Charlotte clutches her hat, her teeth snagging her lip. Maybe she can’t walk and talk at once, either. “She?” she mouths at me.

Cod’s sake. I messed up. Well, Mr. Stewart would have learned the truth sooner or later anyway. “Yes, Valor is a girl—Valora, actually. But don’t tell anyone. She thinks people take her more seriously if they think she’s a boy.”

Mr. Stewart’s paper drops a fraction, and he inches closer, his head tilted slightly toward us. Well, that’s a happy mistake. Nothing catches ears like a secret.

Finally, Charlotte’s tongue unsticks. “Well, coordination like that takes years of practice. She must be very disciplined. She was more entertaining than the Marx Brothers,” she says stiffly. “And, er, the magician Ching Ling Foo. And Harry Houdini. Yes, she was better than all three daisy-chained together.” Charlotte’s voice goes unnaturally high.

“I gave her a whole crown,” she adds more naturally, perhaps because unlike her prior statement, this one is the truth. “I would’ve given more if I hadn’t stored it all with the purser. How long do you think that takes to learn?”

I nod, approving of her question. “I know for a fact that their father, God rest his soul, started them when they were toddlers. I’ve seen them perform in the park several times.”

“They?”

“Yes, there are two of them. Twins. Both on this ship. They go by the stage names Valor and Virtue.”

Mr. Stewart pulls at his whiskery jowls, staring out into the endless blue, though I hope his ears are on us.

I tuck my pumps under my skirts. “Their timing is impeccable, like two boots walking. They do these one-arm handstands and then grasp each other’s hands with their free arms.”

“That doesn’t seem physically possible!”

“If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d agree. You should see what she and her brother can do on a tightrope. It’s as good a spectacle as a royal pageant, but they fly.”

Charlotte clicks her fingernails together. “I certainly would pay to see a flying royal pageant.”

Mr. Stewart goes back to his paper. Come on, Mr. Stewart, visualize the possibilities. Hear the roar of the crowd.

“Well, once they hit America, someone big’s going to grab them. Like the Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus.”

At the mention of one of Ringling Brothers’ rivals, Mr. Stewart begins fidgeting.

“There are certainly lots of opportunities in New York,” adds Charlotte. “They’ll be like two fat tuna fish in a sea of sharks.” I grimace at the startling visual that conjures.

Finally, Mr. Stewart makes a throat-clearing noise. “Excuse me, ladies. I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”

At last. Charlotte slowly pivots, stretching her eyebrows as if she’s peeved. “Oh?” Perhaps she does have a bit of playacting in her blood.