A/N:

At the top today, because I want to beg any readers to bear with me through this chapter. It's very Kingsleigh-women-centric, me trying to get the right dynamics between them to set things up for later. Tarrant is busy at home at the moment, making things and banging his head against various surfaces because he can't think how to find Alice. But the next chapter is almost done and he's starting it off, so please don't give up if this is a bit less exciting than some of the others.


Once they were safely ensconced in the anonymity of the taxi, Margaret began to grill Alice. Since Alice had only a few pence to contribute to the cost of the cab, she figured she had to pay somehow, and did not try too hard to thwart her sister's efforts and the bare bones of the story gradually unfolded.

"So this—hatter—took you out to a dance club and got you drunk, took you home, and then you fell asleep on him!" Margaret was shocked, but also seemed pretty disappointed about Alice's showing in the situation.

"Well, yes, I'd undoubtedly had too much to drink, but Tarrant," she tried desperately not to sound as if she was about to go into a swoon as she said his name, "was incredibly decent the whole time. Really, his friends were quite shocked that I should be so rough considering how little I'd had to drink the night before."

Margaret smiled. "Not too bad, really, considering it was your first try. I think I spent an entire term throwing up in Lowell's house lavatory. As long as you get into the swing of it, you should be able to keep yourself from disappointing this Tarrant."

The elder Kingsleigh's eyes flickered out the window and a shadow flitted across her face. "Alice," she began hesitantly, "how did you feel when you met him? What were you thinking when you decided to go with him?"

"At the first moment we met I knew he was skilled with his hands. He pinned that pillbox hat to my resisting head like it was no effort at all," Alice recalled.

Margaret snickered at her. "If only we'd known that was what it took to get you going! You might have scored ages ago if we'd just confined the search to haberdashers and shop assistants."

Alice blushed and huffed in annoyance. "What I meant to say was that. . .he knew what he was doing. That made him interesting. I hardly ever know what I'm doing, at least—not anymore. And of course he was good looking and all that," Alice hurried to brush this aside, "but I wanted to go with him mainly because I got the feeling that there were things I needed to learn from him."

Margaret gave her a sly look, "So I take it you would like to see your tradesman again?"

Alice wrinkled her nose at her sister. "Are we back in the Victorian era?"

"Well, someone who makes hats is not the kind of well-educated successful partner our parents likely envisioned us attracting."

Alice defended him swiftly, "Margaret, you do realize that he was the one of the two headlining designers at the show last night—his house is lovely and in a historic district. He's hardly to be looked down upon. Especially by people in our circumstances."

"Maybe now. . ." Margaret began.

"Ever," Alice snapped. "Tarrant is a genius, and the kindest and cleverest and most charming man I have ever met. He had lots of friends, flatmates who respected and cared for him, and he is an excellent dancer." She finished this list of virtues with a righteous sniff.

Margaret's eyebrows rose in delight, and Alice realized she had been successfully baited. Her cheeks flushed.

"Aww, you really do like him! Well, call him up! You'd better, if you really left in such a hurry. He might think you were just messing about with him."

Alice looked to her sister again, mistrustful as to whether or not Margaret was really giving her good advice. Though Margaret had been on again off again for years with Lowell, her slimy cheating leech of a first boyfriend, she had done plenty of other dating, sometimes even with decent human beings. She certainly knew more about these sorts of situations than Alice, and Margaret had been there for her in the past when they'd truly needed to band together. But still, their relationship had been largely antagonistic when nothing big was at stake. Would Margaret give her bad advice about talking to the hatter just to tease her?

The London streets flew passed the window of the cab as Alice reached into her purse to finger her mobile. She picked it up and then groaned as realization washed over her, both that it was dead and that it didn't matter since the one number she wanted was not within.

"Bugger!" she said.

Margaret's eyebrows raised in question.

Alice leaned back in her seat and sheepishly admitted, "I never got his number."

Margaret scoffed at her carelessness, and Alice knew her sister was about to pile a load of scorn on her head so she hastened to say, "I know how to get back to the house though. I could go now—if you'll just let me out of the cab—"

Alice made to attract the cabbie's attention, but Margaret stayed her hand.

"Alice, you can't go over there now, looking as you do!" she said reproachfully. "It's all very well to have a walk of shame leaving, but coming back still sick and dishevelled simply isn't done. You may have got on famously, but I'll bet you didn't catch your hatter's eye looking like a diseased scarecrow."

Alice pulled a face at her sister, but reluctantly had to admit she was right. The hatter had seen her dressed up last night, and while she ardently hoped that they would become close enough for appearance not to matter, there was something to what Margaret said. The whole thing was too new to jeopardize over some messy hair and impatience.

"Tomorrow, then," she said resolutely.

