Her stomach was churning like the vast ocean they had just crossed as the barges on which they would be disembarked came alongside. She couldn’t believe they had actually arrived in the New World. Her mind had been in constant turmoil as they steamed at alarming speed across the Atlantic, every creak and roll of the ship, the foaming wake it left in its trail, a reminder of the distance they were travelling, of the world and the loved ones she was leaving far behind. It was easy during daytime to put her fears aside and enjoy the Scotia’s lavish hospitality, but at night in her cabin she had lain awake, questions and worries swarming like bees in her head. In those long, dark hours, she felt completely alone. Gazing out the porthole at the pincushion of stars in the ink-black sky, she had veered between exhilaration and the sensation of being trapped on this hulking, roiling iron vessel. Forced to forge relentlessly onwards, secretly relieved that the choice to turn back had been taken out of her hands.

Now, looking out at the emerging New York skyline, Margaret’s optimism reasserted itself. She had taken a huge leap into the dark, but despite all her doubts and fears, she was still convinced it was the right move. The article in the Illustrated Times, which Lord Powerscourt had so kindly shown her before she left, simply confirmed her in her views. No matter what she did, no matter what her motives, at home she would always be the scandalous Lady Margaret.

As she watched the first nets containing luggage being winched down onto the barges, Aunt Marion joined her. “Good morning, my dear. Isn’t this exciting?” Her eyes twinkling, she produced two glasses of champagne. “The sun must be over the yard-arm somewhere. This will be our last opportunity to sample the contents of Captain Judkins’s most excellent cellar and our first chance to toast the New World.”

“Good morning, America,” Margaret said, smiling as she raised her glass.

“We are quite delighted to make your acquaintance,” Aunt Marion added, taking a deep draught. “Now drink up, for we will be disembarking on one of those barges directly. I fear I will resemble a prize heifer being unloaded from a cattle boat.”

The barge deposited them at Castle Garden pier, on the southern tip of the island of Manhattan, with Governors Island nearby. In the distance lay the green hills of Staten Island. The Scotia was one of many ships disembarking this morning, and the jetty was a seething mass of humanity hailing from every corner of the world, or so it seemed to Margaret. Her legs wobbled so much as she set foot on dry land that she was momentarily frozen to the spot. Her nose twitched at the smells; her ears rang with the noise. Officials were shouting instructions, waving their arms, and she panicked as the crowds surged forward.