Peter Peter was standing on a rickety ladder against the second pumpkin, pushing a saw back and forth through its shell. He was dressed in filthy overalls and sweating, every muscle straining as he pushed the saw in and out, out and in. Watery orange liquid oozed from the cut and dripped down the pumpkin’s side.

Afraid to startle him, Catherine and Mary Ann waited until he’d finished the cut. Hanging the saw from a hook on the ladder, he pushed at the pumpkin’s shell, forcing a tall, thin piece of flesh into the gourd. It left a window barely wider than Catherine’s hand. Inside she could see the stringy guts and seeds dangling from the pumpkin’s ceiling. The smell of fresh-cut squash rolled over them.

Covering her mouth, Catherine coughed.

Peter turned so fast he nearly slipped off the ladder, but caught himself on a vine that hung down the pumpkin’s side.

‘What’re you doing here?’ he barked.

‘Good day, Sir Peter,’ said Catherine, curtsying. ‘We’re so sorry to bother you, but I was hoping I might be able to purchase some of your famed sugar pie pumpkins. I’m entering the baking contest at tomorrow’s Turtle Days Festival and I have my heart set on making a spiced pumpkin cake.’

Peter glared at them and Cath had the horrible vision of him sawing them both into pieces.

She shuddered. Mary Ann glanced sideways at her, and Catherine brightened her smile to hide the horrifying thoughts in her head.

Grabbing the saw, Peter scrambled so fast to the ground Catherine was surprised he didn’t send the ladder flopping into the mud. His eyes darted between them with a discomforting intensity, a barely restrained madness. Catherine and Mary Ann both drew startled steps backward.

‘I didn’t ask you here! You’re not welcome, and I’m not about to do business with entitled, condescending trollops like you, what think you’re better than me, no matter I been knighted by the King himself, right as anyone. You want a sugar pie pumpkin, you can grow it yourself, get your own pretty hands all dirtied up for once.’

Heart hammering, Catherine stumbled back another step, pulling Mary Ann with her. Her eyes kept darting to the saw and its rusted teeth.

‘I . . . I’ll beg of you,’ Mary Ann stammered, looking almost bricky with her newfound heroism, ‘not to speak of m-my lady in such a—’

Catherine tightened her grip on Mary Ann’s elbow, silencing her. Mary Ann seemed relieved to be silenced. ‘I am sorry to have intruded on your privacy, sir, but if I’ve shown less than a tablespoon of respect for you, it’s because of the shameful attitude with which you conduct yourself.’ Though her legs felt weak, Catherine held her ground, refusing to be cowed by ill manners. ‘I was under the impression that this pumpkin patch was open for business and if you’ll behave with decency, I do wish to be a patron of yours.’

Peter bared his teeth at her, which did cow her somewhat.

‘I – I don’t wish to take up too much of your time, but I am willing to pay your price if you’ll just show me where the sugar pie pumpkins are. We could harvest our own—’

She was cut off by a loud thump. She jumped and glanced past Peter, to the pumpkin already carved with slitted windows. The thump was followed by scratching, nails carving into rotting wood. The sound reminded her of Cheshire sharpening his claws on her mother’s finest upholstery.

Beside her, Mary Ann squeaked.

‘What was that?’ Cath asked.

‘What’s what?’ Peter said, though Cath was certain he must have heard it too. His question was followed by a breathy snort from the pumpkin shell, like a horse struggling against its bit.

‘Is there something . . . ?’ Catherine took a step towards the pumpkin, but Peter put himself in her path. He was as big and unmovable as a boulder.

‘Were my uneducated words not clear enough for all your fancy learning?’ he said. ‘I do believe I told you to get off my land.’

‘But—’

‘Catherine.’ Mary Ann tugged at her elbow. ‘He doesn’t want our business. Let’s just go.’

Cath ground her teeth, meeting Peter’s glare with one of her own, part of her wanting to shake off Mary Ann and slap this man for his crude behaviour, the other part of her grateful for Mary Ann’s intrusion and a reason to leave.

She glanced once more at the large pumpkin, which had fallen silent. She allowed the tiniest of respectful nods. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you. Please give Lady Peter my regards.’

‘I’ll give her no such thing,’ he growled, but Catherine pretended not to hear him as she and Mary Ann began picking their way back along the gravel path, pebbles and beetles scattering in their wake.

It was not until they had turned the cottage corner again that Mary Ann let out a strained breath. She took to tying knots into her new bonnet’s yellow ribbons. ‘That’s the last time I let you drag me here,’ she said. ‘The very last time.’

‘That won’t be a problem. What a horrible, horrible man. And that strange noise – what could it have been?’

‘An animal of some sort, I’d guess,’ said Mary Ann, shaking her head. ‘With those windows cut into it, the pumpkin reminded me of a cage. But why would anyone keep a pet inside a giant pumpkin?’

They passed by the scorched picket fence and Cath’s eye caught on a spot of orange amid the wreckage. She came to a halt.

Mary Ann turned back. ‘What?’