Unable to sit still any longer, Beatrice rose to her feet. She already felt a hopeless futility in making herself understood, but for the sake of their friendship she knew she must try.

‘You r-recall l-last y-year,’ she said desperately. ‘When I w-was ill? It was n-no t-tropical f-fever. It was a d-d-disease of the m-mind. A terrible m-m-melancholy. I c-could not s-sleep, or eat, or—’

‘Don’t you dare talk to me about melancholy!’ Rosa hissed, rising to her feet too. ‘If anyone knows about that, it’s me, not you! For heaven’s sake, Beatrice, everyone faces hardship in their life. You have to fight your way through it, not wallow in it!’

Beatrice felt a raw stab of hurt. She ought not to have confided this secret to Rosa. Like everyone else, she saw it only as weakness. ‘This s-sadness,’ she managed. ‘Was not. Like that.’

‘No,’ Rosa said. She suddenly sounded more tired than angry. ‘I suppose it was special because you were the one feeling it.’

Beatrice clenched her teeth. That wasn’t what she had meant, either, but it seemed that any attempt at an explanation was doomed. It felt to her as if their friendship was unravelling at her feet, but she couldn’t think of a way to repair it. Not without giving up her chance of winning that wish. But before she could think of what to say, her attention was suddenly caught by the painting on the wall behind Rosa – the one James had given her of the tiger.

She had spent many hours staring at it, drinking in every detail, relishing the memories it brought back. She knew every brushstroke, so she saw at once that the painting was not as it was supposed to be. Instead of looking at the girl in the mourning dress, the tiger had turned its head and was gazing right out of the painting – looking straight at Rosa.

Rosa pressed her lips together. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. ‘I can see there’s no reasoning with you,’ she said, reaching for her gloves. ‘So I’ll return to Raven Hall.’

‘P-Please,’ Beatrice stood up too, ‘do not g-go like th-this. At least st-stay for another c-cup of— Oh!’

She’d reached her hand out towards her friend, but the clockwork raven on Rosa’s shoulder snapped at her fingers so menacingly that it seemed it would have bitten them clean off, if it could.

‘Thank you, but I have much to attend to,’ Rosa said coldly. ‘As, I am sure, do you.’