His face relaxes as if relieved. “Good night.”
April 12, 1912
The next morning,I wake before the sun, my stomach moaning for food. The free box of chocolates I had no problem consuming for dinner—despite the obligation to meet the captain that came with it—are a sweet but distant memory. Remembering the pastries and tea, I push the button for service. Moments later, a female attendant shows up.
“How may I help you, ma’am?” She keeps her eyes away from my veil.
“I would like pastries and tea to be brought up in thirty minutes. Don’t be stingy with the marmalade either. I shall be taking a bath. Please bring it in and don’t pour the tea.”
“Right away, ma’am.”
I’m really settling into this role. How easy it would be to grow accustomed to having people jump when you tell them to. Maybe it’s like breaking in a new hat. The more you wear it, the harder it becomes to keep the old shape.
While the bathtub fills, I pull the photo out of Mum’s Bible, which I now store in Mrs. Sloane’s trunk.
“Good morning, honored parents.” I set the picture on the table and start wake-up drills. “Jamie’s sore at me for winning that bet. But he’ll get over it. He always does.”
Then again, Jamie is still holding a grudge against Ba. And the Jamie I knew would never have been so eager to dump his family. I wrap up my routine and replace the photo in the trunk, my doubts circling like vultures.
Putting Jamie from my mind, I settle into the sudsy water. Getting clean even when I don’t feel dirty is one of the best parts of first-class living.
The pastries are waiting on my table by the time I emerge smelling of bergamot. The kimono eyes me from the wardrobe. She’s a saucy miss, asking if I’m woman enough to put her on. I take my time eating a sticky bun and a scone with marmalade, washing them both down with good English tea.
Fortified, I slide the kimono off the hanger. It seems to slink right over my shoulders, the little minx, making herself at home around me. Buttons hidden inside the garment keep everything together, and a deep toque in peacock blue provides a comfortable topper.
I shuffle to the mirror, not surprised that I look like a seal caught in a tidal wave.
It’s just a dress,I hear April say.You’re supposed to wear it, not let it wear you.
I wiggle back my shoulders and loosen my neck. Keeping my feet springy and my carriage high, I watch myself strut like a peacock. Not bad. Still, I cover myself with the vanilla coat. The peacock chooses its moments to fan its tail.
It’s time to collect on my wager.
The sun still has not risen, and the hallways are dimly lit with the electric lights. I hold my breath as I pass Mr. Ismay’ssuite, as if he can detect my nervous panting through the walls or feel the rise in humidity. Thankfully, it appears he’s not an early riser.
I take the lift down to E-Deck, marveling again at how buttoned-up the first-class corridor feels compared to its rollicking twin, Scotland Road, on the other side. The corridor empties me into the Collar, and I make my way toward Room 14.
Voices leak from the cracked door of a room I haven’t noticed before, perhaps a storage closet. “Y’ar own bleedin’ fault you got jackrolled.”
I slow, recognizing the jaunty voice of the Johnnies’ steward, Skeleton.
“You Bledigs don’t got enough sense to pinch betwixt your fingers, gambling away the butter and the bacon in one night. Christ almighty.”Sniff.“You’re an embarrassment to the family.”
A frown pulls at my lips. Bledig is the bloke who won the sweeps. Skeleton is the custodian of the sweeps box.
“He swindled me, I swear, Cousin,” says another man. Could it be Bledig? Are they related?
“Shh, don’t call me that. You want everyone to know how you won?”
“Sorry, Cous— I mean, sorry. Those Johnnies are shifty as sails. Got me on three nines. Nine is unlucky, you know that.”
Johnnies. Something begins to pluck at my skin. I rub my arms, but the feeling doesn’t abate. So Bledig lost his shirt. But to which Johnny?
A bloodshot eye appears in the crack of the door. I stifle a gasp.
Before Skeleton can get a good look at me, I hurry to Room 14 as fast as my pumps will allow. Without bothering to knock, I duck into the room and quickly shut the door.
Bo looks up from where he’s sitting on his bunk, his bare feet flat against the floor. A ray of sunlight crosses his chin, where a bit of stubble has begun to grow. He gives me a questioning look, but I march right up to Jamie, who’s sprawled out like he’s in a hammock slung between two palm trees. I poke him in the ribs.
