There was simply no way that her garden could be on fire. After everyone had gone home for the night, she had ensured that all the lanterns and candles were extinguished, as always. It could not possibly be real. Certainly she could still taste the drug at the back of her throat, and even the house itself did not seem quite real to her as she made her way downstairs, past trees growing up walls, and flowers blooming through wallpaper, and spun chrysalises casting long shadows from the chandeliers. At one point she even thought she saw the tiger peering at her from the doorway of the library as she raced to the front door.

The moment she stepped outside, the cold hit her like a slap, and the shock of it helped clear her head. She saw at once that this was no dream. The garden really was on fire. As she ran round to the side of the house, her mind went to protesters. She received letters every day now from outraged people complaining about the garden. Letters filled with such heat. People did not like what they had seen in the plum rain, or they were devastated by some misfortune revealed by the stones, or else they felt it quite wrong that a woman should have opened such a garden in the first place. It would encourage impressionable young girls into the sciences, they said. Rosa’s garden was not quite so bad because she was a married duchess, but Beatrice was a spinster, so what kind of example was she setting?

It had begun to seem as if there was no point to any of this. She had been so pleased and excited at the thought of sharing her discoveries, but it had been harder to delight and amaze people than she had anticipated. She was sure there were some who enjoyed what she had to offer, but plenty of others refused to find any wonder in the garden at all. And now someone had deliberately set out to try to damage it, and all her beautiful plants and flowers and animals were at risk. There was a purple light to the flames and the air smelled so strongly of regret that she almost gagged. She ran straight to the supper booths and there, in the middle of it all, was someone she had not expected to see.

‘Rosa.’

Her heart lifted for a moment at the sight of her friend. It did not matter how or why she was there – here was someone who would help her put out the fire and would lend their support if whoever was responsible for the attack was still in the garden.