Page 56 of Haunting the Deep

“Just yer parasol and ya can be on yer way.” She holds out a frilly umbrella.

“I’m sorry, Mollie, but I have to draw the line somewhere. There are only so many accessories a person can wear, and that thing pushes me over the edge.”

Mollie puts her hand on her hip. “Never in me life have I come across a lady that dislikes getting dressed as much as you do.”

“That’s why you love me.” I smile at her and head for the door. “You coming?”

She sighs and puts down the parasol.

We walk side by side through the hallway and out onto the deck. The sun is shining, there’s a cool salty breeze, and everything sparkles—the water, the people, the mood.

“Enjoying the afternoon, niece?” Uncle Harry asks, and I turn. His black hat shields his eyes from the bright sun. Hammad is with him, walking by his side.

“Very much so.”

“Good. Good. I am off to join Mr. Stead for lunch. I would invite you, but as I understand it, you have quite the social engagement.” He smiles at me in such a kind way that I actually feel warmer.

This ship really is lovely, especially today. “Yes, of course. Please send Mr. Stead my regards.”

My uncle bows. “Right-o. See you this evening.”

I scan the deck, which is filled with finely dressed men and women. There is an empty bench a ways down with a good view of the water.

I turn to Mollie. “So what’s this social engagement he was talking about?”

“Yer uncle arranged fer ya ta have lunch with Madeleine Astor at Café Parisien. She’s only a couple a years older than ya. Lucile Carter, Gladys Cherry…oh, and the Countess of Rothes. There are a few others as well. I’m sure ya will enjoy yerself. They are absolutely the who’s who of the ship.”

I laugh and do my best English accent. “Lots of tea sipping and ‘Oh, isn’t that dressdarling.And this hat, I just couldn’t live without it. It simply matches everything.’ ”

Mollie almost laughs, but catches herself. “Yer just terrible.”

We arrive at the bench at the same time as a middle-aged man with a black mustache.

“Pardon me, miss,” he says in a thick Spanish accent, and bows.

“Samantha Mather,” I say.

“Manuel Uruchurtu,” he says.

“Are you taking a trip to New York?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Mexico City. I am quite looking forward to seeing my beautiful wife and our seven children. I’ve been gone for nearly two months.”

“You were visiting Europe, then?”

“Visiting old friends in France. I was actually scheduled to take another ship altogether, but a friend of mine persuaded me to trade tickets with him. Please take the bench, Miss Mather,” Manuel says, looking from Mollie to me. “I will find another one.”

“No, no, you take it. I have a lunch soon anyway. You can enjoy the view for both of us. I insist,” I reply.

We share a smile, and Mollie and I continue across the deck.

“How much time do we have, Mollie? Before the lunch, I mean.”

“A little under an hour, I would guess,” she says.

We stop at a chain marking the end of the first-class promenade area.

I run my fingers over the metal links. “An hour? Hmmm.” I smile mischievously at Mollie. “Have you been to any of the other decks besides the first-class ones?”