But Margaret only huffed. ‘Yes, yes, quite horrifying, but before that, have you heard tell what your awful cat did?’

‘My . . . cat? You mean Cheshire? I wouldn’t call him mine, precisely.’

‘Nevertheless, he is a nuisance that should not be suffered among civilized society. I hope you left him at home today.’

Cath cocked her head, feigning ignorance. ‘What has he done?’

‘Oh dear, I find it difficult to believe that word has not yet reached your ears. It was dreadful. The mongrel appeared from nowhere, in that uncanny way he does, and plopped right down on my head.’ She shuddered.

‘I’m sure Cheshire meant no harm. I actually think he’s rather fond of you.’

Margaret pouted. ‘I hope not. My one solace is that everyone was distracted by the Jabberwock and that has overshadowed my torment – ah, my mortification!’

‘Yes, we can hope.’ Catherine wrung her wrists and buried a remark about the poor Diamond courtiers. ‘Is it true, do you know, that the King also made mention of a . . . a bride at the ball?’

‘He was about to propose before all turned chaotic. You did miss much that night, Lady Catherine.’

‘My loss, to be sure. And has there been much speculation as to who it might be?’

‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not one to gossip. Gossiping always leads to spoilt milk.’

‘Of course. That’s a very good rule to live by.’ Cath was nodding sagely when she spotted Lord Warthog taking a turn around the lawn with the Dowager Countess Wontuthry. The Countess had her hand on the Duke’s elbow, the other gripping a cane that kept sinking into the soft grass. She was speaking fervently on some topic, but the Duke’s gaze was darting from Catherine to Margaret to the ground and back to Margaret. His jowled face was warped with anxiety.

Clearing her throat, Catherine leaned closer to Margaret, like a conspirator. ‘Tell me more about the Jabberwock attack,’ she whispered. ‘Were you very frightened?’

‘Oh! Must we speak of it?’ Margaret placed a hand to her brow. ‘I feel faint at the memory. Did you know – that beast broke through the windows and headed straight for me! I cannot be sure why. One is made to wonder if a creature with such wicked propensities might not be naturally drawn to one of goodness and pristine moral values, such as myself.’

‘Er, yes,’ said Catherine. ‘One is made to wonder.’

‘Indeed, and the nightmares shall haunt me unto my deathbed. Even now I see its jaws when I shut my eyes, still hear the click-clacking of its enormous claws.’

Catherine gripped her elbow for support. ‘Yes, but . . . you were rescued, were you not? I heard the Duke was very heroic. Is it true that he threw himself in between you and the beast?’

Margaret sniffed. ‘More like he couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. That man has all the grace of a wild boar.’

She squinted. ‘Actually, I think wild boars can be quite quick and athletic . . .’

‘Oh! There he is! Wave, quickly, or he’ll think we’ve been talking about him.’ With a look that was as much grimace as smile, Margaret wiggled her fingers at the Duke and the Countess.

The Duke immediately looked away, ducking his large chin behind a green cravat.

Margaret grunted. ‘Such arrogance.’

‘I’m beginning to think he might just be shy . . .’

‘We mustn’t encourage such ill behaviour, Catherine. That is just like paying the cart in carrots before the horse gets his gift.’

Cath tried to puzzle this out for a moment, but quickly gave up. ‘How I do wish I could find fault with your wisdom, Margaret.’

Margaret scoffed. ‘Why – I daresay the Countess is flirting with him! What a vile woman.’

‘I’m not sure—’

‘I could grab on to any man’s arm, too, if I wanted to pretend to have a crooked spine.’

‘To be fair, she does have a crooked spine.’

‘Yes, and evidently a desire to add to her wealth. Can you imagine, curtsying to Her Ladyship, the Dutch Countess Wontuthry? Or the Counting Duchess of Tuskany? Who needs that many syllables, anyway?’

‘It seems to me that he’s just helping an old lady across the lawn.’

Margaret glowered. ‘You are as observant as a toadstool, Lady Pinkerton.’

Cath scrambled to right the teetering ship of their conversation. ‘Well, even if the Countess were flirting, I think the Duke is actually taken with—’

‘Oh no. Now they’re coming this way.’ Margaret turned her back on them. ‘Let’s look as though we’re caught in a game of Battledore and Shuttlecock so they won’t pester us.’ Margaret thrust the extra racket into Catherine’s hand.

‘Won’t that be rude?’

Ignoring her, Margaret hustled a fair distance away and threw up the shuttlecock – a needle-nosed hummingbird – striking it in Catherine’s direction. Instinctively, Cath dived to hit it back, but missed. The hummingbird stuck nose-first into the sod.

‘Sorry, dearest Catherine!’ Margaret preened, loud enough to be heard halfway across the lawn. ‘You really must take more time to practise.’

Stooping, Catherine pried the bird out of the grass. Its jittery wings buzzed. She glanced up at Margaret, who was adamantly not looking at the Duke, while the Duke, standing not far away, had eyes only for her, now that he was in no danger of being found out.