"Facts Concerning the Strange Case of Wonderland"

Harland Edison's Personal Journal, November 18, 1870

It has been a rather busy day, and I am tired. I just wish to record the hearsay I have been exposed to while it is still fresh in my memory – recollection is a tricky and often volatile thing, which does not always lend itself to accuracy, and as such, I have no desire to record wrongly what I have learned.

Earlier today, I went to the University where John Ruskin welcomed me to his study. I might add that his office represented the kind of a man he was: orderly, yet disorganized, and always more underneath the surface than it first appears. His office was overlooking the courtyard, of the enclosing hallways surrounding it, and the gothic arches and windows lined across them. He himself was a very calm and otherwise unassuming man, who, by this very appearance, projected a sense of the tense string – ready to snap at the slightest plucking.

He beckoned me to sit in one of the guest chairs in front of his study desk. I took my seat, and he sat down, his back straight, and crossed his arms.

"Mister Edison." He said, "I have no desire to waste your time, as such, I wish for you to state your inquiries, so that we may get on with it."

"You have been told of my arrival, then."

"Yes."

"Who?"

"I do not know her name. She uses the alias, Miss."

I nodded, "My employer."

"She wishes, I believe, to help you in your investigation of the most tragic passing of Henry. Had she not told me you would be looking for me, you would not be sitting there."

"I understand. That is so very helpful of her. Would you be so kind, then, as to tell me what the conflict between Reverend Dodgson and Dean Liddell was, prior to the Dean's death?"

"It was a simple matter, actually. You see, after completing his master's, Charles was supposed to receive holy orders. He, for whatever reason, did not want to. But he couldn't abstain from it, not really, but Henry, bless his soul, decided to accept his appeal. This created a bit of a hostile environment for both men."

"Hostile? Hostile, how?"

"Well, most of the academia did not take kindly to Henry bending the rules for Charles, so they employed their most fearsome weapon: their mouths. For all its grand displays of being beyond such matters, the academia is a gossip-prone battleground, and the term reputation is the equivalent of your entire existence. Hence, they sought to force Henry's hand to uphold the rules by spreading rumors."

"Do you know exactly who?"

"You know as well as I that such things cannot be trailed back to the source, as they are spread like a plague, from person to person. I can only give you the rumors themselves, not who they were spread by."

(Why not? He clearly knew. I could only guess that it was either somebody he did not wish to incriminate, or he himself was involved.)

"Fair enough."

"The most prominent one, which I would ask Reverend Pusey to support, was that there was a rather ill sort of affair between Charles and little Alice."

"And, was there?"

(I could see that he did not take very kindly to that question, but he sought to dispel my supposed suspicions with a fervor that left me with the impression that he, himself, could imagine being in Charles Dodgson's position in the event of such a rumor.)

"No, and there could not be. It's nonsense - vile, sordid nonsense every bit as ill as what it suggests. Now, the second rumor connected to that was that Charles was a common object of affection amongst all the Liddell sisters, but that was only because he had a very ill affair with dear Lorina, Henry's wife. Before you ask," he added with a dissatisfaction with the mere thought that I might, "No. That wasn't the case. What was the case, however, was that Charles was supposedly courting Lorina Charlotte, another Liddell sister. His acquaintance with the rest of the Liddells, especially Alice, was a way to pay courtship to dear Lorina."

(I couldn't hide my amazement at how intertwined their lives were. It would appear that their lives had intersected, but even all that still failed to explain why anyone would want to burn Henry Liddell's house down with his family still inside. Academic friction simply did not seem reason enough. Arson, as is most other kinds of murderous crimes, is always personal, with the perpetrator having some sort of a bone to pick with the victim. All this seemed nothing more than academic reputation warfare, the art of slinging mud, if you will.)

"That does not explain why Henry Liddell would have such… volatile enemies."

"No, but bear in mind that all of this was during his attempts to modernize and reform the old Christ Church, an academic revolution attempt, if you will. Not everybody supported his view. Edward Pusey, especially, took some issue with it, given that he had been part of the Oxford Movement, really… in either case, any attempt by Henry's opponents to weaken him, especially by taking away one of his dearest friends who himself was defying tradition, could harm his resolve. And harm it, they did."

"How so?"

"What I am about to tell you is very, very secret, Mister Edison, and I haven't any desire to see it on any official documentation, if I make myself abundantly clear."

"You do. Of course not."

(How quaint that a letter to Miss did not, in any sense of the word, constitute anything so grounded as 'official.')

