Murder on the SS Rosa: A Floating World of Steam, Secrets, and Champagne
One of my favorite things about writing historical fiction is discovering just how strange the past can feel once you slow down and really look at it. When I was researching Murder on the SS Rosa, I quickly realized that an Atlantic crossing in the early 1920s wasn’t simply a way to get from Boston to England—it was an entire world unto itself. A floating society, sealed off from the modern age, governed by its own rules, rituals, indulgences, and contradictions.
So today, I thought I’d pull back the curtain and share some of the historical trivia woven into Murder on the SS Rosa—from steamship life and pop culture to the very different relationship Britain and America had with alcohol during the Prohibition years.
Steamship Travel: Not Just Transportation, but Theatre
By the early 1920s, steamship travel had reached its golden age. Ocean liners weren’t just functional vessels—they were symbols of prestige, national pride, and technological confidence. A ship like the SS Rosa would have been powered by massive coal-fed boilers, tended day and night by firemen who worked in punishing heat below decks, shoveling coal to keep the engines alive.
For passengers in first and second class, however, this industrial labor was almost invisible. What they experienced instead was elegance: carpeted corridors, polished brass railings, wood-paneled dining saloons, and stewards who seemed to glide rather than walk. A crossing could take anywhere from five to eight days, depending on weather, and each day followed a predictable rhythm—breakfast, promenading on deck, reading, tea, dinner, music, and late-night conversations that stretched long after the lights dimmed.
Ships like the SS Rosa were meticulously scheduled environments. Bells rang. Meals were announced. Dress codes mattered. Even boredom had structure.
First Class vs. Third Class: Two Very Different Voyages
One of the most striking aspects of steamship travel was how rigidly class divisions were enforced. First-class passengers enjoyed private cabins, access to lounges, smoking rooms, libraries, and sometimes even gyms or Turkish baths. Their days were filled with leisure and social maneuvering—who sat with whom at dinner mattered, and reputations traveled faster than the ship itself.
Third-class passengers, on the other hand, lived a very different reality. Often immigrants or laborers, they slept in shared quarters, ate simple meals, and spent much of their time on open decks. Yet historical accounts suggest that third class wasn’t always miserable—there was music, laughter, card games, and a sense of communal life that first class, for all its luxury, sometimes lacked.
In Murder on the SS Rosa, this contrast plays an important role. A ship may be physically small, but socially it contains entire worlds stacked on top of one another.
Prohibition: America Goes Dry (Sort Of)
One of the most delicious historical contradictions aboard transatlantic liners in the 1920s was alcohol.
In the United States, Prohibition officially began in 1920 with the passage of the 18th Amendment. Alcohol was illegal to manufacture, sell, or transport. Speakeasies flourished, bootleggers became folk heroes, and organized crime found a very profitable new line of work.
Britain, meanwhile, carried on drinking quite happily.
This created a fascinating gray area at sea. American-flagged ships were expected to enforce Prohibition rules the moment they left port. British-flagged ships? Not so much. Many continued to serve alcohol freely once they reached international waters, much to the delight of American passengers who suddenly found themselves able to order champagne without whispering.
For American passengers in particular, ordering a cocktail aboard the SS Rosa wasn’t merely refreshment—it was defiance wrapped in crystal. The moment the ship crossed into international waters, glasses were raised not just to pleasure, but to freedom from the strictures of Prohibition.
For the British, it was simply another civilized drink at sea.
And sometimes, that difference mattered.
This tension—between law and loophole, morality and indulgence—was irresistible from a storytelling perspective. A ship like the SS Rosa becomes a liminal space, hovering between two worlds, where rules blur and secrets slip more easily into the dark.
Pop Culture on the High Seas
Despite being cut off from land, passengers didn’t feel disconnected from popular culture. Steamships were full of books, newspapers, sheet music, and gossip. Jazz was making its way across the Atlantic. American slang was beginning to infiltrate British speech. Silent film stars were household names on both sides of the ocean.
Even fashion traveled quickly. Women packed evening gowns, day dresses, hats for every occasion, and gloves to match. Men dressed formally for dinner, even when the ship pitched beneath them. To be seen in the wrong attire at the wrong hour was a social misstep, even thousands of miles from shore.
These details mattered enormously to me while writing Murder on the SS Rosa. A murder doesn’t occur in a vacuum—it happens amid music drifting from a lounge, the clink of glasses, the hum of engines, and the quiet knowledge that there is nowhere to escape.
A Ship as a Closed Circle
Perhaps the greatest gift a steamship gives a mystery writer is containment. Once the ship leaves port, everyone aboard is trapped together. Alliances form quickly. Tensions sharpen. Grievances have nowhere to dissipate.
Historically, passengers wrote letters they couldn’t send until docking. News from home arrived late or not at all. Emotions intensified. Small slights grew large. Secrets felt heavier when locked inside steel walls surrounded by endless water.
That claustrophobic intimacy is at the heart of Murder on the SS Rosa. The ship isn’t just a setting—it’s an accomplice.
Why I Love This Era
The early 1920s sit at a crossroads of history. The world had survived a devastating war but hadn’t yet learned the lessons it needed to avoid another. Technology was advancing faster than social norms could keep up. People wanted glamour, distraction, and escape—and steamships offered all three, wrapped in luxury and soot.
Writing Murder on the SS Rosa allowed me to explore that fragile moment in time, when champagne flowed freely just beyond the reach of American law, jazz hummed beneath polite conversation, and danger could hide behind impeccable manners.
If you’ve ever wondered what it felt like to step aboard a steamship and leave the modern world behind, I hope this story—and these details—helped bring that journey to life.
And if you listen closely, you might still hear the engines.
PS: Watch The Strauss Cafe Podcast about the history of this book on Youtube, or enjoy an early access extended version as a member of my Patreon Inner Circle Community.