Rating: T
Chapter Nine
"Must you go Above, the Alice?" Mally asked, leaning her chin on her paw.
"Yes, Mally," Alice said, folding up some items that she knew she would not actually carry with her through the looking glass, but she had to have something to keep her hands busy.
"I had thought you were not leavin' anymore," Mally said, her whiskers twitching. "You were givin' the impression that you were stayin'."
Alice looked at the Dormouse, sitting atop her knapsack. "There are things that need doing." Her mother was dead. She could not bring herself to say those words aloud again, however.
"There are Hatters Below," Mally replied quietly.
Yes, Alice could not very well forget that.
"Is it because of your Hamish?" Mally asked, swinging down off the sack and stalking towards Alice.
"Why does everyone insist upon calling him My Hamish?"
"It's the appearance of things, I suppose. He said he was your particular friend," Mally said, fingering her hatpin.
Alice wondered briefly whether Mally was going to stick her with it for having a Hamish here Below claiming to be her friend.
"I'm afraid I barely know him at all," Alice admitted. "Despite an acquaintance of many years, I have been quite surprised by his behavior today. I would not have thought Hamish capable of handling all of this as well as he has." Her hands paused over an organza shawl. "He does not even like caterpillars," she added quietly.
"He's not handled it as well as you think," Mally giggled, covering her mouth with her paw. "The need for smelling salts arose."
"Smelling salts?" Alice inquired.
"You sent for tea?" Mally asked, poking at one of the dresses Hatter had made Alice in such a way that she was tempted to lift it up out of the Dormouse's reach.
"Yes, I requested that Hamish be brought tea."
"A fish butler brought it to him on a silver platter. Your Hamish fainted," Mally explained with another giggle.
Alice let the possessive go this time.
Mally hopped onto the new stack of items Alice had created. "I suspect too much in life has been brought to him on a silver platter."
"I imagine that's true," she agreed.
Mally grasped the ruffled edge of the collar on the dress Alice just had folded for packing. It was another of Hatter's creations. It made Alice nervous to watch Mally inspecting these items, although she could not rationalize why that might be.
"Your men Above are not made of particularly strong stuff," Mally said with a shake of her head. "I wouldn't be overly fond of them if I were you."
"I never said I was," Alice pointed out. "Is he all right?"
"He was after Mirana brought him smelling salts." Mally bent over and peered at a button that seemed to interest her. "He's been savin' this one for years. I used to be the Button Sorter, so I should know." She straightened up and narrowed her eyes at Alice, "I'm surprised, when he bestows his best buttons on you, that you're still willing to throw our Hatta over without so much as a day's consideration."
"I'm not throwing anyone over, but I must away. There is very little Time to waste." Her mother was dead.
"There never is, you know," Mally said a little sadly. "He doesn't like to be wasted one bit, the Alice."
Alice held out her hand and the Dormouse climbed in it, despite her seeming disappointment in Alice.
"I don't know how long I will be gone," Alice said calmly. She was not sure that she would ever be coming back, but she could not confess it. She needed space to Think and make her Decision, to Choose if the choice was still hers to make. "I will need your help with something."
"If I can endeavor to be of assistance, the Alice, I am at your service."
"Amuse him." She did not need to qualify Him to Mally: the Dormouse of all creatures would know. "Keep his mind off things. He is not himself." She hoped very much that he was not himself. She wanted to blame the Badness for what had happened. The thought that Hatter was not quite himself was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind, because he was supposed to love her. There were things she needed from him, but he was not able to provide them, because he was not quite himself.
"If his mind is off Things, what do you imagine it should be on?" Mally asked, scratching behind one large ear.
Alice almost smiled, "I can't fathom what to think about myself, Mally. The pair of you will have to work it out alone."
"Hatta doesn't like to be alone," Mally murmured.
"He shan't be with you."
Mally sighed, "True enough, but I won't be the one he'll be wantin'."
"We don't always get what we want."
