Mary Ann worked in silence, pinning Cath’s hair with expert fingers and working it through with pearls and red rosebuds.
‘You don’t have to do this.’
Cath met Mary Ann’s gaze in the glass.
‘The King will let you out of the arrangement if you ask,’ the maid continued. ‘Tell him you’ve changed your mind.’
‘What then?’ Cath asked. ‘I could be the Marchioness of Mock Turtles. Die a spinster, all alone with my half-invisible cat?’
Mary Ann paced in front of her and leaned against the vanity. ‘What about us? Our dream, our bakery?’
‘My dream,’ Cath snapped. ‘It was my dream, and mine alone. It only became yours when a trickster hat fooled you into having an imagination.’
Mary Ann flinched. ‘That isn’t true. I always—’
‘I haven’t changed my mind.’ Catherine stood, tugging her skirt into place. ‘I am getting precisely what I want.’
‘A false, loveless marriage?’
Cath sought out her reflection. The face in the mirror was that of a corpse, bloodless and indifferent. But her dress was breathtaking, for those who had breath to take – a full-skirted gown bedecked in lace and ribbon. Red roses were embroidered across the bodice.
She felt nothing at all when she looked at her wedding gown, or imagined herself on the throne, or lying in the King’s bed, or some day watching their full suit of ten children race across the croquet lawns.
Her future existed like a barren desert with a single bright spot on the horizon. The one thing she wanted. The last thing in the world she craved.
Peter’s head.
‘Yes,’ she said, without emotion. ‘This is what I want.’
Mary Ann’s shoulders fell and Cath could see her biting back what she wanted to say. Finally she slinked away from the vanity. ‘The Marquess and Marchioness asked to see you before the ceremony. And . . . Cath? You haven’t asked me to continue on as one of your maids here in the castle.’
Cath blinked, waiting for the words to seep into her clouded thoughts.
You should have died instead, she wanted to say. If you hadn’t gone to the patch, this wouldn’t have happened. I should have let you die. I should have left you there.
‘No,’ she finally said. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Cath, please,’ Mary Ann whispered. ‘I know you’re hurt – devastated, even. But you’re my best friend. You came back for me. You saved me.’
You should have died instead.
‘The White Rabbit is looking for a housemaid,’ Cath said. ‘Perhaps you can seek new employment there.’
The silence that followed was stifling.
Cath picked a ruby necklace off the vanity, one the King had sent her during their pitiful courtship. She latched it behind her neck. The jewels sat heavy on her collar.
‘If that’s what you want,’ Mary Ann murmured.
Cath didn’t watch her go. Didn’t turn even when the door shut behind her.
Somewhere in the castle, the people of Hearts were gathering. Music was playing. The King was wondering whether he was making a mistake, and whether it was too late to stop it.
She stared at the girl in the mirror, the one who looked as though she had never known a smile. Even as she had the thought, her reflection’s lips curled upward, revealing a delirious grin beneath her sullen eyes.
She scowled. ‘This had better not be your way of telling me to be happy.’
The reflection’s eyes turned yellow and developed slitted pupils. ‘Were you aware that this is your wedding day?’ said Cheshire. The rest of his face formed, furry cheeks and long whiskers. ‘To look so sad seems a travesty.’
‘I’m not in the mood. Go away.’
‘All due respect, Your Soon-to-Be-Majesticness, you do not seem much in the mood for anything. I have never seen such an empty expression.’ His face vanished, leaving the outline of fur and whiskers topped with pointed ears.
Catherine pushed away from the vanity.
Cheshire’s face reappeared. ‘You needn’t be so cold to Mary Ann. She’s worried about you. We all are.’
‘What is there to worry about? I am going to be a queen. I’m the luckiest girl in Hearts.’
His whiskers twitched. ‘And won’t we be lucky to have you, miserable wretch you’ve become.’
‘Mind my words, Cheshire, I will have you banished from this kingdom if you tempt me.’
‘An empty threat from an empty girl.’
She rounded on him, teeth flashing. ‘I am not empty. I am full to the brim with murder and revenge. I am overflowing and I do not think you wish for me to overflow on to you.’
‘There was a time’ – Cheshire yawned – ‘when you overflowed with whimsy and icing sugar. I liked that Catherine better.’
‘That Catherine was a fool.’ She whipped her hand towards the cat. He vanished before she could strike him. ‘You knew the bakery would never happen. You’ve known that I would end up either destitute or married to the stupid King, and any other hopes were meaningless.’
‘Yes. That’s true.’
She spun to see Cheshire floating in front of the door.
‘But hoping,’ he said, ‘is how the impossible can be possible after all.’
With a scream, Cath grabbed a vase of white roses and launched them at Cheshire’s head.
The door opened. The cat vanished. The vase flew right between the White Rabbit’s ears and shattered in the corridor.
The Rabbit froze, his pink eyes wide as saucers. ‘L-Lady Pinkerton? Is everything quite all right?’