That night, Una did not dream of monsters, or children falling into fires.She dreamt of Fairyland.
Chapter one
Ormdale, Yorkshire, April 1910
ThechildUnaWormswould not have recognised herself at nineteen.No longer small or useless, she had grown to a tallish stature for a woman, although she had never filled out as Violet had or acquired the commanding presence of Gwendolyn.Her soft fair hair and widely spaced blue eyes tended to inspire protective impulses in the bosoms of those with whom she had to do.
Which was ironic in the extreme, since Una spent the largest part of her day either protecting the people and creatures around her, or worrying about doing so.
On this particular spring morning, Una was worrying about two things: the reputation of the Royal Menagerie of British and Foreign Dragons, and the American gentleman from the Smithsonian who was coming to Ormdale to inspect it.
Somewhat insensitively, he had wired them to inform them his visit would coincide with the menagerie’s first Open Day of the new decade.
Though perhaps one could not expect sensitivity from an American.
Although the Menagerie had been open every spring and summer since nineteen-five, Opening Day was inescapably a trying one.It was a jolt to go from Una’s fireside-life of books and music to managing the world’s only dragon menagerie.
To make matters much worse, this would be the first year Una was obliged to open to the public without her aunt, uncle, and cousin present.
Every day since the telegram had come about the visit had been spent in rigorous planning and the kind of methodical forestalling of threats that Una did best.But despite all of her precautions, Una was aware of approximately eight ways that things were likely to go wrong.
Nine, if she counted envenomation by a still-befuddled-from-brumation dragon, which wasn’t the threat it had been once, since they had a very effective antidote on hand.
Still, the American might take it badly.Being bitten by a venomous dragon was often taken badly, regardless of the victim’s nationality, and regardless of however innocently the dragon might have intended it.
“Una?”her violin teacher said, interrupting her thoughts.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Una said.“Is the lesson over?”
“I am not sure it ever began,” he said dryly.
“Oh!Please forgive me for being so absent-minded.I keep thinking about—“
“The long-awaited visit of the Smithsonian gentleman,” he finished.“I did tell you we might postpone our lesson, in honour of the day.”
“Thank you,” she said, as she carefully wiped down the violin bow with a cloth dampened with spirits, “but I like to keep to my schedule, you see.I like things to be tidy.”
“I’m shocked,” he said, glancing at the three perfectly sharpened pencils on her music stand.They were of the same length precisely.
“Cousin George says it is of the highest importance that the Americans appreciate the significance of what we do here,” Una said, loosening the bow strings preparatory to putting it away.“And since he is abroad and his parents are away, I must make sure everything is absolutely ship-shape in their absence.It’s the least I can do.”
He smiled his crooked smile.“One day I would like to see themostyou can do.“ He looked at her thoughtfully.“I could stay?It’s my day off, you know.”
Una bit her lip.She would hate herself if she hurt his feelings.She loved her teacher dearly, but he was a very unorthodox sort of person.He had exactly the sort of colourful past one might imagine of a person from Poland, and though now quite middle-aged and a very happy family man, he still had odd ideas that came out when one least expected them.
Just the sort of person, in fact, that might offend an international visitor, of whose tastes and prejudices she knew nothing.
“I couldn’t face Lily if I took you away from her today,” she said at last, with a delicate shade of regret.
He chuckled as he snapped the case shut.“Very well, I will make myself scarce.But you know where to find me, if you need help rescuing the American.”
“Mightn’t it bemewho needs rescuing?“ Una asked mildly.
He paused with his hand on the doorknob and chuckled.“No, little one.You are the last person in Ormdale I expect to need rescuing.”
Just then there came a kerfuffle at the other entrance to the room—the one with French doors.They were misted over from the humidity in the menagerie glasshouse, so all that could be seen was a flutter of wing and a scratch of claw.
“Wait, Oolong!”she called out.
