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’s called 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.

With dinner being served, the area is mostly deserted. The dimming sun bathes me with a last rinse of warmth and tints the sky a deep pink. Lady Sky wears rouge when she wants to be noticed.