The Duchess of Chalkley is delighted to invite you to the newly reopened Fire Gardens at Raven Hall.

Expect the unexpected, where nothing is quite what it seems.

And be prepared for:

Fantastic clockwork creations

Explosive fireworks

Cunning illusions

A pinch of danger

And only the very best champagne.

(Note: Not for the faint of heart or timid of disposition.)

At the bottom of the page the house’s address was printed, along with the date and time of the garden’s opening night. It appeared it would open its doors in one week’s time, from 7 p.m. to 4 a.m.

Beatrice smiled slightly. How clever her friend was. She must have realised that people would still be nervous about Raven Hall’s gardens after what had happened last time, and rather than uselessly seeking to assuage such fears, she had turned them to her advantage. There was, after all, nothing that people – and especially those from the upper classes – secretly loved more than to be shocked and scandalised by a spectacle. It was the only thing better than being delighted and enchanted. Certainly freak shows and séance parties never seemed to lose their appeal. The fascination of terror was a strong pull indeed.

Still, Beatrice did not think it possible that Rosa would pose a challenge to her own garden. Her friend might be a master artificer, but the things she made were not alive or magical or real – they were artificial inventions made from cogs and clockwork. She had not spent more than two years travelling in search of all the most wondrous plants and animals the world had to offer.

Feeling a sudden thirst for the company of her magical plants and animals, Beatrice fetched her cloak, called Wilkie to her heels and walked out into the crisp, cold air. She could see the occasional tiny footprint left in the snow by fairies, the golden toads shone even brighter in the winter sunshine, and gigantic butterflies perched on the crooked branches of the apple trees, their extraordinary wings spread to soak up the warmth. Without ever setting eyes on Rosa’s garden, Beatrice felt absolutely certain that hers must be superior in every way.

CHAPTER THIRTY

December 1838

Beatrice fastened the velvet ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin. The clockwork phoenix and the peacock that Rosa had made for her wedding gift had formed a friendship, and she had to shift them to one side to get to her velvet gloves on the dressing table. Over the last week the baby phoenix had grown bigger and bigger until it was the same size as the peacock. Beatrice expected it would probably burst into flames and start the process anew again, any day now.