I don’t answer, remembering how the bulbs rotted before Ba could find someone to rent him a plot of land. “I know he wasn’t easy to live with. But he loved us. He loved you. He always said you had a scholar’s forehead. That you were destined to do great things.”

“He was demanding and unreasonable. Besides, what makes a thing great or not great? Making a pile of money? Buying a posh house? Maybe I think it’s pretty great to get out of London. To go someplace where you feel like you can breathe the air, instead of the air breathing you.” His eyes follow a fly bumping uselessly against a wall. “When I finally got free and looked up, I realized what I’d been missing.”

“What?” I snort. “Stars?”

His gaze finds mine. “Space. I needed space.”

“From me.” It’s hard to hide the injury from my voice.

“Not you, Sis.” His words have lost steam, as if explaining himself to me has wrung him out. Unexpressed thoughts hover like the brown clouds that collect over London in the summer when breezes are in short supply. “Sometimes, it’s enough to simply be at peace.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’re eating roast beef with real silver forks, and you’re miffed about the bread. I know it’s not fair, but you’ve got to lower your standards to be happy.”

“It’s not the bread I’m miffed about.” To prove it, I tear off a good chunk and pop it into my mouth.

“I know. You’re angry with me.”

I chew without tasting and swallow hard. “Your friends here are like brothers. I respect that, though some of them are backstabbing adders.” Bo’s presumptuously handsome face appears in my mind, that wagtail.

“Bo’s solid. He didn’t want me to count his winnings in the bet.”

“You mean, he wanted you to perform with me?”

“Yes, he did.”

My skin flames at the knowledge that I misjudged Wagtail. “Then why do you count his winnings?”

“Even if you get in, America is as foreign as the moon. They’ll eat you alive.” His mouth tightens, as if he has tasted something sour.

I toss my half-eaten roll back with the others. It’s true that I may have hung a big fish on a slender hook. Even if we get past the Chinese Exclusion Act, for all I know, a nest of hungry alligators lies on the other side. “You’re worried I’ll end up like Mum.”

“No.” He levels his gaze at me. “I’m worried you’ll end up like Ba.”

The statement squeezes the breath from me.

“Your whacky ideas. Hasty pudding plans.”