Then there was the scraping of claw over stone, and the tiger began making its way down the ice-house steps towards them, his great body rippling with white light and silent strength. He seemed to become bigger and more beautiful with every step, until he stood only a couple of paces from Beatrice. His head was level with hers; he was close enough that she could see each individual whisker and the bright white fire burning in his eyes. They stood looking at one another for a long moment. Then the tiger padded slowly forward and rubbed his great head against Beatrice’s shoulder in what was, quite unmistakeably, an affectionate gesture. She felt the burning coldness of his stars against her skin, the inky blackness of his stripes against her hand. And then he was gone, padding through the trees and into the garden.

Every night that Beatrice visited after that, the tiger sought her out and walked by her side for some of the evening. He would permit her to touch him and sometimes initiated the contact himself. When the Winter Garden left, some small part of Beatrice had hoped that perhaps the tiger might have stayed behind to be with her. The loneliness of her new life without her mother might be a little easier to bear if she had the beautiful big cat for company. She had so dearly hoped to look out on the lawn and see the icy glitter of his stars. But he had left with the garden and she never laid eyes on him again.

Once she was older, she consulted the astronomy books in her father’s library, hoping to find some information about the White Tiger constellation, but there was no mention of it anywhere. The sparkling diamond tiger before her now was the closest she’d got to finding him. The starting price was inordinately expensive, but Beatrice knew at once that she had to have it. It not only dazzled just as the real tiger had, but it also wore the same expression of quiet dignity and its huge paws seemed made for treading into deep drifts of snow.

Fortunately it was a long way out of the price range of most of the other collectors there, and Beatrice won it easily. When she went to provide her details to the auctioneer afterwards, she was disappointed to learn that the seller was not the creator of the item. She had been hoping to speak to someone else who had been to the garden.

But as she made arrangements for the tiger to be shipped back to Half Moon House, she felt sure that she was making progress, and getting closer to the garden, bit by bit. Surely she would see it again for herself before the year was out.

Part Two

CHAPTER EIGHT

March 1837

Rosa, Duchess of Chalkley, gazed out the window and onto the grounds of Raven Hall.

‘I am happy,’ she told herself. ‘I am.’