She wanted her mother to be alive and well, and that was never going to happen. Her practice of believing in impossible things had failed to bring her father back, so she had no hope that it would accomplish it with her mother. No, what we want is sometimes forever out of reach.
…
Tarrant suspected that Alice had allowed him to take her against the door because in her own sadness, she had needed comfort, she had needed him. Instead, he had selfishly made a bid to keep her with him. The lass had lost her mother, and he had completely failed her.
In his impotent rage, he wanted to seek out the Outlander with whom he had found Alice in an embrace. He stormed down the halls of Marmoreal, his jaw locked tightly. Was the no good, glitish bastard still lingering in Alice's bedchamber, he angrily wondered?[1] Had Alice sought solace in his arms?
"Hatta!" a squeaky voice called to him.
He stopped momentarily in his forward progress and looked to the ground. Mally waved up at him.
"Have you seen the Alice's Hamish?" she asked, paws on hips.
He swallowed thickly around the pronouncement of the Outlander belonging to Alice. He assumed it himself, but he did not like hearing it said by someone else.
She continued a little peevishly, "Another Otherlander in Underland. Are we to be invaded by the whole spiritless bunch?"
"A'v seen him," he answered flatly.
"I don't like the looks of him. Looks a bit peelie-wallie," Mally announced, thumbing her nose.[2]
"Undoubtedly. A'm leukin' for him nou."
"Are you goin' to stick him?" Mally asked gleefully. "Are you goin' to tell him to leave the Alice alone?"
He had not exactly planned what he was going to do or say. "That depends on whither Ah can find him," Hatter said impatiently.
Mally smiled broadly. "I can help you with that, Hatta! The Queen has removed him to her personal suite of rooms. For safe keepin'," she added with a snigger.
Tarrant nodded his thanks and proceeded towards Mirana's rooms, hoping that the Queen would not be there herself. He intended on speaking with this Otherlander—man to man—without any interference. As he approached the entrance to the Queen's rooms, however, he saw a Pawn standing guard rather ominously. He would need to think fast.
"Excuse me, kind Sir," he lisped. "I've come to take measurements, so that the Otherlander may be hatted with all swiftness." He proved himself by pulling a measuring tape ribbon from his pocket, which happened to be tucked away there for emergencies.
The Pawn stood stock still for just a moment before stepping to the side. This was not the first time that Tarrant thanked Mother Underland for the talents that had allowed him to become the Royal Hatter. Despite his madness, very few people at court thought to question the Queen's personal hatter.
Stuffing the tape away, he grabbed for the door and marched inside, all the while feeling the Badness grow bolder at the presumed closeness of his Rival. "Hamish Ascot!" he called, as the door closed behind him. The way he pronounced 'Ascot,' it sounded like a profanity, but as far as he was concerned, it was.
He stood in the first room, arms crossed, waiting for the Otherlander to appear. He did not have long to wait: the man came through the door from the adjoining room, tugging at his shirt cuffs as he entered the room.
"Sir?" Hamish inquired, looking him up and down.
"Hamish Ascot," Tarrant repeated.
"Yes," he replied with a stiff smile. "You're the gentleman that…" Hamish trailed off, as he approached and stuck out his hand.
Tarrant looked down at the extended hand and sneered, "Wha are ye, Sir?"
Hamish withdrew his proffered hand. "You seem to be appraised of my name, so I reckon you mean something rather different by your question," he replied a little haughtily.
"Aye, Ah mean tae say, wha are ye, Sir? Wha are ye tae Alice?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes.
"Miss Kingsleigh is a friend of mine, Sir. She is in the employ of my family's company, and we have known each other since we were children. Who are you to Miss Kingsleigh?" Hamish said, arching his brows and looking down his nose at Tarrant.
Tarrant chuckled and shook his head, "A'v kenned Alice sin she wis a wee bairn. Ye canna lick me in years kenning the lass. Nor can ye in intimacy." This Hamish may have had his arms around Alice, but Tarrant could enumerate endlessly the things he had enjoyed doing with Alice.
