Chapter 19: Hamish
Hamish can imagine only a handful of reasons why Tarrant Hightopp would be compelled to leave Alice's side (and with great and grumpy reluctance at that). He imagines that the man paces the hall whenever the nurse is tending to her. He imagines that the man's eyes sometimes flash yellow with worry, fear, and irritation. The images are so vivid that Hamish nearly trips over his own feet on the threshold of Doctor Wellington's office upon his arrival for a midday visit to check on Alice's condition. He blinks at the sight of Tarrant Hightopp sedately enduring an examination of his unwrapped hands.
"This is a nasty gash," the doctor informs him, neatly applying stitches to the man's thumb.
"Hat pins can be very dangerous," the Hatter agrees.
Hamish dithers in the hall, still gawking, for a moment longer. In that moment, however, he notices the way the Hatter's other hand seems to alternately knead the air and tap his fingers against some invisible surface. He focuses on watching the doctor's progress, however, as if learning an addition to his craft.
"You sew rather competently despite your lack of experience in haberdashery," the Hatter remarks in a tone that's just a bit tight with stress.
"Thank you," Doctor Wellington replies pleasantly.
Hamish gapes at the surreal moment. Never mind that most men would have been intimidated and disturbed by the Hatter's strangeness (Doctor Wellington clearly appears to be acclimated to all sorts of individuals… perhaps due to the plying of his trade in distant lands) what Hamish cannot fathom is Tarrant Hightopp's relative calm.
But, just then, above the office itself, a board creaks. Hightopp's gaze snaps upward and his lips compress as he listens to the goings-on in Alice's room just over his head.
"Missus Mallory will be finished presently," the doctor says in a patient tone.
"Lately," the Hatter brusquely corrects the man. "As it is now presently and she has not yet finished assisting Alice."
"Of course."
Still debating whether or not to announce himself, Hamish glances about the room and frowns as he spies a tangle of bloody bandages in the bin beside Hightopp's foot. They'd clearly been cut off of the Hatter's hand. What puzzles Hamish is he's sure that the abundance of blood thereon cannot possibly be Alice's. For one thing, the blood is bright red rather than dark with the passage of time. And, for another, there doesn't appear to be any of it on the outside of the wrappings, which means—
"Are you bleeding, Hightopp?" Hamish barks rudely, his astonishment overcoming both his manners and slightly upset stomach.
The doctor doesn't even look up from his task. "He did and quite profusely. I haven't seen the like in years."
The Hatter, in his own defense, retorts, "My heart was pounding!"
While Doctor Wellington might not be able to suss out the significance of that, Hamish feels as if it makes a rather odd sort of sense. The more pertinent point, however, is that the man's heart is clearly beating again, which must mean that it is no longer broken!
Hamish steps into the room and lowers his voice: "Does Alice know? About your… hands?"
Tarrant Hightopp glances up through his shaggy brows and nearly whispers, "No. No, it happened just before she…"
When the man trails off, Hamish doesn't insist on a full explanation. "How—?" he unthinkingly asks.
Before he can tell the Hatter to never mind, the man says nonsensically, "She answered the riddle."
Hamish parrots, "A riddle?"
Surely a mere riddle cannot be a true obstacle to the healing of a broken heart! And yet, the Hatter hails from a place which permits hearts to literally break. Perhaps, in context, this does make perfect sense. Still, it's no sense that Hamish can comprehend.
"No, no," the Hatter replies shortly. "The riddle. Our riddle."
Hamish admits to himself that he is undeniably curious about this riddle, but bites his tongue rather than ask. Contenting himself with this evidence that the man's heart beats once again, that Alice may yet be given the love she deserves, Hamish lets the matter drop.
"Congratulations, Hightopp," he offers instead.
The Hatter quirks a grin at him. "Thank you."
"There!" the doctor concludes with a satisfied sigh. "All stitched up."
"If I might impose upon your hospital and hospitality for a second set of bandage-wear?" the Hatter requests humbly.
"Of course," Doctor Wellington replies, fetching a bundle of clean wrappings from the shelf and measuring out half an arm's length. "Do you need assistance with wrapping your hands? I'd like to look in on your wife now."
"I'll assist," Hamish offers, noticing the way the doctor holds out a hand to keep the Hatter from lunging out of his seat.
"Make sure he eats," Doctor Wellington adds, nodding toward a tray upon the desk.
The Hatter gives the meal a disinterested glance. Hamish feels a scowl of determination pull his brows together and pinch his mouth. "Oh, he'll eat."
The doctor doesn't see the Hatter petulantly roll his eyes in response to Hamish's declaration. Doctor Wellington departs the office and trudges noisily up the stairs to see to his other patient.
"Give me your dominant hand, Hightopp," Hamish instructs.
Indifferently, the Hatter complies.
For a moment, the silence is slightly strained as their respective worries pull them into their own thoughts. Hamish wraps the hospital linen around the Hatter's just-stitched thumb and, rather than asking him if he's in pain, inquires instead, "How is Alice?"
