The light peeking in from under the door revealed Sarah’s face. It was as sunken and shriveled as Clara’s had been on the day she’d died at the Shoreditch Dispensary. Clara’s mother had waited too long in seeking help for the child. Mercy wouldn’t repeat the same mistake with Sarah. During her time spent walking the deck earlier, she’d passed a door marked with a medical symbol not far from her cabin and guessed it was the ship’s surgeon’s quarters.

Though the hour was early, surely the doctor would be awake and wouldn’t mind helping Sarah.

“I can get anything you need,” Ann added, a note of pride in her tone. “You just tell me what, and I’ll find it. I’ve never once got caught.”

Mercy was saddened to think how so many homeless children resorted to stealing to survive. Even more disturbing was that pilfering often became second nature to them. She shook her head. “We can’t be starting this voyage by doing wrong. We gotta do the honest and right thing, even if it’s hard.”

“Have it your way,” Ann said as she climbed back onto her bed.

Mercy wanted to say more but bit back a reply. She had weeks ahead to help these young women learn about doing right, the same way Patience had always helped her. There was no sense in forcing the matter now.

Instead, she assisted Sarah off the bunk, slipped an arm around the girl, and led her out of the stateroom and down the deck. The rain had tapered to a mist, but the wind was still swirling in gusts. With the ship’s rocking and Sarah’s weakness, Mercy had to half carry the girl.

“Doctor,” she called after reaching the door marked with the medical symbol. She knocked lightly. “I’ve got a very sick girl here.”

The wind ripped away her words and tossed them out to sea. She waited a moment longer, then pressed her ear to the door. Hearing nothing, she knocked again, louder this time.

When the door swung open suddenly, she didn’t bother greeting the doctor, not sparing him even a glance. Instead, she stumbled into the room with Sarah, her arm wrapped tightly around the girl’s waist. Spotting the bed—which from the tangle of covers appeared as if it’d been recently occupied—she led Sarah there and gently lowered her, helping to lift her feet until she was curled up once again.

Behind her, the doctor seemed to be fumbling at something. A moment later a lantern flickered to life and allowed Mercy to see Sarah’s face clearly. The girl’s eyes were glassy, her skin pale, her lips dry and cracked.

“Please, Doctor,” Mercy said, turning around, “could you—?”