Matching small crown tattoos on hands

The pilot took us past the breakwater at four this morning and I stood at the rail with the sea coming green over the bow, thinking of the kitchen table in Grimsby where we did our own crowns with a darning needle and a pot of Mam's soot ink. You remember I made mine big because I was the eldest and somebody had to be queen of the back step. You made yours small so it would fit under your thumb where nobody could see you cheat at snap.

The second mate says we'll be three weeks to Montevideo if the weather holds. It hasn't held once since Cuxhaven. Last night a cask broke loose in the hold and the whole crew spent two hours in the wet, swearing and laughing, and I thought Bea would have been sick over the side and then climbed straight back down to help.

I have been wondering whether the ink will fade the way Mam's did. Hers went blue at the edges and then she stopped mentioning it. I keep my hand flat on the sheet at night so I can feel the small one against the big one, the way we used to hold hands walking to chapel so nobody would take the good pew.

Do not let Dad sell the bracelets Gran left us. I have the ring and you have the pearls, and that is the division of the royal estate, as agreed. When I come home I will bring you a proper crown from Montevideo, though I suspect it will be tin.

Your queen, Nell