Florence Lockart stood on the deck of the ship, her eyes closed against the strong breeze. Every now and then there came a light sea spray which felt all the more refreshing after the long period of time she had been detained by her chaperone in the room. All those hours in that small stuffy room...Florence Lockart had been brought up with the mindset that the bedroom was solely for sleeping. Her mother, Helena Lockart, was a golf enthusiast and often used to take her children onto the playing lawns with their governess. Her father, a one Mr Thomas Lockart, was not often at home with his occupation, but had a firm belief in the power of fresh air, and had never bought any medication on this principle. Florence, for that reason, had grown up less protected than the other girls of Oxford Street, wrapped delicately like china dolls.
Unfortunately Florence's chaperone was not of a similar mind. Miss Davidson rushed out to the door, and stopped uncertainly at the frame, as if stepping onto the platform she may be blown into oblivion. "Miss Lockart!" She called to no avail; Florence was standing, gripping the bars of the steam liner as she looked out to the Statue of Liberty, marking a new chapter of her life. This woman, looking out over the far stretching seas...so noble, her face full of pride of America. America. Florence looked about her, to check that this was after all reality, and not a fuzzy dream that would open up to Oxford Street once more. There was no rain here, only a bright light rising over the skyline of the city of New York in the near distance. Soon to be her home in the near future.
"Excuse me, Miss" Florence started as she noticed a tall man, pale and thin faced, staring down at her. The top of his hair blew softly across his temples, which added to the immediate amiable feeling Florence received from him: his thin lips formed a tentative smile as he handed over a white shawl, almost apologetic about interrupting her thoughts. "Your chaperone requested you put this shawl on, to prevent catching cold in this climate..." he waved his hand subconsciously to Miss Davidson, who was still standing nervously at the door, and now catching Florence's gaze nodded generously.
"Thank you," Florence took the shawl and smiled up at the man. "Though I should say I feel no chill at present."
"I should think not, Miss. I see no ailments myself, but if by some change of circumstance you should feel faint, and regret not taking heed to your fine chaperone's orders, I would be happy to be of assistance. Dr Gerald Young." He tipped his hat toward Florence in a form of excusing himself and walked back toward the parlour. Florence could not help noticing her eyes had followed him to the door.