Kensington Addison Road train station was a beehive of excited, anxious, and weary travellers: hurrying or waiting, hugging loved ones, or sauntering off alone. Some collapsed damp umbrellas as others waited in the queue to make a purchase at the tea and sandwich stall. Steam trains chugged and whistled, spewing black smoke, as they either slowed to a stop or wound up to speed away.
Mrs. Ginger Reed, known by some as Lady Gold, stood at the barrier at the end of the platform with her husband, Basil, a man she adored and whose good looks—warm hazel eyes, greying temples, and a debonair stance—garnered the admiration of many female pedestrians as they passed by. Like Ginger, some of the women dressed in the latest spring of 1927 fashions: pleated skirts landing just below the knee, fitted spring jackets with long collars and hems hitting the lower hips, colourful scarves or masculine-like ties adorning the neck, and the quintessential cloche hat covering short-cropped hair.
Ginger, too, was used to getting similar glances of appreciation from the opposite sex—her red locks often caught the eye—but the baby in her arms kept looks from lingering.
Ginger was more than fine with the exchange. She had her man and her baby. Smiling down at her dark-haired little girl, she said, “Rosa, love, you’re about to meet your Aunt Louisa and Grandma Sally!”
“Do you see them?” Basil asked as a new group of passengers disembarked from the Liverpool train.
Ginger craned her neck, looking for the familiar faces, Louisa with dark hair and green eyes, Sally with salt-and-pepper locks. Ginger’s emotions were a mix of anticipation and apprehension. She loved her half-sister dearly and harboured a measure of fondness for her stepmother, but rarely was time spent with either of them a relaxing event. Her American relatives seemed to love drama and brought it wherever they went.
Suddenly, there they were. Ginger handed Rosa to Abby Green, their competent, sturdy-looking nanny who’d been hanging back, and then lifted her arm into the air. “Louisa! Sally!”
Louisa grabbed her mother’s arm as they hurried over. A gentleman wearing a brown fedora followed behind, but Ginger assumed he was a fellow passenger headed in the same direction.
“Ginger!” Louisa squealed as she threw an arm around Ginger’s shoulder. She then fell into Basil’s arms, startling him. Ginger missed this enthusiastic affection. The British were much more reserved. A similar round of hugs, if less affectionate, continued with Sally, which immediately moved to American-accented baby-talk as Nanny Green held Rosa out for inspection.
“Oh, Ginger,” Louisa said. “She’s a doll!”
Sally sent Ginger a look of approval. “Well done.”
Ginger laughed. “I can hardly take full credit but thank you.”
The gentleman in the fedora hovered behind, a broad grin on his face, and Ginger raised a brow in question.
Louisa took the fellow’s arm, her face breaking into a wide smile. “Ginger, Basil, this is Cornelius Gastrell, my fiancé!”
Ginger, a master at keeping her emotions reined in, allowed herself to express her shock. “Louisa?”
“I know, I know. I wanted it to be a surprise!”
“And it is,” Ginger said. She offered a hand to Louisa’s gentleman. “Mr. Gastrell, it’s a pleasure.”
“The pleasure’s mine, ma’am,” he said with a drawl. “And you must call me Cornelius.”
Cornelius moved to shake Basil’s hand. “Good to meet you, Basil,” he said, probably assuming they were all on a first-name basis. He whistled. “Never been to London before. Can’t wait to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Shall we head to the motorcars?” Basil asked. They’d brought Ginger’s Crossley and Basil’s Austin to accommodate everyone.
Cornelius walked ahead with Basil as the ladies followed behind.
Louisa gripped Ginger’s arm. “Isn’t he just the bee’s knees, Ginger?” Her words burst forth like a fountain with the water pressure too high. “Can you believe I’m to be married? Finally! You must come back to Boston for the wedding.”
Sally laid a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and added with less enthusiasm. “A date hasn’t been set yet. Now, let Ginger catch her breath.”
Mr. Gastrell drove back with Basil whilst Louisa and Sally went with Ginger. There was much to catch up on during the drive back to Hartigan House, and Ginger shared about life with Rosa, presently held tightly by Nanny Green, and Scout, who was away at boarding school. Louisa boasted about the social scene in Boston, which Ginger found entertaining but didn’t miss.
Mrs. Beasley, Ginger’s cook, had luncheon prepared for when they got back, and once everyone was settled in their rooms at Hartigan House, they descended on the dining room. Added to their number around the long wooden table was the Dowager Lady Gold, the grandmother of Ginger’s late husband, Daniel, Lord Gold, and Daniel’s sister, Felicia, and her new husband, Charles Davenport-Witt, the Earl of Witt.
