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 wearingit. 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 mustwear 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 suitsyou. It’s a shame you have to wear that veil.”
If I looked more like Mum, I could go without the veil. Then again, if I looked like Mum, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Rounded cheeks more like a robin’s breast than a swift’s, a weightier nose, lighter coloring. A one-degree shift in my appearance might’ve changed my whole journey. Mum gave up a lot to marry Ba—not just her parents, but the underrated power to be invisible.
Briskly April shakes out another gown, and I swear a waterfall pours from her fingertips. A thick swath of silk runs from jade green at the top to an indigo blue at the hem, just like the colors of a peacock. Beaded rosettes give the fabric movement and shimmer. “This is for your meeting with the captain tomorrow.”
I snort. “Go’an. I can’t wear that.” A bit of Mum’s Cockney leaks out.
“Why not? This style just slips on.” She shows me both sides of the robe-like garment. It’s a kimono with wide sleeves that hang to the elbow. “The easy fit paired with my sumptuous fabric perfectly blurs the line between day and evening wear.”
“It’s too fine. What if I step on the hem or, I dunno, stink it up?”
“You stink the same as everyone else up here. It’s just a dress. You’re supposed to wear it, not let it wear you. That’scalled style.” She gathers the kimono close to her, as if giving it a hug, then hangs it in the armoire.
The English rose droops a little in the mirror. This trousers dress and the one with the crane demand attention, for sure. But that kimono is the kind of dress that demands not only attention, but also a carriage and four horses. I sigh, resigning myself to dealing with this “style” problem later. “Have you found Mr. Stewart?”
“Not yet, but I found a clue. My sources tell me he favors purple bowlers and likes to sun himself on the Promenade after lunch.”
“Thank you.” A rush of gratitude sweeps through my heart even though I know April and I are just business associates. My plan is coming together.
“Good night, darling.”
After April leaves, I decide to take an evening stroll after all. Mrs. Sloane purchased rubber-soled boots for the walking she planned to do around the first-class Promenade on A-Deck. Even though I have to wear the pumps, I may as well get the lay of the land before hunting down Mr. Stewart tomorrow.
