Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own the rights to American Mcgee's Alice or Doctor Who.
And I'm back from college, hoping to finish this story now that I have the time!
Chapter 4: Runaway Thoughts
"Aye, I was 'opin you knew where the kids gone off to. 'Aven't seen 'em for two hours!"
If the fall didn't release Alice from her post-hallucinatory daze, then those words most certainly did. "Two hours?" she stammered.
"Wouldn't raise a fuss, but Master Renfrew wants 'em here for-"
Alice darted back up the stairs before the maid could finish her sentence. At the top of the stairs she found the tea set and fancy incense burner still sitting on the stand, where they no doubt prompted her latest unprovoked excursion into Wonderland. She paid them no heed, as she had bigger problems at hand.
"Peter? Pearl? Pauline?" she called out, unable and unwilling to disguise the fear in her voice. "Where are you?"
She checked the nursery, the drawing-room, the balcony, the master bedroom, her own bedroom, and the dining-room, but found no trace of the little angels she had gotten to know for the last couple of weeks. Her heart raced, and she nearly stumbled over her own dress in her mad scramble, as hope vanished with each passing second.
The last trace of hope was dispelled when Edna called from below: "I tried that, Alice! Had just as much luck!"
"...They've run away." said Alice as inevitability sank in.
After taking a second to steady herself, Alice barely managed to find her way to her room, where she put on her bonnet and shawl.
"They've run away. I was supposed to watch them, and they've run away!" she muttered to herself as she shuffled down the stairs.
"I don't suppose you'd 'ave any notion where they might've gone?" Edna asked her as she brushed past, but Alice didn't answer.
Instead, she stormed out the door, determined to make up for her mistake.
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"Thank you. I'll put the word out right away. Don't worry, my lady, those children won't be lost for long."
Alice nodded a silent thanks to the policeman, and set off down the street again.
Another person might have left it at that, but she was Alice. She had known the reliability of the police at its spottiest, firsthand. The image of the heavy imposing figure threatening to haul her in simply for witnessing his friends beating a layabout was one of the things she remembered from her time at Houndsditch, and how she was almost sent to the gallows when the defenders of the innocent were willing to take the side of a depraved child-pimp over her.
The trust she learned from the Doctor only went so far.
Besides, this mess was her fault. She was inattentive, lost in conversation with the Butterfly and the Wasp, when she needed to be paying attention to her charges. She was warned they required special attention, and she slipped up when it was needed the most. Now, if they were caught by another Bumby, or worse, it would be her fault.
"Your fault..."
Just when things were starting to look up, too. Mr. Renfrew was praising her for keeping the children attentive to their studies, and for not giving in to the usual intimidation tactics. Being able to tap into her inner child allowed her to anticipate their every trick...but now it held her back.
"You've failed them..."
Her eyes darted into every alleyway, every corner, anywhere that three children of no more than eight years could hide. All she found were tramps, or empty shadows.
"Just like you failed Bumby's children..."
She occasionally stopped to call out their names, but received no response every time. At least, none from any children. Occasionally someone would ask her who she's looking for...and after she explained, they had nothing to offer her but well-wishes.
"Just like you failed Nanny's girls..."
With each passing second her heartbeat increased. She knew the longer success was delayed, the more danger those children might unknowingly place themselves in, for reasons she could not comprehend. They seemed content to stay near the house and play, what could they possibly want outside the grounds?
"Just like you failed your family..."
Her mind raced with unwanted visions of the myriad misfortunes that could befall them if they remained lost for much longer. She knew she had to find them, or she would never forgive herself.
"Give up, Alice. You're a menace to yourself and others. You're better off dead!"
Of course, she wouldn't find them by giving up. And she certainly wouldn't find peace by giving in to despair, as a certain unsolicited voice in her head kept urging her to.
So, she emphatically announced: "Be silent, Jabberwock!"
"Why should I? It won't help you find the children. They are lost forever."
