“This way, Miss Emmeline.” Captain Jansen removed his hat and gestured toward a hatch. I followed him into a cramped darkness that smelled faintly of urine. “I am afraid it won’t approach what you must be used to,” he said as he ducked under beams—step and duck, step and duck—stopping before the door at the end. “But these are the finest quarters on the Ambrosia. I hope you will find them adequate.”

Inside, sunshine cut through a wide bank of stern windows, setting aglow a cabin filled with finery such as I’d only ever imagined. A desk sparkled with brass instruments. A table gleamed with silver and glass. Even the bed tucked into a little alcove glowed with a sheepskin covering.

“You shall have sole use of it as long as necessary,” the captain went on. “Izra has already moved my effects, and you shan’t be disturbed here, you may be sure. The berths for the crew are in an entirely separate area.”

Izra was the young black boy posted by the door, I guessed. He wore a red striped jacket missing some buttons and had clever eyes that held on me.

What did he see? A fine lady?

Or a common girl, pretending to be one?

“Ah, here we are.” The captain turned to the bald man who shuffled through the door, setting down a wood trunk. “This is Mr. Withers, the Ambrosia’s surgeon.”

“Your humble servant, Miss Coates,” Mr. Withers said with a small bow. “If you’ll allow me to—”

I shot back as he reached for me, knocking against the table. Something slid off and shattered on the floor with a sharp crunch. A silver pocket watch.

“Not to worry, not to worry,” the captain rushed to say. “That old watch was already broken. Izra will see to the mess.”

Izra was already seeing to it, kneeling to pick up shards of glass.

Mr. Withers’s hands were still hanging in the air where my forehead had been. He lowered them. “You’ve suffered a terrible shock, Miss Coates. And that’s a most severe cut on your brow. If you would allow me to—”

I rounded the table and shook my head. He wasn’t touching me. If I could help it, no man ever would again.

“Perhaps later,” Withers said with a thin smile. “In the meantime, I’ll prepare a draught of laudanum to help settle you.”

I shook my head again. I’d gotten myself off West End, but Sewel was still much too close. I had to stay alert.

“As you wish. I remain at your service.” Mr. Withers smiled, but his eyes stayed cold.

The captain reassured me that all was well now, that my only concern ought be resting; then he and Mr. Withers stepped into the passageway, pulling the door half shut behind them.

“She’s not said a word,” said the captain. “Not a single word since we found her.”

“So I gathered,” replied Mr. Withers. “I believe the shock’s addled her mind and stolen her power of speech.”