"There is but one step from the grotesque to the horrible."—The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge
The Adventure of the White Rabbit
A Crossover between Sherlock Holmes and Alice in Wonderland
Chapter 2: The Manner of the Weary
by ArchFaith
"Alice! Alice!" Alice looked up from where she half-reclined, eating the watercress sandwich Mrs. Hudson had made for her. The tree above her, on the grassy patch of earth, shaded her from the sunlight, as well as the rest of the world.
It was a fine day in the city; for once the thick smog did not obscure the noonday sun, and the girls were allowed to eat outside. It had been raining as of late, and everyone welcomed the bright change in weather plans. The exterior of the school glistened with a fresh coat of white paint, and squirrels twittered among the branches of the leafy trees, gathering provisions for the winter. Relatively mild for the second week of December; even through the sky threatened to burst with snow any day now, the girls played outside with their coats unbuttoned; there would be plenty of time to be cold later on.
"Alice!" A girl came trotting up the lane, dressed in the exact same uniform and light winter coat as she. Her short brown hair framed her oval face and offset the freckles on her nose, above her huge liquid brown eyes. This little girl, Alice knew, was named Violet Hunter.
Alice sighed and put down her sandwich as Violet jogged up to her, smiling. "Alice, dear. Come play with us." She stood looking down at Alice with what appeared to be the utmost sincerity, her hands clasped behind her back.
It had been two weeks since Alice had arrived at school. During that time, she had taken no interest in any of the other girls' activities, invitations, or friendliness. Violet surely knew that. So why should she ask now?
Alice looked up questioningly at her. Violet smoothed her hair back and smiled again. "I just thought you might wish to. It's such a remarkable day." She raised one of her hands to indicate the surrounding scenery. The tone of her voice was unpressing and almost carefree.
Alice weighed the various situations she might find herself in if she consented to this girl's request. On one hand, she might find herself among a group of silly idiots, the only intelligent girl within the grounds; on the other, they might surprise her and turn out to quite clever after all. She had never really paid them any heed while they were in class; she only bent her head and completed her own assignments. But really...were they really the sort of little girls she would want to associate with? After all, back in Christchurch...
But ah, here it was, here it was. What if...what if she told them about Wonderland? And what's more...if they believed her?
"Well...I suppose I could, my dear, if you really wished me to," Alice answered, grasping Violet's outstretched hand. "But do you think the other girls would want me to play with them? After all, I have been rather cold to them since I arrived."
"Of course!" Violet grinned toothily. "We all want you to feel welcome here, Alice. Come!"
She led Alice towards a large oak tree that sat squarely in the middle of courtyard, its leaves fluttering under the pleasant breeze. Six or so girls sat under it, opening their steel lunch tins and sharing bites of apple and melon. Alice shyly alighted near Violet, squeezing her hand against the metal handle of her tin.
"Hello, Alice," a chorus of girls greeted, smiling unsurely. They had all noted this strange new girl's demeanor—the way she ignored their own greetings and gestures, the way she never volunteered any information, and the supposedly shadings dealings of her guardian cousin, related to them by their elder sisters and brothers. It had been Violet who suggested that perhaps she was overly shy, or maybe just depressed and confused. Yes, this was the logic, they all reasoned. For who did not want to have friends, to be accepted?
"Hello," Alice replied, surprised by their civility. She would have expected them to ignore her as they had usually learned to do. "It is...a beautiful day out here, isn't it?"
"Yes...it is," a voice answered. This one belonged to Rebecca Saunders, a stout, raven-haired child who loved music and poetry. Alice could almost hear the notes in her voice as she spoke. "Ha ha, I should like to be out riding horses, or picking flowers, instead of attending school!"
Alice felt the corners of her mouth twitch. "Oh, as should I. I should like to be back home in my own little room in Christchurch, playing with my darling kitten Dinah."
"You're from Christchurch?" the girls asked, stimulated. Aside from their distant relations, few of them had ever met with a little girl from the more rural areas of England. "Did you move here from there?"
"Oh no, I haven't moved here," Alice answered, beginning to feel quite at home. "I am just staying with my cousin, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You see, I was so advanced in my classes back home my tutor thought I deserved a holiday from my lessons!"