That was one way she counted herself fortunate: when other people hear their inner critic, they usually speak with their own voice. But Alice's guilt had a distinct voice, in the draconic rumbling and mechanical wheezing of the Jabberwock. Separated from herself as it was, she could freely debate it and squash the doubts it forced on her.
"I refuse to believe that. Things are only lost when no one bothers to look."
"No one will. And your eyes are blinded to reality, so you cannot."
"And whose fault is that? You're the one who approached me uninvited."
"I am everywhere. I am your fear. I am your regret. I am you, Alice."
"So is the White Queen."
"A figurehead, who cannot help you now. No one can. No one will. Your mistakes made that certain."
"I must assume very little of people. Not everyone wishes harm on the innocent. The honest outnumber the wicked, always."
"Keep telling yourself that. It may become true eventually."
"It is true. Otherwise, the Doctor would find no one worth saving."
"For all his experience, the Doctor is a fool. He should have let you die. At least then those whose lives you ruined would have had justice."
"And I would have ruined more lives in turn, as a Weeping Angel."
"Stop pretending you care about others."
"I am only here because I care."
"It will get you nowhere. This is out of your hands. The universe hates you, and everyone you care about will pay the price. Give up.
"Never."
The Jabberwock snarled in response, making Alice believe she'd won the argument...
….but only for a brief moment, before the dragon roared flame, electric vibrations, and noise all over her body. She convulsed and fell over, her muscles not responding when she ordered them to cover her ears, or smother the heat that ripped at her flesh. All she could do was scream in agony.
As she twitched and spasmed and fell apart, her vision started to blur, and she felt her body begging to dissolve into so many butterflies...
"Oh my god, are you alright?"
With effort, she craned her vision upwards, and saw a glinting of metal against a heroic figure. He carried what looked like a lance by his side.
"Knight...get...him away from me...please..." she weakly sputtered out.
"What knight? What are you talking about?"
She didn't expect the White Knight to say that. Fortunately, that prompted her to take another look at her savior...and with some effort, she determined that it wasn't the White Knight at all.
"...R...Richard?"
Richard Hargreaves, the bumbling inventor she met a few weeks ago, knelt beside her with a look of worry on his face. Proof that this was the real world, not anywhere in Wonderland.
"Alice?" he asked as he got a clearer look at her face, to which she slowly nodded.
The pain, heat, and noise fled her body as her grasp on reality returned, and she was able to look clearly again. She saw that her outburst had gathered a small crowd of otherwise indistinct persons, except they now regarded her as something interesting. A madwoman, perhaps?
"I'm...I'm all right now." she said with some effort.
That seemed to satisfy them. The crowd turned away from her, and went back to their normal day, where they'll hopefully forget about her...
...but Richard stayed. He helped her up onto her feet, brushed some dirt off of her clothes, and asked: "What was all that about?"
Alice remained silent, unwilling to reveal the details of her madness to someone who, despite name recognition, was little more than a stranger.
But then he said: "Please, if there's anything I can help you with..."
At that word, help, she paused. And she paused some more...and finally, she spoke: "I'm at my wit's end with worry. I'm on the hunt for three runaway children: Peter, Pearl, and Pauline Renfrew. I already involved the police, but they can't be everywhere."
Richard nodded with understanding, but then asked: "Are they...your children?"
"No. But then, I am employed by their father, Mr. George Renfrew, as governess. I guess they might as well be my-"
"Wait a minute," Richard interrupted; "George Renfrew? As in, the husband of Abigail Renfrew?"
Alice stepped back in shock. "You knew her?"
"Not personally. She was in my mother's circle of friends, and she was very distraught after her suicide a couple of years ago. If her children are runaways, permit me to help you find them. My family owes her that much."
At first, Alice was elated, but then a slight apprehension prompted her to ask: "What about...those?"
"Oh these? These are new sheets of metal I purchased for my business, and a new pipe for my forge. I can just drop these off at my store. Honestly, helping children seems more important to me."
Alice took in a breath, and said "Very well then. But before I leave, I should probably tell you what they look like. Peter is-"
Richard held up a finger as his face lit up "Wait on that. I just had an idea..."
