In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)

“Stay where you are, miss,” Henry said, regaining his composure. “I’ll go and get help, and I’ll bring you a brandy.”


“No, don’t leave me,” I said, grabbing at his sleeve. “What if he's still here? Is there anywhere in here he could hide?”

Henry searched patiently around the cabin, opening the wardrobe with great caution, looking under the daybed. But he found nothing.

“I’ll be back before you can say Jack Robinson,” he said.

As he went out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the dressing table mirror. I presented quite a sight with my white face, my matted hair, the improbable costume. Nobody would possibly take me for Oona Sheehan looking like this. My wig, I thought. I must put on Oona's wig before Henry comes back. They mustn’t know. As my clumsy fingers struggled to put on Oona's red wig, I realized that they’d have to know. I had promised Oona that we would trade places for the journey. But surely now I’d have to go back on that promise. Oona would understand that I’d have to come clean. She’d want to know what had happened to Rose. She’d want Rose's killer found and brought to justice.

But I continued to put on the wig. It was mainly vanity at this stage, I suppose. My own hair was so flattened and unattractive, that I didn’t want to be seen like that. And I wanted to get my thoughts straight before I let the truth come out. I hadn’t finished straightening the wig before there were the sounds of heavy feet in the corridor outside and Henry reappeared with a couple of ship's officers.

“In here, sir. On the bed.”

The bearded one went straight over to Rose's body. “I’m the ship's doctor, Miss Sheehan,” he said. “I understand that the victim is your maid. This is most distressing for you. Most.”

“And I am First Officer Stratton, Miss Sheehan,” the other one said. “So you found this young girl dead in your bed?”

I nodded. “And I suspect she's been murdered.”

He peered at the body, which indeed did look quite peaceful. “Are you sure we’re not jumping to conclusions that foul play was involvedhere? People do die unexpectedly—heart attacks, fatal asthma, that kind of thing—even young people.”

“But they don’t take the trouble to arrange themselves neatly in bed and cover themselves up first,” I said.

“I see what you mean. The captain has been notified. He was asleep, but he will be with us as soon as he can. Why don’t we remove ourselves from here and let the doctor get on with his examination. Henry, will you tell the captain that we’ll be in the reading room? We’re not likely to be disturbed there at this time of night.”

He took my elbow and steered me firmly out of the door, up the stairs to the main promenade deck, and then into a quiet lounge. It had paneled walls, comfortable armchairs, and several writing desks. It was in darkness when we arrived, and Henry went around switching on table lamps that threw a warm glow onto the polished furniture.

“If it's all right with you, sir, I thought I’d fetch Miss Sheehan a brandy,” Henry said. “She looks as if she's about to faint.”

“By all means. Good idea,” First Officer Stratton agreed. He pulled out a leather armchair for me.

I wasn’t normally one likely to faint and was about to say so. Then I realized that in truth I didn’t feel too steady on my feet. Rose had laced me firmly into my costume, and it felt as if my body was locked into a steel cage at this moment, with breathing virtually impossible. I sank, gratefully, into the chair. Henry returned with the brandy,- and I sipped, coughed, and sipped again, feeling the comforting warmth of the liquor spreading through me.

In a few minutes we were joined by the captain, a distinguished-looking man with graying beard, looking none-the-less distinguished in a dressing gown and slippers. He barged into the room, bristling with indignation.

“What's all this about, Stratton?” he asked. “We’ve a death on board?”

“A suspicious death, sir. The doctor is currently examining the body.”

“Do we know who the victim is?”

I opened my mouth, but the words would not come out.

“This lady's maid,” Henry said for me.

“And you are?” The captain turned a keen gaze onto me.

“This is Miss Oona Sheehan,” Henry said proudly.

“Good God,” the captain said. He stared at me for a second. “Bless my soul,” he said again. “Saw one of your plays once. Dashed good. The one where you were disguised as a boy. Stupid romantic story, but you were splendid. What was it called again?”

Mercifully I was spared having to answer this question by the arrival of the doctor.

“Captain Hammond, sir,” he said. “I’ve completed a brief preliminary examination.”