And so it went. Alice was quite a good liar; she told the truth about everything but the reasons she had been sent to Sherlock. She told the girls about her large mansion, her opulent wardrobe, the various privileges she was entitled to at home, and everything in between. Within the space of a few minutes, a new world had opened up to the child; a place of possibility, a feeling that she might even gain a few friends. All of a sudden she didn't care that she hated life with Shelley; she had remembered that it had been too long that she had been without company, and too long that she had not conversed with children her own age, or even any sort of worthwhile soul at all.
"Oh yes, it was quite lovely," she finished. "Our golden pond, the most darling place on earth! And you won't believe me at first, but I had the most unimaginable adventure there, when I lay down by the banks..."
The White Rabbit, the potions which made her shrink and grow, the Caterpillar...all were related in vivid detail, coming to life once again in her words and fond remembrances. They did exist; of that she was sure. And now her new friends would believe her, unlike that stiff Eliza back home.
"And then all of a sudden, I was taller than the treetops! My neck was so long I could bend it any which way I liked, in the sky. And what do you think of that?" For the first time in her narrative she paused to hear the audience's reactions.
All except Violet and Rebecca were looking on with astonished glee. "Oh, it sounds so wonderful, Alice!" one girl said, giggling with delight.
"Yes, do go on!" another shouted.
Violet was curled up, her knees tucked under her, quietly enjoying the tale. "Quite brilliant, my dear," she offered as a compliment.
"My, you are a good storyteller," Rebecca added. "But perhaps you should shorten the part when you fell down the hole...I think that maybe it's too long."
"Shorten it!" Alice snorted indignantly. "I shall do no such thing! Why should I change the story when that is exactly how it happened?"
"How do you mean...how it happened?" Rebecca questioned, looking at her doubtingly.
"I mean that I actually fell into the rabbit hole, and into Wonderland...this is no dream, Rebecca."
Rebecca laughed, the sound of it clear and almost revolting to Alice's ears. "Well! You really are quite out of your head!" she exclaimed. "How could something so silly actually happen in real life? It's nothing but a fairy tale!"
Alice could feel the blood rising in her veins as she looked hard at Rebecca, who was still chuckling. Another disbeliever! How many could there be in this world? "You musn't tease me so," she said, choosing her words slowly and in half-patience. "Please, I should like it if you took back that comment." There was a second chance for this girl, a second way to admit that she believed.
Rebecca was almost flabbergasted as she stared back at Alice. "Are you really offended? I was only joking...but you really don't expect me to believe that nonsense, do you? It makes for an entertaining story, but of course it's just a tale..."
The last straw. No more chances left.
"How dare you! How dare you think that Wonderland is only a tale! You awful thing!"
She did not remember how it was that she ended up on top of Rebecca in one fluid motion. She straddled the girl, pinning her to the floor, as she proceeded to pummel her with rather strong punches on her cheeks and mouth. Rebecca screamed as the other girls gasped and quickly rose, backing away to observe the one-sided fight, witnessing for the first time in their sheltered lives unsuppressed rage and partial insanity. Only Violet was brave enough to try to intervene; she hastily stepped forward and tried to pry Alice away, saying, "Please, please, you musn't!"
But Alice did not hear her. She heard only the screams of her opponent as she beat her, saw the black and blue bruises well up on her face. Unable to fight back, tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she struggled and screamed to be let free.
Horrible girl. She should have known better than to try to make friends with these low-class idiots. Especially this one, this one who couldn't feel the magic of the Cheshire Cat, the pull of the Mock Turtle's song, the excitement of the White Rabbit...
"Alice! Oh my heavens! Rebecca!" A voice sounded from down the lane, raspy with shock and horror. It was Madame Corrington, proceeding outside to bring the girls in for their afternoon lessons. At the sight of the trouble brewing under the oak tree she hastened forward into the bright sunlight, nearly tripping over her bustled gown as she arrived upon the scene.
"Madame! Madame!" the little girls shouted, some of them crying now themselves; it was from the shock of the violence that Alice now inflicted upon their classmate.
"Stop! Stop, I say!" The Madame screamed, taking Alice by the shoulders. "Stop! Stop!"
"Oh, you silly old bag! Let me alone...I have to teach her a lesson..." The girl let this slip out almost unconsciously as she continued her assault, thick with rage and insult. By this time Rebecca was bleeding profusely; blood flowed freely from the gashes Alice's nails had left on her skin, and from the tender bruises as well.