He leaned in towards Alice's ear and whispered, and a smile returned to Alice's face. She liked his idea.
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Under normal circumstances, the people at Highgate village would be busy at this time of day, without a care for something that might happen outside their daily shopping routine. But today was not an ordinary day, though nobody was aware of that fact just yet.
No one save Richard Hargreaves and Alice Liddel, who rode a hansom cab together with some odd cargo awkwardly trailing behind: a wooden box on some small wheels. Occasional 'clangs' or 'booms' were heard as the box went over any roughly-cobbled roads. On one or two occasions, the bindings came loose, and Richard leapt out of the cab to reattach them while the cab was still moving, earning surprised glares and giggles from any onlookers – and an occasional exasperated sigh from Alice.
But at last, they arrived at Highgate village, disembarked, and paid the driver for his trouble. He was glad to be rid of these tiresome customers, and relieved when they said they could walk back.
As they left, Richard began the arduous process of opening the box, and setting up its contents. Having seen his buffoonery up close, Alice was starting to doubt the plan all of a sudden, and needed some reassurance: "Are you sure they're here?"
"My mother is a regular gossip hen, and told me everything about Abigail's funeral. It was a closed casket ceremony, but her photograph was all over. Those kids couldn't stop looking for their mother, and seemed unable to comprehend that the funeral was for her. And she was buried at Highgate. Ergo, this was the last place they saw their mother, and this is where they'd look for her."
"And this," she said as she picked up a component he dropped, "will draw their attention?"
"That, I'm not so sure about...but only because I've never operated this before."
Alice couldn't protest such an answer, to her disappointment. Before she could think of a suitable response, Richard finished assembling the contraption.
Standing on a sidewalk near a small cafe, Richard released the catch, and a clockwork masterpiece sprung into view. It was an impressive man-sized contraption with gears controlling the drums on the back, the cymbals on the side, and the xylophone keys on the front. Running down the middle was an accordion, and a series of pipes which simulated trumpets and other brass instruments, which were both controlled by a series of gear-operated bellows. All of this was operated by a crank, and pedals that turned each instrument on or off, and buttons for changing the pitch. Glass partitions ensured that all of the mechanisms were safe, but visible, so everyone could see how it worked.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" he shouted, gathering more attention, and cementing the interest of those who would have otherwise given only a passing glance at his arrangement. "I bring you a menagerie of musical marvelosity, the likes of which the world has never seen! If you find yourself lost in a daze of dancing delirium, swept away from the weary world and all your worries, to find that your industrious hours have passed you by, then I most sincerely apologize! But I shall let no trick of fate prevent me from presenting...the pantophonic polyorgan!"
His speech finished, he began to turn the crank in his left hand, and the machine whirred along. First came the xylophones, which plinked along a regular melody. Then Richard released the accordion, and it produced long continuous notes for the harmony. Richard switched on the drums and cymbals next, to synchronize with the xylophone's rhythm. Finally, Richard released the valves for the brass instruments, and with his right hand operated the buttons that changed their pitch.
As this one-man orchestra played along, Richard made adjustments with his feet, until he reached a desired arrangement of notes from all his instruments. Then, he added in his own addition: a simple song in tune with the xylophone's melody.
As I was sailing far away
so many years ago,
I had some time to think about
my thoughts from long ago.
I thought of all the children,
the ones we left behind;
Our sisters and our brothers,
though none of them were mine.
I thought of those in chimneys,
young voices clogged with soot;
A scream, a cough, a shortened life
to clean a cubic foot.
I thought of those in fact'ries,
who crawl among the gears.
Our greed demands, as living parts,
they throw away their years.
I thought of those in tunnels,
lost down beneath the earth.
They bring up coal, but not themselves;
Should life not have more worth?
I thought of those en-workhoused,
who toil and slave for gruel.
They may be there a lifetime long;
is anything more cruel?
