A/N: Sincere apologies for the massive delay between chapters, and it gets worse – this chapter too is uploaded before I've edited it properly and been satisfied and blah, blah, blah; I'm still writing the whole story but I'm nearing finishing. I could whine about how much work I've been buried under during the last month or so, and how my USB broke and I had to start from scratch, but you guys have Heard It All Before, and That's What They All Say. –shrugs-

Anyway, rambling. I uploaded this chapter to please a friend who I had most ungraciously wronged, so Josie, this is for you. Don't shout at me.

Disclaimer:

'Tis the word of the Walrus,

I heard him declare,

This belongs to the Dodo,

And not the brown Hare.

CHAPTER ONE – ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

Alice was never really the same after her almost-engagement party, and it didn't escape her mother's notice. There was something vivid about her, something that if called upon to accurately describe, Helen would be unsure how to put it. Perhaps it was something in her eye – a spark and a life that wasn't there before – or perhaps something in the way she walked and held herself taller, more relaxed; maybe it was the way she spoke with the same gumption Helen could recall her having as a child, before her father's death? Whatever the difference was, Alice seemed so much … Helen couldn't find a word to pin it down with.

Her daughter's refusal to marry Hamish Ascot, (nearly over a year ago), had led to some enmity between Helen and Lady Ascot, who seemed to have assumed that Alice thought herself too good for Hamish, which of course as his mother she was dutifully offended by, linking this offence with Helen Kingsleigh and becoming routinely forgetful when it came to inviting her to social gatherings. Now Helen only saw her occasionally when Alice's work with the lady's husband brought them together, and she didn't really mind too much as she'd never been partial to Lady Ascot's often snobbish company; although she couldn't help but feel strangely left out when holding her own receptions and having all or most of the guests talking about something that had happened at Lady Ascot's tea party the Wednesday before, tittering about awfully funny jokes that had taken place and not bothering to fill Helen in at all. Even more inconveniencing was that some of Lady Ascot's friends had also cast her out now, narrowing down the connections Helen had at her disposal to attempt to find a suitable match for her youngest daughter.

Not that Alice should have had a hard time securing a husband – her looks and her disposition were charming enough, and the family Kingsleigh had always been reasonably well respected, but she lacked etiquette of any kind and since the disastrous garden party last March she had gotten worse; becoming far too daring and talkative at dinners and tea parties, refusing to wear her stockings, corset or gloves more than ever, and acting rather eccentrically in public. She also worked now, which was considered extremely odd for a woman, especially one not yet twenty, and with a trading company; and the suitors nowadays usually steered clear of Alice Kingsleigh. Helen had been hoping that Alice might meet some tall, dark stranger on her business trip to China and be swept off her feet, but the girl had returned with as bare a ring finger as ever, loaded with presents for them all and full of excitement for the future of the company. The trading had been successfully set up, and the profit from it was evident.

Sometimes Helen would invite some eligible gentleman over for dinner, but Alice would behave so unladylike and opinionated, spending the time asking every man the same silly riddle and sighing when he answered, unsatisfied with every response, however intelligent.

Margaret, Helen's eldest, was particularly embarrassed by "Alice's antics", as she called them. She seemed to think that her sister was being purposefully difficult, although Helen knew this wasn't so, and tried to explain it to her.

'She just wants to choose the right one.'

'It's like she's experimenting.'

'Well, you know how curious she's always been …'

'But, Mother! Working in trade! She'll be –' her voice would drop to a horrified whisper here '– she'll be marrying a tradesman next!'

Margaret, happily married for almost three years now, couldn't understand Alice at all. She was of the opinion that marriage brought love, not the other way around, and that once married happiness was constant. She was convinced it would do Alice some good to be married, and was even more determined than Helen to find a husband for her. It was almost as if Margaret could no longer imagine anything beyond being someone's wife.

However, sometimes Helen would catch something distinctly off about her daughter's marriage, to be precise the husband, Lowell. A few times now she'd had to convince herself she'd imagined that glint in his eye as he talked with a young lady at a dance; training herself to block out the image of his gaze following another woman as she walked past.

Yes, both Helen and Margaret wanted very much to see Alice married. But amidst all the kerfuffle and scramble to get it done quickly, as if the girl was a nice piece of fruit that would soon go off, neither of them had really considered what Alice herself wanted.

'Alice! Alice, dear!'