"I wasn't aware that it was a competition."
Tarrant took a step towards the Otherlander. "It isna. Na competeetion: Alice is mine." He was completely unsure of that fact, but he would not let that uncertainty show with this man, who would take Alice from him.
Hamish blinked his eyes quickly. "As far as I know, Sir, your claim is no better than mine. In fact, I am fairly certain that Miss Kingsleigh would not take kindly to being claimed by anyone."
Tarrant curled his lip in a silent snarl. He did not like the peelie-wallie lad being correct about anything, but he undoubtedly was in this case. He was not willing to admit it, however. "Ah assuire ye by aw rights the lassie is mine."
"I sincerely doubt that, Mister…?"
"Hightopp. Tarrant Hightopp, Hatter to the Queen."
"Hatter?" he replied, looking him up and down once more. "Alice has never mentioned you," Hamish informed him coolly.
And yet, Tarrant knew all about Hamish Ascot, the young man Alice had left kneeling in front of a crowd of people gathered to celebrate an engagement that was not to be. If he did not know this fact, the matter of his being Unknown to Hamish might trouble him more. He grinned. "Ah knaw 'at Alice didna want tae mairy ye." In that respect they were equals.
Hamish drew up to his maximum height, and Tarrant could not help but be pleased to see a flush spread from his neck up his pallid face.
"Keep mynd o that whan ye gae tae London wi her," he stated. "'n A'll thank ye tae keep yer fyle haunds aff her."[3]
"Believe me, Sir, I have Miss Kingsleigh's best interests at heart. I have not forgotten that her mother has recently…" the Otherlander seemingly could not find the words.
Tarrant wanted to feel abashed. He wanted to agree with this Hamish Ascot that what truly mattered was his Alice's mother's death, for he knew that to be the Truth. But, he could not swim above the hate, fear, and jealousy. He was drowning in the Badness.
"And as to any impropriety, I am highly offended at the intimation that I would ever!" Hamish huffed, stuttered, flushed an even darker shade of red, and then began to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves once more.
"Ah…care aboot Alice," Tarrant managed to say through gritted teeth.
The Otherlander shifted on his feet and lowered his gaze to the floor, as if his expression of feeling had made Hamish more uncomfortable than his barely contained aggression ever could.
"Ah worry whan she is Abuin," he finished, dropping his hands to his sides, where they clenched and unclenched spasmodically.[4] "Ah dinna believe 'tis Mey ony mair," he murmured.
"Excuse me?" the Otherlander inquired.
No, it was no longer May. It must be June. He mumbled to himself:
"June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I
Wait too, with June."[5]
He would have to wait, whether he liked June or not. May had been fleeting.
Hamish cleared his throat, "You need not worry, Mr. Hightopp."
"Aye," Tarrant said, taking a step backward away from the man he had briefly considered throttling. Alice was not his to keep or protect. She was leaving. With Hamish Ascot.
…
Tarrant sat on his bed, his shoulders slumped forward. Unless he killed the Otherlander, he had no Idea what he could do to prevent Alice from leaving. But, he had a feeling that Alice would not look kindly on the slaying of Hamish Ascot. He had already done everything he could.
He vaguely registered the sound of the doorknob speaking with someone outside in the hallway. He even heard a businesslike knock, but he remained unmoving on the bed. The door opened swiftly. He could see in his peripheral vision that Alice had sought him out. It seemed an illogical thing for her to do.
"I'm leaving this evening. I'm going Above," she informed him from the doorway. Her tone of voice was calm and matter-of-fact.
Did she not want to yell at him?
"I believe we have already established that," he lisped, refusing to look her way.
"Very well," she said, reaching for the door. "That's all I came to say."
He jumped to his feet, as they acted independently of his mind, which was urging him to Stay Put and maintain his Pride. His feet seemed to be listening to his Heart instead.
"Don't go with him!" he called to her. "I love you."