I thought of those in graveyards,
ripped from this world too soon:
To those we lost, or had forgot,
I dedicate this tune.
Those thoughts they seem so far away,
a-sailing on the sea,
On boats men call the British Isles
"The finest on the sea."
"They're not our problem," so you say;
I disagree, my friend.
If we ignore them one day more
their suff'ring will not end.
I pray thee Lord, our children help,
let they be not enslaved.
And if we let them live and grow,
then may our sins be waived.
Alice swayed along to the rhythm, lost in the song along with so many onlookers. Then, she remembered what she was actually here to do, and started walking among the crowd. She looked for shoving, jumping, or squeaky voices, anything that would provide a hint, all while trying not to disturb the show for anyone else.
Once the song ended, Richard stood up and bowed, to considerable applause. A large crowd had gathered to witness the oddity in action, and received an experience comparable to visiting the orchestra. Only some were disappointed, but those were secretly hoping that the contraption would fail spectacularly, and injure its unwitting operator. Nearly everyone else was pleased, as evidenced when Richard extended his hat and received some mild payments...
...but the first to speak said this: "Bravo, sir. An excellent performance. But don't you think a more pleasant song would be more befitting your debut? The song you chose was far too depressing for my taste."
"I am so sorry to hear that," replied Richard. "It was composed by a reformist friend of mine. And she insisted it be the first thing I play. For one thing, it's a simple tune to work into the polyorgan, a rather complex instrument. For another, I wholeheartedly agree with its message about-"
"PETER!"
"ALICE!"
The crowd turned away from Richard to see Alice embracing a young boy, followed shortly by two younger girls.
"Thank heavens you're alright!" sobbed Alice.
"...That's the third reason," Richard continued. "They've heard the song before, and would surely recognize it."
"We were going to ask you to take us, but we couldn't find you. Honest!" Peter said, but Alice wasn't relieved at all.
"Why did you do it in the first place?" Alice asked, as confused eyes focused on her and her charges.
"We were looking for Mama!" exclaimed Pearl. "Papa said she was in Highgate!"
"But things got so crowded, and we're so hungry, and there was this scary man, and... We're so sorry!" exclaimed Pauline. "We'll never run away again!"
The children clung to Alice even tighter. Some of the onlookers thought it was a heartwarming reunion, while others were anxious for them to wrap it up so the show, or their day, could continue.
"Well, look's like that's taken care of." said Richard. "So, what shall you do now, Alice? I'm going to stay here for a while and keep playing, and-"
"Alice? Can we stay?" asked Pearl.
After she gave it some thought, Alice said: "Very well, but you can't leave my sight. And as soon as this is done, we'll get some food and then march straight home."
"Food? I don't suppose you would be averse to me joining you?" said Richard, once again drawing attention. "There's a restaurant we passed on the way here that I'm particularly fond of. I'll even pay."
"That would be delightful, Richard." said Alice.
After they exchanged smiles, Richard fiddled with his contraption and resumed playing. This time, he chose a happier song about friendship and play, to the delight of everyone in the audience.
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The meal was rather modest, some chicken and potatoes, with no fancy spices or atmosphere. But the restaurant was clean, and the company was civil. A perfect place for Alice and her entourage to settle down after a harrowing day.
"So, you're their governess?" Richard asked, innocently enough. Alice simply nodded in response.
"We like her better than the last one." said Peter. "Her lessons are easy, and she lets us have fun sometimes."
"She sang that song once. Papa loved it. It frightened me a little." said Pauline. Peter and Pearl nodded in agreement.
"Well," said Alice, "that song's supposed to be frightening. They're supposed to remind the people of London that these frightening things still happen to children. If these things stopped after Dickens pointed them out, Rucastle and I wouldn't have needed to compose it for his campaign."
"You worked with Rucastle? Such a small world; his death was all over the news last year. A good man who never deserved what happened to him." said Richard.
"Indeed." said Alice, but with more meaning than she would be willing to reveal.
Alice attempted to resume the meal in peace, but then Pearl raised a new subject. "Alice tells us stories too."
