Page 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Fun Table

A white-gloved hand reached over Morrigan’s shoulder to the seating chart, plucked her name card from the bridal table, and relocated it to a round one in a far corner of the Glade. Morrigan slowly turned to see that the mystery hand belonged to an older girl in a blue silk gown, standing arm-in-arm with a boy in a tuxedo.

‘There. Now you can sit with us at the fun table.’

Morrigan stared at them, nonplussed. ‘I’m not sure if … I mean, is that allowed?’

‘Anything’s allowed if you do it with confidence,’ she said with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Come along!’

‘Um. Sorry, I think my aunts are expecting—’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ said the boy, and he stopped a passing member of staff with a hand on their shoulder. ‘Please tell Lady Margot that the beloved grandchildren of her noble neighbours, Lord and Lady Choi, have adopted her niece for the evening and promise to return her only after she’s had the best night of her life.’

The girl linked her free arm proprietarily through Morrigan’s and steered her away. She could have refused, she supposed … but on balance, the prospect of spending all night on display at the bridal table seemed worse than being seized by a pair of rich, overconfident teenagers.

‘I’m Lottie. This is my brother Louis. To answer your inevitable questions, yes, we are twins, and yes, we are the only fun people at this entire wedding.’

‘The only fun people?’ said a beautiful but haughty-looking girl, as they arrived at the table. She gestured to the other teenagers sitting beside her. ‘What are we, then?’

‘Oh, Zara, you know she meant all of us, ’ said Louis placatingly as he pulled a chair out for Morrigan.

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Lottie, shooting him an annoyed look for speaking on her behalf. ‘Zara, you’re very pretty but you can be quite mean, which is boring. Barty’s unbearably smug. Shukriya never stops talking about her horses. Violet never stops talking about her boyfriend. Tolu never stops talking about himself, and Sebastien—’

‘ Lottie ,’ said Louis, half amused and half exasperated, stepping in before she could roast the whole table.

‘ What? ’ said Lottie. ‘They know all that! Doesn’t mean they’re not my friends .’

Louis began a round of much friendlier introductions, but only got halfway through before the Glade was suddenly lit up by a shower of sparks exploding all along the perimeter. There were gasps as they arced upwards to create a fizzing dome of fireworks, then the orchestra struck up a jubilant waltz and the bride and groom took to the floor for their first dance. Predictably, they chatted and giggled the whole time, and halfway through they beckoned the best man and the maid of honour (one of Modestine’s childhood friends) onto the floor and switched partners, swirling away still smiling and laughing. The newlyweds seemed determined to enjoy their day just as they liked.

Dinner was served next – an endless number of strange and unexpected courses, each no more than two bites. The wait staff brought silver tray after silver tray, announcing such dishes as, ‘cold soup of sea urchin in a golden garlic broth’ and ‘warm salad of hand-foraged wood-ear mushrooms on a bed of salted riverweed’, all of which sounded absolutely foul to Morrigan, and all of which tasted exquisite. (She tried to keep a mental list of the textures and ingredients so she could give Francis the rundown on Monday.)

Their table was far enough away from the main event that it felt like they were spectators at the wedding rather than participants, and the running commentary of gossip from the twins and inappropriate laughter from their table went largely unobserved. Morrigan wouldn’t have called it the best night of her life, exactly, but she was at least having fun.

‘Over there, table seven: the woman wearing an entire museum’s worth of diamonds?’ Lottie whispered. ‘That’s the magnificent Lady Lavinia Everard, and the handsome specimen next to her is the newest Lord Everard. There have been seven so far, but this one’s a keeper. Half her age and the dumbest, sweetest man who ever lived. Adores her. We’re crossing our fingers for him.’

‘Ooh, look alive. Table twelve,’ said Louis. ‘Is that Jaswinder Kapoor and Marius York ? They’re very cosy for two people whose parents despise each other.’

‘The Kapoors and the Yorks are friends again,’ Lottie told him. ‘All that business with the honey badger and the peacock is water under the bridge.’

After their final bite-size morsel was cleared away (‘pickled pigeon heart with burnt chocolate and parsnip mousse’), somebody tapped a butter knife to a crystal goblet, and it was echoed in a resonant chorus of pings across the Glade, like a choir of fairies.

