Page 130 of Heartless

‘And now you’ve seen it. Please move aside.’

Cheshire’s eyes narrowed, peering into the distance. ‘Is that bird friend or food?’

Cath and Jest glanced back. Raven had claimed a spot on a low-hanging tree bough. He puffed up his feathers until he was the same size as Cheshire. Or, the same size that Cheshire would have been had his entire body been visible.

‘Friend,’ said Catherine, turning back. ‘What do you want?’

Cheshire’s head turned upside down. ‘I suppose you haven’t any idea what’s been about this evening. Been awful preoccupied, what with your proposal and such and such. Do you want to hear about it?’

‘Not particularly. I have a few preoccupations of my own, you may have noticed.’

‘It involves the pumpkin eater.’

Her gut tightened. She’d all but forgotten how Sir Peter had accosted her earlier that evening. ‘Why would I have any interest in him?’

‘And also Mary Ann. And even the Jabberwock. A zesty new rumour that might be even more scandalous than our King’s bride running away with the Joker. I’m positively dying to tell someone’ – his eyes turned to silver coins, like those placed upon the dead – ‘and you were the first person I thought who would want to know.’

A chill scurried down her spine. She could sense Jest peering at her, could imagine his concern, his curiosity, but she shoved her own curiosity down into the pit of her stomach, right beside the angry pit where lay Mary Ann’s betrayal.

‘You were wrong. I don’t want to know. Go bother someone else with your gossip and leave us alone, or I’ll bruise much more than your tail.’

The coins turned back into glowing eyes. ‘I see,’ he said, drawing out the words. ‘It appears I was incorrect about you, Lady Catherine. After all these years.’ His gaze shifted to Jest. ‘He’s handsome enough, I suppose . . .’ His ears and eyes and nose vanished then, leaving only his smile – hanging downside up so it became a frown without a body to tether it. ‘If one cares for that sort of thing.’

Then he was gone.

Jest was still looking at her.

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘He won’t tell anyone where we are.’ She didn’t know if it was true, but she hoped they would be far gone before it mattered.

With the cat gone, Raven left his perch in the trees and flew down to join them as Jest pulled open the door.

No longer a tea parlour, no longer a shop – the little room was a messy workspace, a hatter’s studio. The long table was littered with ribbons, feathers, felt, buttons, needles and thread. A dozen mannequin heads were lined up, wearing unfinished hats of varying styles, blinking bored eyes at the newcomers.

The Dormouse slept curled up on the table, wrapped in velvet ribbon like a present.

The March Hare was stringing different-coloured buttons on to a thread and draping them around his neck like a pile of beaded necklaces. There were enough on him that they reminded Catherine of a noose.

Hatta sat on his throne, wearing his plum top hat, one leg strewn over the chair’s arm and his chin propped up on his knuckles. An incomplete lady’s hat sat on a mannequin’s head before him, half done up with yellow rhinestones and half done up with seashells, but his eyes were on Jest and Catherine and Raven.

He scanned Jest’s dark motley and smirked. ‘Still playing the part of the royal idiot, I see. Or maybe that’s an effect of the girl who has you so neatly wrapped around her finger.’

Jest tipped his hat, letting the bells tinkle around his face. ‘Everyone always underestimates the idiot.’

Hatta waved his hand at them. ‘Come in, come in. Haigha, stop mucking with those buttons and put on a pot of tea.’

‘That won’t be necessary. This isn’t to be a long visit.’ Jest tugged Catherine around the table, like he was afraid to release her.

Hatta’s eyes lingered on their entwined hands a beat longer than Cath thought necessary. ‘What’s your hurry? If the rumours are true, the only place you have to be right now is His Majesty’s prison.’ He squinted. ‘Speaking of His Majesty, does he know that you’re about with his lady fair?’

Jest pulled out a chair for Catherine. She felt too anxious to sit, but she did anyway.

‘The King proposed marriage to Catherine tonight,’ he said, claiming the chair between her and Hatta – what would once have been the performer’s chair.

Hatta’s eyes swept towards her and he lifted a teacup from a saucer, like a toast. The rim was stained with long-ago drips of tea, and she wondered how long it had been sitting there untouched. ‘Congratulations must be in order, Your Queenliness.’

She scowled. ‘Are you congratulating me or yourself? I know you wanted to see me become the Queen as much as anyone, though I now understand you didn’t exactly have my best interests in mind.’

There was a moment of silence, the cup hanging in the air. Then Hatta guffawed and slammed the cup back to the table. It was empty.

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