The young woman in question was currently nine feet off the ground up an ancient pine tree, crouching low on a branch and pulling another one down over herself to camouflage her bright blue dress. She really was supposed to be too grown up to be climbing in trees, which was the main reason she had hoisted herself up there in the first place. Now she had discovered it made an excellent hiding place from her mother, who for some reason never suspected Alice would be hiding in a tree.

'Alice, please come out, Mr Stanwick will be here soon!'

Alice briefly considered simply staying in the tree and seeing what would happen.

Perhaps they would find me, she thought, but what if I still didn't come down? Maybe they would just set up the chairs and tea table underneath the tree, and Mr Stanwick would have to shout up to me to keep up his small talk. She giggled a little at the idea of skinny, awkward Mr Stanwick with his big nose and big ears and his fussy pigeon grey suit, trying to shout up to her in his nasally little voice.

Ah, said another little voice in her head, but if it was small talk it wouldn't reach you so high up, and you'd be quite safe from his comments about the weather and the state of the roads.

Alice thought this amusing and sound reasoning, and was entertained by it a few moments more while her mother disappeared back into the house. After waiting a few minutes so she was certain she couldn't see her spying from any windows, Alice climbed down and slid expertly to the grass below the tree, dusting the bark chips off her skirt and heading inside to change. As much as the idea of hiding in a pine tree for the entirety of Mr Stanwick's visit was beguiling, the idea of squatting in a pine tree all afternoon was not, and as entertained as she had been by the notion, this world was not governed by such rules, and she knew she wouldn't get away with it.

Once fresh and clean, she found her mother wandering around the garden still looking for her.

'Oh, there you are! Alice, dear, where have you been?' Helen said irritably, tucking stray golden hairs out of her daughter's face. Alice shrugged in reply, batting her hand away.

'Do I have to do this?' she pleaded, opting to give it one last shot before surrendering the sunny afternoon.

'Now, remember to be polite, Alice, and don't talk with your mouth full like last time,' said Helen, dodging the question and brushing her dress down instead.

'He asked me a question, and you told me to answer straight away,' said Alice, trying not to sound sulky, edging away from her mother's tidying fingers.

'Not – Alice, hold still! Not when you've got a mouthful of bread-and-butter, please; now turn around.' Helen motioned with a finger.

Alice obeyed and turned slowly, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Helen pulled them down, tucked one last stubborn bit of hair behind her ear, and then stood back.

'There. That will do.' She sighed and half smiled, reaching out to touch Alice's cheek. Alice frowned grumpily and trudged away, leaving Helen pursing her lips on the lawn.

When Mr Stanwick tumbled out of his carriage clumsily, knocking his head on the roof and stumbling onto the gravel of the drive, he saw Alice waiting with her mother by the door and looked her up and down, like a man who had been served a dodgy looking and slightly wonky sandwich.

'Mrs Kingsleigh, Miss Kingsleigh,' he said, wrinkling his nose and bowing so deeply it almost touched the gravel.

'Mr Stanwick, welcome,' said Helen graciously, waving him into the house, 'I trust your journey was pleasant?'

'The roads were quite clogged today,' he sniffed and shot another look at Alice, as if this were somehow her fault. He turned to follow Helen into the back garden, and Alice poked her tongue out at his back.

The afternoon began to trickle away excruciatingly slowly, as it always does when one is terribly bored, and Alice was beginning to zone out, floating away from the conversation in the memory of her last visit to Wonderland.

She had returned to the strange, marvellous world five times in the year since slaying the Jabberwock, and with every visit she found herself loving it more and more. Though at first she had been worried she wouldn't be able to get back, McTwisp had appeared only three days after her return from her eight month trip to China, tapping on his fob watch and trying not to smile, and Alice got the feeling that he had been hanging around her world waiting for her for some time. He had lead her down the rabbit hole, (now at the bottom of her own grounds), once more, teaching her to hold onto her dress after drinking the shrinking potion pishsalver, so that she could grow straight back into it on the other side. And once inside Wonderland, the first place she had visited was the clearing where the Tea Party was always held, and after tramping through the forest for some unknown, flickering amount of time looking for it, she had found it just as she remembered, a colourful jumble of mismatched objects and people, with Thackery and Mally shouting and laughing and throwing scones about, and at the head of the three joined tables the Hatter, his head bowed and face obscured by the achingly familiar top hat. The other two had fallen silent when they noticed her hanging back in the trees uncertainly, and the Hatter had slowly looked up. Alice had felt a warm, wide smile break over her face as she recognised every feature that she had been missing; the overlarge green eyes, the carroty corkscrew hair, and lastly the gap in his teeth as he grinned, getting to his feet with a tip of his hat and inviting her to tea.

