She gave me an apologetic grin. “Sorry, miss. You’re right. My old dad said I was getting too big for me boots when I went to see them last time. He said pride comes before a fall.”

“Then listen to your old dad,” I said. “And find an ironing board. Some of these things crumple easily.” I headed for the door. At the door I turned around. “Oh, and Queenie, one does not use a hot iron on silk. It will melt.”

“Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said. I sighed. She was never going to learn and I was stuck with her.

I left her to unpack and went out onto the deck. I stood looking down at the impossibly small people moving like ants on the dock below. The wind in my hair was fresh and had the tang of salt in it. I felt so excited that I did a little dance—a sort of hop, skip and jump as I went toward the railing.

“Very attractive,” said a voice behind me. I spun around, blushing, to see a young man leaning against the railing, smoking. “I must make a note to secure you as my first partner in the ballroom.”

“I’m afraid I’m a hopeless dancer when it comes to ballroom,” I said. “I hardly know a fox-trot from a two-step.”

“You prefer the more primitive sort of dance, like the one you just did?” His eyes were challenging me and I felt distinctly uneasy.

“That wasn’t really a dance, just letting off steam after being cooped up with my mother for days.”

He came over to me. “So you’re traveling with your mother, are you? Off to find a rich American husband? I’m afraid there aren’t so many of them these days.”

Under moments of stress I always seem to channel my great-grandmother Queen Victoria. “You know, you’re frightfully rude and we haven’t even been introduced, so I shouldn’t be speaking to you,” I said.

He threw back his head and laughed. “We’re on a ship. Anything goes. No outdated society rules here, and a lot of cabin hopping too.”

“Not to my cabin,” I said. “I have a young man, thank you, and do not need a rich American.”

He opened his cigarette case. “Do you smoke?” he said. “I’m Tubby Halliday, by the way. And you are?”

“Georgiana Rannoch,” I said, accepting a cigarette although I’d never quite learned the taste for them and certainly had never inhaled the smoke.

“Are you? Good heavens. And your mother is the actress Claire Daniels? I thought I recognized her when she was being whisked on board. What are you going to be doing in America, may one ask?”

“Mummy has a spot of business. I’m keeping her company,” I said.