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’s suite, 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.