Emmeline Coates was more given to hoping than dreaming. She hoped she would not be seasick. She hoped her little spaniel, Lionel, would enjoy the sailing voyage north. She hoped she’d like her new home in—

Philadelphia?

I snapped the journal shut. As we were sailing north, I’d already suspected we were bound for the American colonies, but here was proof.

I was heading toward war.

Suddenly I wished I’d listened better to Sewel and Mr. Baines’s grousing. I knew there’d been taxes levied on the Americans that they didn’t want to pay. In a fit, they’d tossed a shipful of good tea into Boston Harbor, and now King George had to set things back to rights. There was more to it, I knew, but politics was the domain of men and not for me to ask.

We were Loyalists; that was all I needed to know, Mama taught me. For men, that meant loyalty to God, king, and country. For women, that meant loyalty to their men.

Even the awful ones.

Swallowing past the ache in my throat, I opened the journal again.

Emmeline Coates was seventeen—two years older than me—and born this month, like me. She’d hoped her father would host a fine assembly to celebrate, with dinner and dancing amongst Philadelphia’s finest families. She’d hoped to marry by her twentieth birthday, to a gentleman of sound character and established fortune. He would also be devout, handsome, and fashionable and make a “superb father.”

Saints. I thought I had an imagination. But it couldn’t be any clearer now: Emmeline Coates could give me everything I needed. As her, I’d never have to beg in the streets—or worse. I could have the something more Mama wished for me. Comfort and respectability. The fine life of a lady.

That decided it. I was going to become her. I’d already fooled this ship’s captain and crew. How much harder would it be to keep going?

A cough yanked me from my thoughts.

I whirled to the cuddy. The journal slipped off my lap and struck the floor with a thud.

For seconds, I didn’t dare move. Then I stood and crept toward the little door.

Placing my trembling hands on the wood, I pressed my ear to it.

All I heard were the ship’s creaks and whines, but I knew someone was behind the door—I just knew it.

Defying good sense, I knocked. Once. Twice.

Then I held my breath and waited.

And waited.

I could hold it a long, long time.

But when I exhaled, still no one had answered.

At sea

“Welcome, Miss Coates.” The captain rose from the table and smiled. “I am so pleased you could join me.”

As promised, Izra had fetched me for dinner. Unlike my lavish quarters, the musty cabin I’d just entered was cramped and spare, with a table at the center and two berths to one side. A lone moonbeam shone through the porthole, cutting the dimness like a sword.