"During the further months of '62, the plans of those ne'er-do-wells worked. I do not understand it myself, but Charles and Henry suddenly seemed to retain no desire to be in the same room. I confronted both of them about it, but Charles simply stammered a half-answer and Henry… he seemed more worried than anything else. I took it upon myself to inquire into the circumstances of this sudden rift. I will admit to you, Mister Edison, that I was left with the impression that the silence of everyone around this undisclosed event was of a most grave kind."

"How so?"

"Nobody told me anything. They simply had a falling out, that was the official story. But I know both men, and my knowledge of them tells me that it could not possibly be the case. A mere disagreement? Nonsense!"

"What about the last year of Dean Liddell's life?"

"Ah. Throughout '63, right until the fire that claimed dear Henry and his family, they remained separated. By then, having heard me mention it enough times, Philip expressed faith in the radical idea that..."

"Philip?"

"Philip Pusey, the prodigal son of Reverend Edward. Quite a sensible man, and with vision, much unlike his father…"

"What was his notion?"

"It was a rather fantastical notion, you see, that Charles knew more than he was letting on, and that he himself was the reason for the rift, not anything else. Philip argued to me that Charles, in his strange ways, had refused to take holy orders not because he did not feel ready or that he was so head-in-the-clouds that he couldn't be bothered, but because he was undertaking unsanctioned and unholy research."

"Unholy?"

"Alchemy, magick, forbidden texts translated by ruffians wandering taverns and other unseemly places."

(That seemed to be a rather radical notion indeed. My willingness to believe usually is both a liability and an invaluable asset in my investigations, but I seem to find the idea rather credible. His literary work isn't that of a sane man.)

"And, your thoughts, Sir Ruskin?"

"In my experience, excrescence, one way or the other, is generated and it is often found in people you would never suspect to harbor such functions. But the fact of the matter is, and this is the actual secret, I actually managed to speak with Alice during that time."

"What did she say?"

"Not much of consequence, as she was but a child. She only made an off-handed and ill-advised comment about Charles being not a nice man, but I chose to take that as a slip of manners, nothing more. One should not make personal remarks, as you know."

"And do you believe that Reverend Dodgson, in his not-nice manner of being, was the cause, in however way it was?"

"Absolutely not! Mister Edison, I will be frank with you. Whatever the reason for whichever madman to torch Henry's house and set everything ablaze is not to be found in magick or such esoteric practices. Neither is it in anything personal. If anything, it is my contention that the arson was committed by a madman, and Henry was simply a random victim. Since there was no culprit caught, as I am sure you are aware, there is nothing more to be learned! Charles himself, bless him, investigated the matter, and he did it while the ruins were still warm! What do you, after all these years, even hope to accomplish with your questioning?"

"Finding the truth, Sir Ruskin."

I took my leave, as he was clearly telling me that he had nothing more to tell me. Of course, I could interpret his silence as one with firm resolve to not tell me something I otherwise would need to know, which would mean that he did indeed know; or I could interpret it as a testament to how little he knew, which would mean that he did not know. I was not about to dwell on this matter any further, as John Ruskin was, clearly, a dead end.

I did, however, ask about Charles Dodgson before I left his office. He told me that after his father's death two years ago, Dodgson had left the University on an indefinite leave, and that he (Ruskin) had had no contact with him. Credible enough, yes, but part of my reason for being here is to inquire about his whereabouts, as per Miss' instructions. I intend to try the academic registry tomorrow, in hopes of getting some information about him, or, failing that, his family.

I dined in the evening at the tavern. When I fixed to retreat to my room, the keeper presented me with an envelope. My 50/0/0 for the week. I took it and retreated to my room to write to Miss the developments of the day, which I clearly would submit to the keeper.

Addendum:

It appears as though there were several circumstances surrounding both men that attracted quite a bit of negative attention from their environment – however, all of these suggest to me that whatever lay beneath the reason for their drifting apart, it is not to be found in broken hearts or sordid child-romances. All this also suggest to me that the presence of the reverend probably brought little joy and much darkness to the lives of the Liddell family. The exact nature of how that was so is at best elusive.

I am beginning to suspect that there is more at play than simple academic rivalry or sword-rattling, or esoteric inclinations. However, Philip Pusey's supposed "notion" (if indeed it came from Reverend Pusey and not Ruskin himself) has given me a notion in return.

Perhaps I shall try dream-walking as an investigative measure. To accomplish that, I will need the sanctuary of an opium den.