‘I know it’s tradition for the best man to give the first speech,’ came the amplified voice of a young, soft-spoken man at the end of the bridal table. ‘But as I am Dario’s only brother, I hope you’ll forgive me, Mr Ghoshal, for cutting the queue. I’m reminded of something our father once told us, Dario …’

‘Ugh. How marvellous , Ogden Town Dario has something to say,’ a boy in a green dress shirt muttered with a sneery laugh. ‘Honestly, you’d think the wealthiest family in the district could afford to buy their second child a personality.’

Morrigan turned to the twins. ‘Ogden Town Dario?’

‘Oh, just a stupid bit of Silver District slang,’ said Louis quietly. ‘You’ll think it’s awful, and you’ll be right. Calling someone the Ogden Town someone else is like saying they’re sort of … the poorer, lower-quality version. Because—’

‘Ogden Town is the poorer, lower-quality version of the Silver District,’ said Morrigan unsmilingly. ‘I get it. Cool joke.’

Louis cleared his throat, squirming in his seat, and Lottie scrunched her nose apologetically. At least they had the decency to look embarrassed.

Unfortunately for Cosimo Rinaldi, Morrigan could sort of see where the nickname came from. Unlike charming, cheerful Dario, his younger brother was serious and sombre, and nowhere near as handsome.

The fun table had just begun debating whether to make a run for it when, finally, something mildly interesting happened.

‘Sir, please, this is a private event,’ came a small, nervous voice from the exit near their table. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to—’

‘I know it’s a private event, you dolt. I was invited.’ The second voice was cool and languid. Morrigan twisted in her chair and saw that it belonged to a man dressed quite unsuitably for any wedding, let alone a wedding in the Silver District, in a wide-brimmed black hat, dusty green overcoat, a wrinkled, untucked T-shirt and corduroy trousers that were slightly frayed at the hems. He leaned against the outside of the hanging wisteria tunnel with a newspaper tucked under one arm, carrying a small, grease-stained paper bag. He fished a creased silver and white invitation from his trouser pocket. ‘Here. Read it and weep.’

Morrigan heard a gasp beside her, and Lottie whispered, ‘Louis, look who’s here .’

‘I believe you, sir,’ squeaked the black-jacketed staff member. ‘But I’m afraid your name isn’t on the guest list, which means you mustn’t have sent an RSVP, and the seating arrangements are—’

‘Flexible enough to accommodate one more honoured guest,’ said Aunt Margot, smiling calmly as she arrived on the scene. ‘Table four can accommodate our friend here, I believe. The Mahapatras will be delighted to welcome their new neighbour.’

The unexpected guest gave Aunt Margot a lazy sideways grin from underneath his hat. ‘Thrown a spanner in the works, have I? Apologies, Lady Darling.’

‘Not at all. It’s a most welcome surprise to have you here. We were all beginning to think you a recluse. And my mother is Lady Darling,’ she said graciously. ‘I am Lady Margot.’

He pulled a chestnut from the paper bag, threw it in the air and caught it in his mouth. ‘Course you are. All these funny little rules, however do you keep track?’

Lottie made a sound that could have been laughter or choking, eyes wide in disbelief as she watched them head towards table four. ‘ Scandal! I cannot believe the Vulture showed up.’

‘Who?’ asked Morrigan.

‘Just about the least popular person in the Silver District,’ murmured Louis. ‘ I can’t believe he was invited .’

‘Of course he was invited , Louis,’ said Lottie. ‘The Vulture’s the only person in the district who gets invited to everything, attends nothing, and as a result everyone is relieved. There’s no way the Darlings wanted him here, but they couldn’t have excluded him either. Too dangerous.’

‘What do you mean, dangerous?’ asked Morrigan. ‘Why is he called—’

Before she could finish her question, another tinkling chorus of butter knives on crystal began to ripple through the Glade. Up on the Pavilion, Modestine stood in front of a silver microphone, radiant with excitement. The orchestra had quietly packed up and departed during the speeches, and behind her the bandstand was hidden behind a red velvet curtain.

