Page 81 of Heartless

He tipped his hat to her, swirling the candy stick around to the other side of his lips. ‘Milady.’

Catherine reached up for the wide brim of the hat he had set on her head, but he stopped her. ‘Ah-ah,’ he said, taking hold of her hand and sweeping her up the steps. ‘There’s a mirror back here.’

She realized with a start that she was in the Hatter’s shop, the same rickety travelling wagon she’d seen in the forest, with the hand-lettered sign over the door:HATTA’S MARVELLOUS MILLINERY.She couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t spotted it earlier among the tents.

One window, she noticed, was still broken from the Jabberwock’s attack, now boarded over with uneven planks and iron nails.

Like before, the shop was larger on the inside than the out, but now the long table and mismatched chairs were gone, replaced with an assortment of display cases and hat stands and mannequin heads, two of which were having a discussion about fashionable cameo necklaces. The collection of hats had multiplied. There were top hats with ear holes cut out for bunny rabbits. There were waterproof hats for dolphins and sunbathing hats for lizards and acorn-stashing hats for squirrels. There were veils made from ostrich feathers and modest bonnets encrusted in rhinestones and one netted hat that would have draped over a person’s body like an enormous birdcage.

Beyond the bizarre and unexpected, there were also simple things, lovely things. Dainty coronets done up in gold and pearls. Wide-brimmed garden hats covered in soft moss and chiming bluebells. Silk headdresses ornamented with intricately spun spiderwebs.

As Catherine passed, admiring them all, Hatta reached for the tie of her bonnet and pulled it off her neck. She spotted a standing mirror in the corner, shining with the light of a lantern on the wall.

Crossing the room, she stood before the mirror and promptly started to laugh.

The Hatter had made for her a replica of a rose macaron. Two meringue biscuits were made from cream-coloured muslin and speckled with pink sparkles, and the sweet buttercream filling was constructed from layer upon layer of gathered lace.

It was ridiculous and unflattering in every way. Cath loved it immediately.

‘Good heavens, Hatta. And here I thought you didn’t like me.’

‘My gifts by their nature do not equal affection, milady.’ In the mirror, she saw him scowl. ‘Rather, let us say that I was inspired by your performance.’

She turned to face him. ‘So you don’t like me?’

‘I like you well enough.’ His purple eyes glinted. ‘I like you better when you’re wearing one of my hats. What do you think?’

She looked at her reflection and couldn’t help but laugh again. ‘It’s like nothing I’ve ever worn before.’ Reaching up, she squeezed the bottom biscuit and found that it was soft and squishable. ‘I’m quite fond of it, actually.’

‘Good. It’s yours.’

‘No, no, I couldn’t—’ She pulled the hat off her head, surprised at how light it was, despite its girth.

Hatta scoffed. ‘I said it’s yours, so it’s yours. You can’t give it back once it’s been given. Now put it back on before your head gets cold. I hate to see bare heads.’

‘If you insist.’ She resisted a smile as she settled the macaron hat back on to her head. Remembering the coins in her purse, she asked, ‘Can I at least pay you for it?’

‘Now you’re just being rude. Consider it an apology, Lady Pinkerton, for the way my humble gala ended in such terror. I usually seek to send my guests home without first endangering their lives.’

‘Surely the attack was not your fault.’

He held her gaze a long moment, before replying, ‘I am glad to see that you made it home safely, Lady Pinkerton.’

‘As I did. Thank you for the gift, Hatta. It will be cherished.’ She glanced at the mirror one more time. It was impossible not to grin. ‘There has been a lot of talk about your creations lately. It seems you’re earning a grand reputation.’

‘Reputations are fickle. Profits are not.’

She smirked. ‘That’s something my maid would say.’ Cath turned to face him. ‘It’s an impressive feat, is all I meant, to become so popular so quickly. Your hats are marvellous indeed.’

‘I appreciate the compliment. I daresay Hearts was without a proper hatter for far too long.’

‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Cath glanced around at the hats and headdresses that lined the walls. A rainbow of colours, a kaleidoscope of styles, a jamboree of textures. Every one of them seemed half magical. ‘I vaguely recall one other fine hatter, years ago, when I was just a child. My mother purchased from him regularly. I wonder whatever became of him.’

‘He went mad,’ said Hatta, with hardly a pause. ‘Then he killed himself. With a brim tolliker if my memory serves.’

She turned back to gape at him. Hatta was watching her, but his expression was unreadable.

‘Haven’t you ever heard the saying, “mad as a hatter”?’ he asked. ‘It’s an unfortunate family trait, one that’s been passed down for generations.’

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