She slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out the package of macarons. The wax paper had crinkled throughout the day, though the twine bow securing it had held. Around the table, the guests tilted forward.

‘I . . .’ She hesitated. ‘I make confections, you see.’

‘Did she say confessions?’ the old lady murmured. ‘Oh dear. I fear I have done a lot worth confessing this year.’

Cath smiled. ‘No, confections.’ She opened the wax paper, revealing five rose macarons, a little crumbled around the edges, but otherwise intact.

A silence descended on to the table.

‘Unconventional indeed,’ Hatta drawled, brow drawn with suspicion. ‘But what do they do?’

Catherine didn’t retract her hand. ‘They don’t do anything. They won’t make you smaller, or larger. But . . . I do hope they might make you happier. These were meant to be a gift for the King himself, but I . . . I was distracted today. I forgot to give them to him.’

She dared not look at Jest.

‘A gift for the King?’ Hatta said. ‘That does sound promising.’ He waved his cane at Haigha, who reached up and took the macarons out of Cath’s palm. Her breath left her in a rush, relieved to have them gone. She was still shaking with nerves.

Haigha laid the macarons out on a plate and, one by one, cut the sandwiched meringues as neatly as he could. They crumbled and squished under the knife. The crowd gathered close, watching as the buttercream filling oozed and stuck to the paper.

Feeling a tug at her skirt, Catherine turned to see Jest holding his hand towards her again. She allowed him to pull her down from the table.

‘You made those?’ he whispered.

‘Of course I did,’ she said, and couldn’t help adding, ‘and as you’ll see, Hatta isn’t the only one here who can make marvellous things.’

His lips quirked. His eyes had a new intensity, like he was trying to figure out a riddle.

The pieces of macaron were passed around the table, and even offered to Raven sitting darkly on his bust, though he huffed and turned his head away. Catherine and Jest were given the last two bites, leaving a pool of flaky almond meringue crumbs and smeared buttercream behind.

Hatta stood and raised his piece into the air. ‘A toast to Lady Pinkerton, the finest lady to ever grace our table.’

Cheers resounded throughout the shop, but died out as they started to eat.

Catherine listened to the licking of fingers and sucking of teeth.

Jest’s eyes settled on her again, shining like candlelight, a finger caught between his lips. He blinked in surprise.

Cath beamed and placed her own sample on her tongue. The macaron was sweet and decadent and smooth, with just a tiny crunch from the meringue, and a subtle floral moment from the distilled rose water, all melting together into one perfect bite.

She listened to the gasps, the moans, the crinkle of parchment paper as someone scooped up the buttercream that had got missed.

This was why she enjoyed baking. A good dessert could make her feel like she’d created joy at the tips of her fingers. Suddenly, the people around the table were no longer strangers. They were friends and confidantes, and she was sharing with them her magic.

‘Well done, Lady Pinkerton,’ buzzed the Bumblebee. Then there was a round of huzzahs bouncing up and down the table. In the renewed chaos, the Dormouse awoke and looked sleepily around the room. Someone had left a crumb on his plate, which he popped into his mouth without hesitation. He chewed and swallowed, grinned dreamily, and returned to his nap still licking his lips.

The Hatter alone was not cheering. Rather, he had tilted back in his chair and covered his face with his hat.

Cath’s elation received a momentary chink. A notch of rejection.

But then Hatta lowered the hat and she saw that he was smiling, and his smile was heart-thumpingly open, honest, beautiful. His lavender eyes sparkled as they found her, then shifted to Jest.

‘Fine. Fine!’ he said, holding a hand up in surrender. ‘I suppose I will allow her to stay.’

Cath dipped into a curtsy, still flushed with success. ‘You are too gracious, Hat—’

The shop suddenly rocked. She slipped, toppling into Jest, whose arms encircled her.

The guests gasped and scrambled to gain their balance. Something clomped on the roof, followed by scratching, like talons scrabbling for purchase. The shop rocked again, sending an array of dishes over one side of the table, tea and biscuits splattering on to the floor.

An ear-bleeding screech made the hair stand on the back of Cath’s neck.

Jest glanced up, drawing Cath’s attention towards Raven. The clown bust he stood upon had changed, the jovial grin turning down into a mockery of fear.

Raven tilted his head, as if his black eyes could see right through the beams of the ceiling, and recited in his sombre cadence, ‘ ’Tis the nightmare of the borogoves, the terror of the slithy toves. Though long believed a myth by all, the Jabberwock has come to call within our peaceful grove.’

CHAPTER 20

JEST TURNED TO HATTA. ‘We must make a run for the Crossroads. The beast will be too large to follow us through.’

Cath gaped up at him, her heart squeezing tight. ‘You mean for us to go outside?’ She turned towards Hatta, whose face was drawn, his jaw set. ‘Wouldn’t it be more prudent to stay put and wait for the beast to tire? Surely it will get bored and leave if it can’t get to us.’

A window at the back of the shop shattered. The Porcupine and the Bloodhound scrambled away from the scattering glass.