"Feverish," the man replies. "For the first of possibly several days."
"Yes, fevers can linger that long," Hamish remarks, frowning.
"She's alone in her fever. Wherever it is her mind takes her, I cannot follow." The man scowls mightily at this, as if he is a soldier abandoned by his commander.
"You're to be her anchor now," Hamish replies. "Lest she confuses the waking world with her dreams."
The Hatter giggles softly. "Alice is very stubborn about dreaming. We've had a discussion on the subject once before."
Unsure if he'd like the particulars on that, Hamish finishes off the wrapping and nudges the man's shoulder. "Eat while I wrap the other hand."
With a sigh, the Hatter complies, spooning great bites of shepherd's pie into his mouth. Hamish doubts the man even tastes it, given how hastily he swallows it down.
"What became of Iracebeth?" Hamish asks, honestly curious.
The Hatter sets his spoon down with a grimace at the remaining bites of pie upon the dish. "I woke the pigeons in the aviary and asked them to deliver a message to Marmoreal at dawn. The White Queen has likely already sent the army to collect her sister's body."
"Her sister?" Hamish gasps, horrified. He falters midway through dressing the Hatter's left hand.
The Hatter blinks at him. "Oh yes. Mirana of Marmoreal banished her to the Outlands with Stayne for their crimes against Underland."
Hamish remains stock-still, mind racing. Dear God, he'd shot and killed Mirana's sister!
A moment – or an hour – later, he startles when the Hatter's hand clamps down on his shoulder.
"I didn't tell her it was you. I wrote only that she'd trespassed and injured Alice."
"But… how can that be enough?" Surely, he'll be called before the White Queen to answer for the death of her sister. Surely, he has lost all regard in her eyes.
"It's enough," the Hatter informs him in a tone that allows for no argument.
Hamish hopes he's right. Still… "I didn't want to kill her. I just wanted…"
The Hatter nods. "There were a great many people whom she killed. They didn't want to die. The Bloody Red Queen – she had a way o' makin' ye do tha' which ye didnae wan'teh: dyin'… killin'… Th' White Queen understands tha'."
Unable to utter a reply, Hamish nods. He's not sure if he can accept this as truth in place of Mirana's verdict, but – in the meantime – he will try.
In any case, the sound of footsteps leaving Alice's room upstairs and descending to the ground floor forestall further discussion. The Hatter stands eagerly and strides to the office doorway.
"She's asking for you, sir," Missus Mallory says.
Tarrant Hightopp heads for the stairs without a single glance back. Hamish, rather than being put off, is heartened by the man's dedication to Alice. He shares a few words with Missus Mallory and then departs to get on with the business of the day at the company office near the wharf.
Over the course of the next few days, Hamish has many more occasions to observe the Hatter's single-minded devotion to his Alice. When Hamish arrives the evening after next, he notes that the doctor is currently with a patient so Hamish heads upstairs to see how Alice is faring. What he hears as he pauses in the hall outside her room, however—!
"Please, Tarrant, no more Pishalver. The children don't like it when I'm so small."
"The children, Alice?" Tarrant Hightopp whispers, frightened.
"Yes," Alice replies in a listless, dreamy tone that Hamish has never heard from her before. "Diana loves to wear her daddy's top hat and twirl. It's the sash, you know. Salmon is her favorite color this week. And Edan, the little monkey. He clings to your legs and tickles you behind your knees just to hear you laugh, but he doesn't realize yet that you're already laughing, always laughing. And then there's Amelia with her sticky hands. I'm sorry she makes so many messes, Tarrant, but now that she's walking…"
"Ye've seen auwr children, Alice?" This time, Hamish thinks he hears tears in the man's choked voice.
Alice sighs. "It's so hard to hold onto them. The moment I reach out they disappear. Why do you think that is? Do they have evaporation skills?"
"I don't know, Alice… my Alice…"
Hamish does not intrude. Instead, he retreats down the stairs and waits for the doctor to be available. When he is, Hamish hurriedly addresses the issue he'd overheard upstairs. "However much morphine Alice has had," he says in a terse tone, "is far too much. Let her have the pain. She'd prefer it to being lost in her own mind."
Doctor Wellington frowns. "Her husband hasn't mentioned anything to me about hallucinations."
He wouldn't, of course. Not if he thought doing so might impede Alice's recovery. "Sometimes, a man can be too accommodating of his wife," Hamish replies diplomatically.
"Ah. We'll decrease the dosage then and see how she does."
"Has the fever abated?"
"A bit."
A bit. It isn't much progress, but it is welcome nonetheless. With a nod of thanks, Hamish mounts the stairs once more. Now that Alice's needs have been taken care of, he feels inexplicably responsible for his other guest's wellbeing.
"Hightopp," Hamish calls quietly upon peeking into the room and finding Alice asleep and her would-be husband clutching her hand tightly, bowed over it as if in prayer. "Hightopp," he says again, a bit louder this time.
The man's shoulders rise and fall with a deep, tired sigh. "Whot?"
"Come out here. I need a word."
