I pull Mollie up the stairs as fast as she’ll go and out onto the deck. There are people dressed in heavy coats milling about, enjoying the night. I speed-walk toward the lounge. Twenty feet from the door I stop and grab Mollie’s arm.

“Mollie, I need you to think about what happened on the night of April fourteenth, 1912. It was something important. Something sad.”

She blinks at me. “Miss? The fourteenth?”

“Do you remember?”

Her brows furrow.

“The Titanic sank,” I say.

“Miss! What an awful thing ta say!”

Did I imagine it or did the temperature drop a tiny bit more?

“Your name is Mollie Mullin. You’re from Ireland. Your family owns a general store in Clarinbridge. You told me that.” I scan my surroundings, looking for Matt.

“Aye.”

“But you didn’t leave them to become a maid. You ran away with the guy you loved, a barman in your family’s store. Your parents didn’t approve, and so you planned to elope to America. Your brother chased you. But you and your fiancé got on the Titanic. You listed yourselves as brother and sister. Denis and Mary Lennon.”

“Denis Lennon,” she says. “Denis Lennon.” Something in her face shifts. “Why do I know that name?”

Mollie shivers. The temperature definitely dropped that time.

I take her hand and push open the lounge door before the crew butler can do it. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Miss, why do I know the name Denis Lennon?”

I pause. How long has she been separated from him, forced to play some role the Jessups designed for her? I soften my voice. “Think about what I said about how you ran away. Do you remember running? Do you remember getting on the Titanic? How it struck an iceberg? You were in steerage, Mollie. You weren’t my maid.” I take a breath. “You and Denis…died together.”

Mollie looks startled. I know the fog of Matt’s spell, how disorienting it is and hard it is to fight through. Damn you, Matt. You can’t do this to people.

In the lounge, Henry, Hammad, and Mr. Stead are with my aunt and the other women near the fireplace. They laugh and smile and drink. The Jessups, though, are noticeably absent.

“Samantha!” Aunt Myra beams and beckons me to join them. The whole group turns to acknowledge me as we approach. “That ring! Henry, do you see that ring? Tell us the whole story. Do not spare a detail.”

I look at my hand. I forgot all about that charade of a proposal. Shit. I turn to my uncle and steady my voice. “How are you feeling, Uncle Harry?”

He smiles. “Exceptionally well, dear niece.”

They all watch me, waiting for the story of my engagement.

“But I thought you had the grippe.” The word sticks in my mouth with its foreignness. I look over my shoulder.

“Well, I…I am quite well.” His eyebrows furrow.

“Do you remember when you got married?” I ask my aunt. “After you bought your first home near Gramercy Park? How you had that painting commissioned of the two of you?”

Aunt Myra puts her sherry down. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you remember talking to me about it in the attic? My attic in Salem?” Please, Myra. Remember.

“The attic, dear?” Her confusion deepens.

“It was just a couple of days ago,” I say quickly. “You were looking for Uncle Harry.”

“Well, that does seem a little familiar.” She hesitates. “No, it could not have been a couple of days ago. We were in Europe. I am not sure I know what you are trying to ask me. Does this have to do with your proposal?”

“I’m not engaged!” I say too forcefully. They all stare at me uncomfortably.

“She was just waiting for me to tell the story,” Matt says behind me.

My legs tense.

He stops next to me and smiles, big and bright. Alexander Jessup I is with him. I take a small step backward.

“Alexander, you’re limping,” Mr. Stead says to Matt, and they all rattle off their concerns.

He holds up his hands. “I am quite well.” Matt turns his smile to me. There is something else in his eyes, anger smoldering right under the surface. “It is an incredible story, actually. You would not believe how sweet Samantha is. When I got down on my knee and asked her, she said yes and fainted straight off. She fell right onto me with her glass of sherry. I sustained a small cut, but nothing to be concerned over.”

They gasp.

“Of course, I caught her before she hit the floor. And she was not hurt, which is all that matters.”

There are approving murmurs from the group.

“She wept when she came to, seeing me bleeding like that.”

What is he doing? “I did nothing like that.” My voice is barely controlled.

“Do not be embarrassed by romance, Samantha. It is one of the best things about human nature,” Mrs. Brown says with kindness in her voice.

My hands clench into fists. How dare he manipulate me.

“And I will not tell you what happened after that,” Matt says with twinkling eyes. “Because if Samantha feels shy about the fainting, she will absolutely feel shy about this.”

Everyone makes agreeing sounds like it’s all just so perfect.

“But I’m afraid the whole evening gave her quite a shock. She has not been herself since. I think she is in much need of rest,” Matt says with fake concern. “You lovely people don’t mind if I steal her once more?”

They look at me like I’m some poor frail girl and Matt’s so wonderful. Even Mollie examines me more closely, like what Matt said might be true.

My heart beats a mile a minute. You filled my world with the Titanic, Matt. Now watch me use it against you.

