“Ah, yes, now I remember,” he said, tugging at his shirt and stuffing his arm into the other sleeve. “You brought the little girl with cholera infantum to the Shoreditch Dispensary.”

Her heart sank. So much for remaining anonymous. “Aye, sir. ’Twas me.”

“What is your name again?” He snapped his suspenders in place over his shirt.

“Mercy Wilkins, sir.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She didn’t know why she should be so embarrassed, why it should matter what this doctor believed about her. He was nothing to her.

Except she’d likely see him often over the next few months of their voyage, and she didn’t want him to think ill of her.

“I’m Dr. Colville,” he said as he closed the distance between them. “Who have you brought to me this time, Miss Wilkins?”

The sound of her name spoken so formally and respectfully took her by surprise. Poor women like her were rarely given the courtesy of a title.

He brushed past her and lowered himself on one knee before Sarah.

“This is Sarah, sir.” She knelt next to him. “She’s been mighty sick all the night long. Would that she and the sea could become friends, but alas, they don’t seem to be getting along right yet.”

Dr. Colville glanced at Mercy. Although he didn’t smile, humor crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Did he find her amusing? Maybe he thought she was a simpleton. Before Mercy could decide whether or not to be offended, Sarah moaned.

“Hello, Sarah.” The doctor felt the young woman’s forehead and then the pulse in her neck. “I hear you’re not making friends with the sea. Well, not to worry. You aren’t the first to find the sea a foe, nor will you be the last.”

Sarah finally opened her eyes. Through her haze she seemed to be studying Dr. Colville’s face.

“I’m afraid that those who find a foe in the sea can rarely mend the broken relationship.” He offered Mercy the hint of a smile, his eyes warm and devoid of mockery. She could almost believe he was genuine and that he meant her no offense.

Even so, she couldn’t find it within herself to smile back. “Are you saying poor Sarah will be sick for the whole long voyage?”

“It will likely come and go, depending upon the severity of the ship’s movement. But yes, I’m afraid most of the voyage will be very unpleasant for her.”

“Should she be taken back to land?”

“No,” Sarah croaked, her ashen face creasing with anxiety. “Please don’t make me leave the ship. I ain’t got nowhere to go, no place to live, no job.”