"You've already had one," the Hatter rebukes him, but he places Alice's hand upon the quilt and stands nonetheless.
Hearing Missus Mallory's shoes upon the stairs, ascending toward Alice's room, Hamish guides the Hatter into the doctor's private study down and across the hallway.
"Here," Hamish says, offering the man yet another handkerchief. "There's a wash stand just there."
Glumly, the hatless man trudges over to it. He glares blearily at his own reflection of blotchy cheeks and reddened, puffy eyes in the small mirror on the wall before pouring a measure of water from the pitcher into the basin and splashing liberally in it.
Once finished, however, Tarrant Hightopp doesn't move from the wash stand. He braces himself against it and says to the water in the ceramic bowl, "I'm in need of new bandages."
"Surely you don't need them on so many fingers now," Hamish replies, recalling that his wounds had been treated two afternoons before.
"I do. Alice wouldn't know her hatter without them."
It's a sobering thing to contemplate: this man has carried the same wounds for as long as Alice has known him. Perhaps longer.
There is nothing Hamish can do to address that issue. Rather than dwell on it, he continues down his checklist regarding the health of his "guests" in Hong Kong. "Are you sleeping at all, Hightopp?"
The man grouches in reply, "D'ye think I'd be sae pale if'n I were?"
Indeed, with his heart now beating, he ought to have a bit more color. Still… "Yes," Hamish replies. "For all I know you're pale with worry."
One corner of the Hatter's mouth twitches upward in a helpless grin. "Aye, thar's tha'."
"You need rest – a proper rest," Hamish lectures. He briefly considers inviting the man to stay at his home down the street, but discards the idea; Tarrant Hightopp would never agree to put so much distance (short though it is) between himself and his injured Alice. "I'll speak to Doctor Wellington about accommodating you on a sofa or—"
"I'll no' tolerate bein' apart from her," the Hatter replies, his lip curling with distaste and his eyes flashing. "I'm her anchor."
Blast. Hamish bites back several other choice examples of coarse language as his own words to the man make a highly unpleasant about-face. "You're useless to her as you are now," he rejoinders. "What's more, Alice is not even thinking clearly thanks to the fever and the morphine. She is out of her mind! When this passes – and it will—" Hamish is sure of this as Alice's fever has not reached a critical level as of yet. "She will not even remember a single word she has spoken to you. Not today nor any other day over the course of her illness. She won't even remember you sitting with her at all hours."
"Mayhap she's mae anchor," the Hatter replies softly, stubbornly.
Hamish sighs. Yes, the man is being obstinate, but Hamish knows how startling new places can be, especially when a man is not given the chance to gain his equilibrium. "Mister Hightopp," Hamish says as kindly as he can despite the fact that his next words are an order, "Alice requires two things of you: that you rest and that you eat. If you do not replenish your strength, you will cause her needless distress when she is herself once again."
When the man releases a long sigh, when he hangs his head and leans heavily upon the wash stand, Hamish relishes the scent of victory. At long, bloody last, someone is being reasonable!
"Fine," the Hatter bites out. "But I am not leaving her side."
"What will you do, then? Camp on the floor beside her bed like an outdoorsman?"
"Yes," the Hatter answers brightly. "A marvelous solution. Between the rug and the chair, I'll be fine."
Hamish gives up. Truly, you can lead a horse to water but you cannot make the blasted creature drink.
The Hatter continues, "And you're wrong about Alice's unclear thinking and her not-Alice-ness; she is very clearly and absolutely Alice. She is simply elsewhere."
"Be that as it may," Hamish replies, not bothering to argue with such stubbornness (he'd learned that much from dealing with Alice herself!), "I don't envy you when she finally comes round; she'll be livid to discover that she's lost three entire days." And possibly more yet to come…
The Hatter's green eyes flash upward and his slightly-dark lips curl into a rueful smile. "Aye. Ye're righ' abou' tha'."
Hamish is sure he is. And, what's more, she'll be doubly irritated to learn that she'd been oblivious to the Hatter's unwavering presence throughout that time. An irritated Alice, Hamish knows, is a surly, cantankerous Alice. He, therefore, makes a note not to be in the vicinity when the realization of lost time and missed Hatter occurs to her.
NOTES:
+ Yet again, the riddle of the raven and the writing desk is significant in my AiW fic. In this case, it is the cure for his broken heart. No wonder he keeps asking Alice to solve this very riddle in the film! I'm on to you, Woolverton (the scriptwriter) & Burton!
+ "Alice is very stubborn about dreaming. We've had a discussion on the subject once before" is in reference to the balcony scene in the film. (Although I guess they also talked about it in this fic, in the opening scene on the battlefield.)
+ So, I was walking around town and I thought to myself, "Hm, let's name Alice and Tarrant's son 'Edan'… I dunno what it means or if it's even Gaelic, but it sounds cool." Guys, GUYS, I just checked and not only is "Edan" Gaelic/Celtic, it also means "fire." (Whereas "Tarrant" means "thunder.") OMG, I'm feeling kinda psychic over here…!