Introductions were made and places taken. Once the maids had served the roast duck and potatoes, conversation resumed. The electric chandelier overhead created a pleasant ambience, highlighting the paintings hung from a picture rail along the top of the walls.
“Nice pad you have here,” Cornelius said. “Everything around here seems as old as the hills.”
Ginger wasn’t certain if she should say thank you or not. “Hartigan House has been in the family for ages. It’s my childhood home. I inherited it from my father when he passed away.”
“And I got the crummy brownstone,” Louisa said with a pout.
“It’s hardly crummy,” Sally said sternly. “It’s in a coveted Boston neighbourhood.” She gave everyone at the table a look, then added, “On the Commons.”
Louisa had the decency to look sheepish. “I know, Mama. I was only teasing.”
An awkward silence filled the room, broken, thankfully, by Basil. “Did anyone catch the Boat Race yesterday?”
“We listened to it on the wireless on the BBC,” Felicia said. Like Louisa, she had dark hair cut in a bob, though hers had been ironed into waves. “It’s the first time it’s been broadcast that way.”
“If I were a betting man,” Charles started, “I would’ve called Oxford, but Cambridge won by three lengths.”
“It’s a shame we missed it,” Ginger said. “Basil’s work called him away, and I was busy with the baby.”
Cornelius, becoming less charming by the moment, held a fist to his mouth, barely concealing a small belch. “What kind of boats are we talking about here?”
“Rowing boats,” Basil said. “The Boat Race is always between Oxford and Cambridge.” For clarity, he added, “Universities.”
“Row boats?” Cornelius huffed. “Not motorboats? Y’all have a different idea of a worthwhile sporting event.”
Basil stiffened. “I’m not sure what—”
“Take that game y’all like over here where they try to combine baseball with bowling or some such thing.”
Ambrosia blinked slowly, her round eyes looking more bulbous. “Do you mean cricket, Mr. Gastrell?”
“That’s it!” Cornelius slapped a thigh. “Named after a bug! Now baseball, that’s a man’s game.”
“You do realise cricket has been around for hundreds of years longer than baseball,” Basil said.
Cornelius grinned. “Old doesn’t make it better.”
“I’ve heard about the baseball player who recently signed a contract for an absurd amount of money.” Charles said.
“Seventy thousand smackers!” Cornelius said as if it were he who’d come into the fortune and not a sports celebrity.
“Seventy thousand American dollars?” Felicia asked. “Is that a lot?
“It’s around fifty thousand pounds,” Charles answered.
Felicia gaped. “To play a game?”
“Americans have their priorities,” Basil said dryly.
“Darn tootin’ they do,” Cornelius replied. “We work hard and play hard.”
Ginger forced a blank expression. She glanced at her sister, who’d become uncharacteristically quiet.
“Have you nothing to offer on the subject?”
“No,” Louisa said firmly. “Sports bore me.”
Basil wasn’t so keen to let the man’s comment ride. “So, Mr. Gastrell, what do you do for work in America?”
“Watch the stock market.” Cornelius stabbed a piece of duck flesh with his fork, waving it about as he continued. “You will, too, if you’re smart. Easiest money I’ve ever made.”
When the table was cleared of lunch, Lizzie, one of the family maids and Ginger’s favourite, brought the tea tray.
“Thank you, Lizzie,” Ginger said.
The diminutive maid nodded her pointy chin then bobbed before leaving again.
“What about coffee?” Cornelius shouted after her. He laughed at the table of stunned faces. “Can’t stand that dishwater you call tea.”
Lizzie raced back into the dining room, her wide eyes on Ginger. “Madam?”
“Ask Mrs. Beasley to brew a pot of coffee for our guest.”
“Yes, madam.”
Cornelius went on. “You sure do know how to train your help.” He draped an arm around Louisa. “Maybe we should ship a couple of maids over to Boston. It can be my wedding present to you.”
Ambrosia sat straight and stiff thanks to an antiquated corset. She looked regal with her jewelled hands and flowing day frock as she let out a breath of disbelief. “Dear me, how one talks in America.”
“We like to get to the point,” Sally returned. “When George was alive, God rest his soul, it used to make me crazy how he circled to get to what he was driving at.”
“A measure of propriety and self-control benefits society,” Ambrosia offered.
“Americans have self-control,” Louisa said defensively. “We just say what we mean.”
Ambrosia’s lips—deeply lined and uncoloured—twitched. “How delightful for you.”
Ginger loudly cleared her throat, then turned to Felicia desperate to change the subject. “Have you decided on wallpaper?” To her new guests, she explained, “Felicia and Charles have recently acquired and moved into the house across the street.”
Charles had a larger family home in London, but Felicia, new to the role of mistress of her own residence, had found the prospect overwhelming, especially since her new husband’s work often took him away from home.
