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ladder to a low room under the roof. At the far end stood a candle waiting for them, chasing the shadows away and revealing enough of the surroundings that Lillian saw they were in the sleeping quarters of the family. Here she shed her silk and cotton and donned rough wool instead: underskirts, a plain dress, thick socks, and, finally a heavy dark coat with a cape which would ward off the wind and the spray of the sea.
    When they returned downstairs, Nanette had put on a huge oilskin coat, looking like a child playing at dress-up. A new shaft of fear darted through Lillian as she became aware once again how very vulnerable they were: Should the smugglers decide to forgo their bargain, to take their gold and jewels and dump them on high seas, she and Nanette would be helpless to stop them.
    Lillian bit her lip.
    Better the sea than Camille’s wrath.
    Better the sea than living under Camille’s roof for another day, another night.
    Catching sight of Lillian’s worried face, Nanette stepped up to her and tutted under her breath. With deft fingers the old woman made to close the top button of Lillian’s borrowed oilskin coat, as if Lillian were still a little girl. When Nanette’s knuckles brushed over the naked skin at the base of Lillian’s throat, she halted. Frowning, she looked up. “Your locket, chou-chou , your mother’s locket—where is it?”
    Lillian felt the cold of the night squeeze through the chinks in the wall, through the slits under the closed shutters, through the small cracks in the door. It filled the room until coldness whirled all around her and soaked her body in ice. She smiled the tight little smile she had come to perform so well, and said, “I had to hide it and leave it in my room.” She remembered the light glinting on its golden surface as it had sailed through the rain. “She will never find it.”
    The man coughed. “We need to go.” He led them down to the beach, where the wet sand crunched under all of their boots. The song of the sea increased in a threatening crescendo until it had became a roar, filling Lillian’s ears. The cold water was calling out to her.
    She remembered the feeling of the locket in her hand, warm on one side where it had rested against her skin, cold on the other. The miniatures of her mother and father inside had been holding the memory of her parents alive when it would have slipped away and faded into nothingness.
    Lillian forced her back to remain straight, even though the wind was chilling her cheeks and trying to wedge under the borrowed coat. Any sign of weakness might be deadly—it was a lesson she had learned well in the years under her stepmother’s roof.
    Ahead, flickering lights danced on the seashore—more lanterns just like theirs. Figures separated from the shadows, took on human forms: the crew of the ship that would bring them over the Channel.
    The men who might cut their throats.
    Half hidden by the rain, the waves rocked a black shell of a boat too small to seem trustworthy. Surely too small to be able to cross the sea.
    Wordlessly, the big man picked up Nanette and carried her through the water to the boat, while another man approached Lillian. Her world lurched as he heaved her up into his arms and followed the others. The smell of stale sweat and rancid fish filled her nose and burnt at the back of her throat, and yet it was more appealing than the odor of crushed rose petals or of Camille’s scented body oil.
    In order to be out of the men’s way, the two women huddled between some barrels, dark bulky shapes in the night, their oilskin coats all that protected them from the wind and the rain. A lonely mast rose up as if to touch the cloudy sky, with the bulk of the sail waiting to be hoisted.
    The men worked in silence, and soon, cloth rustled and wood creaked; the sail billowed with wind in the ghostly gray and pulled the vessel out to the sea. Salty spray joined the steady rain, while the wind rocked the ship from side to side