s interested in someone like me.”

  “What do you mean?” Ginger said. “You’re a catch in every way. Beautiful, intelligent . . .”

  “But not titled or monied,” Felicia said, her enthusiasm waning. “Only the appearance of it.”

  “Does it matter?” Haley asked, indignant.

  “Money always matters,” Felicia said matter-of-factly. She sprung to her feet. “I’m going to get ready. I’ve been waiting for this moment for ages.”