Wordlessly the sailors dispersed, avoiding his eyes.

“Mr. Buck?”

“Seems the prisoner lost ’er balance, officer.”

Dr. Dunne glared at Buck, as if wanting to reprimand him but not finding enough cause. He exhaled through his nose. “Get the locksmith.”

“Will do, officer.”

“Do it now, seaman.” Dr. Dunne motioned for Olive to step away. Crouching down in front of the girl, he said, “What is your name?”

“Don’t matter.”

“I’m the ship surgeon. Dr. Dunne. I need to know.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Hazel.”

“Hazel what?”

“Ferguson.”

“Where are you from?”

She paused again. “Glasgow.”

“May I?” He held his hands up, as if surrendering, then reached toward her, fingers spread. She let him cup her face. He turned her head this way and that, inspecting it. “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

“The wound needs cleaning. As soon as you get these irons off, I’ll take a closer look.”

“I can take care of meself.”

Stepping forward, Olive blurted, “That sailor shoved her. Buck. We all seen it.”

“Is that what happened?” the surgeon asked the girl.

“Dunno.”

“You don’t know, or don’t want to say?”

She lifted a bony shoulder in a shrug.

“Did the same to me,” Olive said. “Savage as a meat axe, that one. Ye should throw him off the ship.”

Dr. Dunne gave her a sharp look. “That’s enough, Miss Rivers.”

“What d’ye know.” Olive grinned, nodding to the crowd. “He knows who I am.”

The surgeon stood and faced her, hands on his hips. “Do not mistake my solicitude for affinity, prisoner,” he said. “I am paid to know who you are. And to keep you alive. Though perhaps not enough to accomplish that feat.”

Evangeline didn’t see the girl again until after chores were done for the day and the convicts were herded down to the orlop deck to be bolted in for the night. As she approached her berth with a nub of candle she saw that the bottom bunk across the aisle was occupied. The girl’s narrow back was visible under the blanket, her curls spilling across it.

Evangeline motioned to Olive, just behind her: Look there.

Olive climbed up to her bunk and leaned across the aisle. “Ay, Hazel.”

Silence.

“I been to Glasgow once.”

The form shifted slightly.

“That cathedral. Big, in’it? Huge.” Olive whistled through her teeth.

Hazel twisted around to look at them. “Ye seen it?”

“I have. You’re a long way from home.” When the girl didn’t answer, she said, “I’m Olive. This here’s Evange-a-leen. I call ’er Leenie. She floats along with her head in the clouds, but she’s all right.”

“Olive.” Evangeline sighed.

“What? It’s true.”

“I’ve never been to Glasgow, but I read about it,” Evangeline told Hazel. “Rob Roy. I loved that book.”

“See what I mean?” Olive said. “She tries, god love ’er, but all she knows is books.”

Hazel made a grunt. A laugh, maybe.

“You’re pitiful young,” Olive said. “Ye must miss your mum.”

She snorted. “Hardly.”