Rating: T
Chapter Eleven
A few weeks into her time in London, Alice awoke one morning to find evidence on her dressing gown and the sheets, evidence of that which had never been. It should have been an immense relief to her. To be unwed and with child would have meant the end of her in good society. It would have been a fall from which no one could have ever saved her. She would have had little choice but to return to Underland if she wanted to be accepted by anyone.
She recognized this, and yet, she cried. Wrapping her arms about herself, she cried as she had never done over something as simple and predictable as her monthly courses.[1] She wondered at herself, at her baffling outpouring of sadness. It would seem that terrifying as the prospect had been, the idea that she may have been expecting had been an odd kind of comfort. At least her choice would have been made for her.
If she wanted to return to Underland now, she would have to come to that conclusion on her own, not out of necessity.
She missed him. God help her, she missed him.
…
Hamish's superciliousness had been enough to put a stop to any questions from the Manchesters. Alice imagined that her sister had been too distraught and too unimaginative to be bothered by the bland assertions that Hamish had made about Alice's timely arrival in London. Lowell most likely had not cared enough to give it much thought. Lord Ascot, however, was not so easily fooled.
After a few weeks, when Reginald and his wife had finished moving into the Kingsleigh home, Lord Ascot had warmly welcomed Alice into their home, Lady Ascot a good deal more coolly. Margaret had also extended an invitation to her sister, but Hamish had been right: she had no wish to set up residence in her brother-in-law's home. At very least, she would eventually say something about Lowell that Margaret had no wish to hear, and therefore, she was better off at the Ascots, shunning Lady Ascot's company whenever possible.
One morning, however, Alice awoke to find a telegram outside of her bedchamber door. It was a telegraph message for Lord Ascot from Mr. Howard, informing him of Miss Kingsleigh's abrupt disappearance from the Wonder, and it was dated the day after she had returned from Underland. Lord Ascot knew something was afoot. He had known for some time.
That morning at breakfast, she had slid the telegram to him, and he had taken it back without looking at the contents, folding it into his waistcoat. "Perhaps, Miss Kingsleigh, one day you and my son will tell me how it is you came to be here in London on such short notice."
Alice had glanced over at Hamish, who was studiously buttering his toast, and thanked the heavens above that Lady Ascot never rose before ten, for she would have been very displeased to think that her son was connected in any way with the wayward Miss Kingsleigh. She liked to think, however, that Lord Ascot looked rather proud of his son for being involved in the intrigue. Hamish had surprised more than just her in this matter, it would seem.
That had been all. She had been left in peace, allowed to stay indefinitely in one of the Ascot's guestrooms. She smiled to herself: once Lady Ascot had welcomed the connection between Alice and her son, but she could see that the woman now lived in fear of Alice's presence in her home, fearing that Hamish intended to make her another offer despite the girl's original impudent refusal of him. A devilish side of her wanted to tell Lady Ascot that the second offer had already been made before she had ever removed to their home.
No, she would never marry Hamish. Alice knew that. She also knew that she could not stay here with him forever. It would be taking advantage of the good nature of both Lord Ascots, and she could offer nothing in return but her service in their company, which perhaps was not as great a service as she would have liked. This world was not ready for a powerful woman of business. This world was not quite ready for Alice Kingsleigh, and she was not willing to trade her name for his, so as to fit better.
She fit better in Underland. With time and reflection, however, Alice had found her behavior towards the resident first in her affection from that world more than wanting. She had Managed their relationship in any number of ways, including insisting on keeping it an absolute Secret from friends that would have been nothing but happy for her if they had known. She belatedly recognized that his betrayal was not unrelated to her own. Her embarrassment and regret for her own actions now ranked as high as her hurt in keeping her from blithely stepping through the looking glass in Hamish's bedchamber to rejoin her friends Below.
Even if that is what she increasingly wanted to do.
Alice was awoken from her reverie by the sound of a soft feminine voice.
"Miss?" the Ascot's serving maid whispered, sticking her head in Alice's bedchamber.
"Yes?"
The ruddy faced girl took a step into the doorway. "Someone has called on you."
The only person that ever called for her at the Ascots was her sister. "Margaret is here?" she asked, setting aside the book that had been lying open and unread in her lap, as she stared into the fire.
"No, Miss. Not Mrs. Manchester. A gentleman." The maid stood nervously fidgeting with her hands.
"What's wrong? Who is it?"
"I don't know 'im, Miss, but…"
Alice stood. A business client had never called for her here at the Ascots. She was uncertain that Lord Ascot had even informed his colleagues of her presence here. "Well, is he waiting?"
"The young Lord Ascot stopped him from being announced."
"He's gone away then?"
"No," the serving girl lowered her voice, "the pair o' them are causin' quite a row outside."