‘If you would all indulge me for a moment,’ she said without preamble, ‘I have a very special surprise for my best friend. Dario, this is my wedding gift to you … and also to you, our beloved friends and family. I do hope you’ve brought your dancing shoes, because I’m THRILLED to welcome to the Paramour Pleasure Gardens for the first time and hopefully not the last … Dario’s favourite band and mine, the incomparable GIGI GRAND AND THE GUTTERBORN FIVE!’

The velvet curtain swept open, and there was a collective dramatic gasp across the Glade, followed by a silence so profound, Modestine might have just announced she was setting the Pavilion on fire.

On stage was a five-piece band dressed in black suits, fronted by a woman with a luxurious mop of bright copper curls. She wore fiery red lipstick, extremely high heels and a champagne-coloured, fully sequined, very short dress. She was one of the most glamorous people Morrigan had ever seen.

‘Please,’ said Gigi Grand with a coy smile, leaning into the silver microphone. ‘We’re all friends here. You can call me Gi.’

A few people in the Glade laughed uncomfortably. There was a strange feeling in the air, a perilous vibration Morrigan felt but didn’t understand.

‘ Draaaamaaaaaaaa ,’ Lottie whispered, fanning herself with her place card. Morrigan had never seen anyone so gleefully, euphorically shocked.

With a big, bold blast of trumpet and a crash of cymbals, the Gutterborn Five came raucously to life.

‘Look at all you fancy cats in your fancy furs,’ Gigi purred in a honey-warm voice as the band pulled back to a steady, expectant thrum of double bass. ‘Bet you never thought you’d see this gorgeous face again. My my, isn’t it good to be home … A-one and a-two, and a-one, two, three, four! ’

Modestine led a punch-drunk Dario onto the dance floor, laughing with delight as her husband stared at the bandstand in a daze. Gigi Grand gave him a theatrical wink and Dario fell to his knees then leapt up again, pulling an ecstatic Modestine in for a hug. Apparently, her surprise was a hit.

The night was suddenly buzzing – partly with the full swinging force of the band, but mostly with the astonished whispers spreading like wildfire through the Glade.

‘Is this the greatest day of your life, Lot?’ asked Louis, grinning at his sister.

‘Absolutely,’ Lottie breathed. She looked like a child let loose in a sweet-shop. ‘First the Vulture, now Gigi Grand and the Gutterborn Five ? What a bounty of scandal on this blessed day.’

Morrigan laughed, but she was confused by what felt like an overreaction. Perhaps this wasn’t the sort of music she’d have expected to hear at her aunt’s elegant wedding – certainly not after the string quartet and the orchestra – but she didn’t think it was that scandalous.

‘Do people in the Silver District not like jazz?’ she asked the twins.

They burst into laughter.

‘It’s not the jazz that’s the problem,’ said Louis, bending his head towards her to be heard over the music. ‘It’s the people playing it. Surely you’ve heard of Gigi Grand and the Gutterborn Five?’

Morrigan rolled the name around in her head until it snagged on a memory. ‘Oh! Um, yeah, I think they played at the New Delphian one time. That’s a theatre in the Bohemian District.’

‘Oh, we know the New Delph,’ said Lottie.

‘We’ve seen Gigi play in all the big Bohemian music halls,’ added Louis. ‘The New Delphian, The Hanging Gardens, Cutthroat Disco, Tenderblood, Big Bear Hall, Little Bear Hall—’

‘Twice,’ said Lottie.

‘Oh yes, twice at Little Bear before the Stink shut it down,’ Louis agreed. ‘When did you see Gigi at the New Delphian, Morrigan?’

‘Not last Spring’s Eve but the one before,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t see her play … I just saw her name on the marquee on my way to the Old Delphian.’

Louis and Lottie both looked at her with slightly piqued interest.

‘ You went to the Old Delph?’ said Lottie.

‘Yes.’

‘What for?’

‘To see the Angel Israfel.’

The whole table turned to look at her then. Morrigan felt her cheeks grow warm. To this entire group of older teenagers, she’d suddenly become more interesting than Gigi Grand, her Gutterborn Five and whatever drama was unfolding.