"Stop right this instant!" By this time two of the Madame's young assistants had come out to find the source of commotion. All three had their hands on Alice now; and though her strength was quite strong for that of a little girl, it was no match against three grown women. At last they were separated; the assistants restrained the enraged child while the Madame flew to Rebecca, who was lying still in the grass, faint from the strong battering. The other little girls gathered around her, their faces wet and contorted. There had been nothing they could have done to prevent this.
"Rebecca, Rebecca...it will be alright, Rebecca, don't fret," the Madame said soothingly, placing her arms gingerly around the small girl, who nodded weakly. The Madame gently swung the child's legs over her arms, and lifted her up off the ground. The front of her blouse was stained with blood, and her eyes were bruised heavily with large black lines.
"And you." The Madame's voice rung like cold steel. Her eyes grew into slits as she observed Alice, who by now had ceased to struggle. She stood quietly now, a defiant look in her eyes as the girls gathered around the Madame, eying her warily. "Take this animal to the cellar. I shall call her guardian at once."
(-)
It was Tuesday; and that meant Sherlock was at his 'temporary position'.
He smoothed his hair back from his eyes, sighing. Another task completed.
Leaning against the hard stone wall of the dingy building, he crossed his arms as he saw the money counted in front of him, into his client's hand.
"Thirty-five pounds, then," the man's gruff voice said, as the last of the coins was placed into his expensive leather glove. These he gathered and dropped into an old brown pouch, its seams almost coming loose as he shoved it roughly into Sherlock's hands. In a mockery of the kind of salute a gentleman might give to a lady, he raised his hat and quickly turned, his heels making strong click-clack noises as he advanced down the pavement.
Sherlock stood for a while looking after him. Rich old bastard. Thirty-five pounds—Sherlock's regular asking price was twenty-eight, already quite a high sum for one in his line of work. But this middle-aged nobleman was new to the trade; he wasn't quite sure of the standard prices. All the better for the young detective to take advantage...
He almost winced. Detective. How could he call himself that when—this—was what he did for a second job? How could it be that he could ever properly start an agency, a true consulting agency, if he continued as he did? True, the money greatly helped pay for the rent on the townhouse, the necessities around the household, and of course Alice's schooling—but when would he start receiving reputable, wealthier clients for the agency? Of course he had clients—within the last month he had successfully solved six cases—but these had all been trifles, effortlessly-solved cases that he had only collected a small fee for. It never amounted to any more than twelve pounds; and that wasn't nearly enough to keep himself going.
Ah, if it hadn't been for Alice...perhaps if she hadn't arrived he would have been able to concentrate more on his detective work, and less on tending to her needs.
He pocketed the money bag and stepped out from the behind the shadows of the squalid building where had been standing for most of the morning, available to all those who needed him. East London was bustling during the day—not just with workers or servicemen, but with clusters of lusty men and women, venturing out from the daily humdrum of their lives, in search of something new and pleasurable.
And so there he was.
At eighteen he knew what it was like to work on the street.
He had been working like this on and off ever since he had moved out of Mycroft's luxurious house, ever since he declared he would make something of himself without anyone's help. He had gone out onto the street because it was the only thing he could do; he knew no trade, nor wished to let it be known that he, Sherlock Holmes, was working in some sort of store or factory. He, the son of a nobleman, related distantly by marriage to Queen Victoria!
No; he preferred to work nameless, among the shadows, where he can could remain safely Anonymous. Even if it was degrading; even if his clientele were disgusting; even if the money given him was sometimes barely worth it—it was a job.
Sighing he again started his patrol, walking up the street towards the peasants' markets, his hands in the pocket of his wine-colored dress- coat. Perhaps he might be able to take one more patron before dinner...
Ah, and here that patron was. A hansom pulled up alongside him, the tired horse bickering and whinnying as the door unceremoniously swung open. Sherlock smiled, aware of the obvious falsity surrounding his expression. "Good morning my dear. What can I—"
"Mr. Holmes," came a calm, womanly voice from inside the hansom. Sherlock stepped forward in surprise. The darkness of the inside made it quite hard to see, and the sun beaming out from the noonday sky, shining over the top the carriage, did nothing except blind him.
"How did you come to..."
"Oh be silent Mr. Holmes! Make haste...!" A plump arm reached out for his and quickly pulled him into the carriage.
