He did not at all look like he was working, but Cath bit back the accusation. “I am not engaged to the King, whatever you might think—”
He snorted.
“And even if I were, it would be no one’s business but mine and His Majesty’s. You have no place to criticize.”
“No one’s business but yours and His Majesty’s and the hapless chap that would twist himself into knots to impress you. But then, I suppose Jest willingly took the role of amusing plaything for the King’s court, so why should you treat him any differently?”
Her heart throbbed. “Jest was there when the King asked to court me. I’ve kept nothing from him, so I don’t see why you should take offense. Now, if you can stand to be civil for a moment, I came to speak with you about your business. I need only a minute of your time.”
“You wouldn’t believe how few minutes I have left to spare.” Hatta swung his feet down from the desk. “Besides, my business is mine alone, Lady Pinkerton. I bid you good day.”
She ground her teeth, trying to bury her growing annoyance. “As I said, I’ve come with a propo—proposition for you, and I believe a savvy businessman would hear me out.”
His lavender eyes burned with more disdain than Catherine could ever recall having directed at her. “You could be offering me the King’s crown itself and I would not wish to hear a word of it.”
Red spots flickered in her vision. “I’ve done nothing to earn such disrespect.”
“You are not playing by the correct rules!” he yelled, slamming his fist on his desk so hard Catherine jumped.
Hatta inhaled sharply and turned his face away. Reeling in his temper, or perhaps embarrassed that his madness—that hated family trait—was beginning to show.
Catherine swallowed and proceeded, more cautiously, “I did not realize we were playing a game, sir.”
He took in a few long breaths before he said, “No, it is not a game. I spoke with little consideration for the reality of the situation.” He cleared his throat and peered up at her again. Some of the anger had cleared from his face. “You are going to marry the King, Lady Pinkerton, and I shall wish you all the happiness in the world. I am only ashamed to have been party to your feigned interest in my friend. All those smiles and flirtations, and all the while you had your eye set on a crown? Quite the step up from a hat that jingles, I’ll give you that.”
“I am not—” She paused. Digging her nails into her palms, she continued, calmer, “I feigned nothing with Jest, but as I said, that is all between Jest and the King and me and has nothing at all to do with you.”
“He is my oldest and dearest friend.” Hatta glared at her, making Cath feel like a weed to be plucked. “I do not wish to see him hurt.”
Her face was burning, self-loathing pulsing against her temple, when her eye fell on a bowler hat on the corner of Hatta’s desk, wrapped with green ribbon. “What is that doing here?”
Hatta’s gaze dropped and one eyebrow had shot up when he looked at her again. “In case you had not noticed, I make hats.”
Shaking her head, she reached for the bowler cap, but Hatta batted her away. She frowned. “That’s the Turtle’s hat, the one he was wearing when he … when … during the festival.”
“How observant you are.”
She stared at him. Waiting.
He stared back.
Catherine lifted her chin. “Did this hat have something to do with the tragic thing that happened?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You know precisely what I’m talking about! Did this hat … Hatta, are your hats dangerous?”
“Dangerous! Bah!” His tone was scathing, harsh with ridicule. But a moment later he was marching around the desk and into the main showroom and shooing away the two Owls. Upon seeing the look in his eyes, they were quick to flutter out the door without complaint, and Hatta swung around the sign to read CLOSED. He slammed the door shut and stormed back to the office. Catherine had not moved.
“Am I right?” she continued. “Your hats … they change people, don’t they?”
“You have no idea what you’re speaking of.” A careless flick of his fingers enraged Catherine further.
“Then explain it to me.”
He chortled. “My, my. I cannot recall the last time I was thus ordered around. What a fine queen you will make.”
“I am not going to be the Queen!” she yelled, and relished a spark of pride when the Hatter jumped at her raised voice. She continued with chilling composure, “The King has not proposed, but should he, I have every intention of rejecting him.”
He gawked at her, disbelief written sharp across his features. “I don’t believe that.”
“Believe what you will, but stop changing the subject. These hats—Mary Ann’s bonnet makes her capable of bigger dreams, and Margaret was certainly changed when she was wearing that rose, and now the Turtle … that darling Turtle…”
“The Mock Turtle, you mean. Call him what he is.”
“He was a real turtle before he put on that!” She gestured to the bowler hat. “How can you be so callous? If this was your doing—”
“The hat had nothing to do with his transformation. I only have it because he came to me this morning asking for my help. I tried my best to assist him, but he was beyond my reach. Wretched creature he’s become, but not yet desperate enough.”
“You were going to give him a different hat to change him back?”
He waved his arm through the air. “You misunderstand completely, but it’s no business of yours.”
“But your hats do change people. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve felt it. They’re dangerous, Hatta. You have to stop!”
Their gazes warred with each other, a heady silence punctuated with the drum of Cath’s heartbeat.
Hatta looked away first. Rounding back to his seat, he collapsed into it and folded his hands over his stomach. “My hats are not dangerous, and I will not have you spreading such damning rumors.” His lips thinned. “But they are special. They are unique from any other hats found in the great Kingdom of Hearts, and as I told you before, I come from a long line of very fine hatters.”
