Page 26

C ATH FROZE ON THE THRESHOLD , overwhelmed with the scent of herbal tea and the painful noise of an off-key duet.

The millinery was easily eight times as large on the inside as it was on the out.

A fire crackled in a corner fireplace and the walls were covered with hooks and shelves that displayed an assortment of elaborate headdresses.

Top hats and bowlers, bonnets and coronets, straw hats and tall, pointed dunce caps.

There were hats covered in living wildflowers and hats blooming with peacock feathers and hats fluttering with the wings of dozens of vibrant dragonflies, some of them occasionally giving off a puff of flame and smoke.

As Catherine stared, Raven abandoned Jest’s shoulder and swooped inside.

The wind from his feathers beat against her hair and—for but a moment—his shadow elongated across the shop’s wooden floor.

Cath’s heart stuttered as she remembered the ominous shadow that had followed her over the castle lawn. The hooded figure, the raised ax.

She blinked, and the chill was gone. Just a bird, now settling on a ceramic bust of a clown with its silly, grinning face painted with black diamonds.

Jest drew Catherine toward the long table that stretched down the center of the hat shop.

The surface was draped in bright-colored scarves of various textures and cluttered with teapots and cups and cream and sugar dishes and spoons of silver and gold and porcelain.

The chairs around the table were just as mismatched—from wingbacks to schoolhouse benches to ottomans to a sweet little rocker.

At the far end of the table was a chair that was luxurious enough for the King himself to have sat upon.

The occupants of the table were equally assorted.

A Porcupine stabbed at a plate of scones with one of his quills; a Bloodhound spoke in hushed tones with a petite gray-haired woman who was working at knitting needles in between sips of tea; two Goldfish swam figure eights around each other inside a fishbowl filled with tea-stained water; a Dormouse dozed inside the mane of a Lion who was singing low to himself in vocal warm-up; a Parrot argued with a Cockatoo; a Bumblebee skimmed a newspaper; a Boa Constrictor tuned a fiddle; a Chameleon squinted in concentration as she attempted to match the exact pattern of her upholstered chair; a Turtle dunked half of his cucumber sandwich into his cup.

The noisy whooperups at the center of it all were a March Hare, who stood on top of the table, and a Squirrel perched on his head.

They each wore ridiculous floral bonnets, though holes had been added to allow their ears to poke through.

Together they were the source of the very loud and rather obnoxious duet that had first pierced Cath’s eardrums. The song was about starfish and stardust, though they both seemed too hoarse and confused to get any of the words straight, and they were horribly murdering the tune.

Catherine cringed as the song dragged onward.

With one hand on her elbow, Jest guided Catherine around the table, toward the man who was occupying the throne at the far end.

He was exquisitely dressed, with plum coattails and a crimson silk cravat.

One finger skimmed idly along the brim of a matching purple top hat.

Though he was young, his hair was silver-white, with a few choppy locks tumbling around his ears and the rest tied with a velvet ribbon at the nape of his neck.

He was slouched and apparently bored, feet set up beside a half-empty cup of tea .

Then his attention landed on Jest and turned lively, a grin fast to brighten his face. He swung his feet off the table.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our star performer, returned from the world of gallantry and riches.” He stood and gave Jest a quick embrace, before pulling away and grasping him by the shoulders. His smile had turned to scrutiny.

“Don’t seem much changed,” he mused, shutting one eye at a time to complete his inspection. “A bit scrawnier perhaps. Don’t they feed you in that fancy castle of yours?” He pinched Jest’s cheek, but was pushed away.

“Like a cow for slaughter,” Jest said, “but I’m also forced to work for my pay. A novel idea to you, I know.”

“A horrific waste of talent is what I call that.” The Hatter—for Cath assumed this must be him—grimaced suddenly and cast his gaze toward the Hare and Squirrel on the table.

“That’s enough! I can’t take any more.” Grabbing a cane that had been propped against his chair, he whapped the handle of a spoon, which flicked a cashew from a bowl of nuts and sent it soaring right into the Hare’s open mouth.

The Hare froze. A sudden silence fell over the tea parlor. The Hare pounded on his sternum—choking. His red eyes bugged. Catherine tensed.

The Boa Constrictor slithered onto the table, encircled the Hare’s body, and squeezed. The cashew sailed out of his mouth and kersplatted into the Turtle’s teacup.

