rough. It was dark in the belly of the boat, and it smelled of rotten fish. She found a narrow cabin where a lantern swayed on a hook and sat down on a bench. She didn’t want to watch France recede behind her.
Paris would still be the place where good and terrible things had happened, all the pieces of her life. The glorious balloon flights with Lazare, the stars seen from the tower at Notre-Dame, the terrible oak tree like a gallows, cozy Flotsam House under the bridge and the muttering Hôtel Séguin protective behind its gate, her printing press and her memories of her family, the silver-black river always running away. Paris was where she’d become who she was. It was inside of her, forever.
And England?
She couldn’t grasp it. Lazare had told her about the cliffs of Dover, but seeing them without him—she shook her head. She knew already she would not stay there very long. Once Sophie and the others were settled, she’d return to search for him.
At first the crossing was rough, the stout vessel rolling as it raced ahead of the wind, but it didn’t take long for the sea to change. Through the porthole she watched the waves shrink until only small puffs roughed the water’s surface and the sailing became smooth.
Suddenly Sophie appeared in the doorway of the little cabin, her eyes sparkling. “You’re not feeling seasick, are you?”
Camille shook her head.
“Then you must come up on the deck! Quickly! The sun is breaking through the clouds and dancing on the water. You must not miss it! I promise you’ll find it quite extraordinary.”
Reluctantly, Camille took her sister’s hand. Together, kicking their skirts out of the way, they climbed the ladder to the deck. Around her, the sea spread out in storm-gray hues. She’d seen it on the map, and knew that compared to the great oceans of the world this was only a narrow strait, but nevertheless it felt enormous and endless. The air was alive as it rushed cold over her skin, full of tiny water droplets. She inhaled the fresh, briny scent, and it felt as though it cleared something in her.
“See? Isn’t it wonderful?” Sophie squeezed her hand. “Take it all in.”
“Very well,” she said, smiling at Sophie’s enthusiasm. “It is magnificent to be at sea.” Ahead fog still hung over the water, but now that the sun was shining, she hoped it would burn off, revealing the English side. “Do you think the cliffs will be as lovely as they say?”
“I cannot wait to see them! Though there are many beautiful things in the world.”
“Oh? You seem quite captivated by the sea journey,” Camille observed.
“Perhaps I am. It is full of surprises, don’t you think?” Sophie shaded her eyes and looked back toward Wissant. “I never imagined there would be so many ships. Though ours is a paltry enough thing. Don’t scold me! It reeks of fish guts and is slippery with scales, while others are dashing and sleek. There,” she said, pointing, “the one with the yellow hull—see how fast it comes!”
Following Sophie’s finger, Camille spotted a small sloop cutting across the water, its sails so full of wind that the vessel heeled low over the waves. Three people moved back and forth on deck. “It’s nearly in the water!”
“How fearless they are!” Sophie winked at Camille. “What if they are pirates?”
“I’ll fetch my cutlass!” Camille laughed, despite her sadness trying to play along. “I left it belowdecks.”
“Not yet,” Sophie said, catching ahold of Camille’s sleeve as if she actually would go. “I wish to see what happens next.”
For several long minutes they watched the vessel cut through the water. Spray leaped from its bow, frothing into the air and hiding its crew from view. With its large triangular sail and two smaller, narrower ones in front, it looked like a flock of flying white birds. Now and again Camille glimpsed the quickly moving figures on deck. When it seemed it might pass beyond them, the nimble sloop tacked, changing course as swift as thought. It had been going fast before, but now it ate up the distance like it was nothing.
“They are coming toward us!” Camille gasped. Were there really pirates in the Channel? She thought of their belongings in the hold, the sack of jewelry. “Does the captain know?”
“I suspect he does—they’re pulling up beside us! The fishermen are throwing them lines!”
The little sloop had let out its sails and was gliding along the Estelle. The