"Is that so?" asked Richard.
"Yes. She tells us about how she met a rabbit, and a dodo, and a caterpillar, and a duchess, and..."
"I think that's enough, Pearl." said Alice, concerned.
"Ah, so you're reading Lewis Carroll's books?" said Richard.
"We're reading Alice's books." Peter corrected. "They're her stories."
"But Lewis Carroll wrote about..." Richard started to say, but then he stopped. He tilted his head upwards, and looked at Alice. "Of course it would be the most wondrous thing...if you were the Alice, wouldn't it?"
"Oh, she's Alice for sure." said Pauline. "Aren't you, Alice?"
"I didn't write those books," she said.
Alice paused, and looked around, and she saw people who wanted to connect her to her past, would be severely disappointed if she denied it...and for some reason, the idea of disappointing them seemed like such a betrayal of their trust in her.
"...but I did inspire them." she admitted, to which her companions responded by smiling.
"That was long ago. Back then, they were merely bizarre dreams I had as a child. But recently I remembered them, and told them to an old family friend, and he turned them into fiction."
Richard's face lit up in amazement. "You should be a celebrity! Why aren't you, Alice?"
Alice sighed. "Because I'm not too fond of those dreams. And recently, those dreams have started coming back unbidden, sometimes even when I'm awake. Really inconvenient in a crowd."
"Oh, is that why you were screaming when I found you?" asked Richard.
Alice paused in consideration, and ultimately said: "Yes. A daymare. I thought the Jabberwock was attacking me, and you...you were the White Knight coming to save me."
She added a small smile to the last statement. It seemed to have the desired effect, and everyone at the table started laughing. 'Hopefully', she thought, 'this means they'll pass it off as a joke.'
Then, Peter asked: "Are you two in love?"
The children continued laughing, but Alice and Richard both stopped, and blushed, and said:
"No! What makes you say that?"
"What? We barely know each other!"
"We're just friends!"
as well as other forms of embarrassed denial. Both could tell, however, from the funny looks they got from the Renfrew children, that they weren't convinced at all.
"Alice loves Richard! Alice loves Richard! Alice loves Richard!" they chanted, bouncing in their chairs. Alice looked around, and saw some unfriendly looks among the restaurant's other patrons.
"Hush, please!" pleaded Alice, "You're making a scene! We're in public!"
The children moaned in disappointment, and Alice and Richard sighed in relief as the other people turned away.
"Thank you," she said, "You know I dislike scenes. Now, let us finish our meals so we can all head home."
"Yes, I'm sure Mr. Renfrew will be missing you three. As for me, this restaurant has a scrumptious blueberry pudding that's just calling to-"
"There you are, Richard!" shouted an unfamiliar voice.
Everyone turned towards the entrance to see an wiry middle-aged man in a freshly-pressed black suit forcing his way past the seated customers, and even knocking over a waiter and spilling all the food he was carrying, all while sporting a rather angry look on his face.
Richard buried his face in his hands, and groaned. "Father, please, mind your surroundings!"
"Never mind that! You were supposed to meet with me and Meredith an hour ago! And here we find you, wasting your precious time! Come along now, you've kept us waiting long enough!"
"Father, I think I'm old enough to make my own decisions. And besides, I haven't paid for the meal yet!"
"Then leave the money. We're going now, or else!"
"Or else what?" asked Peter.
"Or else I get cut off from the family estate." Richard explained. "It's complicated, but...I have to go now. I'm sorry."
And with that, Richard got up from his chair, left a pound on the table, and walked towards the exit...
...but not before Alice said: "Thank you, Richard. For everything."
"A pleasure, Alice." he replied, before exiting with his father.
The rest of the meal passed in silence.
