I stop breathing. Has he seen through my veil? Or will he chase me away for being on the wrong deck?

But then he acknowledges me with a touch of his hat and begins polishing his brass instruments with quick movements of his short limbs.

Behind us, Southampton has shrunk to fit in a doll’s house, chasing a thrill up my spine. I wipe the sea mist from the railing on my skirt.

Farewell, England. Farewell, land.

A thread of fear tickles my back. This is my first time on a boat. Suddenly, the idea of trusting a box of steel to float thousands of miles across water seems as ludicrous as flying by balloon. But people do this every day, don’t they? Besides, I am on the newest—and, therefore, safest—ship on the Atlantic. And I have more important things to worry about right now, like finding Jamie.

I lower myself onto one of the benches arranged bow to stern and try to come up with a new plan.

“They charge a shilling if you want a room key,” says a woman on the bench behind me. “That’s banditry.”

“We don’t need a key,” replies the man beside her. “What do we have worth stealing?”

“My mother’s Spanish hairnet.”

“As I said.”

If they charge for keys, I could try every unlocked door until I found Jamie. Though I might not get very far before I was branded a deviant and thrown in the brig, if there really is one.

I twist to my left, glancing across the well deck toward the top of the superstructure and the lifeboats that ring the perimeter of the Boat Deck. If all else fails, I could sleep in one of those. Of course, I would need to grow a layer of blubber to protect me from the freezing nights. The Atlantic will be as cold as snowmelt, maybe even colder, once we reach the ice fields off Newfoundland.

My shoulders have pulled toward my ears, and I roll them back.

Below the Boat Deck on A-Deck, women in the latest seashell pastels and men in suits as slick and oiled as seals collect around a quartet of musicians. The view is less grand one level down on B-Deck, where the second class mingles. My mind skims to the bottom levels where the “black” gangs work, so called because of the color the coal turns them.

Ten decks in all, home to two thousand passengers.

Jamie, will I ever find you?

I sniff, on the verge of falling into the pity pit.

“This time, no cheating, Wink,” says a voice with an accent like Ba’s.