"I'll help you get away from Mother," Margaret vowed, and Alice was relieved to hear that for once she had her sister on her side.

They soon arrived at their flat. It had been important to Yelena that the girls have an address in a somewhat decent area of town and be close enough to school and jobs to manage without a car. "Better to have a broom closet in the best part of town than a mansion in the slums," she had said.

A broom closet could not have been much smaller than the one-bedroom they'd been sharing for the past five years. They'd done the best they could, sharing the bunk beds in the bedroom and the couch when Margaret was at home. They barely had room for a table, let alone closets to store the sorts of wardrobes belonging to three of England's' former wealthiest women. Yelena had charmed some storage space in the basement out of the landlord, but they'd had to get rid of loads of stuff. Of course jewels and furs had all been sold to rid them of their debts, but there were tons of other clothes that would have been more worth it to them not to have to purchase again than to sell. It irked Yelena endlessly when older styles came back into fashion. She would scream and throw the couch cushions at the telly whenever the presenters gushed about whatever purse or shoes or classic frock was now back in vogue that she'd had to get rid of when they'd left their house.

Margaret had mostly been out of the house at Uni, but since she'd officially graduated and had rated free tuition and fees but not housing for med school she'd been back at their flat to save money. Alice personally thought Margaret had been counting on the unctuous Lowell asking her to move in with him. She didn't see that as being terribly likely. A live-in girlfriend would definitely cramp his style. Margaret knew full well that Lowell was not the faithful type, so Alice could only regard with perplexity her sister's tears when she'd brought her bags back and announced she'd be staying at home. Spoiled wife and heiresses they may once have been, but the three Kingsleigh women did not bicker or fuss, instead making what little room they could and contemplating springing for murphy beds with built-in storage if Alice could pick up an additional job in the winter.

The problem with this living arrangement was that it was virtually impossible to be alone—something that did not suit the three independent women at all. Margaret usually managed to be out at school, the library, or Lowell's, so Yelena and Alice had found semi-private spaces of their own in the mid-sized apartment building. The basement storage room that housed most of their wardrobes became Yelena's lair, and not three weeks into their residency Alice had jimmied the lock at the top of the stairs so that she could get out on the roof. It wasn't the highest roof around by any means, but Alice loved it because she could hide behind the parapet and watch people go by on the streets below, distanced enough to be alone, but close enough not to feel lonely.

Upon arriving home Alice plugged in her mobile and then tried to make a run for the roof, but Margaret was having none of it.

"Sit down Alice," she said. "Mother will be home soon. What are you going to tell her?"

Alice plopped onto the comfy grey sofa with a grumble while Margaret perched on one of their three small wooden dining chairs.

"I expect she'll want to do most of the talking," Alice said somewhat petulantly.

A rueful smile passed over Margaret's face, "Well, that's true enough. But despite the fact that you didn't actually do anything much last night," she said this disdainfully, "Mother will want to know where you were and who your were with. It should mollify her somewhat that you were with the designer. That's a very model thing to do. Who knows, maybe she'll be proud of you."

Alice found that doubtful. "I'm not sure I should tell her after all. Maybe I'll just say I went out with one of the other girls and slept over."

Margaret leaned over and tugged on the end of her purple scarf so that it flowed loose from Alice's neck.

"With those marks on your skin that story won't make her feel better. Though maybe it would. At least with a girl you couldn't get knocked up. You're on the pill and I hope you're not stupid enough to do it without a condom, but I think it's still Mother's greatest fear that you'll fall pregnant and ruin your career."

"What, like she did?" Alice bit her tongue. She shouldn't have said that. Even though their parents had been in love and had gotten married right away once they found out, it still bothered Margaret that she'd been unplanned.

"Yeah," said Margaret tonelessly. "And then where would we be?"

Alice flopped back on the couch, "Ugh maybe we could all just get jobs like normal people?" Another thing not to say to her sister, whose guilt about living and going to school off Alice's earnings made her mean and snappish.

"Right, you little prat. If you had your selfish way you'd force your poor mother to clean houses for the ladies she used to reign over at charity functions. You're too cruel Alice."

Alice sighed. This was how it always went with Margaret. If she complained in the slightest, Margaret got defensive and accused her of being a disloyal daughter. They could hardly speak without Margaret going off in a huff about Alice's selfishness.

Further descent into bickering was forestalled by the sound of the key in the lock. Alice scrambled for Margaret's scarf to hastily cover her neck, but the elder Kingsleigh wouldn't give it up. The door opened on Alice and Margaret engaged in a juvenile tug of war over a purple silk scarf that cost far too much for them to be jeopardizing.

"Alice! Margaret! Let that go!"

