I remove my hat and pin the lace to the band so that it overhangs my face to my shoulders. It’s a fashionable curtain, of the sort wealthy women in mourning might wear. As for the rip in my skirt, I twist the garment around so that the tear hangs to one side and won’t vent when I walk.

Back in the Collar, I case the area for a steward. Folks—mostly men—bustle around, carrying suitcases, looking for rooms.

From the ship diagrams, I recall that third-class cabins run along the port side on this level, with first- and second-class rooms on the starboard side. Mrs. Sloane didn’t want to stay on this deck, or D-Deck above it, because of how the classes cohabit, even though the ship is designed so that upper and lower class will never meet. If she was going to ride an elephant, it would be at the highest end, not the rump.

“Only men here at this end for your protection,” a steward tells a young woman with a straw hat. No wonder the lavatory was empty. “It’s against the rules for men and women to visit each other’s rooms. But you’ll like your cabin at the stern. It’s steadier back there, and closer to the poop deck, where the third class can take fresh air. Just follow Scotland Road.” He points down a corridor that runs the length of the ship like the backbone of a fish. “Smartest way to get from bow to stern. You’ll pass a slew of crew cabins, but keep going to the end.”

If the single men are in the bow, I am close. “Excuse me, sir?”

The steward’s eyes widen at the sight of me in my veil. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m looking for James Luck. Could you tell me which room he’s in?”

“Let’s see . . .” He runs a finger down his clipboard. “E-16. With the company of Atlantic Steam. Just around the corner.” He opens a hand toward the port side. “But as I told the other lady, only men are allowed in the bow. I can leave a message for you, if you give me your name.”

“Er, no, that’s okay. I will find him later. Thank you, steward.”

He bows, and I wait for him to leave. But the man stands his ground, as if waiting for me to leave. Before he gets suspicious, I duck back into the lavatory to wait him out.

Lifting off my hat, I smooth loose tendrils of hair back into my braided bun. My pounding heart flutters against my embroidered linen blouse.