“I know, Mum, you disapprove. But I have to stay somewhere, and you don’t want me bunking with Jamie’s mates, do you? So it may as well be here, where—had they let me board—I would’ve stayed anyway. I’ll be as careful as if I were walking a line of cobweb. And I’ll keep what’s left of our family together, I promise.”

Drawing the heavy brocade curtains closed on the late-afternoon sun, I undress to my knickers. Then I lie on the bigger of the two beds, my hands resting on my full belly. With tonight’s stop in Cherbourg, and tomorrow’s in Queenstown, I told Jamie I would keep my chin tucked, and that’s precisely what I’ll do. Anyway, perhaps a little time to digest the shock of seeing me will bring him to his senses.

In case I drop off into a nap, I switch on the reading lamp by the gold call button.

The dark is an old enemy. It doesn’t bother me so much when others are around, like the Sloanes’ cook, with whom I shared a room. But when I’m by myself, the dark waits to ambush me, so I won’t give it the chance.

Then I sink into the thick feather comforter, which is how I imagine sitting in a cloud might feel. It turns out the wealthy sleep higher than us, too. Before long, my eyelids grow heavy.

Ba leans against the trunk of a live oak, struggling. Bees are swarming him, enough to cover him with a buzzing coat of armor. They crawl out from his shirt and up his narrow brown face. They cover his thinning hair, a blurry, angry mob.

Jamie perches high up on a branch, swinging his legs. He’s always up there, lost in his own world.

“Jamie,” I scream, “get down here and help me!” But Jamie just points his nose to the sky.

A horn rouses me from my slumber.

I sit up, trying to remember the end of the dream. I never remember. I only know that Jamie holds the key.

I flick a switch, and the ceiling lamps shine down at me like four eyeballs. I draw open the curtains, giving the evening a peek into my room. Sure enough, the tiny lights of a harbor are growing ever distant as we leave Cherbourg. One port down, one to go.

My stomach grumbles, and I feel thirsty from the cheese. Jamie must have had a good dinner with his mates. I don’t know what I envy more, his having dinner or his having mates.

Loneliness, like a fledgling returning to an empty nest, creeps into my soul. The crimson walls strike me as too bright, and the gilded furniture, too pretty. Luxury is like good news, hard to enjoy without someone to share it with.