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‘Oh, I intend to, Mrs Brown. Poor Mrs Aldershoff. Her only daughter will be leaving her to live on the other side of the Atlantic,’ Mrs Norris replies with a sigh. She puts a gloved hand on her breast and shakes her head mournfully. ‘How will she bear it?’

‘Because her daughter will be Viscountess Ravenglass,’ I say with a laugh.

Mrs Brown laughs with me. ‘That will be consolation indeed.’

I catch Isabella’s eye and she gives me a complicit smile. I wonder how much she would give to live on the other side of the Atlantic to her mother.

When we leave the restaurant, Mrs Brown cups my elbow in her generous hand. ‘Are you quite all right, Connie? You’re unusually quiet.’

‘Am I?’ I ask. I thought I was doing rather a good job of being Constance, but clearly not.

‘You are not quite yourself.’

I realise that I’m going to have to explain the change in Constance – Mrs Brown wouldn’t believe me if I told her the truth. ‘Between you and me, Mrs Brown …’

‘Maggie,’ she says, frowning. The very fact that I have misnamed her justifies her comments, and her eyes scrutinise me with concern.

‘Of course. Maggie. To be honest, I have been feeling a little off for the last couple of days. It might be the motion of the ship or my worries about Lord Ravenglass.’ I give her a meaningful look.

She nods slowly. ‘Say no more, Connie,’ she replies, lowering her voice. ‘That Ravenglass is a liability, for sure. You need to get him up that aisle as quickly as possible.’

‘You’re so right.’

‘Before he causes a scandal.’

I inhale through my nostrils and feign anxiety. ‘I worry about Miss Aldershoff, too. I only hope Lord Ravenglass truly loves her.’

Mrs Brown laughs heartily. She thinks I’m joking. ‘You kill me, Connie!’ She pats my arm. ‘The only person Ravenglass loves is himself! No woman can compete with that!’

We wander up the deck. Coming towards us is Mr Rowland.

Behind him, leaning on the railing looking out to sea in the company of Josephine and another young woman I don’t recognise, is Cavill.

I’m torn. I want to go and talk to him, but I suspect, by the keen look on Mr Rowland’s face, that he’s about to speak to us.

My heart sinks. I can do nothing but oblige.

‘Good day to you, ladies,’ he says, doffing his hat. ‘Are you having a fine morning?’

‘We are, indeed,’ Mrs Brown replies heartily.

‘Might I join you for a stroll?’ He looks from Mrs Brown to me, his blue eyes shining with enthusiasm, and then Mrs Brown chortles in that easy manner of hers and says, ‘I must return to my cabin, so I will leave you both to enjoy the sunshine.’ She smiles broadly and strides off, the feathers on her hat dancing cheerfully.

I wonder whether Mrs Brown is colluding with Constance.

Does she know how she feels about Mr Rowland – Orlando?

Is she deliberately leaving us alone together?

Mr Rowland offers me his arm, and I do my duty and take it.

I have no alternative than to make polite conversation.

I’m aware with every step that I’m leaving Cavill behind me.

‘Isn’t the weather just lovely,’ I say, turning to look at Cavill again.

As I do, he turns his head and our eyes meet.

It’s for a moment only, a fleeting moment that is quickly over. But I’m electrified.

‘We are fortunate. Every day, sunshine,’ says Mr Rowland and I have to tear my eyes away. I can feel Cavill’s gaze still on me as I set off into the wind. ‘And what a pace we’re keeping. I do believe we will reach New York a day early.’

‘Is that so?’ I ask vaguely, trying to concentrate on him and shake off the lingering feeling of Cavill’s eyes locked on mine.

‘I heard Mr Ismay instructing Captain Smith to take her up a notch. Thrilling, isn’t it!’

‘Is that wise?’

‘Mr Ismay wants to beat all expectations. He’s an ambitious man, Miss Fleet.’

If only Mr Ismay knew how dangerous his ambitions are, but he can’t imagine the disaster that is just over a day away. And I can’t tell him!

‘We’re almost flying,’ I reply flatly, turning my eyes to the horizon and feeling a sudden pang of sorrow for all the lives that will be lost. I wonder whether Mr Rowland makes it off. And Cavill … It’s too awful to think about.

‘I do hope I may call on you in New York,’ he says.

‘Of course, you may,’ I answer, hoping that he makes it there. ‘You’ll know where to find me,’ I add, because he’s Alice Aldershoff’s cousin.

‘I most certainly will.’ He chuckles. ‘No one can miss a house that size!’

