for villains, Flora?’ Bunny whispered, giving her a playful nudge.
Flora was about to deliver a suitably pointed retort when Hester fumbled the glass lid of a jam pot, leaving a smear of apricot conserve on the white tablecloth.
Mrs Penry-Jones fastidiously removed the dish from Hester’s reach with a long-suffering sigh.
‘It’s quite obvious!’ The old lady sniffed. ‘I was there when he persuaded a room full of strangers to gamble for such high stakes on first meeting. Vulgar man.’
Flora groaned inwardly. So much for her hopes of an actual motive.
‘Are you sure you didn’t know him, Mrs Penry-Jones?’ Gerald spread a bread roll with butter as he talked. ‘I could have sworn I saw Parnell being admitted to your suite the night he died.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ The old lady’s eyes narrowed with outrage. ‘You must have been mistaken.’
‘My stateroom adjoins Mrs Penry-Jones’s suite,’ Hester said. ‘Had anyone knocked at her door, I would certainly have heard it.’
Mrs Penry-Jones gave Hersch a look of triumph, though Hester’s support went unacknowledged.
‘Possibly.’ Gerald wiped his fingers on his napkin. ‘It’s difficult to tell whose stateroom is whose. All the doors look the same.’
‘If that is what you saw, Mr Gilmore,’ Mr Hersch fixed Gerald with a hard stare, ‘Why did you not inform the captain?’
Gerald steadily returned the man’s gaze. ‘What makes you think I didn’t?’
Hersch appeared to have no answer to this, though he was saved from further questioning by the arrival of Max.
‘Couldn’t find my cuff links,’ he explained, when Cynthia scolded him for lateness. ‘Looked everywhere but they aren’t in the suite.’
‘Not the ones I gave you for a wedding present?’ Cynthia’s eyes narrowed.
Max flicked up the back of his jacket and sat. ‘No, not those. The emerald ones.’ He held up one sleeve, which sported a flat, gold oval. ‘Had to wear these instead.’
‘You probably packed them in one of the trunks that have been put in the hold. I’m sure they’ll turn up.’ Cynthia waved him away.
‘I had them last night in the smoking room. I went to wash my hands so the cards wouldn’t stick, and had to roll up my sleeves, so—’ He broke off and pasted on a smile. ‘You’re probably right, my love. They’ll turn up.’
‘Is the meal not to your liking, Miss Smith?’ Mr Hersch indicated Hester’s loaded plate. ‘You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.’
Hester pushed her plate away with a tiny grimace of distaste. ‘The eggs are undercooked.’
‘My head is pounding this morning.’ Mrs Penry-Jones rose from table, pausing theatrically until all eyes were on her. ‘I’ll return to my suite and lie down. No, Hester, don’t get up. Finish your breakfast.’
The gentlemen’s chairs scraped back, while a steward scrambled to hold open the door, as she limped past him with the hesitant gait of someone with arthritis.
‘It appears your employer is more upset about a death on board than she would have us believe, Miss Smith,’ Mr Hersch observed as the gentlemen resumed their seats.
Hester returned his benign look steadily. ‘Not at all. She’s notoriously unsentimental.’
Colour returned to her cheeks and her cat-like eyes sparkled. Her features relaxed and she looked, if not pretty, then more animated.
‘Does Mrs Penry-Jones have family?’ Monica asked, apparently eager to take advantage of the lady’s absence.
‘Her husband was a lawyer in upstate New York,’ Hester replied without hesitation. ‘He died years ago. I believe she was married before, but they lived in Baltimore then.’ She paused in her monologue to summon the waiter with more confidence she had exhibited thus far, demanding her congealed eggs be replaced.
‘She claims acquaintance with everyone,’ Hester continued when the waiter withdrew. ‘She talks about Ward McAllister as if she expects him to call. I wonder that someone
Flora was about to deliver a suitably pointed retort when Hester fumbled the glass lid of a jam pot, leaving a smear of apricot conserve on the white tablecloth.
Mrs Penry-Jones fastidiously removed the dish from Hester’s reach with a long-suffering sigh.
‘It’s quite obvious!’ The old lady sniffed. ‘I was there when he persuaded a room full of strangers to gamble for such high stakes on first meeting. Vulgar man.’
Flora groaned inwardly. So much for her hopes of an actual motive.
‘Are you sure you didn’t know him, Mrs Penry-Jones?’ Gerald spread a bread roll with butter as he talked. ‘I could have sworn I saw Parnell being admitted to your suite the night he died.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ The old lady’s eyes narrowed with outrage. ‘You must have been mistaken.’
‘My stateroom adjoins Mrs Penry-Jones’s suite,’ Hester said. ‘Had anyone knocked at her door, I would certainly have heard it.’
Mrs Penry-Jones gave Hersch a look of triumph, though Hester’s support went unacknowledged.
‘Possibly.’ Gerald wiped his fingers on his napkin. ‘It’s difficult to tell whose stateroom is whose. All the doors look the same.’
‘If that is what you saw, Mr Gilmore,’ Mr Hersch fixed Gerald with a hard stare, ‘Why did you not inform the captain?’
Gerald steadily returned the man’s gaze. ‘What makes you think I didn’t?’
Hersch appeared to have no answer to this, though he was saved from further questioning by the arrival of Max.
‘Couldn’t find my cuff links,’ he explained, when Cynthia scolded him for lateness. ‘Looked everywhere but they aren’t in the suite.’
‘Not the ones I gave you for a wedding present?’ Cynthia’s eyes narrowed.
Max flicked up the back of his jacket and sat. ‘No, not those. The emerald ones.’ He held up one sleeve, which sported a flat, gold oval. ‘Had to wear these instead.’
‘You probably packed them in one of the trunks that have been put in the hold. I’m sure they’ll turn up.’ Cynthia waved him away.
‘I had them last night in the smoking room. I went to wash my hands so the cards wouldn’t stick, and had to roll up my sleeves, so—’ He broke off and pasted on a smile. ‘You’re probably right, my love. They’ll turn up.’
‘Is the meal not to your liking, Miss Smith?’ Mr Hersch indicated Hester’s loaded plate. ‘You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.’
Hester pushed her plate away with a tiny grimace of distaste. ‘The eggs are undercooked.’
‘My head is pounding this morning.’ Mrs Penry-Jones rose from table, pausing theatrically until all eyes were on her. ‘I’ll return to my suite and lie down. No, Hester, don’t get up. Finish your breakfast.’
The gentlemen’s chairs scraped back, while a steward scrambled to hold open the door, as she limped past him with the hesitant gait of someone with arthritis.
‘It appears your employer is more upset about a death on board than she would have us believe, Miss Smith,’ Mr Hersch observed as the gentlemen resumed their seats.
Hester returned his benign look steadily. ‘Not at all. She’s notoriously unsentimental.’
Colour returned to her cheeks and her cat-like eyes sparkled. Her features relaxed and she looked, if not pretty, then more animated.
‘Does Mrs Penry-Jones have family?’ Monica asked, apparently eager to take advantage of the lady’s absence.
‘Her husband was a lawyer in upstate New York,’ Hester replied without hesitation. ‘He died years ago. I believe she was married before, but they lived in Baltimore then.’ She paused in her monologue to summon the waiter with more confidence she had exhibited thus far, demanding her congealed eggs be replaced.
‘She claims acquaintance with everyone,’ Hester continued when the waiter withdrew. ‘She talks about Ward McAllister as if she expects him to call. I wonder that someone
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