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held no enticements for Elisabeth, the chill of the ocean breeze soon chased her below decks. There, girls huddled in various states of illness from the constant rocking of the ship. Those well enough to fight through the nausea nursed those who were not.
    A lone girl, Nicole, lay on the edge of her bunk, head over the side and buried in a bucket as she heaved. Nothing remained for her queasy stomach to expel, which Elisabeth knew made the experience even worse. No one attended her, so Elisabeth climbed into the bunk to sit behind Nicole and hold her chestnut mane away from her face.
    â€œThank you,” the girl muttered between gagging spells.
    â€œDon’t you worry. Just try to relax and breathe.” Elisabeth spoke in soft tones and rubbed the girl’s back. It was the only relief she could offer.
    Eventually, Nicole lay back on her bed. The heaves no longer racked her body, but the girl still shivered violently. Elisabeth covered Nicole’s shaking frame with the blanket from her own bed.
    Nicole nodded gratefully but did not attempt to speak.
    Not knowing what else to do, Elisabeth went to the ship’s kitchens. The crew didn’t appear to appreciate passengers milling about during a squall and did not seem happy about the intrusion. Elisabeth could not walk into a kitchen without making an assessment, and the ship’s galley seemed reasonably well organized. Pierre Martin himself would have found no real fault. The quantity of wine seemed a bit excessive, but sailing was a monotonous career, after all.
    â€œExcuse me, Monsieur Aubin,” Elisabeth said. “May I have some bread and ale for one of the women? She is very ill.”
    â€œThey always is, mademoiselle,” said the rough-hewn sailor who ran the galley. His gray beard was patchy and his teeth were black with decay. He did not look up at Elisabeth from the salted meat he chopped for that night’s stew. “It ain’t suppertime yet, so she’ll have to wait.”
    â€œSir, this young lady has had neither breakfast nor dinner, I can assure you,” Elisabeth said. “You can certainly spare her a portion of bread and a cup of ale to soothe her stomach.”
    The man glanced up from his carving board with watery blue eyes, the parts that should have been white gone yellow from too many months at sea along with too much ale and rum.
    â€œFine, then.” He pointed to a pile of bread he’d baked three days before. “Take what you want, but don’t complain when we starve two weeks off the coast.”
    â€œThank you,” Elisabeth replied, in a tone laced with syrup.
    She saw as soon as she boarded the ship a month before that it was best to pretend the sailors were gallant gentlemen, even though most were as far removed from it as a man could be. The chaperone sent to protect the young women from the sailors had proven a necessary measure, though the chaperone in question spent most of her time moaning on her bunk, even sicker than her wards.
    Elisabeth returned to the bunk room and forced Nicole to eat the bread and sip the ale. Elisabeth shook her head as she parceled out the bread. Her father would have closed his doors rather than sell the crumbling mess. It looked as though the sailor used sawdust rather than proper flour—too much like the biscuits Elisabeth hid in her handbag when forced to visit the awful Madame Thibault with her mother. The memory of the spiteful old woman and her fondness for unctuous lectures—long ones—evoked an involuntary yawn Elisabeth didn’t bother to stifle.
    When Nicole finished the bread and ale, she remained far from well, but her color had improved.
    â€œSome air,” suggested Elisabeth.
    Nicole nodded, though her stance wobbled when she rose from the stale mattress. Supporting Nicole by the arm, Elisabeth led the weakened girl to the main deck of the ship. Though the waves still churned, the girls found a sheltered place to sit