Along their passage through second class towards the stairwell that led to their deck, Ginger noticed their chambermaid, Chloe, refilling a linen cupboard. She was young, still in her teens, with creamy brown skin and shiny black hair tied neatly into a bun on the back of her head. Ginger guessed her to be of Spanish descent, with pretty brown eyes and a simpering smile that was sure to turn the heads of a lot of young men.

That included the one standing a yard away, removing folded linen tablecloths and serviettes. It was the redheaded Roy Hardy. The way he pretended not to notice Chloe made Ginger’s heart melt.

Poor thing!

Chloe finally acknowledged his presence and smiled before walking away. Roy Hardy was so captivated that the linens in his arms slipped to the floor.

“Blimey!” he muttered as he knelt to pick them up.

Ginger tapped Haley’s arm. “I’ll meet you in the room.”

“Playing cupid? Now? Really, Ginger, your timing.”

“I’ll just be a minute. The youth is in desperate need of heart assistance!”

Haley shook her head and kept walking.

Ginger turned to the waiter who was busy picking up the pile of fabric and refolding. “Hello, Mr. Hardy.”

Roy Hardy’s chin snapped up, and the red flush in his face grew even redder.

“Oh, Mrs. Gold. Please excuse me. I fumbled.”

Ginger bent down to assist. “I quite understand. Miss Chloe is a beautiful girl.”

Roy Hardy’s eyes turned to saucers, and he looked mortified.

“It’s all right,” Ginger said quickly. “It’s perfectly natural for a young man such as yourself to be interested in a young girl like Miss Chloe.”

“Except she’s beyond seeing anything worthwhile in me.”

“Oh, come now. She’s just as shy as you are. Have you spoken to her yet?”

“No, ma’am. I want to, but whenever I’m near her, my mind goes blank and my tongue dries like a leather knot.” Roy returned the tablecloths to the closet. “I don’t really need any linen, I just know she’ll be here this time of day, and I make an excuse to come.”

Ginger handed Roy her stack of newly folded serviettes. “You’re putting in a good effort, and I’m certain it’s not gone to waste. I may be able to be of some help to you, but I’m truly in a hurry right now. I’ll find you later to discuss this further. Good day, Mr. Hardy.”

Roy Hardy called after her. “Good day, Mrs. Gold. And thank you!”

Haley washed and changed her suit, which Ginger thought prudent after Haley’s interaction with a corpse. Ginger wished she could change as well, but they needed to hurry if they hoped to get to Mrs. Walsh before the chief inspector did. At best, she could put on clean gloves and add a shawl to stave off the chills that had beset her in the cold pantry once the novelty of the viewing the crime scene wore off.

“Where’s the boss?” Haley asked as she put on a pair of black wrist-length gloves.

“Young Scout from steerage has him this morning. Since I’m rather busy today, I sent a message for him to drop Boss off. I arranged for Miss Chloe to let Boss in the room if I happen to be out.” Ginger opened one of her drawers and removed a twenty-five-ounce bottle of brandy. “Walking into a liquor store in London is going to feel so anticlimactic.”

“Almost not worth doing,” Haley said slyly.

Ginger scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. Are you ready?”

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Ginger knocked tentatively on Mrs. Walsh’s door. “Mrs. Walsh, are you there?”

Silence. Ginger cast a glance at Haley. If Mrs. Walsh wasn’t in her room, where was she?

She knocked again. “Mrs. Walsh? Are you all right?”

Finally, they heard the padding of soft footsteps towards the door and then the sound of the key in the lock.

“Mrs. Walsh,” Ginger said kindly. “We’re so sorry to intrude. Please allow us to offer our condolences.” Ginger lifted up her offering. “I know it’s early for spirits, but I thought under the circumstances...”

Mrs. Walsh eyed the bottle, then invited them in. “That old codger, Dr. Johnson, gave me something for my nerves, but I don’t think it’s working.” She sighed heavily. “This is just so bloody awful.”

Haley collected three glasses that sat next to a crystal decanter and arranged them in front of the standard set of wax candles. Ginger poured, offering Mrs. Walsh the first glass. The woman accepted it with a shaky hand and took a big gulp.

“Mon Dieu, that’s good.” She settled down into one of the armchairs, which was upholstered in pink with fine gold embroidery woven throughout.

“You’re French?” Ginger asked.

“Oui. Born in Calais, but immigrated to England when I met Mr. Walsh.” As if her life was too sad to ponder, she sighed again, and took another drink.

Like the windows in the room Ginger and Haley shared, these smaller ones provided a nice view of the ocean. This room appeared larger, though, with just one double-sized bed. Ginger took a sip of brandy and claimed one of the empty chairs while Haley remained standing by the sideboard.

A quick inventory of the space revealed no immediate signs of a male presence—no men-sized shoes, or pipes and tobacco, or large overcoats.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Mrs. Walsh,” Ginger said.

“Do call me Elise. I think we’re beyond formalities now.”

“Of course. And please call me Ginger.”

Elise nodded grimly and took another sip.

“My father passed last year,” Ginger said. “It was a horrible time in my life, so I can imagine how you might be feeling.”

“My condolences,” Elise Walsh said simply.

“Did you awaken at all when your husband left the room in the middle of the night? Did you notice the time?”

Elise Walsh scowled and spoke dryly, “I’m afraid that the captain and I sit together at mealtimes for the sake of appearances only. Mr. Walsh and I each have our own staterooms.” She pointed to a closed door on the other side. “His room connects to mine through there.”

Ginger suspected as much, and now she longed to get into that room to investigate. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn't know.”

“When was the last time you saw your husband alive?” Haley asked.

“Shortly after dinner yesterday.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Our marriage might not have been smooth sailing, but I still loved him. I can’t believe I’m never going to see him again.”

Despite the pun, Elise’s grief seemed genuine. Though, Ginger supposed, a person could intentionally kill someone and then regret the act afterwards. Or be really good at acting.

“Did the captain have any enemies?”

“Why you are asking me these questions, Ginger,” Mrs. Walsh snapped. “Isn't that the job of the police?”

Ginger was undaunted. “I confess, I’ve always been a curious sort. You could consider this practice for when the chief inspector does question you. Give you a chance to work out how to respond.”

Elise Walsh stared hard as she considered Ginger’s words, then relented. “Perhaps. Although I have nothing to hide.”

Ginger tried again. “So, did he? Did Captain Walsh have enemies?”

“For the most part, Joseph was well-liked. I don't believe he had any real enemies. In fact, the opposite is true. Too many people loved him,” she said with a note of bitterness.

“Are you referring to Miss Guilford?”

Elise Walsh sat up sharply. “You know about Nancy Guilford?”

“It’s a presumption based on observation.”

“Such a trollop!” Elise spat. “If a woman plans on cheating with another woman’s husband, at the very least she should have the decency to be discreet.”

So, Mrs. Walsh knew that her husband was unfaithful.

Elise threw back the final drop of brandy and held out her glass for a second round. Ginger poured, remembering how the captain had unceremoniously pointed out her drinking problem.

“I lied about Joseph not having enemies,” Elise Walsh said after another gulp. “He had at least one.”

“Oh?” Ginger prodded.

“He was being blackmailed.”