The sisters released their fingers in shame at being caught acting so childishly, and Yelena lunged forward and caught the silk before it could fall to the floor. She huffed angrily as she returned to the doorway, sharply closing the door and locking it before taking a deep breath. Her hair was immaculately styled and her clothes were perfect in the especially crisp way they always were when interaction with the Ascots was on the docket. Her eyes beneath the tastefully blackened lashes took in her younger daughter's dishevelled appearance, not missing the several love bites that Alice couldn't quite cover with her hand at one time. Another deep breath was in order.

"Alice. I want you to think very carefully about this question before you answer. Where have you been?"

Alice gulped. She supposed the 'think very carefully' part was a tip-off that Yelena already had some idea of where she'd been and lying would be unwise. Her eyes lit on a framed drawing she'd done for her mother a couple of years ago. It was of a field full of daisies, each with a carefully inked face that was only visible when you viewed it close up. From far away on the wall, as her mother had chosen to hang it, it only looked like a landscape.

"I went to the show, then the after party as you'd instructed. I was invited to another party afterwards. It got late so I stayed over. And then, well, as I said it was late, so I slept through most of the day. As soon as I realized the time, I ran to the Ascots' as fast as I could. I didn't know that you'd told them I was home sick. My mobile died. Luckily, Chemsford opened the door and got it sorted."

"Yes," Yelena said solemnly, "Thank heavens for Chemsford or we'd be in a terrible situation. Do you realize what a scene it would have made for you to come into tea half-dressed with those—bruises—on your skin? Alice, how could you have let anyone do such a thing? Your body is your greatest asset and this outrageously irresponsible behavior shows me that you are too immature to take care of it on your own."

Alice's eyes were downcast, but for some reason she couldn't keep herself from muttering sulkily, "Daddy always said one's sharp mind was one's greatest asset."

"That may well be for rich men who toss about other people's money, but we women have to be more practical."

"Thanks so much, Mummy," Margaret said sarcastically, "It means so much that you have such faith in my intellectual abilities."

Typical of Margaret to make it all about her. But if it took the heat off, Alice wasn't going to complain.

"Margaret, I wasn't speaking to you. I know you're doing your best in your own way," Yelena said exasperatedly.

"Oh, the best I can do? You mean the best I can do with stubby legs and a soft stomach! Maybe if I got to write off gym memberships and facials I could do a little better too." Margaret crossed her arms fiercely.

Alice sat down on the couch and covered her head with her arms. Both her mother and her sister could take anything personally. If the price of tea in China rose or fell, Margaret and Yelena could somehow trace it back to their own actions. They were so alike in some ways that it was inevitable that they fought. It wasn't a coincidence that Margaret had spent most of the past few years in dormitories and friends' apartments. Alice wanted nothing more than to bolt out the door and run away to her rooftop sanctuary, but her mother still stood squarely before the door. Alice tried tuning out her surroundings and pretending she was up there, a skill that she'd had plenty of practice with over the past few years.

Yelena and Margaret continued bickering about who rated what kind of beauty treatments and why without any input from Alice, until there was a pause. Yelena stepped forward and thrust her open laptop onto Alice's knees.

"And just what," she asked, "are we going to do about that?"

Alice opened her eyes and looked at the webpage open before her. It was a blog called "Under the Cheshire Moon" that seemed to be about London's fashion and party scene. The most recent post featured pictures from the Vetvier show, followed by pictures of herself and Tarrant laughing together at the afterparty. The text was mostly a snarky narration of events, but Alice hardly bothered to read it since the pictures were so damning. The next to last one was of Alice alone standing under the colored lights of the Tea Shop dance floor with Tarrant's top hat swallowing up the top of her head so that her eyes, large and alight with interest, were just visible under its brim.

"Who could possibly have taken these?" Alice puzzled out loud. They were surprisingly good, for party photos. She scrolled down and found that the last one of the post was Stayne in a handstand, with the Hatter standing in the background, hair pulled back and arms crossed. The text described the run-in between Stayne (billed for some reason as The Knave) and the Mad Hatter. "The Knave attempted to introduce fists into the battle, but luckily for him, the tussle was broken up before the Mad Hatter could be induced to retaliate," the text read. Hmm, was it lucky for Stayne? She had rather thought it was lucky for herself and the Hatter.

Her finger traced its way over to the "About" link, where she was met with the enigmatic smile of a certain purple-suited antagonist.

"Chessur!" she cried. That made sense. He was the only person she'd known was at all three of the events. Thank heavens he hadn't followed them to the Windmill Bar or there might have been a more interesting concluding picture. Alice tried not to let her embarrassment show, since her mother was scrutinizing her reactions and Margaret had given up on sulking in favor of climbing on the couch and peering over Alice's shoulder.

"You know this blogger, Alice?" her mother asked disbelievingly.

