Fateful Read Free Page B

crowd like this—more people than I’ve ever seen in one place, all of them pushing and shoving. Also, I can’t tell precisely where I’m supposed to go. There is an entry for first-class passengers, another for third class—going to different decks of the ship altogether. I look down at my burden. Which of us counts more: me or my employers’ possession?
    Then I feel it again, that prickle at the back of my neck. The hunter’s eyes on its prey. I glance behind me, expecting to see—what? The wolf from the night before? The young man who rescued me, then told me to flee for the sake of my life? I see neither. In the crush, perhaps I can’t see them, but then they wouldn’t be able to see me either. But someone’s watching. I know he’s there, down deep within me, in the place that doesn’t respond to thought or logic, just pure animal instinct.
    Someone in this crowd of strangers is watching me.
    Someone is hunting me.
    “Lost your way, miss?” says a bluff sort of man, with red cheeks and sky-blue eyes. His voice makes me jump, but the interruption is welcome. He wears what I believe is an officer’s uniform, so why he’s speaking to the likes of me, I can’t imagine. But his voice and face are kind, and I feel safer having somebody to talk to, no matter who it might be.
    “I’m to deliver this to my employers’ cabin,” I say. “I’m in the service of the Viscount Lisle’s family.”
    “Then it’s first class for you.”
    “But I’m traveling in third class.”
    He frowns. “A bit cheap, aren’t they?”
    I ought to be prim and offended that he’s slighted the family I work for. Instead, I have to stifle a giggle. “I know it must be . . . unusual. But now I don’t know how to board the ship.”
    “First class, I think. I remember the head steward talking about this now—they’ve arranged for you to have keys to help you get about. Unusual, yes, but nothing is too good for the family of a viscount.” The touch of sarcasm in his voice is light enough to allow me to ignore the joke or enjoy it, as I prefer. I enjoy it. “The stewards will show you the way once you get aboard. Sure you don’t want to get one of them to handle it? That looks heavy for you.”
    It’s the nicest thing anybody has said to me in days, and I’m surprised to feel a small lump in my throat. But I know my duty; I know the potential repercussions. “Milady wants me to handle this personally. Thank you just the same, sir.”
    He touches his cap before striding away to whatever duty he put aside to help me. I hurry to the first-class gangplank, hoping that whoever was staring at me before is third class. Some foreigner, no doubt.
    And maybe it was no more than my imagination playing tricks on me, bringing out the fear beneath my skin. I have reasons enough to be nervous. This voyage—these next few days—are going to change my life forever.
    The first-class gangplank is more like a promenade; people take their time, seeing and being seen in the sunshine. Ladies turn that way and this so that their wide-brimmed hats will be seen to their best advantage, and they hold parasols of finely worked lace that cast scrolling shadows below. Gentlemen’s canes and shoes shine. It might be a fashion parade, were it not for the few servants in the mix panting under our burdens. We move so slowly that I dare to put the box down for a few seconds.
    As my tired muscles relax, I slip one hand into the pocket of my dress. There I clasp a small felt purse, one I sewed myself out of scraps. I had to do the work late at night, and they only allow us one candle in the attic, so it’s hardly my finest accomplishment as a seamstress. But nobody sees this purse besides me.
    The felt is heavy in my hand. Through the fabric, I can feel the weight of coins, the slip of wadded notes. For the past year and a half, I’ve saved every bit of money I could. I even kept a pound note I found on the stair the morning after a dinner party—a