Ginger was happy to have Felicia nearby on Mallowan Court. Felicia had lived at Hartigan House before she married, and Ginger had missed her terribly when she’d moved out. As a bonus, she could help her former sister-in-law decorate!
“I’m going to go with the paisley print for the living room and lilies for the drawing room,” Felicia said. “At least I think so.”
“Excellent choices,” Ginger said. “I shall bring Rosa over later to have a look.” Then, to be polite, she addressed her guests. “What are the plans for you three?”
“We’ll take the rest of the day to relax,” Louisa said, “but tomorrow we have plans for the opera; first we’re going to stroll around the grounds of Buckingham Palace.” She patted Cornelius’ arm. “Cornie’s hoping to get a glimpse of the King.”
“I’m afraid the public aren’t allowed on the grounds,” Ginger said, “but you will be able to watch the Change of the Guard at the front of the palace.”
“I’m eager to see this New Scotland Yard,” Cornelius said, his eyebrows lifting.
“Oh, yes,” Basil began. “I’m afraid the Yard is not meant for tourists. You’re welcome to walk along the Victoria Embankment, however. The architecture of the building is delightful.”
Cornelius guffawed. “Delightful. If American men used words like that, we’d be lynched on the street.”
Even Ginger couldn’t keep a gasp from escaping her lips.
“Really, Cornelius,” Sally said, her jaw tight. “Some sentiments are worth keeping to yourself.”
Having never bonded with her stepmother, Ginger felt a rare sense of appreciation for the woman who was proving to be more sensible than Ginger had remembered.
Then, as if on cue, Ginger’s faithful butler, Pippins, tall with shoulders folding forward from seventy years of effort, entered, his blue eyes flashing. He carried a silver tray that held a single envelope.
Approaching Basil, he said, “The afternoon post, sir.” With a barely perceptible glance at the American contingent at the table, he added, “I thought you’d like it now.”
“Oh yes,” Basil said, obviously eager for a diversion. He picked up the envelope and stared at the handwriting of his name on the front.
“Do you recognise it?” Ginger asked. She wondered if Basil would excuse himself and leave them all in suspense, but he removed the folded piece of paper.
“Darling?” Ginger said.
“It’s from an old acquaintance, a Percy Aspen. He’s been out of the country for eleven years and has just returned. He’s asking us to join him for dinner tomorrow night at the Savoy.” His gaze landed on Ginger. “He says to bring my new family.”
To Ginger, this would include Felicia and Charles, and Ambrosia. However, at present, her family went beyond that, and Louisa burst out joyously. “The Savoy! That sounds scrummy. Cornelius, we must go to the Savoy.”
“What’s so great about the Savoy?” Cornelius asked, giving Ginger a moment of hope that he’d veto the idea.
“It’s a hotel. The most luxurious, and a favourite of the rich and famous,” Louisa said. “Almost as much as the Ritz.”
“And a breakthrough in modern engineering,” Charles added. “Electricity is steam generated with water provided by the hotel’s own artesian wells. One can turn the room lights on and off at will, and hot water is available whenever needed.”
“The hotel also has a grisly past,” Felicia added with a glint in her eye. “Four years ago, a wealthy young Egyptian prince was murdered by his French wife.”
“Sounds like an unhappy union,” Sally said with a half glance at her daughter.
“Indeed,” Ginger said. “The widow was acquitted when it was revealed that her husband had treated her cruelly and had threatened to kill her.” Ginger hoped the morbid story would divert her sister’s interest. To Louisa, she said, “What about the opera? Are you sure you want to miss that?”
“We can go to that another day,” Louisa said, squelching Ginger’s hopes. Louisa turned to Sally. “Right, Mama?”
“I don’t know,” Sally said. “This Percy fellow won’t be expecting us.”
“He said for Basil to bring his new family,” Louisa protested. She motioned dramatically to herself, Sally, and Cornelius. “That’s us!”
Ginger flashed an apologetic look at Basil and whispered, “Perhaps we should tell him we will meet him another time.”
“Aspen is quite clear it has to be tomorrow night. He’s leaving the next morning on important business.”
Ginger did a quick headcount. “Felicia and Charles?”
Charles chuckled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Relieved, Ginger went on to Ambrosia. “Grandmother, you shall join us?”
It was a directive disguised as a question. She needed the elderly lady there to keep Sally company and to help smooth out the conversation.
“I suppose I shall,” Ambrosia said with a twist of her lips. “I fear I owe you a favour or two.”
“Fabulous.” Ginger reached for Basil’s hand. “Do tell Mr. Aspen we’ll be pleased to join him. Our number is eight.”
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