The hallway and first-class section terminate at a door that leads into the Collar. Just outside this door, a sign reads “Master-at-Arms.” I edge away from that residence. Of course, law enforcement is berthed just around the corner from where I’ll be doing my sneaking about.
Watching for stewards, I hurry across Scotland Road into the companionway and knock lightly on Room 14.
“Come in,” says a voice in Cantonese.
The lads are tucked in, the room half lit. Wink sleeps tightly rolled into a ball, whereas Olly half hangs off the bed, snoring loudly.
A shirtless Bo kneels over the bottom bunk, his wet hair slicked off his face. His back is steep and contoured like the cliffs of Dover when golden sunlight falls upon them. He glances up at me, and a fire licks my neck. Haven’t I seen my share of backs—dockers’, Jamie’s, though his is more like a slender ridge compared with the cliffs of Dover.
Bo fastens twine around a flat leather pouch and gets to his feet.
“I was just looking for Jamie,” I inform him quietly so as not to wake the lads. The close quarters and the dim lighting make the room feel uncomfortably intimate.
He slowly draws a shirt over his chiseled chest, fueling the fire on my neck. “Jamie said his sister was a card.”
“Oh?” So he talked about me with Bo, at least. “He never mentioned you.”
“Maybe words cannot do justice.” Even with his noticeable accent, his words swagger.
“I can think of a word for you. Wagtail.”
“Wagtail?” he pronounces.
“That’s right. A kind of bird with a long tail feather it likes to shake around for attention.”
He shrugs with one shoulder, appraising me with eyes that seem to see right through the shadows. “Jamie never teached us that one.”
“So, Jamietaughtyou English.”
He blinks and draws back his head, probably the kind of head unaccustomed to being corrected by a woman. “Jamiehelpedus all. Better chance for work if you speak English. If you want the best for him, go home. Girls should not wander by themselves.”
Despite the softness of his tone, my face begins to burn, as if I am holding coal in my cheeks. If he looked a few years older, I’d think he was born in the year of the ox. People born in that year are hardworking but often obnoxious.
“You’ve known Jamie now for, what, two years? I’ve known him for eighteen, if you count the year in the womb. I think I’d know better than you what’s best for him.”
“Maybe he has grown since he left. Grown enough not to take orders from sisters.”
My expression hardens. “If you’re not going to tell me where he is, then I’ll be on my way.”
“He did not say where he went. But since you are his sister, I bet you can guess.”
I close my coat around me with more force than is needed. I’m about to spin on my heel when I notice that the blanket on the top bunk is missing, with Jamie’s flannel nightshirt stuffed under his pillow. He isn’t ready for bed yet. If Jamie studies astronomy every night, I have a hunch where he might be. Bo, still watching me, gives me a smile so brief, it could be a trick of the light.
Well, Jamie, maybe I do know you better than you think.
9
As I carry myself down the companionway, footsteps approach from behind. “Ma’am?”
I freeze. A steward with a grin like a well-oiled saddle inclines his head of black hair toward me. Protruding cheekbones pull his skin taut, giving him a rather skeletal appearance. Did he see me emerge from Room 14?
“Evening, ma’am. Lose your way?” he asks with a jaunty swing to his voice. “T’isn’t safe here for a woman such as yourself.”
“Yes.” I remind myself that I am a fine English lady, and people here live for my comfort, not the other way around. “I seem to have gotten turned around,” I say imperiously. “Please direct me to the lifts.”
“Certainly.” A dorsal fin of a nose takes an expansive sniff, as if he has a cold. He points a bony finger down the Collar. “Past Scotland Road about a dozen paces, you’ll come to a door on the right. Continue through and keep walking until you see the signs.”
I take unhurried steps away, sure that if I turn around, the man will still be watching me. I must be more careful to avoid being seen here, not just as a woman, but as a first-classwoman, who certainly has no business in these parts. Without looking at the master-at-arms’s cabin, I swing open the door to first class.