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On paper, The Pawned Queen was listed as an inn, but nearly everyone in the neighborhood knew it was truly a brothel. Adherence to the guidelines of the Contagious Diseases Act had protected it from the police, as well as a generous offering of favours to any who raised the notion. What separated it from many similar brothels, however, was the Madam's preference for girls who never wanted to be prostitutes in the first place. She attracted them from other establishments, even bought them from other brothels or pimps, and promised to help them escape this life. And, to the best of her abilities, she has kept this promise; when the girls weren't providing sexual services, they were learning reading, writing, and other skills that would help them live a life outside the bedroom. This earned her some slack from those who called prostitution the 'great social evil,' but not complete immunity.
Regardless, no one who represented the law had approached its doors in years, a streak that was broken when Madame Vastra appeared one lonely night. Jenny accompanied her, as this was one of the occasions where she wanted to watch her mistress at work. (There were also worries of temptation, though neither would admit to it.)
She knocked on the door. To her surprise, no one answered.
"Locked? Odd, one would think they'd be open for business this hour."
"Indeed, Jenny, that was what our information suggested. Furthermore, a glance at the door's handle tells that it can only be locked from the inside. Ergo, they either have a back entrance or someone is inside. And unwilling to open their doors to a potential customer...Jenny, be a dear and check for an alternate entrance, would you?"
Jenny pouted, and said "Why do we have to split up?"
Instead of responding, Vastra hushed her. Jenny felt indignant, until Vastra pressed her ear up against the door. Curious, she followed suit.
"...and I can control MY girls!" said a muffled, but distinctly male voice, to the confusion of the listeners – they'd been led to believe that a Madam ran this brothel.
"These aren't your girls! I own this – Oh!" replied a female voice, followed by a loud crash.
"Not anymore! I'll show you how a MAN does business! I won't be struck by a woman ever again. You lot'll be my slaves, as God intended! And as for the price for talkin' back..."
More shrieks of pain followed.
The two listeners nodded in silent agreement as to a course of action. Jenny stepped backwards, while Vastra tapped on the door, listening for the echoes...and where they were conspicuously absent, like a place where a lock might reside. Remembering her training from the Orient, she clasped her hands together, focused her energy into her right hand...
...and struck. The door flew open with a loud crack, as the lock fell to the ground, along with the splinters of wood that once attached it to the door.
Vastra and Jenny rushed in, and beheld a grisly sight in the modest lobby: a tall man in ragged clothes stood over a heavy-set woman, whose face was covered in bruises and blood, while a dozen women clad only in nightwear looked on in horror.
The man turned away from the brothel women to look at the intruders, whom he regarded with disgust, instead of the fear Vastra expected. "An' who might you toffers be?"
"Nobody important. However, our friends at Scotland Yard might be interested in you. I would recommend you surrender quietly." Vastra said, tensing her muscles just in case.
The man responded first by kicking the bloodied woman at his feet, and then saying: "Surrender? A man never surrenders! Cardin Varnham takes orders from no one, and no bloody woman's gonna start!"
All pretense of restraint thrown away, Cardin threw himself at Vastra, who easily turned aside his punch and threw him into the wall. Before he could recover, Jenny pinned his arms behind him, and forced him to the ground.
Rather than admit defeat, Cardin started snarling and writhing like a wild beast. So Jenny delivered several sharp strikes to his pressure points, leaving him in too much pain to continue.
Vastra gave him an icy glare. "I don't know what it is about mammal standards of masculinity that compels them to resolve simple disagreements between the sexes with inordinate violence."
With pained breath, Cardin replied: "Man's supposed to be dominant... strong, free of emotion. Woman's supposed to serve man...if I can't control my women then I'm worthless."
"Well you won't be attracting many women with that brutish attitude. Not that I find your gender attractive anyway."
And with the final say in the argument (which Jenny holding her hand over his mouth to prevent any retort certainly helped with), Vastra turned her attention to the injured woman, who was being helped off the floor by some girls.
"Oh, thank you ever so much, my lady." she said as she got up, and wiped her bloody face with her apron. "I'm Madam Sharpe, the manager. We owe you our lives."
"Actually, I believe you owe us very little. We never arrived with the intention of rescue, but gathering information requisite for sating a curiosity of mine."
