‘That’s thePersephone,’ the man said, his white moustache wobbling. ‘TheAureliahas engine problems.’
‘So then put me on the ship that’s leaving,’ said Damien.
The man’s watery blue eyes narrowed. ‘You see this?’ He tapped at the ticket. ‘You see this price? You only get it if you book a specific departure, on a specific day, for a specific ship. The reason it’s so cheap is because it’s non-transferable, Mr …’ The man looked at the ticket and then up at Damien. ‘Mr Wozniak.’
‘But that wasn’t the plan,’ Damien said, feeling his skin become clammy. The plan was to be in Liverpool for a night, and then leave for New York.
‘Excuse me?’ a woman’s voice trilled from behind him. ‘Some of us here have the right tickets.’
‘And some of us need to learn some patience,’ Damien muttered, though he kept his gaze on the man in the booth, who had begun to knead his bushy grey eyebrows with knuckles the size of ham joints. ‘When is theAureliadue to sail?’
‘She’s not likely to be sea-worthy until February,’ the man said.
‘February? Is that a jest? I buy a ticket for September, and you tell me I can sail in February?’
‘As I said, Mr Wozniak, you bought a very specific ticket—’
‘Which was not cheap,’ Damien said, trying to wrestle his frustration into something more useful. ‘Do I look like a man who wastes his money?’
The man’s gaze flicked across Damien’s fine, silk hat – fingered from the train station the day before – and the ‘garnet’ pin shimmering at his throat, and his stony demeanour wobbled.
‘No, sir, you do not.’
‘Then we’re agreed. You’ll transfer my ticket to that ship. First-class.’
The man swallowed a little. ‘I should state that thePersephoneis bound for Boston, and not New York.’
‘Wonderful,’ muttered Damien.
‘And that a first-class ticket at the very last minute …’
‘Would be hard to come by, yes, yes,’ Damien said haughtily. ‘But you will do it, lest you wish your bosses to hear of it.’
The man licked his lips. ‘I’m not authorized myself to make such a transfer––’
‘Then I shall wait, while you fetch whoeverisauthorized,’ said Damien, ignoring the sigh of disbelief from the woman behind him as the flapping door of the ticket booth opened, and the man waddled from it.
‘We shall be late now!’ the woman behind him said, her voice shrill. ‘I travelled all the way up from London for this steamship, I’ll have you know.’
Damien turned. She was older than he’d imagined, and dripping in jewels – from the diamond brooch pinned to her hat, to the coil of pearls twinkling at her throat.
‘Madam,’ he said, turning his voice silken. ‘I promise you, the ship will not leave without you.’
She huffed an impatient breath through her lips. ‘I should hope not.’
‘Please accept my apologies for the delay.’ He ducked her a short bow, giving her his most charming smile – and watched as some of her terseness dissolved.
‘I suppose it’s not your fault,’ she said primly, a flush rising on her cheeks as he pressed a kiss to her fine, leather gloves. He suspected the lumps he could feel beneath the leather were a set of sapphire paperweights masquerading as rings. ‘They really should have notified you in advance if there was a problem with your ship.’
‘Thank you for your patience with me, madam,’ Damien said, turning back as the white-whiskered man reappeared, followed by a spindly fellow with beady black eyes.
‘When I heard Mr Wozniak had cause for complaint, I had to come at once,’ said the spindly fellow. His mouthwas pinched, his brown hair receding rapidly beneath his hat, and he peered down at Damien questioningly. ‘For Mr Wozniak is one of our most regular travellers. Spends a small fortune with us.’
Damien felt the man’s words like a bucket of cold water down his spine.Thiswasn’t good.
‘But of course you’re not Mr Wozniak, are you –sir?’
He said the word accusingly, and in that moment Damien saw the beginnings of what he liked to call ‘the shift’. It happened when the person in front of him saw the real Damien, or a flicker of him, behind whatever he had cloaked himself in. Today he’d been playing the role of a well-to-do young man, thanks to the ruff of fur on his coat’s collar, and his fine leather gloves. One glance at his now clean-shaven face, his round, silver spectacles and his nearly clean brown hair, and people tended to make assumptions. Assumptions that often got him moved to the front of queues, or let into establishments that were technically member-only.