Alice sighed, "Lord Ascot is causing a row?" She found that hard to believe. Frowning at cold soup was as confrontational as she had ever seen Hamish act.
"Excuse me," she said, as she brushed past the girl. As she marched down the hallway, she heard the heavy entry door slam shut on the floor below. "Hamish," she called down, leaning over the polished banister.
He emerged from the vestibule, his face flushed red, and a shock of his ginger hair falling forward into his face.
"Hamish!" she called once more, hurrying down the stairs. She had never seen Hamish in such a state. Even when he had stepped through the looking glass to a world he had thought could not exist, he had appeared more composed. Perhaps the serving girl was correct: there may have been a scuffle. "Are you hurt?"
"Everything is fine, Alice," he said, pushing his hair back, although it refused to fall as neatly as it generally did.
"You don't look as if everything is fine," she said, reaching the bottom step and approaching him. She refrained from straightening his coat, since she had learned that such friendly gestures made Hamish go completely stiff. "I didn't even know you were home."
"I came home for tea," he said, tugging at his ascot.
Tea: she had refused to have any since she had left Underland, because the thought of tea unsettled her stomach. Or thoughts of things associated with tea…
"And on your way in for tea, you got in a fight on the doorstep with someone who happened to be calling for me?" Alice asked with a slight smirk. "Does that sound right?"
"Who told you that?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Never mind that. Why don't you tell me what's going on?" she said, touching his arm briefly. "Hamish, look at me. You're not acting like yourself. Tell me what's wrong."
Hamish looked over her shoulder at something, remaining silent. Alice glanced back and up the staircase. The serving maid was lingering at the top of the stairs, evidently interested in the goings on below stairs. Hamish's odd behavior was a source of curiosity for more than just Alice. The maid scurried away when Alice's eyes met hers, however.
"You weren't to be bothered," Hamish groused, as Alice gave him her attention once more.
She frowned, "Not to be bothered? How is it a bother? Was it business? I realize I'm in mourning, but if I could be of some use…"[2]
"No, it wasn't business," he mumbled, striding from the main hall and entering the parlor.
Alice followed after him, watching as he threw himself down into a high-backed armchair chair with more petulance than he normally displayed. He huffed, straightening his cuffs.
"When your mother gets home and hears from one of the servants that you were in a scuffle outside, where the whole of London could have seen you, none of us will get any…"
"It wasn't a scuffle," he said, his head snapping up. "The crazy fellow did push me, however," he said, adjusting his neck with an audible pop.
"Pushed you," Alice began. "Crazy fellow?" she repeated. "Who was out there, Hamish? Who came to see me?" She felt as if she was going numb.
Hamish's gaze was firmly fixed on the far wall.
"Hamish Ascot, who was out there?" she demanded, coming within a foot of him. "Don't make me shake you!" She would. She could picture herself shaking him until his head flew off, which she would rather not do, because she imagined she would like a headless Hamish infinitely less than she did Hamish with his head properly attached. She had an aversion to people losing their heads in general!
"Alice, the man is mad. I don't know what you were doing in your Underland and not abroad as you were supposed to be, but I have no doubt that it had to do with that man."
Alice drew in a shuddering breath. "What did he want?" Tarrant. Tarrant had come Above.
"To see you, of course," Hamish said, crossing his arms. "He's fixated on you."
For her. He had come for her. The numbness was spreading from her hands up her arms. "Why did you send him away?" Alice asked, her voice beginning to fail her.
Hamish looked up at her, his face drawing together in concern, "Because, Alice, I'm not going to have him upsetting you."
"Why must you be such a man?" Alice demanded, her voice cracking. If she had not been convinced that the servants were listening, she would have screamed in frustration.
Hamish's jaw worked, "I suppose because I am, Alice."
She stood still for a moment, her mind racing. Given the choice, what did she want? Did she want to see Tarrant? He had left Underland for her. He had been just outside. Yes, she realized, her fingers digging into her black skirts, the only thing she wanted in This World or the Other was Tarrant. She wanted to see him, to touch him. She wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to tell him that she missed him and loved him.
"You have no right to decide who I will or won't see."
"It was kindly meant, Alice," Hamish replied, somewhat chastised.
"Where did he go?" she asked hurriedly.
Hamish had been good to her, he was well intentioned, but he was still very much a man of this world. Alice could not be with a man of this world. There was only one man for her and he was most definitely not of this world. So, yes, of course it was kindly meant, but it must immediately be Undone.
"Where, Hamish!" she demanded, her hands crushing the fabric beneath her fingers.
"You're going after him?" he asked, his brows arched.
"Yes, and you must tell me where he went."
"Left, down the street," Hamish said with a sigh.
