Once one got past the distressing crunching sound, and remembered which ones belonged to one's hands, the buttered fingers could be a savory treat. Alice followed up the literal finger food with large scoop of crème brule and a long gulp of wildberry juice. She followed that with a distinctly unladylike burp.
The moment of silence in the White Queen's opalescent dining room conjured up an awkward pause years ago and a world away.
"I said sip your tea, not slurp," her mother sighed. Alice nodded and set down the cup. At the nearby table, Hamish tried to unstuck a teaspoon from his nose. His friend used the cup to suggest something graphic that young gentlemen shouldn't know about. "Honestly, you can be so uncivilized sometimes."
Alice leaned over the white tablecloth and carefully drew in just enough tea to coat her tongue.
"Won't you sit up straight?" Her mother fanned herself and looked heavenward.
"Yes mummy," Alice said. Hamish finally dislodged the spoon and used it to heap sugar into his tea. His companion pounded the table, then squeaked out a small burp. Alice swallowed another drop of bitter tea and reached for the sugar tongues.
"That's nothing," Hamish squawked. He let loose his own eruption of gas and burst into self-gratified giggles.
While Alice stirred in the sugar, a servant glided in with a silver tray, piled with every biscuit imaginable. Chocolate and plain formed chessboard patterns, mounted with near-crumbs lost under an avalanche of icing. A wall of lady fingers ringed the fresh-baked cross-section of heaven.
"Chocolate gives me wind," Hamish's friend announced proudly, grabbing a fistful of chocolate-covered biscotti. Hamish loaded up the plate and stuffed a few lemon bars in his pockets when he thought himself unobserved.
"Some decent table manners could-oh dear." Her mother stared over her shoulder, following the shrieks to the hedge maze. "I'm afraid your aunt has gotten into the catnip again. Please do behave yourself while I sort this out." She shook her head rose to her feet. She gave Alice one last stern look before power-walking towards the small knot of chaos.
"Imogene! Geeny, dear!"
Alice sipped her tea and dabbed her lips with a napkin. She hadn't quite formed the thought then, but she could tell mother worried about her. Aunt Imogene had strong connections and understanding servants. Her live-in companion would level her wrath and censure at anyone who so much as whispered the word "sanitarium."
"Urp!" Hamish thumped his midriff. From his unseemly grin and the other boy's slouch, he had won the burping contest with that tiny eruption. His opponent tried top it, but only succeeded in a strained expression that turned to alarm. "Blimey!" Alice listened to her stomach rumble and lapped at the cooling tea.
"-with enough washings. Sorry again," Mother called over her shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry about that."
Alice sipped and nodded.
"That's much better," she said, with a relieved smile. Alice tried to return it. At the adjacent table, another young gentleman introduced himself to the first two, and the burping contest began anew.
Up in the heavens, a cirrus cloud drifted into view. It provided something more interesting than her peers and better looking. The moment she made out one shape, it changed, twisting in the wind. The edges of a long scroll grew into wings, the handle stretched into a neck, and a draconic fiend spread itself against the sky. Just before it could descent to reek ice-white terror, glaring with eyes of flame, the figure shrank, crumbling into a cream-filled biscuit sandwich.
"M'lady?" The sharply dressed servant raised the tray. The baked delight at its center perfectly matched the white wisp in the heavens.
Alice smacked her lips, then hesitated and glanced at her mother. "May I, please?"
Mother smiled and gave her an indulgent pat. "Of course darling. Take as many as you want."
Alice reached up and scooped two handfuls onto her plate. Her mother almost concealed a look of disgust. "You know, you really shouldn't take more than you can eat, dear."
"Don't worry, I'll eat them," Alice chirped, cramming a stack of Milanos into her cheeks. She crunched twice, then forced the sweet mass down. Noticing the pained expression on her mother's face, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin and took another microscopic sample of tea.
She stared down at the selection. These round ones with jam centers could be soldiers, and that would make the chocolate-covered ones cannons, or maybe naval units, if she dunked them in her tea. The lemon bars could be the opposing army. It didn't matter, however. This war had only one victor, Alice the hungry Iguanodon.
"Do you really want so much?" her mother asked. The tone of voice contained the answer. Alice sighed, nibbled a shortbread, and wet her lips with more not-totally-dreadful tea.
"I'm still the champion!" Hamish crowed. "Alice! I say, Alice!" he waved his hand while she tried not to see him. He leaned over, screwed up his eyes, and belched, then he straightened up. Mother shook her head, and spared Alice an ounce of sympathy, for which she received a genuine smile.
"I'm pretty impressive, aren't I?" chuckled Hamish, taking the lack of open rudeness for encouragement.
Alice sipped another measure of tea. One of Mother's friends drifted near, engaging her in a boring conversation about clothes and marriages. Alice turned around to face Hamish.
"No," she said. She took a deep breath and put to use a skill she'd practiced, in private, for two years. "Braaawp!"
Of course, her mother might have noticed the saucers rattling anyway. However, Alice had the bad fortune to exercise her talents at the precise moment when every conversation in the courtyard dropped low. As the echoes faded, she felt every pair of eyes either zero on her or rewrite such indecencies out of the world.
"Alice! I'm shocked! What do you say?"
Alice tried to say "excuse me," but found she hadn't used up all the gas. Her mothers face went from indignation to cold fury.
Alice sipped her tea, wiped her face with a napkin, ate a crumb, dabbed again, and folded her hands in her lap. The silence seemed to drag for hours. Alice made the mistake of trying to fill it, as she contemplated her cookies.
"What if they served real fingers, instead of vanilla cookies?"
Her mother put her face in her hands. "We're leaving. Just, give me a moment. "
Though her mother never mentioned it aloud, she feared that Alice might take after her aunt, and then-
The shiver jerked her back to the present. Her face felt too hot, and her clothes felt too tight. She squirmed in her seat and looked down at the ivory fork.
"You're welcome," the White Queen said, with a radiant smile. Her calm, soothing voice cooled away most of the red-hot embarrassment.
"It's good to see the cooking here agrees with you," the Hatter said. "Though, I've never heard cooking disagree, except when the Red Queen took it into her head to argue with the tadpoles." He blinked, one eye at a time, and shivered. "More tea?"
Alice relaxed. Tomorrow, she would face the dread and might of the Red Queen's army, and play out the part that capricious destiny had set for her. Tonight she could eat, drink and be merry.
A pawn sidled up with a tray of vanilla-coated biscuits. She loaded her plate, dunked one in her tea, and slurped.