Dear Mr. Hatter,
I must come to your shores as hastily as I can. Affairs of mounting importance have come over me like a wave of doubt. Prince Leopold and I have denied such allegations of a courtship, leaving me in complete turmoil, though my mother claims to suffer more. Our old friendship leaves me comfort in short sleepless nights. All that is left of my memory and conscience is of Charles, Wonderland, and its residents. I dare not question what else happened to me those weeks I spent wandering with Cheshire Puss at my side.
Thought the thought is odd to say, but madness is quite a theory. Humans here waste their time fighting such fits to be proper and polite, but madness, if embraced, is a relief breathed out in common ecstasy. I wanted to state my madness, to scream it as it should be, but they refused. What people would say—my sisters, dear as they are, wept knowing I would be sent away. My name would be harmed and nothing would be the same.
A little over ten years ago was when we all first fell into that damned hole. When the others left to find their way up, and Charles and I surged on, down the path. That memory is still in my mind. Where I looked up at him with fear and asked where we were… "Wonderland, Alice… We're in a Wonderland."
Alice.
I quickly folded the letter and slid it into my old green jacket before the maid could come back. Anna Birch, Violet's daughter… Alice's Niece was the one who had been sold the desk. A little cross-checking of email addresses and names on the plane over here, and it all made sense. One of the last living Liddells, and by simple unnerving chance…she was the one who had started this crazy-ass mystery.
The airplane had touched down last night and it took a good six and a half hours to drive down here. Sleep was clawing at me, but the thought of the nightmarish Cheshire Cat smiling at me was a enough for me to stay wide-eyed in conversation with this Anna woman. I would find out once and for all if these letters were real, and I would find out today.
The house is something you would see in some fairy tale. High ceilings with crystal chandeliers, windows that are wall length, chairs made from engraved wood, and, of course, shelves, window sills, and trunks filled with history. Moving side to side in my chair, I looked at the certain pieces in the room that stuck out. One was a colorful copy of Alice's Adventures Underground; another was a large oak grandfather clock, and something red and hidden was behind a granite fireplace.
This was not a good idea, but damn curiosity; my conscience shrugged off the worry and I walked steadily over to the fireplace. The red color belonged to a long red silk fabric draped over something, concealing something. My hand tugged until it fell to the ground. Standing completely still, I tried to convince myself that it wasn't real.
It was a shrine to Alice…Alice Liddell and her story underground. Pictures were tacked up to a board, mostly of her as a child with her sisters. The center photograph was positively chilling in the way that seemed so innocent. Alice sat in Charles Dodgson's lap holding onto a doll…a stuffed white rabbit. Beneath the pictures in a glass case stood a handful of odd items. A small gold box, engraved with Victorian artwork; a rusted and broken pocket watch; a red silk glove; a copy of Alice's Adventures Underground, ripped at the edges.
"What are you doing."
I spun around to see the maid holding onto Miss Birch's arm; Miss Birch was wearing a very grim frown, very grim indeed. What could I possibly say to make what I had done sound unintended? I could tell a lie which would only end in her hating me…more than she did now, anyway.
"I'm sorry—" Honest. My eyes looked directly into hers, giving her my full innocent intention. "I was curious."
Her small gray eyes looked back and without saying a word, she pardoned the maid with a wave of her hand. In all honesty, it was such a thing to see; maids were something you saw in books. A female whose full purpose was completing tasks set by a homeowner. Completely strange, you see.
"Your name—"
"My name? Oh, it's Natalie… Natalie Jones."
She nodded and motioned at me to sit near her. Without looking at her, I swiftly went to one of her velvet chairs and sat, betraying my instincts to run out the door. "Miss Jones, what is your business with me?"
Other than that you're the grand heir to a big-ass mystery with, so far, no answers? "About a month ago, you sold an antique desk online to the highest bidder." I intertwined my fingers to distract my nerves. "I was the one who bought it, and—" My pauses, I could tell, were becoming a annoyance to her, but I couldn't help it. I had to choose my words carefully; a warning was going off in my head. "—Why, Miss Birch, did you sell it?"
She straighten her posture and looked past me, sorrow growing on her face. "An old widow such as myself shouldn't hold onto silly furniture. Was the desk not to your liking?"
Shaking my head, I looked at her with a understanding smile. "It's beautiful—"
"Then why, Miss Jones, did you travel overseas to speak to me about it?"
Oh, shit.
"Well, I mean…it's a great desk, but I found something that you forgot in the drawer—" I reached into the hand-sewn pocket and pulled out the letter I had been reading previously.
A frail gasp fell from her lips, her eyes quickly darting away as she recognized the paper. I held it out, too afraid to say anything else. With an odd amount of strength, she slapped the letter to the floor.
"Do not bring that into this house. Those bloody letters ruined lives, Miss Jones. I wish for you to burn them and never speak of them again. "