‘You saw the Angel Israfel?’ whispered Zara. ‘At the Old Delph?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not thinking of the New Delph?’ said Barty, a little sneeringly. ‘Because we’ve all been there , obviously.’

‘Shut up, Barty,’ said Lottie. ‘She said what she said. Besides, the Angel Israfel would never play the New Delph, you nincompoop.’

‘How did you get there?’ asked Zara, leaning in.

‘My patron took me.’

Barty rolled his eyes. ‘Sure, but how ? Hardly anyone knows how to get there.’

Morrigan cringed inwardly. It felt like they were testing her and, unfortunately, she didn’t think she was going to pass. It had been well over a year – almost two – since that Spring’s Eve when Jupiter had taken her to see his friend Israfel.

‘Um. I don’t know, it was sort of … weird. We went down a Tricksy Lane, I think. I don’t really remember – I mean, I remember a bit ,’ she said in a rush, as the table seemed to slump in disappointment. Zara turned her attention back to Gigi Grand, and Barty and the others all followed suit. Perhaps they’d decided she was making it up. She looked down at the table, picking at the petals of a fallen peony from the floral centrepiece.

‘I’ve heard the way it changes, anyway,’ Louis said kindly. ‘That’s how they keep it a secret.’

‘I really have been there,’ said Morrigan, hating the defensive sound of her own voice. She sounded exactly like a stupid little kid making things up for attention. ‘I’m telling the truth.’

But Louis was smiling at her. ‘I know you are. I can tell.’

‘How?’

‘I overheard you in the topiary garden this afternoon, complimenting Camilla Whittaker’s disgusting hat.’ He snorted. ‘You’re a dreadful liar.’

Morrigan couldn’t help smiling too. She opened her mouth to say something cutting about the hat, but was suddenly distracted by the sight of someone she hadn’t seen in almost two years.

Someone she’d hoped never to see again.

Noelle Devereaux was being pulled forcefully towards the exit by a woman who had her wrist clutched tight and looked ready to commit murder. They bustled past Morrigan’s table, followed by an equally livid man.

‘This is the last bridge, Maxwell, the very last bridge between us and that wretched family,’ the woman was muttering, ‘and tonight they have merrily set fire to it. I will never forgive the Darlings – nor the Rinaldis – for their cruelty. Someone is going to pay for this. Mark my words.’

The man harrumphed in agreement, but Noelle was looking back at the Pavilion longingly.

‘Mummy, I want to stay ,’ she said. ‘ Please, I want to see Gigi!’

Noelle’s mother spun around to face her and said in a menacing hiss, ‘Her name isn’t Gigi, you silly little fool.’

Noelle flinched as if she’d been slapped. Her chin trembled and a quiet sob tumbled from her mouth as she blinked back tears. Morrigan felt an unexpected stab of sympathy for her one-time rival. (And as the last time she’d seen Noelle, she and her former patron Baz Charlton had been trying to get Morrigan rejected from the Wundrous Society, arrested and kicked out of Nevermoor, ‘unexpected’ was perhaps an understatement.)

Most unfortunately, at that moment Noelle glanced over and saw Morrigan witnessing her dressing-down. Her eyes locked on Morrigan’s with the most vicious, hate-filled glare, and then she was yanked away by her mother.

‘Well, I suppose Lady Dev was bound to burst a capillary,’ said Louis.

‘Why?’ asked Morrigan. ‘What was that about?’

‘Oh! You don’t know? Louis, move – she doesn’t know ,’ said Lottie, her eyes lighting up as she leaned across her brother to share the gossip with Morrigan in a loud whisper. ‘Gigi Grand is just a stage name. Her real name is Georgette Devereaux. She’s—’

‘Noelle’s sister?’ Morrigan said, cottoning on. Lottie nodded eagerly.

Ah. Of course she was Noelle’s sister. Now Morrigan could see the resemblance. Both girls were pretty, with upturned noses and thick shiny curls and, though Noelle was lithe and angular where Gigi was soft and round, they had a similar way of holding themselves that seemed to tell everyone in the room they were the most important people in it.

