“Chew slowly ’til nothing’s left,” Hazel said. “Hug the wall. And give it back. It’s all I got.”

Evangeline handed her the root. Closing her eyes, she put her fingers in her ears and turned to the wall, concentrating only on the nub of ginger in her mouth, which softened and mellowed as she gnawed it. In this way, finally, she drifted to sleep.

By the time Evangeline emerged from below decks the next morning, a few hours after breakfast, the Medea had left the Thames and was heading into the North Sea. The water was choppy and white-capped, the sky above the sails a dull white. A thin finger of land was visible in the distance. Evangeline gazed out at the vast, glistening ocean. Then she sat carefully on a barrel and closed her eyes, listening to a cacophony of sounds: a woman laughing, a baby fussing, sailors calling from mast to mast, the squawk of gulls, a bleating goat, the slap of water against the hull. The air was cold. She wished she’d brought her blanket upstairs with her, stained and reeking as it was.

“How was your night?”

She blinked into the brightness.

The surgeon was staring at her with his gray-green eyes. “Feel any better?”

She nodded. “I did what you said. Fingers in my ears and all. But I think it was ginger that made the difference.”

He gave her a quizzical smile. “Ginger?”

“The root. I chewed it.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“That redheaded girl. Hazel. But she took it back. Do you know where I might get some more?”

“I don’t. In the cook’s galley, I suppose.” His mouth twitched. “I’ve always considered it an old wives’ tale. But if it seems to help, by all means continue with it. I tend to be skeptical of miracle cures.”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s a miracle cure, but I do feel better,” she said. “Maybe those old wives knew what they were talking about.”

At times through strong headwinds, at others carving smoothly through the waves, the Medea journeyed the rough waters. The convicts gathered on the deck as the Medea passed the chalky Cliffs of Dover, as cleanly sliced as almond nougat, before heading into the lower Channel.

The cell at Newgate had been so crowded that all Evangeline had wanted was distance from other people. But now, to her surprise, she realized she was lonely. Every morning she rose with the clanging of the bell and lined up with the other women, who joked and complained and cursed as they stood with their dented cups and chipped spoons. She gulped her tea and gnawed hardtack, scrubbed the deck on her hands and knees. On temperate evenings, after her chores were finished and before the women were herded down to the orlop deck, she often stood alone at the railing and watched the sun drop in the sky and the stars appear, faintly at first, as if bubbling to the surface of a vast lake.