Hatta twirled the cane. ‘I always preferred the answer: because they both have quills dipped in ink.’
Cath was surprised to find that the riddle, which had seemed impossible to answer when she’d first heard it, could have two such fitting solutions. She glanced at Raven, who had buried his face beneath one black wing, apparently asleep.
‘That answer would have made quite a mess of the ballroom,’ she said.
Hatta stirred a spoonful of sugar into his cup, the spoon clinking loud against the ceramic. ‘I suppose you’re right. I’ve been working on a riddle myself of late. Would you like to hear it?’
‘Very much so.’
He tapped the spoon on the cup’s rim and set it on the saucer. ‘When pleased, I beat like a drum. When sad, I break like glass. Once stolen, I can never be taken back. What am I?’
She thought for a long moment before venturing, ‘A heart?’
Hatta’s eyes warmed. ‘Very acute, Lady Pinkerton.’
‘It’s very good,’ she said, ‘although I wonder whether it wouldn’t be more accurate to say, “Once given, I can never be taken back.” ’
‘That would imply we give our hearts away willingly, and I am not sure that is the case. Perhaps we should ask Jest when he returns. I daresay he’s the expert.’ He pulled a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat. ‘He doesn’t usually disappear this long. Perhaps he was already tired of your company.’
Cath bristled, sure now that he was trying to provoke her, though she couldn’t imagine why. Clenching her fists beneath the table, she scanned the guests again. Most had gone back to their conversations. ‘ “Twinkle, Twinkle” is a lullaby,’ she said. ‘Not a riddle.’
‘How does it end? I can’t remember.’
She hummed through the song again. ‘. . . like a tea tray in the sky.’
Hatta snapped his fingers. ‘Haigha! Tea tray! Sky!’
The Hare, who had removed the floral bonnet, peeled back his enormous ears and gawked at Hatta. Then he hopped up from the table fast as a gunshot and grabbed a tea tray, dumping off a pile of crustless sandwiches, and rushed to an open window. Within moments, all the other guests – excepting Catherine and Hatta – had tossed aside their chairs and teacups to gather around him.
Catherine craned her head, thinking it wouldn’t be ladylike to be jostled in with all those strangers . . .
‘Oh, hogswaddle,’ she muttered, pushing away from the table and joining the crowd at the window.
Haigha tossed the tea tray—it spun out into the forest and disappeared into the night.
They waited.
Somewhere outside, they heard the clatter of the tea tray falling through tree boughs and thumping back down to the ground.
Breaths were held.
No one spoke.
The Dormouse yawned and shifted in the Lion’s mane, turning to curl up on his other side.
‘What are you all looking for?’
Catherine spun back to the table.
Jest was sitting to Hatta’s right, holding a half-eaten biscuit in one hand and a teacup in the other.
The crowd cheered, whistles filling the shop.
With his gaze on Catherine, Jest smiled, and Cath’s heart joined it. She tried to keep the humour from her face as she planted her hands on her hips and faced him across the table. ‘Hatta was right,’ she reprimanded. ‘It was terribly rude to abandon me so.’
Jest licked a crumb from the corner of his mouth. ‘I knew you’d figure it out.’
The Hatter grunted, taking his top hat back from the Boa Constrictor, who had fetched it from the table’s centre. ‘Let’s not make a prodigy of the lady, when all she did was recite a child’s lullaby.’ Grabbing his cane, he smacked it three times on the floor and yelled, ‘Who out of you lousy bunch wants to follow our joker? Move down!’
CHAPTER 19
THE HATTER’S TEA PARTY was not so much a tea party as a circus. Chairs were constantly swapped and shifted, and whichever guest ended up on Hatta’s right was deemed the next performer. In turn, each guest would stand up, select one of the vibrant headpieces from the surrounding walls, and proceed to entertain the others however they saw fit. The Parrot and the Cockatoo performed a comedy routine about a mime and a mimic. The Lion sang a perfect alto solo from a renowned opera. The grey-haired woman sat cross-legged on top of the table and drilled out an impressive drum solo using her knitting needles and an assortment of upturned dishes. The young Turtle recited a love sonnet with a warbling voice and shy, stammering words – once during his recitation, he glanced at Catherine and blushed deep green and was unable to look at her again for the rest of the night.
Maybe there was something in the tea – which she deemed the most delicious tea she’d ever tasted once she finally got a cup – because once Catherine relaxed, she found that she couldn’t stop laughing and cheering and tapping her toes beneath the table. She learned that Hatta was prone to ordering everyone around, though most of his guests paid his orders little attention. She learned that the Dormouse used to be the liveliest one of the group, but he’d gone into hibernation a year and a half ago and had yet to come out of it. She learned that Jest felt guilty about his bat trick tangling up her hair, he confessed as he soothed back a curl and sent goosebumps down her skin.
Flustered, she batted him away.
Each time they moved, Jest stayed at Cath’s side, helping her navigate around the flurry of activity, coaxing her away from the performer’s chair. It was a relief to not be forced into the centre of attention, yet Catherine couldn’t help racking her brain for some talent she could impress them with. A fantasy crept into her head of wowing them all, of being even more awe-inspiring than Jest with his illusions and tricks. But how? She could not sing or dance or juggle. She was not an entertainer. She was only a lady.