Heartless(50)

Flustered, she batted him away.

Each time they moved, Jest stayed at Cath’s side, helping her navigate around the flurry of activity, coaxing her away from the performer’s chair. It was a relief to not be forced into the center of attention, yet Catherine couldn’t help racking her brain for some talent she could impress them with. A fantasy crept into her head of wowing them all, of being even more awe-inspiring than Jest with his illusions and tricks. But how? She could not sing or dance or juggle. She was not an entertainer. She was only a lady.

When everyone had performed and Hatta again commanded them to move down, Jest was first to move toward the performance seat and keep Catherine free of it.

Before he could sit, though, Hatta smacked his cane over the chair’s arms. “Patience, my friend. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of seeing anything from your lady yet.” Hatta slid his haughty gaze to Catherine.

Jest nudged the cane away. “She’s here to enjoy our hospitality, not have you turn her into a spectacle.”

Catherine held Hatta’s look, refusing to fidget.

Jest rolled his eyes and turned back to Catherine. “Don’t let him bully you. I’m happy to perform in your stead if you’d like.”

“It’s only a little stingy,” Hatta interrupted. “To take and take for your own entertainment, and offer none of yourself.” His words dripped with disapproval.

Jest glared at Hatta, then turned back to her and whispered, “It isn’t like that. There’s no shame in asking someone else to perform for you, especially at your first tea party.” He held out his hand.

She knew he was trying to alleviate the pressure Hatta was putting on her, but she felt a bit of a sting. Right or not, how could he be so sure that she had nothing to contribute?

She studied his hand, slender fingers that weren’t as smooth as hers, yet not as rough as a gardener’s or servant’s, either. She liked the way he had called it her first tea party, insinuating there might be more to come.

“I’ll do it,” she heard herself saying, from very far away.

A grin spread over Hatta’s face, but she couldn’t tell whether it was encouraging or taunting. “The lady is next!” he bellowed before she could change her mind, then swept his hand toward the hats on the wall. “Choose a hat, my lady. You’ll find that it helps.”

“Helps how?” She tried to look casual as she strolled down the wall of bonnets and top hats, netted veils and silk turbans.

“Think of it like wearing a costume. Or … perhaps to you, a very fine gown.” Hatta ran his fingers along the brim of his own top hat. “A finely crafted hat makes a person … bolder.”

Cath wasn’t sure she agreed. Her very fine gowns had done little to make her feel any bolder in the past, but everyone else had worn a hat while they performed, so who was she to argue? The crowd waited to see what she would choose, but Cath knew she was only stalling for time as she fingered a gold clasp here and an ostrich plume there.

She must have some talent. Any talent that wouldn’t embarrass her.

Most of the hats were far more extravagant than those she was used to. Her favorite so far had been a breathtaking pink-and-green-striped carousel, complete with nickering ponies that galloped around and around. But it had been worn by the Lion during his operatic performance, and she noticed with some disappointment that he had yet to take it off.

“Might I suggest one of the red ones?” said Hatta.

She startled and looked back at him. “Why red?”

He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “It would suit your skin tone, beloved. How about that one, there?”

She followed his gesture to a wide-brimmed flop hat, its multitude of frills and gathers done in wine-red silk and ornamented with sprigs of white and yellow poppies. Cath wrinkled her nose. It was a beautiful hat, but not at all what she would choose for herself.

However, beside it was a white cooking bonnet tied with a wide black ribbon. Catherine snatched it off its wooden peg and put it on her head before she could second-guess herself.

“Ah, a hat for making unconventional decisions.” Hatta narrowed his eyes. “Interesting choice.”

When she dared to look at Jest, he seemed indifferent to the hat. He again offered her a hand.

Cath tightened the black ribbon beneath her chin and accepted his assistance as she stepped onto a chair, then up onto the table.

While she had been making her decision, the hat shop had fallen quiet, a stark difference from the chaos she’d grown used to. The guests watched her, hushed in curiosity.

Cath was curious herself. Her hands had begun to tremble.

She found a spot amid the chipped saucers and overturned biscuits and inhaled a long breath, glancing around at the waiting faces. Slitted snake eyes and double-lidded lizard eyes and bulging fish eyes all stared back at her. The hem of her skirt collected spilled tea and crumbs.

“Sing a song, lovely lady!” suggested the Lion, as the carousel ponies pranced above his mane. “Sing us a ballad of old!”

“No, dance for us. Perhaps a ballet?”

“Can she serve tea like a geisha?”

“Paint with her toes?”

“Do a cartwheel?”

“Tell our fortunes?”

“Tie a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue?”