Once again, when the time came for her to leave, he seemed the saddest to see her go, and when she came back he was waiting with a day planned full of wonders for her to see and do and meet. When not in Wonderland, working at some dreary task Alice would often be assaulted by a severe longing to see him or talk to him, to gain some of his unique perspective on her troubles and some of his advice.

The last time she'd seen him they had visited the Tweedle Twins, who had been quite chuffed to see Alice and had trapped them both for a very long poetry recital –

'Alice.'

'Hmm?' Alice looked up from stirring her cold tea repeatedly.

'Mr Stanwick is talking about his infestation,' said her mother sweetly, her mouth a thin line.

'Infestation?' echoed Alice, alarmed.

'Of mice,' said Mr Stanwick, dabbing at his mouth with a very neatly folded napkin, 'nasty, nibbling little creatures. Found a whole nest of them underneath the floorboards. About five leapt on me; one bit my ear,' he added, very offended by this.

Alice had sudden vision of Mallymkun leaping onto Mr Stanwick and biting him on one flapping ear and had to stuff bread-and-butter into her mouth to prevent snickering, earning herself a reproving look from her mother and another wrinkle of the nose from Mr Stanwick.

'Yes, well,' he said, raising an eyebrow at her slightly bulging cheeks, 'five leapt on me, crawling up my trouser leg and almost biting –'

He stopped again as Alice choked on her bread, frowning at her. When he was sure he had her undivided attention once more, he gave a little superfluous clearing of the throat, and continued.

'So I've set up lots of lovely traps with bits of cheese,' he said, looking rather pleased with his own cunning, 'and when –'

'Traps?' mumbled Alice through half a mouthful of bread, horrified.

'Yes,' Mr Stanwick said crossly, not liking her interruptions at all, 'and when the little devils go to grab the cheese – SNAP!' he shouted triumphantly, slamming a hand down onto the table and making Helen jump.

The image of brave little Mally that flashed through Alice's head now was not at all pleasant, and she swallowed her bread with a loud gulp.

From there the tea went decidedly downhill, as Alice became very ill-disposed towards Mr Stanwick, getting shorter and shorter with him, assailing him with too many bad-tempered questions and skirting around his own.

'I heard you work in trade, Miss Kingsleigh,' he said, making it very clear just what he thought of that.

'I heard you live off your father's work,' she quipped back, making it just as clear what she thought of him, 'and never done a day's work in your life; is it true, Mr Stanwick?'

'Well, I never …' he spluttered.

'And that you have more money than you can spend in your life, yet you still wouldn't donate to the church when it appealed to you, even though it's falling down and – mmph!'

Helen had clapped a hand over Alice's mouth, absolutely scandalised. Mr Stanwick had turned bright red, puffing up more and more with every word Alice said.

'I'm sorry, Mr Stanwick –' started Helen fretfully.

'Don't be, my dear woman,' he snapped, jerking to his feet angrily. 'I can see I'm wasting my time – not good enough … I think I'll be going, thank you.'

But there was no gratitude in his tone as he stalked out of the house; Helen released Alice and launched herself out of her seat, trailing after him apologising and begging him to come back.

'Mr Stanwick, please! She's just a little headstrong …'

Left alone at the tea table, Alice slumped her chair, scowling straight ahead at nothing and annoyance at the silly, pompous man burning steadily in her stomach.

Helen returned a few minutes later, looking thoroughly worn out and furious with her.

'Just one man, Alice! Can't you at least be nice to them?' she said, starting to clear up the plates, clashing the china pieces against one another noisily.

'But he wasn't nice to me at all!'

'He was polite!'

'No, he wasn't! We couldn't stand each other!'

'You can't stand any of them!'

'Exactly,' Alice retorted, pushing herself out of her chair and storming away down the grounds. After fifteen minutes she started to calm down, but still headed towards the shrubbery that concealed the rabbit hole. She reached it and pushed the bushes aside, staring down into the darkness. It had only been a fortnight since her last visit, but she still felt like escaping, even for just a moment. A moment was all she needed.

She carefully slid into the hole, tugged her hair out of its bun, and let herself fall down into the blackness.