Alice froze. She stood starkly outlined against the white of Marmoreal's walls in the dark plum dress she had worn the last time she had come through the glass. She had put aside the dress of his making. She was already half gone already.
"You have a very unusual manner of showing that." She swallowed. "Besides, this isn't about Hamish. My mother is dead, Tarrant," she stated, still stiffly composed.
There was no betrayal of emotion. The lack was making his skin crawl.
"I have to go," she finished.
"For her…funeral?" he asked. Just the funeral, he wanted to add? What he wanted to ask, but he was trying not to say was: are you coming back? It was a slurvish question, and he might not like the answer.
"Yes. My sister needs me. Arrangements need to be made."
"Alice, I'm sorry…I'm sorry about your mother." Was this really the first time he had told her that? He truly was slurvish. He was a Creature of Loss and should be able to share in hers. Why could he not set aside his Need for her and be the Man she needed him to be?
He wanted to go to her, throw his arms around her, and murmur his heartfelt condolences against her lips, but her unbending composure urged him to stay back. He had presumably lost his right to console her in such a manner.
"I know what it is like…" he began, but she cut him off.
"I imagine you do. Thank you," she said briskly. "I'm leaving almost directly," she said, when he failed to speak in the brief moment of silence between her words.
"Can I apologize for…something else?" he asked, his voice breaking. If she was going away for good, he wanted her to know that he understood: what he had done was wrong. It had been dastardly of him to destroy her trust in him.
"No, I'd rather we didn't talk about it," she responded coolly.
"Alice…"
"I said, 'no,'" Alice said, turning towards the door.
Tarrant could not let her walk away. His heart was beginning to pound at the sight of her moving to leave him. He had already done Everything he could, but perhaps she was not fully aware of that, perhaps she was still Innocent after all.
His words tumbled forth: "What will we do if you are with child?" This question had been asked once before, but now the risk, the threat, the possibility was tangibly Real. The prospect should inspire not Hope but Shame at his actions. He was confused and not feeling wholly himself, however.
She paused, before turning on her heel, readdressing him. "You once said I was more fairy than I knew."
Fairies? Alice wanted to talk about fairies? Her strangely collected behavior and disconnected questions made him wonder if the lass was unhinged by the loss of her mother or his rough treatment of her or his destruction of her trust—or from all of it. If he was not himself, who was Alice at this terrible juncture? The guilt on his tongue was as bitter as snell fruit.[6]
"Yes, I did say that. I fancied you to be something special from elsewhere."
"I think perhaps you were right in some ways. I think perhaps we are like Aherne and Malmuira. Except for one important difference," she said, her voice finally rising.
"What difference?" he quietly asked.
"You have taken my choice away. Aherne let Malmuira choose whether she wanted to go back to her world or not. He. Let. Her. Choose, my dear Hatter."
Tarrant felt tears begin to sting his eyes. He reached out to her with shaking hands, but she shook her head sharply.
"So, what will we do if I am with child?" she spat. "Why, you have assured me that a man knows how to ensure that won't be the case." She paused, and when she began again, her voice was infused with that creepily calm edge once more: "I won't be tricked into staying." Her lips formed into a tight smile, "No matter the outcome, you needn't be concerned: I make my own path."
[1] glit – slime (Sc)
[2] peelie-wallie – sickly, feeble, pallid, delicate (Sc)
[3] fyle – foul, dirty (Sc)
[4] abuin – above (Sc)
[5] "In Fountain Court" is a poem by Arthur Symons, a British poet that was active from 1884 until 1909, when he suffered a psychotic break. The poem in its entirety is:
"The fountain murmuring of sleep,
A drowsy tune;
The flickering green of leaves that keep
The light of June;
Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,
The peace of June.
A waiting ghost, in the blue sky,
The white curved moon;
June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I
Wait too, with June;
Come, through the lingering afternoon,
Soon, love, come soon."
[6] snell – bitter (Sc); snell fruit is an Underland fruit which is purple in color, smooth, oblong, and notably bitter.
