The effect was immediate. The couple’s teacups were confiscated and a second footman appeared, to ask them to leave the gardens for breaking one of Lady Sitwell’s rules. The couple were outraged and tried to argue, but the footman was having none of it, and they found themselves bundled away very quickly. In the meantime, one of the waiters greeted Rosa and indicated the table the other couple had just left.

‘I’m afraid your companions have had to depart,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to see whether we can add you to a different table?’

‘No, that’s all right,’ Rosa said quickly. ‘I’m perfectly happy to dine alone.’

She took her seat beneath an emerald shot-silk walking parasol with ruffled-trim edging. Her place was already laid with silver cutlery and china that matched the rabbit teacup, which she set down upon the cloth. Slim silver tree trunks surrounded her on all sides, some of which had lime-spotted mushrooms growing up them. If she leaned right back in her chair and craned her neck, she could just peer past the cover of the umbrella to the spectacular show of blossom above and the frozen stars beyond, twinkling like iced gems against black silk. Within minutes, a host of gloved waiters brought out tea services upon oval silver trays to each table. Rosa could tell from the scent that there was no ordinary tea inside.

‘Tonight the winter garden is serving smoky bonfire tea, your grace,’ her waiter told her. ‘With honeyed milk, and toffee-apple-flavoured sugar cubes.’

It was unlike anything Rosa had tasted before, but she found it quite delicious, relishing the hints of bonfire smoke and the crispness of the apple skins. Aside from the tea service, a small silver carriage clock stood upon each table, and Rosa scowled down at hers, hoping it wasn’t about to do anything extraordinary. She’d already had her fairy orchestra ruined; she couldn’t afford for her collection of clocks to be spoiled too – but as the minutes ticked by, it remained a perfectly ordinary timepiece.

She sipped her tea and slowly flicked through the pages of the guide, realising that it was, in itself, the most beautiful thing. The pages were decorated with Beatrice’s own artwork: exquisite drawings of the animals, and painstakingly accurate botanical illustrations of mushrooms and other plant life. It was quite clear from its pages that Rosa had seen only a fraction of what the garden had to offer. As for the plum trees themselves, it appeared they were a hybrid of two other plants, although it didn’t say which ones.

Rosa closed the guidebook and more waiters arrived with tiered silver plates filled with cakes. Like everything else in the garden, they were delicate, frosted and impossibly pretty – tiny treasure boxes studded in jewels for some fairy queen.