“I’m not interested in solicitations.”
“You asked a question. I’m answering it.”
“I wish you would do it in fewer words.”
He smirked. “Yes. Fine. They change people. They improve them. But that does not mean this hat was at fault for the Mock Turtle. Satisfied?”
“Not at all. How are you doing it?”
“I don’t do anything. I only make my creations from … unique materials.”
“Unique in what way?”
He studied her for a long time and she began to doubt he would answer the question, before he finally said, “The materials with which my hats are crafted all come from the lands of the Red and White Queens.”
A shiver skittered down her back. “Of course. You’re from Chess, like Jest and Raven.”
His eyes narrowed. “He told you that?”
“Yes. Because he trusts me.” Her voice had an edge, and she could see the jolt of annoyance that flashed over Hatta’s features.
His jaw tightened, but he seemed to make the conscious decision to not be riled. He leaned back and picked some lint from his waistcoat. “I’m sure he had his reasons for telling you as much. But I am from Hearts originally. Grew up in my father’s hat shop before his untimely end encouraged me to search for my fate elsewhere, lest a similar fate find me. I found that fate in Chess.”
“But … how? How did you find it?”
He shrugged. “A maze, a looking glass, a well … an abundance of desperation. It’s not all that important. What is important is that my journey taught me how I could avoid the madness that’s plagued my ancestors, and also how I could become the greatest hatter who has ever lived, on either side of the Looking Glass.”
He examined his nails. “I met Jest there, and he introduced me to the White King and Haigha. I wa
s poor and alone, but the King granted me a pawnship, and it was determined that Haigha and I would become his royal messengers, skirting the edges of the battlefield to run correspondence between the Red and White Queendoms. On our travels I collected materials to be turned into hats for the Queen upon my return. I gathered pebbles and flowers and bones and I began to develop my reputation. Not just as a pawn or a messenger, but a hatter. The finest of hatters.”
“I don’t understand,” said Cath. “You went there to escape the fate of your father, so you wouldn’t go mad. Why become a hatter again?”
He held up a finger. “That is the trick of it. You see, Time works differently in Chess.” He pulled out his pocket watch and let it dangle like a pendulum over his desk. “Sometimes he moves forward and sometimes he moves backward, sometimes he goes fast or slow and sometimes he pauses altogether. But as long as I keep moving, as long as I am always moving in the opposite direction from Time, he can never find me, and I can never meet my fate.”
His voice had a strange cadence to it, almost harmonizing with the quiet tick-ticking of the watch, and Cath wondered again if he was already mad, despite what he said.
She swallowed back these thoughts, determined to hear his story to the end. “But now you’ve come back to Hearts.”
“So I have.” He snapped his fist around the watch and dropped it back into his pocket. “Jest and Raven required a guide to help them across the Looking Glass, and the King and Queen needed a messenger to report back on their…” He hesitated.
“Mission,” Cath supplied. “Jest told me they’re on a mission to stop a war.”
His face turned briefly sour again. “And did he tell you what the mission is?”
She wished with all her heart that she could say yes, but he hadn’t. She shook her head again.
“Thank goodness for that,” he muttered, then sighed. “Anyhow, I was the only one who knew the way, so Haigha and I came along. I had not expected the happy discovery that awaited me here in my childhood home. This side of the Looking Glass, all those baubles were no longer simply pebbles and bones. They do not make regular hats.”
“They’re dangerous.”
“They are marvelous. No longer does a hat complete an outfit—now it completes you. I am providing a great service to the people of Hearts and I am going to go down in history as the greatest hatter this kingdom has ever known, and as I can return to Chess whenever I wish, I will not need to lose my sanity for it.”
“But what do they do?”
“Anything. Everything. They can make you a little braver, a little stronger, a little more charming or interesting or intelligent—”
“Or they might turn you into an ingredient for soup!” she bellowed. “You know your hats change people, so how can you be so sure this hat didn’t change the Turtle?”
He rubbed his temple. “My reputation is the foundation on which this business is built. I would do nothing to harm that.” He trailed his fingers over the ribbons and buttons and feathers scattered across the desk. “We can’t all be so lucky as to be offered the hand of the King, after all.”
She ignored the jab, scanning the table’s accoutrements. His hats were quirky and whimsical and beautiful in their own strange ways. And now she knew they were more marvelous than even the sign outside proclaimed. Hatta would receive acclaim as a great hatter, and also an artist, but only if his reputation remained untarnished.
It wasn’t unlike what she wanted to accomplish with her bakery. Though she didn’t care to be wealthy, she did want to make a living on her craft. She wanted people to appreciate her not for a pretty face or a family title, but for what she could make with her own two hands.
“I apologize if I offended you, Hatta,” she said, before she could change her mind. “I did not come here to argue with you. I came to make you a deal.”
“Ah, yes. Your proposal.”
Swallowing hard, Catherine reached into her purse and pulled out the proposal she and Mary Ann had spent all night writing and revising. “You have my word that I won’t tell anyone about Chess or the questionable properties of your hats. On two conditions.”
He massaged the bridge of his nose, but didn’t stop her.