‘I can’t wait to see it. I’ve been told so much about it.’

‘Oh, it’s mighty big. You won’t be disappointed. And they entertain lavishly. In fact, I would go as far as to say that Mrs Aldershoff gives the best parties in New York!’ He smiles across at me. ‘I do believe you enjoy a party, Miss Fleet.’

‘Tell me, what do you like best about the city?’ I ask, in order to avoid talking about myself. He’s delighted by my question and, as he begins to describe the opera, the music, the grand social scene and the habits and customs of the people, I feel as if I’m in an Edith Wharton novel.

As we make for the door to take us back into the ship, I notice Lester deep in conversation with a woman I have not seen before.

They are wandering slowly up the deck, and she has her hand in the crook of his arm.

She’s beautiful. Even from a distance I can see that.

Her face is angular, her eyes long and striking, framed with thick black lashes.

Her lustrous brown hair is pinned up and crowned with a playful hat.

She’s slim. In fact, her figure is the classic hourglass shape so admired by Edwardians, and her purple-and-black dress, which seems demure with the lace buttoned high at her throat, is actually quite brash.

By the vivacious way she moves her gloved hand and tosses her head when she laughs, I suspect that she is Mrs Delia Finch, the widow Constance believes is a danger to Lester’s reputation. He does seem quite taken with her.

Mr Rowland and I part in the hall, and I’m left wondering what to do. What would Constance do in this position? Would she intervene? Would she leave them to it?

Just then, Josephine Pengower rushes up to me with the young woman she was talking to earlier on the deck with her father.

But Cavill is nowhere to be seen. ‘Miss Fleet,’ she says, standing before me now with her father’s eyes and smile.

My heart lurches at the resemblance. ‘Emma has been telling me about your spirit board,’ she says, lowering her voice and looking at me directly.

‘I told her that the letters spelt out were H and P ,’ says the girl who must be Miss Livingstone – Emma Livingstone.

‘Those are my mother’s initials.’ Josephine’s eyes shine hopefully. ‘Hermione Pengower.’

When I read the diary, that did not occur to me. I’m astonished. Constance thought the seance had failed. It hadn’t. It was just that the wrong spirit had come through.

‘I was wondering whether you might do it again, for me.’

I don’t hesitate. I know that Constance would leap at this piece of information. ‘Let us meet in my cabin after lunch,’ I tell her.

The girls smile. ‘Thank you, Miss Fleet,’ says Josephine and she touches my arm. I sense an intimacy between Josephine and Constance, and wonder how that came about.

They set off down the grand staircase and I head outside with the intention of breaking up Lester and Delia, but when I cast my eye down the promenade deck I find that they are no longer there.

I am reunited with Lester and Mrs Brown at lunch in the Café Parisien.

We are joined by Mrs Norris and Isabella, Mr Gilsden, whose mother sleeps during the day, and Mr Rowland, who eagerly takes the chair beside mine.

I turn my eyes to the door with a pang of longing, but Cavill must be having lunch with his daughter in the dining room.

I turn my attention to my companions and concentrate on the part I’m playing.

‘What have you been up to this morning, Ravenglass?’ Mrs Brown asks Lester, and when he replies, there is no mention of Mrs Finch.

I meet with Josephine Pengower and Emma Livingstone in my cabin after lunch as planned.

I realise I need another chair and knock on Lester’s door.

When no one answers, I try the knob. It’s locked.

I notice a steward at the other end of the corridor and summon him in a manner that would make the Honourable Constance proud.

‘I need to borrow a chair from my nephew’s cabin,’ I tell him in an imperious tone.

‘Would you be very kind and unlock the door?’ He doesn’t hesitate and unlocks it at once.

I slip inside. It’s similar to my cabin with a large bed, wood-panelled walls and a window opening onto bright blue skies and sunshine.

As the steward carries the chair across the corridor to my cabin, I take the opportunity to look around.

Light falls onto the quilt and the objects on the chest of drawers.

There doesn’t seem to be anything unusual – simply, the normal things a man might have in his bedroom.

It’s tidy too. Immaculate, actually. Lester’s black shoes are neatly placed beside the chair.

They’re so shiny, they look wet. His evening dress is pressed to perfection and arranged on a hanger on the door of the wardrobe, ready for tonight.

His silver-backed brushes and combs are laid out on a linen towel side by side, and three bottles of unidentifiable liquids stand in a row.

Nothing is out of place. I can see that great care has gone into keeping Lester’s belongings clean and orderly.