The months passed in the same fashion; a haze of Margaret and Helen husband-hunting for Alice, Alice rejecting every man that came her way, and Alice secretly disappearing into Wonderland periodically, always returning to her world to find no time had passed. She started to stay in Wonderland for longer amounts of time, travelling around with her friends and seeing things beyond imagination. While time seemed to pass in a warbled kind of way in Wonderland, the days still wore on, and new things still happened. A lake was discovered, at first just south of Marmoreal, then another time further west; it seemed to move around, and it became a hobby of Alice, Mally, Thackery and the Hatter's to look for it, Chessur sometimes joining in if he was particularly bored, (although he was irritatingly good at the game, having the advantage of being able to search one spot after the other without having to travel all of the distance between).

One day whilst playing the game the four of them had split into teams; Mally and Thackery against Alice and the Hatter, (much to Mally's displeasure). Alice and the Hatter had accidentally wandered into the Outlands, too busy chattering and shooting riddles at one another to watch where their feet were taking them, and what they had found there had been quite astonishing. They took their discovery to the White Queen, and Mirana, after some initial confusion as to how to deal with such a thing, had formed quite an attachment, something Alice was rather unaccustomed to seeing from her.

'Everyone is capable of love, Alice,' the Hatter had said quietly, his hands a blur of white lace and cream frill as he created another hat for Mirana's court, 'even the strangest of characters …'

And while time was only wibbly-wobbly in Wonderland, in Alice's world it trudged onwards in a terribly straight line with nothing terribly exciting happening at all, until just under three years after the slaying of the Jabberwock.

Margaret announced herself to be with child.

This news was met with many a shrill female cry of, 'good heavens!' from numerous relatives, and undisguised joyful sobbing from Helen, who had begun to think she would never have grandchildren. Alice, too, was jubilant, hoping this would mean at least one woman off her back about marriage, and with the vision of a little niece or nephew with sweet little blonde curls trotting through her mind constantly on adorably plump little feet she was swept up in the excitement despite herself, chattering away with Margaret for hours on how the child would look, what it would be named and a great many other details that were yet to be. Helen spontaneously took up knitting lumpy pieces of clothing, something which amused both her daughters immensely as they played a game trying to guess exactly what each item was supposed to be. Even Lowell seemed for once more interested in his wife than in other women, staying by her side at all times and helping her out of carriages in an uncharacteristically gentlemanly manner. So great was the anticipation for the child's birth that for almost nine months Alice made not a single trip to Wonderland, her thoughts unusually far from it, engrossed instead in her own world.

And finally, one cold, bitter day in November, Margaret went into labour. Alice waited outside the bedroom staring at the wall, her eyes occasionally turning to Lowell as he paced back and forth; trying to block out the sound of her sister moaning and sobbing, and clinging to the teacup in her hand like a lifeline. Hours later her niece was brought screaming into the world, and she never stopped.

To say that nobody loved Edith would be incorrect, because her mother and her aunt and grandmother loved her very much. To say they loved her dearly wouldn't be quite correct either though, as there was nothing all that dear about Edith. To be precise, she just wasn't what everyone had been expecting.

The dimple-cheeked blonde cherub that Margaret had imagined never came to be, for Edith was very much the antithesis of a cherub. By the time she was five she was far too talkative for her own good, extremely bad tempered and very hard to train, with straggly, mousey hair and dark eyes under perpetually scowling brows. She spent half her time slouching around the house and shirking her chores and lessons, holding Reading, Writing and Arithmetic in particular disdain, and talking loudly about how much she hated her tutor. The other half she spent at her Aunt Alice's feet, enthralled by the tales she spun; her thin little face as bright as a Christmas tree.

Margaret often found herself anxiously watching Lowell, unsure of what he thought of their daughter. He would sometimes pat her on the head gingerly, as if he was afraid she might bite him, and Margaret frequently caught him giving her an odd, calculating look, as if he himself was still trying to decide whether he liked her or not. Margaret badly wanted him to love Edith; the feeling was almost tinged with a desperation that she couldn't explain. She tried her utmost to make Edith into something, a sweet child, or a clever one, but Edith was Edith and she wouldn't be budged. She thought perhaps Alice's fairytales were having an effect on her child, and decided that they were to stop.

After Edith was born it was as though Alice had been suddenly released from the grip of a spell. One night whilst sitting at her desk writing a very important letter to China an image suddenly flickered in her mind, the colours so bright they blinded her; the image of a madman, orange haired and green eyed, with a gap in his two front teeth, and clever, unbelievably quick, bandaged fingers that slowly lifted his hat to her. She froze in the middle of writing "mercury", staring sightlessly at her page as the ink seeped into the paper, a dark blot growing unchecked.

'Hatter,' she murmured, 'oh, Hatter.'