Alice turned on her heel and made for the front door, her boots clicking on the marble floor of the entry hall. With every step she was closer to finding Tarrant—that was her hope, at least. She wondered what the magic of Underland could achieve with the both of them Above. Would it help her catch him in time?
She had just reached the vestibule when Hamish caught her arm, pulling her up short. She would have immediately yanked herself free of him if she had not seen a strange, unexpected emotion darting behind his deliberate composure.
"Alice, just because the man cares…doesn't mean you have to...Alice, he has no right to you," he said, searching her eyes for something.
Something she could not return.
"I'm sorry, Hamish." Alice sucked her lower lip, "But, you're wrong about that: he's my husband."
…
Tarrant was not entirely sure how he would return to Underland. He had not thought it through exactly. One needed a looking glass and a focus for one's wishes. When he had stepped through the looking glass Below, he had thought only of Alice, not his return. The current state of things, however, seemingly left him indefinitely trapped Above.
But what was left for him in Underland without Alice?
His thoughts of Alice had brought him to her door or what he had assumed to be her door, until Hamish Ascot approached him and acted extremely…condescending. Hamish had the nerve to tell him that Alice would not be disturbed on account of him. What did he know about how Alice might feel? Who was he to Alice? He had just begun to demand these things of Hamish Ascot, as he had done in Underland, but then he had observed the name on the door plate: Ascot. Alice was not in her home; she was in Hamish Ascot's home. Who Hamish was to Alice suddenly seemed all too clear.
He had given the man a shove for good measure, but then he had stormed off in whatever random direction his shoes would carry him. His shoes were no more acquainted with London than he was, unfortunately, so it was unlikely they would lead him anywhere useful. Nevertheless, what more was there to do than to go wandering vaguely quite of his own accord?[3] Alice had every right to Choose, and she had apparently done the Choosing while he was Below mightily regretting his churlish behavior.
He paused, as he began to notice the people on the street around him frowning and shaking their heads.
Then he heard it: his name.
"Tarrant Hightopp!"
Twice, twice his name called out across these noisome London streets.
Then he felt it: hands on his shoulders, turning him about. As he looked down, be barely dared to keep his eyes open in case it was not whom he desperately wanted it to be.
But it was. It was!
"Alice," he whispered, as she placed her hands on his cheeks.
Alice was flushed and breathing quickly. He was concerned that it was the fault of the dreadful and restrictive gown in which she was mummified. Alice's Mother—not Alice—was dead, but Alice might as well have been in this doleful garb. "You're out of breath."
She pressed her lips to his. Briefly. Too briefly. "I've been running after you."
So briefly that as he watched her move away from him, he wondered if it had truly been a kiss. He would have chased her pink lips to confirm it, but he noticed once more the crowds of people brushing past with disapproving glares marring the masks of their drab faces.
"Alice, everyone is staring at me."
"They're staring at me," she assured him conspiratorially. "I'm being very Improper: I've left my bonnet behind and I am acting most irregularly with you. Ignore them." Her hands slid from his face down his shoulders and the length of his arms to grip his hands in her own. "You shouldn't have come here," she said with a shake of her head.
She was smiling at him, she had kissed him—he believed!—but her words said something different. His arrival had caused trouble. Trouble with Hamish, perhaps.
He was having difficulty breathing with a lump in his throat, but he managed to speak around it to apologize, "I'm sorry." He owed her that much at least. There was a laundry list of things for which he needed to apologize.
"No, I'm glad you came. It's just that you don't belong here. You don't look well."
He glanced down at his coat, which he had purposefully chosen for its dull, dour, dreary qualities, knowing enough about Otherlanders to recognize that this was the sort of suit they would view as Appropriate.
"You don't look yourself," she continued worriedly.
The coat was certainly sorry looking, but without a looking glass, he could neither see himself to evaluate the rest of his appearance nor return to Underland.
"But who am I without you, Alice?" he lisped.
"You don't need me to be Hatter," she said, her voice faltering.
"Yes, but I'm very rarely Tarrant without you nowadays."
She nodded. "I'm hardly Alice."
"I'd know you anywhere," he lisped, just as a gentleman jostled his shoulder and muttered his apologies.
Alice's gaze did not leave his, despite the disruption. "I quite rely on that, for I'm not always sure myself."
He drew breath, preparing to say what he should have said immediately in Underland. "A'm sairy aboot yer Mither, lass. A'm sairy Ah wadna listen tae ye. Ye needit me, an' Ah failt ye." He wanted to pull her to his chest, but he still was uncertain whether such a gesture would be welcome. "A'm sairy A'm a jealous craiture, an' A'm sairy aboot whit Ah daed tae ye, an' A'm sairy Ah tried tae tak yer chyce awa…"
"I'm not…" Alice began, interrupting him as she flushed pink, "not in a family way."
