The boar stood sniffing the air for less than a minute before the first peacock strolled by. Immediately its deep-set eyes burned a brighter red, its ears flattened against its head and its lips parted, to reveal the cruelly sharp teeth that Rosa had spent many hours labouring over, carefully filing them to razor-points.

The pig gave a bellowing cry so fearsome that Eustace stumbled back and tipped right over the edge of the pond, landing in the murky water with a splash. The boar lowered its head and charged forward, scattering the crowd. Panicked shrieks filled the air as people ran from its path, but the boar was only interested in the peacocks. One by one, it rooted them out and tore their delicate clockwork bodies to shreds of scrap metal. Its thick body barrelled through everything and anything that got in its way, whether that was a table, an entire supper booth, a chair or a person. And, all the while, the firework display continued in the background, lighting up the sky in great fire-flowers of crimson, and jade, and blossoming violet.

There were very few injuries to speak of afterwards, although you would have thought half the guest list had been mauled, with all the fuss they made. Still, the boar surpassed Rosa’s expectations. She had fully intended for it to destroy the peacocks, and had assumed that a few flowers might also be trampled, but she had not realised that the clockwork pig would demolish most of the garden as it chased after the birds, uprooting plants and turf with its hooves, splintering the infrastructure and even toppling several lanterns, which quickly set the trees alight. Rosa watched, fascinated, as pieces of ash drifted through the night sky to grace the ladies’ hair arrangements, like silver hair combs.

By the time the boar finally lay down in the middle of the lawn, with sapphire feathers sticking out between its teeth and oil running down its bristled chin, most of the garden had been wrecked, and a team of servants was fighting to put out the fires. She saw James among them, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and soot in his hair. She wondered whether he would ever agree to work for her again after this.

The carriages had all departed, taking the last of the angry guests with them, and the grounds of Raven Hall smoked and smouldered quietly. Rosa had not moved from the terrace, enthralled by the display. She looked around as Eustace stamped towards her, still dripping wet, his fine suit ruined, his hair stinking of pondweed.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘that was certainly an even larger spectacle than last year, would you not agree?’

For once, Eustace seemed quite speechless.

‘Dear husband, whatever can be the matter?’ Rosa asked, in her most innocent voice. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

Eustace moved to stand very close to her.