“Miss Hart. How nice to see you.” Officer Merry affects an air of pleasant surprise, which is as effective as trying to spruce up a plate of spoiled meat with a sprig of parsley.

Miss Hart begins pacing, moving as regally as the queen’s cat. “I must say, the layout of this ship is quite confusing. It’s a wonder you don’t have more people falling into the hatch. Obviously, you didn’t get a woman’s opinion on the design.”

Officer Merry stares, caught in the fluttering trap of her glamorous eyelashes. He clears his throat. “It was designed this way so that honored passengers such as yourself could enjoy their luxurious facilities without being disturbed.” He glances up at the navigating bridge and, noticing Captain Smith, throws him a quick salute. The captain nods and turns away. “We would not want people to get confused about where they should be.”

“So your answer is to confuse them further if they stray,” she says brightly. “Interesting.”

“You should be relaxing on the Promenade Deck, not down here with the third class. They are serving champagne. It’s a good time to meet your fellow passengers. We have several notable guests traveling with us.”

My ears get bigger. I learned from Mrs. Sloane’s list of “distinguished passengers” that Mr. Albert Ankeny Stewart, part owner of the Ringling Brothers Circus, would be among those guests. When I received Jamie’s letter announcing that his crew was being transferred via the Titanic, I knew it was a sign that it was time for me to finally get our family back together. We’d dreamed of going “big-time” in a real circus ever since Ba showed us a poster of P. T. Barnum and Co.’s Greatest Show on Earth. We’d even choreographed an audition routine that we called the Jumbo, after the great circus elephant. Somehow, I aim to show Mr. Stewart that routine.

“Mother doesn’t care for my smoking.” Miss Hart taps her finger against her cigarette holder, and ashes drop. “But I am ready to return to my luxurious facilities. I trust you know a more direct route back to B-Deck.” She takes his arm, nodding toward a small staircase that leads to the superstructure. I can’t help wondering if she actually does know her way around.

“Pull the gangway,” barks a voice from somewhere in the distance, lighting a fire in me. I make a hasty exit toward the forecastle.

At last, it’s anchors aweigh.

Officer Merry’s gaze follows me, heavy as a boot on my back.

3

Descending a wide staircase under the forecastle, I find myself in the large room I passed while in the cargo shaft. Bright light from the open staircase gives the space an airy feel.