He shakes out his limbs, his jaw clenched. A wave of nerves washes over me. Jamie was always easy before performances, focused but relaxed. This Jamie is different. Older and more worried. I’m glad we simplified his part.

Just hold on, Jamie, and we will be okay.

Ming Lai’s ponderous conch-shell voice trumpets over the drums. “Hear ye, hear ye! A most magnificent show is about to begin. Two of England’s most faaa-mous aqua-bats”—Jamie and I share a smile—“are right here on Titanic, and they will perform for the enjoyment of all.”

The drums crescendo. Boom-badda-boom, boom boom boom BOOM! Boom-badda-boom, boom boom boom BOOM!

Ming Lai waits for the drumming to quiet, then repeats his words, sounding farther away than before. We follow the crowd out to the well deck and survey the scene. Wink and Olly stand at attention below the superstructure, where the upper classes have begun to collect. Spotting me, Wink grins, his bright new kerchief like a second smile on his neck.

At the center of A-Deck stand three men: Mr. Stewart with his eye-catching bowler, the White Star chairman Mr. Ismay, and Captain Smith, who surveys his ship with the sharpness of a roving hawk. His eyes stick on Charlotte, who looks both noble and tragic in the honeycomb dress and vanilla coat, topped with a black bowler and the bee-swarm veil. In her hands, she holds the cloisonné vase of “ashes” as I instructed her. The captain shudders.

I couldn’t have asked for a better stand-in for the role of Mrs. Sloane. Charlotte is a good egg, and I can see why Jamie likes her.

The eleven o’clock bell rings at last. Jamie meets my eyes and nods.

We thread our way through the crowd, which, realizing we’re the act they’ve come to see, parts to let us through.

Passengers fill every space on the poop deck, with some children straddling their parents’ shoulders. Ming Lai’s Russian friend, Dina Domenic, and her mother wave to us from their spot on one of the benches, and her burly father pumps one of his massive fists in support.

Eyes follow us as we climb to the docking bridge. When he sees me invading his turf, the QM’s cocky expression curdles. I try not to look too superior, which will only invite fate to stick a foot in my path. Tao and Fong stand on either end, each waving a purloined White Star flag.

Jamie takes his position in front of Tao at the starboard end while I cross to the port side, where Fong stands favoring his injured foot. He snorts, as if to make sure I still know he disapproves of me. Well, I disapprove of him, too.