"Not really, no," said Alice quickly. "I met him last night when he came over to talk to Tarrant." She figured there wasn't much point trying to be sneaky about who she'd been with last night at this juncture. "He and Chessur seem to have had a falling out, so when we saw him later on that evening we tried to avoid him. I really can't believe he got close enough to take that picture without me noticing. He's not the least visible of people."

Margaret rolled her eyes and interjected, "It's not like you're the hardest person to sneak up on Alice. Besides," her tone turned teasing, and she snatched the computer away so she could get a better look at the pictures, "you seem to have been pretty focused on someone else! And a very tall and good-looking if somewhat peculiar someone else he is! It works though, if he were too perfect he would never catch your attention, now would he?"

Margaret's giggles faded when she looked up into her mother's severe gaze. Yelena knelt and turned the computer around.

"There's also this, which is even more troublesome from a professional standpoint." She navigated away from the Cheshire blog and went to another, this time on the Paris Vogue site. It was in French, but all three of them knew enough to get the gist of the writing. The article was a glowing review of the show, particularly mentioning Alice's name in the context of the collection. Further down, the journalist implied that Alice would be featured in any future Bembury collections and went on to speculate that she might be the face of Vetvier's upcoming ready-to-wear campaign.

"Oh lord," said Alice. "That frenchwoman. Oh drat."

Yelena's eyes widened. "Did you talk to her too? What did you say to her?"

"Nothing! You always told me to say nothing. But Tarrant was standing right there so I guess he attempted to rescue me since I'd completely stalled out. Though he didn't say any of those things. Just a sort of vague 'Alice did a nice job, didn't she' and 'yes, I'll probably make more hats in the future as I'm a hatter.'"

Yelena sighed. "It sounds like both of you need a great deal more training in talking to the press. You can't give those harpies an inch or they will take a hundred miles! Though I will confess I did speak to her briefly, telling her that you were working for Vetvier on the ad campaign as well."

"Oh, am I?" Alice said vaguely.

"Yes, Absolem confirmed it with me after the show. I'm to go into the Vetvier office about it tomorrow. But after this he may be angry enough to stop the whole thing. Oh I knew this would blow up in all our faces," she sighed.

Alice cautiously attempted, "It isn't that bad though, is it Mother? I mean, they were saying nice things even if they were exaggerating, so is it really such a disaster?"

Yelena looked at her with an expression of resigned annoyance. "Alice, you know that making any money whatsoever as a model is a balancing act. Any slip too far in one direction and you lose all your chances of making money with others. You aren't suited to be a fit model, but you are good enough for catalogue work if we could just get you seen as suitable for women's wear and not just juniors as you've been doing. I thought doing a little high-fashion work might give your portfolio a boost though before last night you've never shown much aptitude. But if your face is too recognizable they aren't going to want you. And it'll be back to hand modelling for the foreseeable future."

Alice shuddered. There was good money in hand modelling, and it was how they'd started out. Alice's willowy hands were actually displayed prominently about the city several years ago in a major jewelry campaign. But to stay ready for the job she'd had to stop drawing, barely allowed to pick up a pencil or pen for years, and wear gloves everywhere she'd been. Her mother had taken her out of school to be home educated, which pretty much had to happen anyway as they couldn't afford the school fees. Most of Alice's day-to-day work were jobs that her mother had contracted under the table so that there wouldn't be problems with her working so much as a minor. The upshot was that she'd had to sit at home for great swaths of time and not draw or write or do anything. It had been a huge relief to Alice when her mother had finally declared her ready for catalog work where the focus would not be so much on her hands. She couldn't go back to that now.

Yelena, seeing her daughter's consternation, caved a little and said, "Well, it may not come to that. We'll see what Absolem says. Take the next few days to heal up, go to the gym, go to your little class, and be ready for the shoot on Thursday. And no hatters!"

Alice made a noise of protest, "It wasn't Tarrant's fault what she wrote!"

"It is his fault that you may need extra-thick makeup on your neck. And it's down to both of you that I spent the last day worried out of my mind about what could possibly have happened to you."

The younger girl hung her head a bit. "Sorry. I really am sorry for causing you concern."

Alice reflected that she could have at least texted her mother to tell her she'd be out all night, but she hadn't mostly because she was avoiding reading the texts that would likely have told her to come straight home this instant.

Yelena looked at her skeptically. "Show me by doing as I say for the next few days Alice."

Alice did not nod, as she knew this promise would be too difficult for her to keep. Yelena held her gaze until she looked away, telling herself she was satisfied.


A/N continued from the top.

That's not to say you aren't free to complain in a review! In fact, I would love to hear how you made it through—if it was boring or if the sisterly interaction was interesting enough to move things along. I might later cut or edit this down, but for now this was the best way I could think of to move us toward an understanding of what Alice's life has been like for the past several years. Please please let me know what you think, and again, the next chapter is just around the corner.