When her statement was only met with a confused stare, Vastra restated herself: "I want to ask you some questions."
"Ah. Well, ask away. I've got nothing to hide."
"Do you have a relation or acquaintance who goes by the name of Alice?"
Nervousness crept into Madam Sharpe's face. "What would the police want with Alice?"
"Nothing yet...but she's been coincidentally associated with several persons who were recently involved in high-profile and panic-raising crimes; most recently Toby Russel, who blamed Alice's association with this place as a motive for his abuse, arson, and burglary. And then there's Andrew Rucastle, Trenton Haymitch, and Lord Oldsworth, among several others. I personally think it goes beyond coincidence."
"Oh, Alice..." moaned Madam Sharpe with worry, as she sat down in a chair. She looked back at Madame Vastra, who tilted her veiled head as if to say 'I'm waiting.' Still, she struggled for a few seconds to find words to say.
Eventually, she managed to say: "I was her nanny, when she was very young...before I took to hooking full time. She's had some trouble with madness for a while, after her family died, but... I don't see how she could be connected to those crimes! She seemed so proper and polite last I saw her..."
Her expression changed all of a sudden, and her gaze shifted to the prone-and-still-struggling Cardin. "...which was also the first time I saw him! He was just a customer back then...he mistook Alice for one of my girls, and tried to take her, and she punched him in the face!"
"Oh, is that it?" asked Jenny, "Was this bloke such a short fuse that simply being taught manners by a woman set him off?"
"I had no idea he had this in him," said Madam Sharpe; "Aside from that, he was a perfectly civil customer that day!"
This seemed to get Madame Vastra's attention. She knelt down beside Cardin, and removed Jenny's hand from his face. "The woman who struck you, the first time you came here...did you see her before or after that day?"
"No, and a damn shame! I wanted to put that bitch in her place! She-"
Jenny hastily replaced her hand. "Sorry Madame. I just can't stand such talk."
"Nor should you." replied Vastra with a smirk. "Hardly something a proper lady should have to hear."
This prompted a knowing laugh from both. But Vastra cut it short: "Still, his only association with Alice was a simple touch, and it loosened all of his restraint...Jenny, let me see his right arm. Quickly, before I forget!"
Jenny obeyed, and Vastra bunched up the fabric of his shirt and coat, exposing the skin, which she regarded with a mixture of curiosity and horror...and eventually an "Of course!"
"What is it?" said Jenny.
"The confirmation of my hypothesis. I would have seen it on Toby too, but I was too focused on Alice."
"I don't see anything!" said Jenny, but Vastra ignored her. She instead turned towards Madam Sharpe.
"You must tell me everything you know about Alice, and how I can find her. I cannot explain it in a way your ape brain can comprehend, but unless she is found, all of humanity may well succumb to this same madness!"
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When the bell hung by the door rang several times in succession, George Renfrew knew better than to keep his hopes up. He had already experienced heartbreak once, and he knew it could very well strike again. The first time he answered the door after his wife's disappearance, there was a police officer to confirm her suicide. Today, his children and governess vanished without a trace. He sent Edna to answer the door in his stead, but he knew it would only delay the inevitable...
So, when Edna shouted: "Alice found 'em!" at the top of her lungs, he felt he would nearly faint with relief. Keeping hold of himself as well as he could, he rushed down the stairs to embrace his children. Stoic ideals and societal expectations be damned, he needed to show some affection to these children, or something horrible might happen again.
There were apologies, tears, and kisses all around. Mr. Renfrew had to consciously remind himself that he couldn't do this forever, or else he would have tried. But with some effort, he was able to pull himself off the floor and...
...find that Alice, the person he intended to thank, hand walked right past him and headed upstairs! Confused, he and the children went upstairs after her.
Alice headed into her room, and no sooner did she enter than she started packing her things!
The plot thickens! A friendship grows...and so does the chaos left in Alice's wake!
What will Alice do now? Where will Vastra go next?
You'll probably find out pretty soon, as I have the free time I need to write this!