He blinked, his gaze drifting momentarily to her flat abdomen, holding back his hands, which shook with desire for her. He wanted to ask her if she was relieved. But of course she was. He reminded himself that he was relieved, after all. He wanted a family with Alice, but not like that. Not without it being something that they could decide upon together. Not from a moment when he had lost control. He could never do that again with her—lose control. Control yourself, not Alice.
Suddenly it occurred to him that someone might hear Alice speaking about something exceedingly personal, something that should only be discussed between the pair of them, and he was overwhelmed by an urge to protect her and the bairn that wasn't from these marching crowds of people. It was maddening that he had no power in this world, and somehow madness did not feel as normal Above: it sat rather heavily upon his shoulders. "Is there no where we might talk without a crowd in this world?"
"No. There is no place for me…for us in this world."
Us. He swallowed around the lump. Alice lived with Hamish, tucked inside his tall brick house, but she spoke of us in reference to them. "What month is it?" he asked, being made bolder by that one syllable word.
Alice paused, looking down at their clasped hands, "May—your favorite month—as long as you'll forgive me too." She squeezed his hands. "It's hard to tell how you're feeling: your eyes aren't changing color."
He frowned. He could not understand why that would be the case. "I'm feeling…" he trailed off, because of his discomfort with putting into words the sense of loss Alice's departure had created. A rhyme would have been most useful, but all of the rhymes of loss that sprung to mind, such as Little Bo Peep or the Three Little Kittens, were woefully inadequate to express how he felt.[4]
Alice rescued him, speaking again, "Do you forgive me? We were both very selfish. I know that I was selfish for months. I've examined my behavior, and I won't make you keep us a secret and I won't do everything by halves. I'll choose."
"What do you choose?" he asked warily.
"Us, Tarrant. I choose us."
He could not help himself any longer: he pulled her into his chest, and she laughed. She laughed into his chest, and it sounded like a bubbling up of joy and relief. He was feeling the same thing. Alice was in his arms, Alice sounded happy, and he wondered whether she could understand what his heart was trying to tell her though his shirt and coat.
"I missed you," she whispered.
Perchance that was her response to his heart, for it was saying something much the same but ever so much more complicated. "Desperately," he added.
He threaded his hands in her hair, tilting her head back, so that he could press a kiss to her forehead. "I've spoken to Mirana: she is going to do everything in her power to find some way to undo the magic, Alice," he mumbled his promise against her smooth skin. "You'll be free."
Her hands snaked under his coat, pressing into the small of his back. "There's no need: I am free. I want to be with you, and Underland simply knew my choice before I did."
He tapped his foot on the payment, testing to see if it felt squishy as it sometimes did in dreams. Surely everything would turn to fog and Alice would be gone, and he would be alone in his bed, which had never felt so empty until he had known what it was like to have Alice beside him in it and then lack her. The smell of her on his pillow had faded too quickly, leaving him justly alone. He tapped first one foot and then another—completely solid, and Alice was still pressed against him, her arms wrapped tightly about his waist. There because she loved him. His forever? Truly his for all Time?
He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks, warm and soft beneath his calloused fingers. "My Alice."
She nodded in unspoken answer. "Tarrant, dear, you're my husband in every way that counts."
[1] monthly courses - Britishism for menstruation, currently considered slang, but used in British medical dictionaries in the nineteenth century as well.
[2] It would have been inappropriate in Alice's state of mourning for anyone to call upon her. Mourning for a mother lasted a year. Prior to reentering society, society was not to venture to intrude upon the mourner's privacy. The only acceptable thing would be to leave a card of inquiry with the words "To inquire" written on the top of the card.
[3] A. A. Milne's poem, "Disobedience" describes a wayward mother, who disregards her son's directive not to go to the end of town without him and who promptly gets herself lost. A. A. Milne is an English writer best known for his works about Winnie the Pooh. The verse that inspires this line is as follows:
"King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
TO THE END OF THE TOWN -
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!""
[4] "Little Bo Peep" is nursery rhyme that was recorded as early as 1805. The first verse concerning the loss of the sheep is as follows:
"Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
And can't tell where to find them;
Leave them alone, And they'll come home,
Wagging their tails behind them."
"The Three Little Kittens" was first recorded in Eliza Follen's New Nursery Songs for All Good Children (1853), but Follen claimed the verses were traditional. The first verse follows:
"Three little kittens, they lost their mittens,
And they began to cry,
Oh, mother dear, we sadly fear
That we have lost our mittens.
What! Lost your mittens, you naughty kittens!
Then you shall have no pie.
Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.
You shall have no pie."