How could she have almost forgotten? How could she?

'Don't forget me …'

Her heart ached suddenly, emotions rushing back to her as if she'd been out of touch with them all these months, locked away in a place where she couldn't feel herself bleeding. Without hesitating she stood, pulling on a coat and slipping out of the house and down to the bottom of the garden.

When she reached the Round Hall she gulped down the pishsalver hastily, grabbing the key as she shrunk, pushing through the door awkwardly and pulling her dress behind her into a night-time Wonderland; tripping as she ran down the well-known path through the dark forest, and finally bursting into the clearing panting and out of breath.

At first she thought the tea table was deserted, and she approached it with a sinking heart, climbing into her usual chair at the end of the last table, to the immediate left of the one the Hatter usually occupied. The sky above was filled with stars, twinkling prettily down at her as she leant back in the armchair, breathing in the familiar scent of bread and tea and sugar. She had somehow thought the Hatter would be here waiting for her as always, but his chair was woefully empty. She sighed, hunching into her armchair, when suddenly from further down the table there came the soft clatter of china. She looked up hopefully – only to see Mallymkun poke her head out of a flower patterned teapot.

'Alice?' she said incredulously, scampering out of the teapot and up the table in a flash, gawking at the young woman with twitching whiskers. Recognition, the hint of something suspiciously akin to relief, and then hot anger rose in her eyes, and she whipped her pin-sword out of her belt, whacking Alice across the knuckles with it before she could react.

'Ouch!' cried Alice, recoiling from the furious Dormouse.

'Where have you been?' exclaimed Mally, glaring at her, 'everyone's been worried sick!'

'I thought … time …'

She gave a cry of frustration, throwing her tiny arms in the air, 'We might have had a falling out with Time, but we still know what waiting feels like, thank you very much! We wait just as long as you do up there in your fancy world of perfect time!'

Alice paled.

'Where's the Hatter?'

'Visiting the White Queen,' said Mally huffily, sheathing her sword but obviously not done with Alice just yet, 'you'll just have to wait for him to come back. He had some hats he needed to take to her.'

'Oh,' was all Alice could say. She rubbed her sore fingers, gazing at Mally reproachfully.

'Don't give me that, you deserved it,' she said firmly, climbing onto a cake rack so as to have easier eye contact with her, 'he's been over the edge even more than usual, and you know how easily upset he is. And he hasn't been making nearly enough hats as he ought to be, he's already always behind in his work because of you, and now you worry him even more by not even showing up when he's planned all these things for you and he's so excited –'

'I have a life in the Otherland!' said Alice heatedly.

'Well, good!' snapped the Dormouse, 'if you like it so much more than here then why don't you stay up there and leave us alone? After all, you're all grown up now, you don't need us anymore!'

'I do need you!'

'You take us for granted!' she shouted, clenching her fists.

Alice was shocked into silence, her mouth hanging slightly ajar, the words biting her. Mally dropped down onto the edge of the cake rack, folding her arms and surveying Alice defiantly.

'You take him for granted,' she said more quietly, blinking her eyes rapidly.

'Mally?'

The Dormouse refused to meet her questioning gaze, staring at the stained tablecloth as if suddenly terribly interested by it.

'I'm sorry, Mally,' said Alice softly, 'really I am.'

'I know,' she said, with tiniest trace of a sniffle. She rubbed frantically at her eyes, and then scurried down from the cake rack and dived into a basket, emerging a moment later with a tiny piece of cake in her hands.

'Here,' she said, thrusting it in Alice's face, 'ulpelkuchun.'

Alice took it and nibbled at it tentatively, having long ago learnt the hard way how strong it was. Gradually she grew back into her dress, until finally she sat at the table normal sized and much more comfortable.

'Thank you.'

Mally nodded gruffly, sitting back down on the tabletop.

'How long will the Hatter be?'

'He should be here by tomorrow afternoon.'

'Tomorrow afternoon?' repeated Alice, aghast.

'Too long to wait?' said Mally, raising a brow.

'... No, I suppose not,' she said, slightly ashamed of herself.

There was small silence, and then Mally said casually, 'I can wait with you, if you like.'

'Oh, yes, please,' smiled Alice, eager for company.

Mally couldn't help but smile back. Maybe Alice wasn't quite as grown up as she'd thought.

'... And the Hatter ducked!'

'Without even turning around?' gasped Edith, then crossed her arms sceptically to make up for her moment of wide-eyed girlishness, 'I don't believe you.'