And, of course, they both had extraordinary singing voices. Morrigan could still recall her mingled feelings of envy and delight when she’d heard Noelle sing during her Show Trial. Her voice was like a thousand tinkling bells, light and airy and agile. She sounded like an angel flown in from the Better Place.

Her older sister, on the other hand, sounded like she’d made a deal with the Wicked Thing. Gigi’s voice was by turns bright and full and bombastic, then deep and smoky and dangerous.

‘Why aren’t her parents happy to see her?’ Morrigan asked.

‘Would you be happy to see the daughter you hadn’t spoken to for three years?’ said Louis. ‘The infamous runaway daughter who dreamed of a most unsuitable life on the stage? Who fled the Silver District to live in a rat-infested flat in a disreputable neighbourhood with her bandmates?’

‘The eldest daughter you cut out of your will,’ Lottie added, ‘and banned from ever setting foot inside the Greater Circle again?’

Morrigan frowned. The tale of the infamous runaway daughter sounded uncomfortably familiar. Her own mother had run away from Nevermoor, disgracing her parents and scandalising society, and Morrigan herself had fled Jackalfax. She found she could empathise with Gigi – a girl cast aside from her family because she didn’t live up to their expectations – and felt an urge to defend her.

‘It sounds like Gigi’s the one who should be unhappy to see them ,’ she pointed out. ‘Not the other way around.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Louis, smirking, ‘but doesn’t it look like she’s having fun ?’

It was hard to convince her, but eventually Louis, Lottie and their friends dragged Morrigan onto the dance floor. Gigi Grand and the Gutterborn Five kept up a steady, swinging pace, luring more and more of the reserved Silver District crowd to cast away propriety.

Morrigan didn’t know how to dance. She felt a bit embarrassed at first, but Louis and Lottie were utterly unafraid to look foolish, and their high spirits were so contagious that soon she too was letting loose. They danced and sang and laughed until they were red-faced and sweaty, and when Gigi announced she was going to rest her vocal cords while the Gutterborn Five played on, Louis suggested they take a break also.

‘Mother and Father are leaving soon. We’ll go and say goodnight and then fetch the drinks. You get the sweets,’ he said, pointing Morrigan towards a magical array of desserts that had been laid out while they danced. ‘Meet back at the table.’

Louis led his sister away, and Morrigan turned her attention to the dessert table.

There were platters of pastries and towers of tarts, many-tiered stands stacked with tiny cream fancies and chocolate truffles. A whole rainbow of marzipan delicacies and chocolate eclairs were monogrammed with the bride and groom’s initials in gold leaf. An immense white-cake centrepiece, taller than Morrigan, was crowned with two-foot toffee shards painted to look like the stained-glass windows of the chapel. A pair of life-size meringue swans floated down the middle of the table on a river of chocolate. A two-metre-high dragon carved from sugar rock stood on its haunches with spun-caramel wings outstretched and, thanks to some clever engineering, blue and pink clouds of fairy floss floated dreamily above the whole display. Morrigan did a thorough two laps before making her way back to the fun table triumphantly, a plate piled high with treats in each hand.

Arms starting to give way slightly, Morrigan was relieved to spot the twins by one of the exits and was about to call out to them for help, when she saw they were still saying goodbye to their parents. She decided to wait, standing far enough away that it wouldn’t look like she was eavesdropping, but close enough to catch a glimpse through the hanging wisteria.

Their mother was tall and statuesque, and looked a lot like Louis and Lottie with their shiny dark hair and noble features. She wrapped a stole around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss both her children on their cheeks. Their father stood a little further away in the shadows, but as he stepped closer to hug his son and daughter goodnight, Morrigan felt her chest constrict. Her wrists finally gave way, and the two small dessert mountains fell to the grassy floor of the Glade with a soft flump-flump, leaving great rivers of custard and chocolate all the way down the front of her gown.

She’d seen Louis and Lottie’s father before. A few times.

Never like this, of course. Never calm and smiling, or patting his son warmly on the back, or throwing his head back to laugh at something his daughter said.

Never without an angry, purpling complexion, or a placard in his hands. Never not shouting into a megaphone or riling up a crowd of desperate people to scream something hateful about someone he didn’t like.

He looked quite different, Laurent St James, when he wasn’t inciting an angry mob.