The grassy smell of the lilies jabs my nose from the center table. My eye catches on my photograph, and all my thoughts slam to a halt. I distinctly remember tucking the picture back into Ruth before leaving, the way I always do. The Bible has been moved to the far side of the table. Perhaps the photograph fell out when Steward Latimer was tidying. What must the man think? There’s no reason why Mrs. Sloane might be carrying around a picture of a Chinese man and a white woman in her Bible.
I collapse onto a chair and try to force air back in my lungs. If he asks about it, I will simply have to shovel a bit more manure on the pile.
Next to the lilies, a tin of chocolates weighs down a card, which bears the official White Star logo.
To Mrs. Amberly Sloane:
Captain Smith will see you on April 12, 2:00 p.m., Reception Hall, À la Carte Restaurant.
P.S. We hope you will enjoy these premium chocolates, our gift to you.
The words gather my stomach into a ball. I put the irksome lilies in the armoire and resolve to worry about the invitation later.
While I wait for April, I poke around for a place to store my money sock. Mum always stashed the money she made tatting her lace cuffs and collars in a cracked teapot that Ba had fixed using a glue of rice. He was clever at fixing things, like tying string to a leaky faucet so we wouldn’t be driven mad by the drip, and rubbing soap on squeaky hinges.
The crimson seat cushions of the chaise longue catch my eye. I pull one off, exposing the slipcover buttons. Undoing a button, I push my money sock deep inside, then replace the cushion so that the bulge doesn’t show.
A knock on the door makes me jump. “It’s April.”
I open the door and April bustles in, carrying yet another alligator suitcase. Her eyes jump around my shorn hair, and she combs her fingers through one side. “Interesting. Well, short is so much more practical.”
“Is Mr. Ismay sending a hunting party after me?”
“If you are referring to Valor the juggler, I told Bruce to relax. The crowds need their diversions, and it sounds to me like the show you were putting on in third class was just as entertaining as the one you were giving in first.”
“And what about the Merry Widow?”
“I admit he’s curious. I told him I’d try to find out more about you.”
“You . . . what?”
“Better me than anyone else, wouldn’t you say?” She grins.
I have to admit, the fox is clever.
She fingers the reminder card for my meeting with the captain. “Aha! I knew this would be coming. Good thing I brought the kimono. It’s a pièce de résistance.” She sets the suitcase on the chaise longue and unbuckles the straps. “They were talking about you today at the Café Parisien. Come now, I’ll help you change into evening wear.”
“I wasn’t planning to go out.”
“Well, then, I’ll just show you how this one works so that if you do feel like an evening stroll, you’ll be appropriately attired.”
“Why can’t I just wear the crane dress? Not everyone saw it.”
“The crane dress could be worn in the evening—I like clothes to be versatile like that—but it’s expected that women will change into something different for dinner, and I can’t have the Merry Widow making a faux pas. Quickly now, Mother’s waiting for me.” She grabs the skirt of the crane dress and smoothly pulls it over my head.
“How do you make it so it doesn’t need buttons?”
“I cut the fabric on the bias. It uses more cloth, but the diagonal weave means the fabric will stretch.”
I’m not sure I understand everything she says, but I nod, suddenly self-conscious standing in my underthings.
“Good heavens, what do you call that contraption?”
“My, er, bubby-cubby.”
A laugh explodes from her. “Bubby-cubby. You made it?”
“Yes. It keeps the biscuits on the table. I even thought of some improvements, like stretchier fabric for the shoulder straps, and hooking it in the front.”
“I like how you think.” Her gaze becomes thoughtful as she shakes out a rose-colored dress.
I gasp at the rich color, which demands attention. The skirt is seamed down the middle, so it is more like trousers, and buttons climb up the back. “But everyone will look at me.”
“That’s the point,” she says brightly. “Did you use the toilet yet?”
“Pardon me?”
“It won’t be easy to make the bladder gladder in this number. But I’m in love with my trousers dress concept. If you’re ready, step in like this.”
I carefully work my legs into the garment. From behind me, she pulls the front of the dress over my torso, tying two wide straps into a bow at the nape of my neck and fastening the back buttons. I reach around but don’t feel any fabric on my shoulder blades. “Is something missing?”
She laughs. “Taking risks gives fashion its passion. Wear the cape if you must, but please avoid red wine when wearing it. You don’t know how hard it was to get the cashmere dyed this color. I stitched in sleeves to keep in the warmth.” She holds out a cape in the same rose hue as the dress, and I slip my arms into it, wrapping it around me like a blanket.
My reflection in the vanity mirror reminds me of the elegant long-stemmed English roses found in the gardens of Kensington Palace. I begin to regret the bad haircut, which mars the rose like a clump of mud.
As if thinking the same thing, April fits a rose-colored hat with a rolled brim over my hair and helps me pin the veil to the sides. “I think I saw your brother fixing deck chairs.” April’s smile swings higher. “A handsome young man. Too bad he’s not my type.”
My temper flares. “Because he’s Chinese?”
A wry expression settles on her face, like a robin on a perch. “No, darling. I rather like the Chinese.”
“Oh,” I say, because I can think of nothing else. “Well, right now he’s a codfish.”
She brings out a jeweled brooch from the suitcase and pins it to my cape. “You need to overlook whatever beef you have with him before it’s too late. Trust me, I know.”
“What if his beef is that he doesn’t want me in his life?”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Our parents have passed on, and we’re all we have. But he wants me to go back to England so he can go shovel coal.” I am being overdramatic, but that is the long and short of it.
She stands back. “You do what you want and let him do what he wants. As I am always telling my clients, you must wear the color that suits you, and it may not always be the one you want, or the one others want for you.” She appraises me. “That dusty rose color suits you. It’s a shame you have to wear that veil.”