Cath straightened her spine. ‘I despise white roses!’
The Rabbit shrank back. ‘I . . . I do apologize. I’ll – er – have something else sent for, if you prefer—’
‘Don’t bother,’ she snapped, marching towards the window and thrusting her finger against a leaded pane. ‘And I want the gardeners to take down that tree.’
The White Rabbit approached hesitantly. ‘Tree?’
‘The white rose tree by the arches. I want it removed immediately.’
The Rabbit’s nose twitched. ‘But, my lady, that tree was planted by the King’s great-great-great-grandfather. It is an extremely rare varietal. No, I think we had better leave it as it is.’ He cleared his throat and pulled a watch from his pocket. The watch Jest had given him during the black-and-white ball. Seeing it brought blood rushing into Cath’s face. ‘Now then, your parents will be here soon to escort you to the ceremony, but I wanted to be sure you had everything you needed before—’
‘Mr Rabbit.’
He looked up and ducked at her glare.
‘That tree is to be gone by nightfall. If it is not, then I will find an axe and cut it down myself, and your head will be soon to follow. Do you understand?’
His gloved hands began to shake around the watch. ‘Er – y-yes. Certainly. The tree. Quite an eyesore, I’ve oft said so myself . . .’
‘In fact,’ she continued, scanning the gardens below, ‘I want all white roses to be removed before springtime. From now on, the gardeners are to plant only red roses, if they must grow roses at all.’
‘Of course, my quee—my lady. Red roses. Excellent choice. Your taste is immaculate, I daresay.’
‘Exuberantly glad you agree,’ she deadpanned, brushing past him. She paused at the vanity, and Raven hopped off the mirror and came to settle again on her shoulder before she swept into the corridor.
She paused.
Her parents were there, standing over the shattered glass vase and drooping roses, waiting to escort their daughter to her wedding ceremony. Their faces held on to wobbly smiles.
‘Oh, my sweet girl,’ said the Marchioness, taking a step forward. Hesitating. Glancing at Raven. Then she closed the distance between them and took Catherine into her arms. ‘You are a beautiful bride.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Cath, still livid over the roses and the pocket watch and Cheshire’s insolence. ‘Look again. You might find that I actually resemble a walrus.’
Her mother pulled away, shocked. ‘What do you mean?’
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Catherine,’ said the Marquess, placing one hand on Cath’s shoulder and one on his wife’s. ‘We know you’ve been through some . . . difficult things recently.’
Anger, hot and throbbing, blurred in her vision.
‘But we want you to be sure . . . absolutely sure this is what you want.’ His eyes turned wary beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘We want you to be happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. Is this what’s going to make you happy?’
Cath held his gaze, feeling the puncture of Raven’s talons on her shoulder, the weight of the rubies around her throat, the itch of her petticoat on her thighs.
‘How different everything could have been,’ she said, ‘if you had thought to ask me that before.’
She shrugged his arm away and pushed between them. She didn’t look back.
CHAPTER 52
THE TRAVELLING HAT SHOP was empty when she squeezed her heart-studded dress through the doorway – empty but for the marvellous Hatter himself. A cackle reverberated off the wooden walls the moment she stepped over the threshold. Catherine drew herself to her full height and let her gown fall around her feet. She met Hatta’s gleeful laugh with firm-pressed lips.
He was on his throne, feet up, hiding his face behind his purple hat. Mannequin heads were set on all of the chairs, adorned in elaborate hats. None were whispering now. They stared blankly ahead at the assortment of ribbons and felts and half-empty teacups.
‘Good day, Hatta.’
He lifted the hat and set it on to his white hair. Hair that was in desperate need of a combing. His cravat was undone, his coat wrinkled. There was a mysterious stain on the handkerchief that was crumpled inside his breast pocket.
‘Is it six o’clock already?’ he said, picking up a pocket watch from the table. ‘Why – barely noon. That can’t be right. Perhaps I shall make it forever six o’clock, forever time for tea. Tea in the morning, tea in the middle of the night. Then I shall always be an accommodating host. Would that suit you and your early arrival, Lady Pinkerton? Or shall I say – Your Majesty.’
Cath shut the shop’s door. ‘Am I early? I did not realize I was expected.’
‘I’m always expecting someone. Always coming and going, coming and going.’ He tossed the pocket watch on to the table with a clang. The face popped open and Cath could hear it ticking, too loud and too fast, like a manic countdown. If Hatta noticed it, though, it didn’t show. ‘I hope you haven’t come here seeking my marital blessing.’
‘I don’t need anyone’s blessing, least of all yours.’
‘Indeed, sweetness. You are the epitome of a royal bride. Tell me, does it make it easier, knowing the union had been foreordained? It was all laid out for you in stone and ink. You didn’t even have to make the decision yourself, just go along with all fate expected of you.’