Sherlock knelt on its soiled floor now, in slight shock. He was looking up into the stern, unforgiving face of Mrs. Hudson, who perched very stiffly upon the torn old seat inside the small coach. Her shawl was wrapped tight around her, and her bespectacled eyes gazed down at him with contempt.
"Mrs. Hudson!" he exclaimed, quickly rising. The driver had closed the door of the hansom, and the horse began trotting up the lane.
He quickly sank down next to her as the driver inquired, "Where to, duchess?"
"256 Hartford Street, if you please," Mrs. Hudson answered neutrally, her face devoid of any type of emotion whatsoever.
"Right," he answered, turning away from them to observe East London's traffic patterns.
Sherlock was in a state of half-shock. How had she found him? What would she say about his so-called "printer's assistant" position? Would she turn him out? Both him and Alice?
"Mrs. Hudson...I can explain," he faltered, his eyes averted as she gazed as him sternly.
"Can you, Mr. Holmes?" she countered, her voice steely and thick. "Honestly...I do not remember what in heavens I must have been thinking when I allowed you to purchase the townhouse. Of course I thought you were a good young man, working his way through life...and then I find this."
Sherlock felt his cheeks pale as she spoke, his eyes rooted to the grimy floor of the hansom. To look her in the eyes was an act he could not do. "I am sorry," he whispered as she continued without pause:
"Madame Corrington's Academy called this noon, for you...I received it. They said it was urgent, and that you were needed as quickly as possible. Of course you know that I had in my possession the address you had given me as the printer's shop; and I dispatched a telegram, but the owner of the shop answered that a man by the name of Sherlock Holmes was not employed there. I was baffled, and decided to go to the shop myself to see that there had been a mistake; I caught a hansom down the lane and rode in. The address you had given me turned out to be the address of a tavern! And so I was just to find a constable when I saw you standing on a side road, near the market...receiving money from a stranger."
Her face, though neutral when she had begun, had now turned dangerously livid.
"How dare you," she continued, her voice low and threatening. "How dare you sell yourself on the street like a common whore. The son of a nobleman with a little girl living under your roof! And to think, I was not aware of this the whole time..."
She paused, sighing resignedly. Closing her eyes she leaned against the head cushion of the seat and turned her head to the right, taking in all the ugly scenery of the busy street the hansom had turned onto. Nothing more was said.
Shame began to well in Sherlock's soul now; his heart, beating normally a few minutes ago, now felt squeezed and pressured. He could not look at her; he could not speak to her. He had abused her generosity; of all the places he had been to, looking for a suitable house, only she had pitied him enough to let him move into her spare abode. Shabby as it was, it had been alright. At least it was reputable, and of him this same thing could not be said.
The hansom stopped. "256 Hartford Street, missus," the driver bawled as he slid open the small glass window.
"Well then," Mrs. Hudson whispered as she turned to look at Sherlock. "Go see to Alice."
Sherlock's eyes locked onto the Victorian manor house looming in front of them, with its imposing windows and verandas, the very picture of a genteel London girl's education. His face grew starkly pale.
"Mrs. Hudson...I cannot appear like this in front of Alice's school...the way in which I appear...it may cause my reputation to—"
"You shall have to," she answered dispassionately. "I shall not indulge this sort of behavior, Mr. Holmes. This is your business."
He sighed. He could not argue with her. Of course it had been his secret, his little money-earning scheme. Now it would become everyone's business. Rumors circulated among the older brothers and sisters of London would be reality, and all would know that he, a son of the noble Holmes family, brother to the affluent Lord Mycroft...was disreputable.
He closed his eyes for half a second in frustration. Oh to die at this moment! To be bourne away from this gloomy city, his unloving family, and this insane little cousin of his. Freedom to linger wherever he chose, eternally donning the invisible cloak of the dead!
He stepped down from the coach and proceeded to the gate. "Alice," he whispered, as if her name were a repulsive curse.
To be continued...
Note: Hello all! Now here's the second chapter...hope you all like it! There was a large gap between the writing of this chapter and the writing of the last. Hope the style was in the same vein as the original!
The third chapter will come soon...maybe in about...oh I don't know! Just know that it will come. And now, be a good reader and review my story! And remember...no flames, just constructive criticism.
And if anyone is a Holmes reader...yes, Violet Hunter is from "The Adventure of the Copper Beeches". I just thought it would be fun to portray her as a child with Alice in school.