The breeze which had been ruffling her skirts and tugging her hair free from its loose chignon became a stiff gust of wind as the steamship reached the open sea. Clutching her hat to her head, Margaret watched as the mainland disappeared from sight, and the waters churning below turned from green to iron-grey. If she cast herself into the briny depths, her father would be spared the embarrassment of having to explain her absence away. She would be remembered not as the black sheep but as the tragically drowned daughter.

An echo from the past made her reconsider. Almost a year ago, she had thought the exact same thing regarding the Thames when fleeing from her betrothal ball. Back then, she’d still believed her father cared for her, that his actions were motivated by a genuine desire to do his best by her. His behaviour since had proved her misguided. It was time that she started trying to learn not to care about him. A lifetime of subservience, of trying to please, would be a difficult habit to break, but she had all the time in the world to manage it.

The salty air stung her cheeks. The wind made her eyes stream. She would survive this. She was, in Molly’s words, tougher than she looked. And it was time, as Louise had pointed out, for her to look out for herself. A gust of wind tugged at her hat, snatching it from her head and sending it tumbling into the seething waves below. Her hair unfurled like a scarlet flag, wild curls whipping across her face. The sun peeked through a break in the grey, lowering clouds overhead. Her spirits lifted. She had no idea what lay ahead, but it couldn’t be worse than the mess she had left behind. For the first time in a while, Margaret smiled, taking pleasure in simply being alive.

BUT AS THE STEAMER BERTHED in Kingstown, her optimism gave way to trepidation. The crowded harbour-side; the flags which fluttered along the long, covered walkway that led from the quay to the custom house; the calls from the crew to the dockside; and the crush of people pushing and shoving in their eagerness to disembark made her feel as if she was physically shrinking. RMS Munster was one of two steamships berthed in the large harbour. A traditional sailing ship was docked over on the other side. Countless little boats filled the gaps between, bobbing at anchor.