Softly, she began to hum the nightingale song and Ben joined in. But then there came a moment when England behind them disappeared, and France before them was still out of sight, and they stopped singing because the moment was too immense, and the only sound was the engine of the little Sparrowhawk bravely plowing on, slow and steady, slow and steady.

“We were so right to do this,” said Lotti.

Ben smiled, and raised his face to the sun.

In silence, then, they continued, side by side, looking straight ahead. The tide turned and the going slowed but still the Sparrowhawk went on, and there was no reason to believe that anything would go wrong. Little wavelets were breaking against the hull and the air was growing muggy, but the sky was still blue, the sea was still calm.

The French coast came into view, a white line on the horizon. There was a moment of jubilation, ecstatic and triumphant. Ben whooped. Lotti cheered. Frank stuck his head up out of the cabin and said, “Well, thank goodness for that. Want me to take over?”

“No way!” said Ben, and Frank went below again.

But, but, but …

A few moments later, Frank came back up, his expression grim.

“Blinking dog’s started,” he said.

Ben and Lotti stared uncomprehendingly.

“The puppies,” said Frank, and took the tiller. “Go on.” He sighed. “Go and see to her.”

No, no, no! The puppies, now! This was what Ben had been afraid of! What if something went wrong? What if Elsie didn’t know what to do? What if … Ben, with Lotti close behind, tumbled down the steps into the cabin.

Elsie lay in a tight ball on Ben’s berth, with the blanket over her head.

She didn’t appear to be in any discomfort.

“I don’t understand,” Ben shouted up to Frank. “Why do you think she’s started?”

“Never seen a dog behave like that before,” the answer came back.

“But I have …” Lotti spoke in a whisper, her face very white. “She’s doing exactly what she did when I first met you, Ben, when it rained so much even though it was a beautiful day. She’s being a barometer.”

They turned and climbed back up to the deck. In the short time they had been below, the temperature had dropped, the little waves grown stronger. France looked no closer, but the horizon had turned the color of a giant bruise.

“Look at the sky!” Lotti had said at Limehouse, not knowing these had been her father’s exact words outside Barton Lacey all those years ago, when Isobel wanted to stay.

Storms.

Sometimes, it seems, they come from nowhere.