'Without even turning around, and he kept on dancing, not even stopping for a moment.'

'That's impossible,' said Edith decisively, being unusually fond of this word for a seven year old, or perhaps just fond of the response it always triggered in her Aunt Alice – the wonderfully soft smile, and the words;

'Only if you believe it is,' Aunt Alice said, her eyes lit with a warmth from the inside.

'... And then what did the Dormouse do?' asked Edith.

'The Dormouse?' said Aunt Alice, still smiling. 'She's one of your favourites, isn't she?'

Edith grinned her incredibly wide grin, nodding.

'There's a smile,' laughed Aunt Alice, cupping her niece's face with both hands as if admiring it, 'where has it been all day?'

'Hiding,' said Edith as Aunt Alice released her, rocking slightly on her crossed legs. Her grin faltered, and she affected a very serious expression, 'Mother doesn't like it.'

'Mother doesn't like your smile?'

Edith shook her head slowly, 'She says it's improper for a little girl. I have too many teeth,' she frowned, covering her mouth and tucking her head onto her chest.

'Contrary-wise,' said Aunt Alice wisely, 'you have just the right amount.'

Edith cracked another grin behind her hands.

'Edith? Edith! There you are.'

The pair looked up as Edith's mother came hurrying over to where they sat together in a patch of rare winter sunshine falling in from Aunt Alice's bedroom window. The sun had come out unexpectedly, braving the winter frost to thaw the remaining flowers slightly.

'Edith, Mr Burbage is here for your lesson.'

Edith caught the frown her mother shot at her aunt with some curiosity.

'I don't want my lesson,' she pouted childishly.

'Off you go, Edith,' said her mother, shooing her out of the room. 'Edith,' she repeated, with a dangerous echo added that did not bode well for the girl.

'Alright!' she sulked as she was near shoved out the door and it was slammed in her face. She pressed her ear to the keyhole; she was so small that she barely had to lean down.

There came some tensed whispers and mutters, before the voices rose slowly in volume.

'I thought we agreed –'

'They're not hurting her,' Aunt Alice was protesting, 'she likes the stories.'

'Well, I don't,' snapped Mother.

'You can't just take them away from her – '

'She's my daughter, Alice! I don't want your nonsense in her mind! And they're not even proper fairytales. All these stories about talking animals and mad people, they're just not suitable for a child; you know she chases every white rabbit she sees now – what if she fell down a hole? And about that cat without a grin …'

'The grin without a cat – '

'Alice, I don't want you telling Edith anymore stories. And especially not about that insane milliner.'

Alice sounded positively insulted by this, 'The Hatter's one of her favourites!'

'And she was speaking in that funny language you've been teaching her at Mrs Dodgson's picnic on Saturday, can you imagine the looks we got? The poor woman thought Edith was swearing at her in Scottish …'

'She loves Wonderland!'

Mother snorted, 'She's obsessed. And so are you.'

'I'm not obsessed,' said Aunt Alice indignantly.

'You'll end up just like old Aunt Imogene –'

'Margaret!'

'You'd have to be at least half mad to dream up that place!'

'I didn't dream –' the woman caught herself, 'I mean ... I ...'

There was a horrible pause.

'You what?' whispered Mother, her voice hushed.

Footsteps started towards the door, and Edith raced away down the corridor, concealing herself in a linen cupboard as Aunt Alice stormed past, Mother hot on her tail.

'Alice! Alice, you don't actually believe – Alice!'

The footsteps carried on downstairs, gaining speed and distress, until doors banged further down and Edith tiptoed out of the cupboard and off to her lesson.

At dinner Aunt Alice was quite different, not at all as angry as she had been and so unusually cheerful that her sudden shift in disposition was unnerving. Mother was giving her many a quizzical glance, as if she trying to nut out the strange behaviour.

Some days later, the night she and her parents were set to go home to inner London, Edith crept into Aunt Alice's room and begged her for more stories. The woman paused for a heartbeat before pulling her onto the bed and launching into another wild tale. When she was finished, her cheeks stained faintly pink from relived excitement and a fiery glint of relish in her eye, Edith asked her a question.

'Is it real?'

Aunt Alice gazed down at her, a little child with a serious face and wild hair.

'Yes,' she said softly, then, as if the words were sacred, 'it's all real.'

And there was never any doubt in Edith's mind that it was.

Many times after that she would hear Mother again trying to put an end to the stories, but no matter how many times the subject was brought up, Aunt Alice refused to cease talking of the strange, mad place she called Wonderland.