Guffaws from the direction of the bottom cutters reach my ears. One of them has taken a step away from the rest, his arm recoiling as if he has just thrown a pitch. Did he throw the pebble?

Not a pebble, but a peanut.

Somehow, I find my balance atop the rail.

I realize I didn’t hear a crash. Only the rain of applause and hurrahs and exclamations. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Jamie’s hand. He caught my saucer and my teacup.

“Encore! Bravo! Eccellente!” they cry.

Well done, Brother. You still have the touch.

I can almost feel the glow of his smug grin behind me. Several female voices sigh loudly. He must be breaking a few hearts. I wonder if I’m breaking any hearts.

Together we reach the end of the line and jump off.

The clapping grows louder as we take our bows. I open my arms wide to take it all in, feeling tears come to my eyes. The routine wasn’t as flashy as the Jumbo, but something tells me it moved people. I exhale, relaxing for the first time in days. The hard part is over.

“That was close.” Jamie rolls his wrist in front of my nose. “Good thing the last name’s Luck.”

“You’ve missed it, haven’t you?” I gush, wanting to bark like a sea lion.

Jamie lets out a good-natured laugh. “I did, Sis.”

Just as I thought. But before he notices my triumphant grin, I wipe the slate clean.

“Bledig’s crew threw a peanut at me.”

Jamie cuts his eyes at the men and hisses through his teeth. “Those dogs. They’ll pay for that.”

The applause doesn’t end even after we’ve bowed in every direction, taking an especially long bow away from those bottom cutters to afford them a good view of our Queen Mums. Mr. Stewart claps with vigor, while Captain Smith and Mr. Ismay receive congratulations, as if they were the ones crawling on the rails. April yells and cheers along with the men.

Below us, Wink and Olly collect tips while Bo and Ming Lai help Drummer move his drums away.

Jamie is watching Charlotte, who seems to be watching him back through Mrs. Sloane’s veil. With a nod, Charlotte begins to leave. But then the boat dips slightly, and as she tries to catch her balance, she stumbles. Jamie sucks in his breath.

To my horror, I watch the vase slip out of Charlotte’s grip and crack. Tobacco spills, and the dry particles blow about in the breeze. A steward helps her up. I catch a glimpse of muttonchop whiskers, and my jaw drops. “It’s Steward Latimer.”

“Who?”

The steward spreads his arms to divert people from the mess, and Charlotte, whom I’d warned not to talk to anyone, hurries away.

“Mrs. Sloane’s steward. He’ll know the ashes are fake.”