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your gloves off. I won’t even look.” He closed his eyes.
    “We’ll be to Knoster soon, and then I’ll just have to put them on again.” But the offer was tempting, and Lena peeled the gloves from her right hand as well as her left. She flexed her fingers, then leaned her head back against the seat. But she kept her feet hidden in the shadows.
    When the train stopped an hour later, Lena was startled awake. Her mouth was dry and her head felt thick. Her barehands were curled in her lap. Across from her Jimson was brushing off his ridiculous hat. Hurriedly, she yanked on her gloves and smoothed wisps of her hair behind her ears. Then she remembered her purse. It was gone. Her head ached. There would still be enough money for a few nights’ lodging, she calculated, but not enough to purchase the supplies she needed. Not enough to hire a guide. She stood and buttoned her green jacket. At least she could remember the address she needed—Miss Brett’s for Women, 22 Thistlewaite. Only blocks from the train station, according to her lost map.
    “I suppose your cousin is meeting you.” Jimson was standing at her side, his black curls poking out from under the unfortunate hat. “Here. I wrote down Mr. Beasley’s address in case you need anything. Perhaps I can see you again?”
    The conductor interrupted before Lena could answer. “Good evening. I hope you enjoyed your trip.” Lena nodded her thanks while trying to keep her feet from poking out too far from beneath her gray skirt.
    As the train doors slid open, the smell of the sea rushed to greet them.

 
    A HANDFUL OF PEOPLE HAD COME TO MEET THE PASSENGERS AT THE station in Knob Knoster, but none had as strong a presence as the sea. As Lena took the conductor’s hand and stepped from the train, she stepped into a sea-claimed world. She could smell it. The very feel of the air was different—moist and salty. She ran her tongue across her lips, tasting the air. In the distance, she was sure she could hear it calling her, a deep rumble of longing.
    Knob Knoster, built on a knob of rocky coast that projected into the sea, had once been a wealthy seaport. The train station was an aging dowager, spotted and faded but still clinging to a gilded past. The building itself was flourished with cornucopias and buttresses, but blue had faded to pale gray in the sea air and the gilt trim had flaked away in patches. Three buggies, with flickering side lights, waited at attention to collect passengers. Lena noticed the two businessmen climb into one conveyancewhile the Jack Sprat couple were greeted by an elderly couple and whisked away. The lone businessman appeared not to be a detective after all. He was met with joyous cries by a round wife with three children at her side.
    From the third carriage a wizened man stepped down. He limped his way toward Lena and Jimson.
    “Where’s your cousin?” Jimson turned to Lena after scanning the crowd.
    “She must be late.” Lena pretended to search in the distance. If only Jimson would leave now, before she made her solitary way to Miss Brett’s.
    “No,
we’re
late.” Jimson looked at the brass clock on the peak of the station house. “Very late. Perhaps she’s come and gone.”
    Lena moved to collect her plaid bag from the pile the porter had unloaded onto the wooden platform. “I’m sure she’s only delayed. Don’t worry about me. I have your address.”
    “Mr. Jimson Quiggley? I’m Arthur, come to collect you for Mr. Beasley.” White muttonchop sideburns bristled from the man’s weathered cheeks.
    Jimson directed the small man to his two bags. “I don’t feel right going off and leaving you alone in a strange town,” he said. Lena noticed how he jutted his sharp chin forward. Stubborn, she thought.
    How was she going to get out of this? The platform was becoming quickly deserted. The woman with the poppy hat was embracing another woman of her same type. Twomissionaries, Lena was sure, bent on saving the lost souls