“What?” He shakes his head as if clearing his ears of water, and his eyes take on the grippy look he gets when he thinks I’ve swiped one of his biscuits. “What made sense?”

“That it was time for us to go to New York together.”

He wheezes out a laugh. “I can’t go to New York. They’re expecting all of us in Cuba, and I can’t stop for a jaunt.”

“I didn’t mean a jaunt.” I ignore the disbelief trampling his face. “Remember how Ba called America the beautiful country, where the air is always blue and fruit trees grow like weeds? And now here we are, going there together. You can’t tell me you’d rather spend your time”—remembering his mates, I lower my voice—“shoveling coal than making our way in New York.”

“Shoveling coal is hard work, good work. It’s good for me.”

“So we’ll find you some good hard work in America, something that won’t have you sticking your head in an oven every day.”

“We don’t stick our heads in the boilers.”

“Then why are you getting a vulture neck?”

He straightens his posture.

“You want to end up like those men in E-16, crabby and missing fingers?”

Bo nearly smiles. He pushes himself off the rail. “Hey, kumquats, let’s see the propeller.” Catching the reluctant Olly and Wink by their arms, he hauls them away.

We watch the lads stop in front of a couple of young men with plaid jackets tossing a strange oval ball. Back and forth it flies. Olly says something, and one of the plaid jackets shakes his head and grips his ball tighter. Bo pushes them along, taking one last glance at me.

Jamie sinks onto the bench and holds his head between his hands. “America doesn’t want us. They passed a law to keep the Chinese out.”

“But we’re not from China. We’re British. We write our letters better than our characters.”

“British subjects, not citizens. England’s only happy to be rid of us.”

I carefully smooth my skirts before sliding in beside him. “If everything goes according to my plan, New York will be throwing a ticker tape parade for us.”

His eyes narrow. “What are you on about?”

“I happen to know that Mr. Albert Ankeny Stewart, part owner of the Ringling Brothers Circus, is a first-class passenger here on the Titanic.”

“Stop there.”

But the barrel has already started rolling. “If we could impress Mr. Stewart, he could hire us as employees of his circus. Surely America would make an exception for an influential man like him. We’ve been talking about this since forever. Virtue and Valor, the Chinese acrobats. Come on, Jamie, you can’t tell me you don’t miss it. This is our chance!”