I focus on Mrs. Brown. “You wondered how I knew so much about you the other night; you called me your fan. I am. The world is. At least, they are now, in the twenty-first century.” She opens her mouth to say something, but I keep talking before she can get a word out. “You were born in a cottage near the Mississippi River. You didn’t want to marry your husband, J.J., at first because he wasn’t rich, and you wanted to be able to give your father a better life. But you changed your mind and decided to follow your heart. And it all worked out. J.J. was smart and ambitious. And when you did have money, you did the most amazing things for women and children. You made your life count by always giving to and doing for others. And when the Titanic started sinking, you helped passengers into lifeboats. You helped row your own lifeboat, and you were one of the ones who fought to go back and save the drowning passengers who were screaming for help. Much later, the newspapers nicknamed you the Unsinkable Molly Brown. But they were wrong. No one ever called you Molly; your nickname was and is Maggie.”

Matt’s hand wraps around my arm. I try to pull it back, but I can’t without making a scene. And I need to look rational right now. Alexander I takes a step toward me.

Mrs. Brown’s eyebrows rise, and the color drains from her face. “How could you possibly know those personal things about me?”

“The Titanic sinking?” Uncle Harry says. “Come now, niece. Maybe you have had a bit too much excitement tonight.”

“It’s my fault. We were drinking sherry to celebrate,” Matt says. “The Titanic would not and could not sink. But do not fault my fiancée; if you cannot drink on your engagement night, then—”

“And you, Countess,” I continue before he can turn the conversation. His fingers dig into my arm. “You are much the same kind of woman. Strong, kind. You raise money for people in need, especially for schools, hospitals, and women. You got your nursing training so you could better assist the Red Cross. And when the ship went down, you rowed your lifeboat, too. And encouraged everyone, to keep their spirits up. After it was all over, when people called you a heroine, you responded by saying, ‘I hope not. I have done nothing.’ ”

The Countess of Rothes tilts her head, like she’s considering my words.

“Maybe we have all had a bit too much to drink, eh?” Alexander I says.

“Guilty,” Matt says.

“No.” My voice is more insistent. “Mr. Stead. I took your spoon.”

“My spoon?”

“My apologies, everyone,” Matt says. “I should have insisted Samantha take rest. She was just so excited to tell you all.”

“We understand completely how alcohol and a shock could upset someone,” Alexander I says.

I talk over him. “In the café, Mr. Stead, that day you were having lunch and discussing President Taft’s invitation. I took your spoon.” My voice is edging on frantic, and now I do try to yank my arm out of Matt’s grasp. “You published a story in the 1892 Review of Reviews called ‘From the Old World to the New.’ It was about an accident involving a White Star Line vessel and an iceberg. Everyone was saved. But that doesn’t happen here. This is not that story. And when it really happens to you, and the Titanic sinks, you don’t chase down a lifeboat. You sit quietly reading a book in the smoking room.”

“I think this poor child is hysterical,” Alexander I says. “She is clearly not well. She must be hallucinating.”

Matt nods, like it’s all very sad that I’m delusional.

Alexander I steps toward me. “I think we should take her directly. This is a most serious case.” He secures my arms. The whole lounge has stopped to watch.

I try to pull away from Alexander I, but he’s stronger and bigger. The women all look horrified, and my aunt has her hand over her mouth.

“Let go!” I shriek, but he drags me away. “Your dog!” I yell at my aunt and uncle. “Where is your Pekingese? Where is he? He was on board with you! He survived!”

Matt follows as Alexander I pulls me.

I dig my heels in, but that makes no difference. “The Titanic struck an iceberg at eleven-forty p.m. on April the fourteenth!” I scream to the entire room.

Alexander I clamps his hand over my mouth. “You put us in danger, all our years of hard work. Careless!” he says to Matt. “I will handle this from here.”

Matt flinches. “She is unwell,” Matt says loudly to the room. “She does not know what she is saying. Forgive her.”

The ship lurches, and for a moment we’re still. Still and quiet, like the engines stopped. Two crewmen throw open the lounge door, and bitterly cold air billows into the room.

Ismay comes through. “Everyone just keep calm now! We need you all to make your way out onto the boat deck.”

The cold air…but I didn’t think…the boat lurching, the engines stopping. I did affect his spell. I just never thought it would be like this. I make eye contact with Matt. His expression is panicked.

The next second stretches like everything is in slow motion.

Between the cold air, Ismay’s announcement, and my words, the lounge passengers panic.

I yank and twist. Alexander I’s eyes are threatening. He pulls a small knife out of his coat pocket. Fear blurs my vision.

Matt steps forward to block me from people’s view. “Your father will suffer for—”

I lift both of my legs and kick Matt straight in the chest. He flies backward into a table.

“Mollie!” I scream. And she’s there, swinging a crystal decanter at Alexander I’s head. He falls.

Mollie grabs my hand, and we run through the crowd as fast as we can.