Catherine watched, appalled, but the rest of the tea party guests had already taken back up with their conversations and tea drinking. She seemed to have been the only one concerned.

“What have you dragged in with you, Jest?”

She started. The Hatter’s inspection had turned to her. His eyes, she noticed, were the color of soft violets, and his features equally delicate. He was very handsome, while simultaneously striking her as very pretty .

“Lady Catherine, this is my dear friend, Hatta. Hatta, Lady Catherine Pinkerton.”

“Enchanted.” She dropped into a curtsy.

Hatta tipped his hat, but didn’t smile. “Pinkerton. A relation to the Marquess?”

“He is my father.”

A robust laugh burst from his mouth. “A true lady, then.” He shot Jest a look that held layers of meaning Cath felt ill-equipped to interpret. “Or does that only go so far as her satin shift?”

Heat rushed into Cath’s cheeks, but Jest did not rise to the bait. His tone was cold as he responded, “She is indeed a lady, as we are gentlemen. Do not force me to duel with you for her honor.”

“A duel! Gracious, no. A hat-off, perhaps, but never a duel.” His scrutiny slipped down Cath’s dress, and she had the distinct feeling that he was estimating how many shillings the material had cost. “Any consort of Jest’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to my hat shop.”

“Thank you.”

“And this is my long-time accomplice, Sir Haigha,” said the Hatter, lifting his cane to the Hare as he came scrambling off the table.

“Sir Hare?” asked Catherine.

“Haigha,” said the March Hare. “Rhymes with mayor, but spelled with a g .”

She stared, not sure how Hare could be spelled with a g . Before she could ask again, Jest settled a hand on her shoulder and whispered, “I’ll spell it for you later.”

She curtsied again.

Hatta slid his gaze back to the table and scanned the occupants.

The Bumblebee had turned his newspaper into three origami sailing boats and most of the guests were watching them chase one another around a teacup that was the size of a punch bowl.

The Lion and the old lady were placing bets on which boats would sink first while the Turtle dumped sugar on the sails to sink them faster.

Hatta pounded the end of his cane on the floor three times, then swirled it through the air. “Everyone, move down! Make room for our joker and his lady. And who’s up next?”

Chants of move down, move down echoed around the table as they pushed back their chairs and spent a topsy-turvy moment flitting to new seats.

Sitting, testing, jumping and bounding, over the table and under, hopscotching between the chairs, stumbling into one another’s laps and on top of one another’s shoulders and some of the smaller animals finding a cozy spot inside an empty teacup.

Only Hatta’s throne was left out of the chair swapping, until finally everyone had settled down again, leaving the two seats on either side of their host open for Jest and Catherine.

Feeling like this was all a game she didn’t know the rules to, Cath went to sit down.

“No, my lady, you’ll want to be over here.” Jest rounded to the seat on Hatta’s left side and pulled it out for her.

Hatta snorted and tipped his hat up with his cane, watching Catherine as she sank straight-backed into the offered seat and smoothed her skirt around her legs. “Jest isn’t confident you can hold your own among us rabble and hooligans.”

Jest glowered. As he passed behind Hatta’s throne, he leaned toward his ear. “She is our guest. I did not bring her here to entertain you.”

Catherine folded her hands into her lap and tried to be pleasant.

“Wrong, Jest,” Hatta said, his knowing smirk never leaving her. “Everyone is here to entertain me.”

“Well then. Allow me.”

Jest snapped the top hat from Hatta’s head, holding it aloft as Hatta tried to grab it back. Jest was already chuckling and stepping up onto his chair, then onto the table. The cups and saucers rattled as his boots clomped against the wood .

With a disgruntled sigh that didn’t hide the tilt at the corners of his lips, Hatta threw his heels back onto the tabletop and picked up his tea.

Catherine caught sight of Raven, still atop the clown’s bust, almost a part of the shadows. He angled his head to watch Jest’s parade across the table.

The room hushed. Anticipation scrambled up Catherine’s spine and she leaned forward, her fingers crushed together in her lap.

Stepping around the mess of dishes, Jest came to stand at the table’s center. He held the top hat so everyone could see. Then, with a twist of his wrists, he sent the hat into a blurring spin and dropped his hands away. The hat continued to levitate in the air.

Catherine bit her lip, hardly daring to blink.

Tapping his fist against his chest, Jest cleared his throat. Then, to Catherine’s surprise, he began to sing.

“ Twinkle, twinkle… little bat. ”