“One: You must be sure your hats are safe to be worn, and stop selling them immediately if you find evidence to the contrary.”
“A business with faulty merchandise does not flourish. I don’t require your nagging to tell me this.”
“Fine. But you might find my second request to be a little more unconventional.” She took a step closer. “I want you to give me a loan.”
He balked. “A loan? What—of money?”
“Yes. Businessman to business … woman. I’m starting a business of my own, but I require an investor.”
He laughed, an enormous booming laugh. “I cannot wait to hear more.”
She set the folded letter down on Hatta’s desk, pressing it into the wood with the pad of her finger. “Enclosed in this letter you’ll find my proposal for Sweets and Tarts: The Most Wondrous Bakery in All of Hearts.”
He grunted. “How quaint.”
“You’ve tasted what I can make. Whatever your personal feelings toward me, I ask you to consider this as a businessman. People will come from all over the land to sample the richest cakes, the sweetest pies, the softest bread they’ve ever known.”
He stared at her for a long time, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he said, “You plan to open a bakery.”
“That is correct.”
“And you want my help.”
“I want a business loan. It’s all lined out here—payments, interest, everything.” She felt very smart saying it, and was glad she’d broken down and asked Mary Ann for help in drafting the proposal.
There was another long, long silence, before he said, “And tell me, Lady Pinkerton, does a queen have time to run a bakery?”
She bristled and answered, enunciating carefully, “I am not a queen.”
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
The twitch in her eyebrow worsened.
Pressing his own finger into the letter, Hatta pulled it toward him across the desk. But he didn’t open it. “I admire your gumption more than I care to admit. You remind me something of myself.”
She bristled.
“But no, I do not believe this would be a wise business decision, as I do not believe you will be successful in this endeavor.”
It was like being slapped—so strong, so unapologetic the rejection. “How can you say that?”
“The macarons were impressive, but in your haste to blame me for the unfortunate incident at the festival, you have overlooked another possibility. Potentially incriminating evidence that others will not be so quick to dismiss. In fact, I wonder if you are so insistent on finding fault with me because you have something to hide?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Turtle—that poor, darling thing—had only moments before his transformation eaten an entire slice of your cake.”
She froze.
Until she’d considered it might be the hat, this had been her fear, though she had hoped no one else would make such a connection. She hated to think he might be right—blaming his hats would mean she could stop questioning if she, herself, was involved.
Because it was only a cake. Only a spiced pumpkin cake.
“Of five judges,” Hatta continued, “he was the only judge to sample your dessert. Naturally, people are beginning to wonder if it wasn’t your cake that resulted in his unfortunate change.”
Her heart thumped. “I’ve cooked dozens—hundreds of cakes and never has anything like this happened before.”
“It only takes one.” Picking up Cath’s letter, he started to shred it into linen strips, not even bothering to break the wax seal. Her jaw ached from clenching as she watched hours of careful planning ripped apart.
“Besides,” Hatta said, tossing the shredded paper back at her. It wisped and fluttered and cl
ung to the fabric of her gown. “I have a personal rule about not entering into business with spineless creatures. No snakes. No slippery eels. And worst of all, no fickle women. Play coy all you like, Lady Pinkerton. Cling to your belief in your own innocence. You know as well as I that you’re going to break at least one heart before this is over, and I want nothing more to do with you.”
CHAPTER 32
CATHERINE TRUDGED THROUGH the back door, reeling with infuriation and insult. In the kitchen she nearly ran into Abigail as she bustled toward the stairs carrying a tray of cucumber sandwiches.
Abigail gasped. “Lady Catherine! Oh, thank heavens. Mary Ann was just called upstairs, and you’d best get up there, too, before the Marchioness works herself into a frenzy.”
“Tea? This early?”
Abigail cocked her head, silently demanding that Catherine go on ahead, and fast.
Remembering her parents’ threat to release Mary Ann, Catherine hung up her shawl and took the stairs two at a time. Normally her father took his tea in the library, but when she stepped onto the landing she heard voices coming from the front parlor, which was only used for entertaining guests.
The thought of entertaining anyone made her bones shudder.
She considered jotting up to her room and pretending she wasn’t home, but before she could make a decision, her mother poked her head out of the room. Her face was contorted into a crazed grin. “Catherine! There you are! I thought I heard you come in, sweetest girl!”
Sweetest girl?
A new dread sank onto Catherine’s shoulders. “I didn’t think we were expecting guests. I’m not properly dressed for—”
Bustling forward, her mother smoothed back Cath’s hair and picked at her dress collar, then nudged her toward the parlor. “Don’t be silly, dear. We mustn’t keep our guests waiting…”
“But—”
“Here she is, Your Majesty!” her mother bellowed, shoving Catherine through the doorway. “I found her loitering in the hallway, bashful thing!”
The King and the Marquess both jumped to their feet. Again, the King had brought with him the twitching White Rabbit, his guards, and Jest. Again Jest stood by the far window, his black motley and drooping hat silhouetted in the afternoon light. He stood at respectful attention, his hands linked behind his back, but this time he was pointedly staring at the wall rather than at her.
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