Mr. Stewart’s deck chair squeaks as he angles himself toward us. “Did you say you know these performers?”

“Well, yes, I do.” I flick imaginary debris off my coat. “Did you catch the show?”

“No.”

“What a pity. But I’m told there’s a good lecture on jellyfish tonight in the library.”

The ocean sprays mist at us. Croggy wipes his cheek and shudders, glancing out to sea.

Mr. Stewart’s bowler seems to frown along with him. “Unless the jellyfish can perform in a circus tent, I’m not interested.”

“So, you’re a fan of the circus?” I ask with mild interest.

“Albert Ankeny Stewart’s my name. I’m an investor in the Ringling Brothers Circus, and I would love to see this Valor and Virtue perform.”

“Mrs. Amberly Sloane,” I reply. “But only Valor, the girl, is interested in acrobatic work at this time, not that it matters. I’m afraid that unless you have influence with White Star, you’ll have to be content with jellyfish, Mr. Stewart. Official permissions are needed.”

“The captain is a tough nut to crack,” he mutters to himself. “How old are they?”

“Almost eighteen.”

He taps his paper against his hand. “If I can get the captain’s permission, might I impose on you to ask Valor and Virtue to give us a performance? No guarantees, of course.”

I pretend to consider for a moment.

The Titanic sways, and Croggy braces himself, then shrinks farther away from the ocean.

“Good God, Croggy, it’s just a swell,” Mr. Stewart grumbles. To us, he adds, “If I’d known he was so fearful of sea travel, I never would’ve hired him. Imagine being afraid on such a magnificent vessel as the Titanic.”

I’m reminded of how Mrs. Sloane sometimes talked about me, as if I wasn’t there. That pinhead Valora is always overwatering my pansies. At least the eccentric Mrs. Sloane was usually by herself.

“We’re all afraid of something, Mr. Stewart,” I reprimand. I’m a crotchety old woman after all. “I myself am afraid of turtles. Nasty snapping beasts good for nothing but a tureen. I’d say you’re lucky to have a servant loyal enough to face his fears for you.” I nod at Croggy, who’s back to impersonating a potted plant.

Mr. Stewart scratches at his jowls again. Before he turns sour, I continue with mock reluctance, “I am fond of those twins. If the captain agrees, I will let them know of your interest. You can leave a message with my friend Charlotte Fine here, and she will get it to me.”

He switches his gaze to her. “I will do that, thank you.”

Croggy clears his throat. “Sir, your two o’clock shave with the barber is coming up shortly.”