My spine bumps hard against the bench. I bite back my disappointment and nod gamely. If he thinks I still hold out hope for him, he’ll take back his offer. “I understand.” But even as I say it, I can’t help but hope that once he remembers how good it feels to fly, to defy the laws of gravity in the space of a breath, he will change his mind.

19

Disguised once again in my kimono dress, tan pumps, vanilla coat, and hat, I stroll to our appointed meeting spot on the promenade, just outside the entrance to A-Deck. A small table features lemonade, free for the taking. I pour myself a glass.

Only a few stepping-stones remain for me to cross this river, and getting an audience with Mr. Stewart is one large but necessary leap. But he is a private man. What if he refuses to be baited? What if he doesn’t have time for a two-bit circus act like us?

I chase away those thoughts. I’ve prepared hard for this moment, and I cannot watch the river rushing under me if I want to reach dry land.

Beneath an arched window, Jamie squats beside Strudel the poodle, stroking her ears. Charlotte stands on the dog’s other side, twisting her heel into the deck and gazing at Jamie as if he’s the world’s last nut and she’s the last squirrel. Her apricot suit with cream lace puts me in mind of the breakfast pastry I ate this morning. When she sees me, she stops moving about. “Oh! You must be”—she lowers her voice to a whisper—“Valora.”

Strudel greets me with a yip-yip!

“Miss Fine.” We stand the same height, though her arms and hips are rounder. She smells of sweet peas.

“Just Charlotte, please. The Merry Widow, they call you. There are rumors you’re a young baroness and that you haven’t spoken a word since your husband died falling off his horse.”

Did April start that rumor? It is a good one. Tragic with a touch of mystery.

“Everyone is dying over your clothes,” Charlotte continues. “I think you’re very brave, going to America all by yourself.”

Not all by myself, if I can help it. “We appreciate your assistance in getting me there.” I casually lift my glass, only to realize I’d have to lift my veil to drink.

“So what’s the plan?” Jamie gets to his feet and takes the leash from Charlotte.

Twenty paces behind him, a pair of women in fur coats stare at us. It must be me in my veil and kimono, which peeks through the open front of my vanilla coat and spills out the bottom like blue flames. But peering closer, I realize it’s not me who has caught their attention, but Jamie.

Jamie cocks an eyebrow at me. “The plan?” he repeats.