Chapter 7: Hamish

"Hamish, it's so good of you to come. Please, sit down."

Around the knot in his throat, Hamish coughs out, "Thank you, Madam Kingsleigh."

"Tea?"

He nods and tries not to stare at his hostess who had so kindly and readily received him. He feels his conscience sting from shame. Ever since Alice's inexplicable disappearance and Hamish's visit with her in that impossible realm with its talking beasts and automatons, it has become increasingly difficult for him to avoid the very real fact that Alice had left people behind here in London. People who, presumably, have not been given the opportunity to visit with Alice as he has. His most recent foray into that odd world had pushed him down this street and up the steps of the Kingsleigh residence. He owes it to Helen Kingsleigh to try to ease her mind if at all possible.

According to Hamish's mother, Madam Kingsleigh has been making excuses for Alice for the last three fortnights, but he can only imagine the strain she must be under, how concerned she must be for her daughter's safety and wellbeing. Hamish briefly toys with the idea of sharing his inexplicable experiences with her, but no. No, nothing good would come from sharing those… episodes. However, he had been standing right next to the woman when Alice had disappeared. She does not have to pretend with him. Surely that amounts to something.

"How are you, Madam?" he asks, accepting the cup of earl grey with lemon.

She glances toward the window and squints into the weak sunlight which filters into the room through the lace draperies. "As well as can be expected considering…"

When her voice trails off, Hamish wrestles for something comforting to say, but he dithers too long.

Drawing a deep breath, Helen Kingsleigh asks, "Did she really…? There in the hall, did Alice really…?"

Hamish winces as the woman's voice breaks in the midst of uttering Alice's name. He nods woefully. "Yes, she disappeared right before our eyes."

"I still can't believe it. Every morning, I go to her room expecting to see her talking to her reflection in the looking glass or writing in her diary or humming some oddment of tune but there's… no one. Only silence."

"It's enough to drive one mad," Hamish hears himself contribute.

Helen blinks at him, her expression shuttering. "Do you think I am?"

"Please do not take offense, Madam Kingsleigh. I meant only—"

"No, no, it's all right. Charles would have encouraged it, I think. Madness." Regarding the place setting, she remarks, "It's a pity he's not here to see it."

Neither is Alice, Hamish thinks and presses his lips together tightly so that he does not inadvertently speak it.

"How is it I've lost half of my family in so short a time?" she whispers softly.

Unsure if she'd meant for him to hear, Hamish elects to take a noisy sip of tea.

"I've hired a runner from Bow Street," she informs him, a steely note in her tone.

Hamish blinks. "What did you tell him about the nature of her disappearance?"

"What I thought he would believe: my fanciful and rebellious daughter has perhaps played an elaborate trick on us all, an illusion. He's looking into establishments which hire magicians and other such entertainers. Perhaps they've seen a girl who looks like…"

"A very sound idea. I suppose it's too soon to hear definitively one way or the other?"

Something in his tone must have reached through Helen's grief and confusion. She looks up suddenly, her gaze moving over him appraisingly. "Perhaps… I'm not the only one concerned about Alice, Hamish?"

Setting down his cup, he rubs a hand over his face and slouches unforgivably in his chair. "Sometimes," he whispers, horrified that he's truly admitting to this, "I think I see her, hear her. Her presence is so strong and I…"

Helen sniffs tellingly, while reaching discretely for her handkerchief. "I know. She seems just around the corner."

"Or on the other side of the looking glass," he mutters, weary to the bone from all the strangeness and uncertainty.

"Yes. Sometimes I think I see her looking back at me."

"We shall find answers, Madam," Hamish swears rashly.

Helen nods, her throat working and eyes glistening. "Yes, we… Yes, I believe—" Hamish flinches when her voice cracks, halving the word. With a flutter of fabric, she clumsily retrieves her napkin from her lap and nearly upsets the tea service in her haste to gain her feet. "Please excuse me for a moment, Hamish," she whispers in a rush.

