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Finally the door creaked open a few inches.
“Yes?” a quavering voice said.
“I say, inform His Lordship that his bride and her family are here.”
There was a pause. Alice couldn’t see the butler since the door was only cracked open.
There was the sound of more voices from inside the house.
“He hasn’t got a bride,” came the answer.
Alice stepped forward and her father moved away. “Yes, he has.”
The door opened wider.
The tall, thin butler was wearing a white, curling wig that sat slightly askew on his head, as if he’d donned it only a moment ago. “No, he hasn’t.”
Alice placed her hand on her hip. She was tired, hungry, and she longed to be rid of all these heavy pearls. “Look here,” she said sternly. “I’m Lady Hatherly. We were married not one hour ago. Now go and fetch my lord husband.”
The butler’s jaw dropped and his lips flapped open, giving him the appearance of an astonished codfish.
He twisted away from the doorway and Alice heard more urgent whispered conversation with someone she couldn’t see.
The butler turned back to Alice. “My friend Mr. March says you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m Lady Hatherly.”
“No you’re not.”
Alice was beginning to be quite irritated with this conversation. She was about to grasp hold of the door and fling it open when a loud, rumbling roar emerged from inside the house.
“Wh-what was that?” squeaked Hodgins.
It had sounded rather like a...
“Lion,” shouted the butler, dancing about on his long, thin legs like a praying mantis. “Lion on the loose!”
The door crashed open and the butler ran down the steps, shortly followed by an enormous golden blur.
Her parents and maid leapt out of the way and Alice gaped at the giant beast streaking across the drive. Surely it must be a large dog. Lord Hatherly couldn’t keep lions in his house, could he?
Sir Alfred caught hold of his quivering wife.
The normally unflappable Hodgins promptly dropped the basket on its side and Kali was off like a shot, racing across the garden lawn after the lion.
“Kali—no!” Alice called.
Kali had been a fearless huntress back in Pudsey, bringing Alice a daily offering from the fields. A severed robin’s head. A poor, stiff little mouse.
She’d named her cat after a Hindu goddess of war.
Kali wasn’t dainty and refined... and she wasn’t afraid of anything.
And neither was Alice.
Setting down her valise and lifting her skirts, she plunged down the steps after her very brave and very foolish cat.
“Alice—no!” her mother yelled.
