The lamps above the broad, high-raftered hall glowed with a golden hush, sending threads of light glimmering across the polished wood panels. Steam curled and danced above silver teapots, mingling with the perfumes of bergamot, lavender, and the faintest note of butter from the trays of cucumber sandwiches being carried by waistcoated waiters. Conversation rose and fell like a tide, punctuated by the clink of porcelain and the rustle of newspapers.

Miss Evelyn Fairchild stood at the threshold of the Grand Marlborough Tea Rooms, her gloves neatly buttoned, her parasol furled, and her heart beating a most unladylike tempo. For at the far end of the hall, at the little round table set by the window, her two dearest companions—Clara Pembroke and Alice Finch—were seated, smiling brightly, with cups already steaming. And beside them, adjusting a rather dainty ribbon tied precariously beneath its enormous jaw, sat a creature no sensible soul should have expected to find in a tea room.

The beast—green hide dappled with the lamplight, teeth white as ivory keys—leaned slightly forward as a tray was offered. The waiter, with impeccable poise, placed a dish of sandwiches before it, and the creature lowered its snout with care, breathing out a gust that stirred the napkins. None at the table flinched. None in the room whispered. Indeed, a gentleman in a pinstriped waistcoat even raised his hat courteously as he passed the thing on his way to the door.

Evelyn swallowed and made her way across the parquet floor. The faint scent of cucumber and butter mingled with something far warmer—an animal musk, edged with iron. She lowered herself into the empty chair, her eyes darting helplessly from her friends’ calm faces to the immense shadow looming between them.

“You look rather pale, dear,” Clara said, pouring her a cup. The porcelain rang delicately as it was set down. “Was it the weather? The fog was dreadful this morning.”

“Yes, frightful,” Alice agreed, adjusting the lace at her wrist. “The air nearly had me coughing before I reached the steps.”

“I…” Evelyn tried, but the words snagged in her throat as the creature shifted. Its tiny forelimbs twitched as though in anticipation of the plate being offered to it. Alice passed the tray of sandwiches without hesitation, holding it up just so, as though to accommodate the shortness of those limbs. The enormous jaws opened, teeth like daggers glinting, and yet the creature took a single triangle of bread between them with unexpected delicacy.

The teacups rattled faintly on their saucers. Evelyn clutched hers with both hands.

“Clara,” she whispered, her voice thinner than she wished. “Clara, what—what is that?”

Clara blinked, then glanced toward the beast with mild surprise. “Why, haven’t you met her? This is her very first tea.”

“Quite overdue, really,” Alice added, buttering a fresh slice of bread. “I thought you surely would have crossed paths by now.”

The creature inclined its vast head, the ribbon beneath its chin fluttering with the motion. Its yellow eye, round and bright as amber, fixed upon Evelyn with something not unlike curiosity.

“Oh,” Evelyn said faintly, though whether in greeting or disbelief she could not tell. Her tea trembled in its cup, rippling the surface until the reflection of the lamps broke into pieces.

Clara reached over and patted her hand reassuringly. “Do try a sandwich, dear. They are especially fresh today.”

Evelyn, still pale, managed the smallest of nods. Across the table, the creature opened its jaws again, delicately crunching down on another cucumber sandwich, the ribbon bobbing merrily as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

It was at that moment Evelyn realized two things: first, that she would never be rid of the image of those teeth meeting bread and butter, and second—though she could hardly admit it aloud—that she very much preferred her tea without such company.