Wink’s cheek has stopped fluttering, but Olly’s nose has begun to run.

“Well, then, let’s make sure we do.”

38

If we get out of this, remind me to wring your neck,” Jamie seethes, storming off.

The next two lifeboats are already being lowered, barely half-full. Have they already launched the lifeboats in the other three quadrants? My leg muscles cramp from the effort of running while trying not to fall on the ice-slickened deck. Jamie dashes to the small cutter, the lifeboat closest to the bridge, where crewmen are still boarding passengers.

Working his mouth the way he used to charm audiences before a performance, Jamie engages an officer, gesticulating even with his injured arm. “There are five of us. You’ve got plenty of room in there.” He points his nose toward the craft. I count two women among the occupants, their faces obscured by broad hats.

The boat begins to descend.

“Hold the falls, hold the falls!” Jamie demands. “Officer, let us board, mate. Look at all the people still here. Plus, we have an injured man, two children, and a girl.”

My boots clap the floor as I stride to the officer, whose nostrils flatten at the sight of me in his face. “Officer Merry told us we could board this boat. Go ask him if you don’t believe me.” I doubt the man will take me up on it.

His serious eyes squint down the deck. I swear he would’ve let us on, but then one of the boat’s occupants half stands and wags his finger at the officer. It’s the haughty Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon. “Nonsense, do not let those mongrels on!”

Even in the cold, the word slaps me smartly across my face.

Lady Duff-Gordon looks up sharply from under her large hat. Her gaze skims my face. Then Lucy, as she asked me to call her, scoffs. “Now they’re wearing women’s clothes.”

“Lucy, it is I, Mrs. Sloane.” I hold my hands out imploringly, remembering how her satin-gloved fingers so warmly pressed my wrist only a few days ago. “You asked me to wear your Strawberries and Cream dress, don’t you remember? Please help us.”

Lucy’s top jaw rolls back like a secretary desk. “I—I—” Her eyes cast about wildly, as big as lifesavers, at last coming to rest on her husband’s confused gaze. Her face becomes severe. “I do not know you, and how dare you speak to me as a familiar.”

The denial does not surprise me, yet my mouth puckers like the time I accidentally bit into an orange rind.

Sir Duff-Gordon flicks his hand. “We must be off. I’ve paid good money. Now lower away, man. Do as I say!”