They took the path out of the trees and began to walk across the lawn towards Half Moon House, but Beatrice could already tell that she wasn’t going to arrive there. The house seemed to shimmer before her eyes, like a mirage. Soon it would be gone altogether. The blue summer sky darkened into a winter night. The scent of flowers vanished and ice crackled through the air instead.

Beatrice tightened her hold on her mother’s hand, trying to keep her there through the force of her will, only to find that her mother was no longer beside her at all, but further ahead on the lawn.

‘Aren’t you coming in, darling?’ she asked, shielding her eyes against the glare of a long-gone sun. ‘Cook has made your favourite scones.’

Yes, Beatrice thought. Oh yes, I want to go in with you and take tea together. More than anything in the world.

‘N-No,’ her child self said with youthful carelessness. Back then she thought there would be endless scones, endless summer days and endless chances to sit beside her mother. ‘I w-want to l-look for m-mushrooms.’

‘Well, all right.’ Her mother looked disappointed. ‘But don’t stay out too long …’

Her voice faded away, along with the rest of the memory. Beatrice’s hands suddenly gripped reins instead. The frozen lake spilled out around her, along with the frost fair, and the other guests, and the dazzle and sparkle of the garden.

Beatrice let out a long breath. She could feel a wonderful glow of warmth deep inside her, and a quick glance at the other guests told her they all felt the same. She could see it glowing from their eyes and hear it in their laughter, so full of wonder. Any tears shining in the torchlight were of happiness. There was no regret or sadness. Not like with the plum trees.

Rosa was right, Beatrice thought numbly as she dismounted. The carousel was more joyful and the Spider Queen would surely prefer it. As she walked along the platform towards the steps, she went over every precious moment again in her mind, so clear and sharp where before it had been misted over by the long passing of the years. She had quite forgotten that she and her mother used to refer to the spiders as queens and their webs as thrones. She tried to recall who had started it and why, but the memory escaped her. It seemed a curious coincidence when the Winter Garden itself was looked after by just such a queen.