“You’ve known Jamie now for, what, two years? I’ve known him for eighteen, if you count the year in the womb. I think I’d know better than you what’s best for him.”

“Maybe he has grown since he left. Grown enough not to take orders from sisters.”

My expression hardens. “If you’re not going to tell me where he is, then I’ll be on my way.”

“He did not say where he went. But since you are his sister, I bet you can guess.”

I close my coat around me with more force than is needed. I’m about to spin on my heel when I notice that the blanket on the top bunk is missing, with Jamie’s flannel nightshirt stuffed under his pillow. He isn’t ready for bed yet. If Jamie studies astronomy every night, I have a hunch where he might be. Bo, still watching me, gives me a smile so brief, it could be a trick of the light.

Well, Jamie, maybe I do know you better than you think.

9

As I carry myself down the companionway, footsteps approach from behind. “Ma’am?”

I freeze. A steward with a grin like a well-oiled saddle inclines his head of black hair toward me. Protruding cheekbones pull his skin taut, giving him a rather skeletal appearance. Did he see me emerge from Room 14?

“Evening, ma’am. Lose your way?” he asks with a jaunty swing to his voice. “T’isn’t safe here for a woman such as yourself.”

“Yes.” I remind myself that I am a fine English lady, and people here live for my comfort, not the other way around. “I seem to have gotten turned around,” I say imperiously. “Please direct me to the lifts.”

“Certainly.” A dorsal fin of a nose takes an expansive sniff, as if he has a cold. He points a bony finger down the Collar. “Past Scotland Road about a dozen paces, you’ll come to a door on the right. Continue through and keep walking until you see the signs.”

I take unhurried steps away, sure that if I turn around, the man will still be watching me. I must be more careful to avoid being seen here, not just as a woman, but as a first-class woman, who certainly has no business in these parts. Without looking at the master-at-arms’s cabin, I swing open the door to first class.

The lift takes me as far as it can, to A-Deck. The cherub standing at this highest leg of the tidal-wave staircase is even chubbier than the ones below. I climb past nobs in their finery toward the Boat Deck. At a half landing, more divine types loiter, including two angels holding in place an elaborate clock that reads 8:40. The afterlife certainly features prominently in the decorating here. But is a vessel in the middle of the ocean really the place to be constantly reminded of death?