He stands as she strides from the room, her handkerchief already being pressed alternately to one eye and then the other. He thinks he hears a single sniffle and the sound of it wrenches open a wound in his conscience. He should not have spoken so rashly. Perhaps he should not have come here at all. In fact, he—

Sniff-sniff…

Hamish frowns and glances at the doorway as a set of sniffles invade the room. No one is crying in the doorway, however. And when he steps forward to investigate the hall, he finds that, too, is empty. Puzzled, he turns back to the room and follows the sound of someone sobbing softly until he is standing beside a wardrobe. Both doors are closed and he tells himself that they ought to remain so. Why, if this is another one of his wholly inappropriate episodes he doesn't want to encourage it!

"Alice?" a small, soft voice says.

"You heard." Sniffle. "Through the door."

"Aye. I'm so sorry, Alice. We both thought…"

"We?" Alice prompts, alarm entering her tone.

"Th' queen an' I," her companion says. "We coul' both see tha' th'Atter was fond o' yah. An' we 'oped he woul'…"

Alice's bubble of laughter is cruel and it makes Hamish flinch. "Love me back?" she supplies with such mockery in her tone that Hamish wishes the Hatter were standing before him this very instant so he could kill that bloody mad orange rotter with his bare hands!

"I'm so sorry, Alice," her companion repeats, clearly at a loss for words.

"So am I, Mally. So am I."

Alice's companion – Mally – sighs expressively. "Wha'll yah do now?"

There's a long, hushed moment. Hamish recognizes it. Once or twice, he'd come upon a thoughtful Alice and the silence had sounded precisely like this.

"Repairs," she says softly but with a thread of determination in her voice. "I've a cobbler to see about a broken sole."

Her words are utterly mad and nonsensical, but Hamish can't help but ache at the pain in her voice. He reaches for the latch on the wardrobe door, wondering if he dares open it and climb inside so that he might join Alice wherever she is and—

And what? Offer her a handkerchief? His shoulder?

He pauses, considering that.

Yes, he decides. He would like to offer her that much. They are friends after all.

He grips the wardrobe latch with purpose, his expression drawing into a frown of determination and then—

The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes him jump. He drops his hand as if the metal handle on the door had burned him. A mere moment later, his hostess reenters the room.

"I'm terribly sorry for that display, Hamish," Madam Kingsleigh says, meeting his gaze with dry – if slightly reddened – eyes.

Hamish straightens away from the wardrobe and hastens to the table to hold out her chair for her, his mind racing and chest aching in response to what he'd heard. Or rather, in response to what he believes he'd heard. Perhaps it is a kindness, then, that Alice's mother has not been given these glimpses into her daughter's new life. It goes without saying that he must not mention these things he sees and hears to her. She would think him mad – which, perhaps, he is – and accuse him of being vicious and cruel, preying upon her uncertainties in such a way.

Yes, it is best to keep what he thinks he may know of Alice's whereabouts and wellbeing a secret. Besides which, he cannot imagine Mrs. Kingsleigh welcoming the news that her daughter's affections had just been spurred by a mad hatter.

As Hamish retakes his seat with forced composure, Helen offers him more tea which he declines.

She takes a sip from her own cup and then, squaring her shoulders, begins their visit anew. "Now, Hamish. I've heard from your mother that you've taken a very active interest in the trading company. I believe she mentioned an excursion to China?"

Hamish nods. The reminder of Alice's legacy and her heartache makes his own heart twist – wringing itself – within his chest. "But the implementation of that enterprise may be some time off in the future yet," he replies.

As Helen seems to relax – no doubt glad of his continued presence in town, glad that there is one other person with whom she can confide – Hamish tries not to think of the arrangements he'd made at the wharf offices which had been confirmed with the delivery of yesterday's post. He'll be aboard and the venture will be underway by the end of the month.

Clearing his throat, he puts forth his best effort at a smile and insipid teatime conversation, "Mother's birthday will be upon me soon and I've no notion of what would please her. Any advice you could offer on the subject would be most welcome, Madam Kingsleigh."

NOTES:

+ Sorry for the "Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" reference. I just couldn't resist. Wardrobes = magic.

Next: Chapter 8, Part 1 in which Alice makes a new path...