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I am not sure when I shall arrange passage to England, but when I arrive, might I impose upon you for a week or two? Only until I can find a new position, of course. I am loath to be a burden to you and Dr. Morrisette. If it is too inconvenient, please do not hesitate to say so when I arrive. I shall ask Mercy or Chasity instead.

~Miss Trinity Ablethorne, in a letter to her friend, Mrs. Joy Morrisette

Penned the day after Mrs. Peagilly passed, then tucked away unfinished

The Daunting Duchess’s main deck

Ten the next morning

Numb from shock rather than cold—for in just four days, the weather had warmed dramatically—Trinity stood amongst the other passengers and crew, their heads bowed in respect, as Captain Breckett, also an ordained pastor, read from The Book of Common Prayer.

“… O Sovereign Lord Christ, deliver your servant, Eustacia Peagilly…” the captain droned on.

Befuddled and her mind and emotions overwhelmed with sorrow and confusion, Trinity only half-heard the ceremony.

It had not been a megrim.

What was worse, Trinity had left the poor woman to suffer alone for hours, whiling away the time in the saloon sketching, laughing, playing with children…and flirting.

“Almighty God, look with pity upon the sorrows of your servant for whom we pray…”

But Mrs. Peagilly had insisted that Trinity leave the cabin so that she might recover from her megrim in her normal manner. Neither of them could’ve known how serious her condition was. Nor, according to Mr. Morris, could anything have been done but make her as comfortable as possible.

Which was not saying much, considering they were in the middle of the ocean.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

Nonetheless, guilt tormented Trinity.

Not just remorse, but worry; for now, what was she to do?

She had received no wages yet, and her meager savings would not even buy her passage back to England. A companion made scarce little. Her employer paid for her room, board, and most other necessities in lieu of wages.

Unless she could find someone needing a companion when they put ashore, she might very well find herself stranded. But how could she survive in a foreign country when she did not speak the language and had no means of supporting herself until she found a position?

She swallowed the painful lump forming in her raw throat.

God above, she hated being at the mercy of others. Especially a thousand miles from home. And she was frightened and, in truth, angry with herself for not considering something tragic might occur on this wild adventure. She should’ve had a plan. Not that she could have anticipated Mrs. Peagilly dying before they even made it to Morocco, but still.

Trinity ought to have put a little forethought into what she would do in an emergency, and she had not given it a single consideration. That was what came of always being at the mercy of her companion’s whims. She never had the opportunity to consider what she would do.

The tears she’d shed these past hours had not been entirely for Mrs. Peagilly, and that knowledge brought on another torturous wave of self-recrimination. Trinity loathed self-pity, and yet here she stood with Mrs. Peagilly lying on a plank a few feet away, her body wrapped in sailcloth and tied round and round with thick rope, and Trinity fretted about her future.

“Amen,” everyone chorused.

Shaken from her troublesome reverie, Trinity whispered, “Amen.”

Four sailors stepped forward and, with reverence and gentleness she would not have believed them capable of, gently lifted the board upon which Mrs. Peagilly lay in eternal slumber.

Her body slid from the plank—probably a piece of decking—and splashed into the sea two blinks later.

Wincing, Trinity closed her eyes.

With her adventuresome spirit and love of travel, Mrs. Peagilly would’ve liked a burial at sea. That much Trinity was confident of.

She would have to write Mrs. Peagilly’s nephew and tell him the sad news, as well as arrange to return her employer’s possessions to England. Most had been shipped ahead and awaited them at a hotel. There were a few larger trunks in the ship’s hold as well.

As much as she loathed doing so, Trinity had no choice but to go through Mrs. Peagilly’s personal effects to locate the hotel, the translator, and her nephew’s address. And money.