listened to the masts creaking in the wind, and she felt a thrill. She knew that the ship’s steam engines provided the main power for the voyage, but the tall masts gave the Queen Caroline an air of adventure. If there’s a storm and we lose all the engines, we could sail across the Atlantic, she thought. Wouldn’t it be exciting to write home about that!
As the crew lifted the ship’s gangplanks, a steward in a white jacket walked by, ringing a shiny bell. “Tea is being served in the first-class saloon!” he announced. “Starboard, promenade deck.”
Samantha saw that Nellie looked puzzled by the announcement. “A saloon is like a lounge,” she whispered to Nellie. “‘Starboard’ means right, and left is ‘port.’” Nellie nodded and then returned to waving her handkerchief.
“A cup of tea would be nice,” said Grandmary. “Shall we all go upstairs? We can wave good-bye from the saloon’s windows.”
Samantha saw the flash of disappointment on Nellie’s face. “Could Nellie and I please stay out here?” Samantha asked. “Just until we can’t see the dock anymore?”
Mademoiselle Étienne offered to stay with the girls, and Grandmary agreed. “But don’t get too chilled,” she cautioned them. “It wouldn’t do for you to catch pneumonia!”
The Admiral and Grandmary walked away arm in arm while Mademoiselle Étienne stood between Samantha and Nellie at the railing. There was a loud blast of the ship’s horn, and then the Queen Caroline began to slowly steam out of the harbor.
“Good-bye!” Samantha called out again and again to her family on the shore, her voice becoming slightly hoarse.
“Au revoir!” Mademoiselle Étienne corrected her.
For a moment, Samantha’s heart fell. It’s going to be like having Miss Grise with me for the whole trip! she thought.
Then she saw that the French tutor was smiling. Mademoiselle Étienne had a friendly smile, with dimples in her cheeks. Samantha smiled back at her. “Au revoir!” she called as the figures on the dock became smaller and smaller.
“Thank heavens we’re finally leaving!” a girl’s voice exclaimed. Samantha turned and saw that a girl with an upturned nose and blond ringlets had taken a place beside her at the railing. The girl examined Samantha critically. “Only first-class passengers are allowed in this area,” she said, frowning. “You are in first class, aren’t you?”
The girl looked at her so accusingly that Samantha suddenly wasn’t quite sure. She knew that first-class tickets were the most expensive. People with more moderate incomes traveled second class, while poor people traveled in steerage. Samantha decided that the Admiral and Grandmary wouldn’t have bought second-class or steerage tickets, so she answered, “Yes, we’re in first class.”
“Really?” the girl continued. She sounded skeptical. “My mother said there aren’t many other first-class passengers on this voyage—besides the famous archaeologist, of course.”
“Famous archaeologist?” echoed Samantha.
“Haven’t you heard?” asked the girl, arching her pale eyebrows. “Professor Fitzwilliam Wharton is aboard this ship. He’s taking the famous Blue Star sapphire to London.”
Mademoiselle Étienne suddenly leaned in to join the conversation. “Excuse me,” she asked in her accented English, speaking loudly to be heard above the wind. “Did you say that the Blue Star sapphire—it is on this ship?”
“Yes, and I saw Professor Wharton come aboard, too,” the girl reported. “He had a strange-looking dog with him in a cage, and men from the newspapers were following him, asking him about the Blue Star.” The girl smiled knowingly. “Everyone says that the Blue Star is unlucky, but it’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful jewels in the whole world, and I want to see it.”
“But of course!” agreed Mademoiselle Étienne.
Samantha leaned over to call to Nellie. “Did you hear?” she asked above the wind. “The Blue Star sapphire is aboard this ship!”
“Uncle Gard was reading about that in the papers,” Nellie replied as she continued to wave toward the shrinking figures on the shore. “Wasn’t it taken from India?”
“It once belonged to a king, but it was stolen from Ceylon hundreds of years ago,” the blond girl corrected Nellie loudly. Then she turned her attention back to Samantha. “Everyone thought the Blue Star was gone forever,” she continued. “But Professor Wharton spent years searching for it. Finally, he found it buried in a graveyard in Central America. Can you imagine—who would hide a king’s sapphire in a graveyard?”
Samantha shivered at the thought of hiding anything in a graveyard. “No, I can’t imagine,” she told the girl truthfully.
The girl studied her for a moment. She seemed to decide that Samantha passed inspection. “I’m Charlotta Billingsley,” she announced. “I’m twelve. How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
“I don’t know your name,” said Charlotta, as if this were somehow Samantha’s fault.
Samantha quickly introduced herself, along with Mademoiselle Étienne and Nellie.
“I didn’t bring my nanny. My parents say I’m too old for one, anyway,” said Charlotta, casting a critical eye on Mademoiselle Étienne.
Mademoiselle Étienne bit her lip, and then turned to Samantha and Nellie. “We should go to our cabin and unpack, n’est-ce pas?” she suggested.
Samantha and Nellie followed their tutor across the main deck, and then through a door that led to a stairway. The ship was rising and falling in the choppy waves, so Samantha stayed close to the brass banister as she walked carefully down the steep wooden stairs.
When she heard heavy footsteps behind her, she tried to go a little faster. Then suddenly, something warm and furry fell onto her shoulders. A long tail fluttered in front of her face, tickling her nose.
“Aagghh!” she cried out, stumbling in surprise.
chapter 3
An Unlucky Star
SAMANTHA REACHED OUT for the brass banister and caught herself from falling down the stairs. She heard a man’s voice behind her. “Stop that, Plato!” he ordered. “Come here!”
There was a screech of protest. Then Samantha felt tiny hands grasping her hair. Suddenly, she was face-to-face with a little brown monkey, its round eyes looking appealingly into hers.
The man hurried up beside her. “Dreadfully sorry!” he said as he snatched the monkey from Samantha. Samantha turned and saw a tall, athletic-looking young man with wavy dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “Plato’s a naughty little fellow,” he said apologetically. “He’s always getting into mischief.”
The monkey held on to the lapels of the man’s coat like a baby clutching its mother. Chattering excitedly, the little animal turned to watch Samantha, his wide eyes examining her intently.
“Are you hurt?” asked Mademoiselle, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with Nellie. They had both turned around when Samantha called out, and Mademoiselle now sounded concerned.
“I’m fine,” Samantha assured Mademoiselle. “I was just surprised.”
Samantha held out her hand to the monkey, and he gently grasped it as if they were shaking hands. “Is your monkey’s name Plato?” she asked the young man.
“Yes,” he said as they continued down the stairs. “But he’s not really mine. My uncle, Professor Wharton, found him a few weeks ago in a marketplace in Central America. The other monkeys were picking on this little one, so my uncle bought him to rescue him from the bullies. Now Plato goes everywhere with us. My