A/N (please read): I've finished it. Updates will be regular once a week from now on. Sorry to those who were kept waiting. *guilty cringe* If you ever have any questions or complaints, I'll be happy to answer them.

Disclaimer:

They told me you had been to see,

(We know it to be true):

That none of this belongs to me,

Does it belong to you?

CHAPTER TWO – A BOATING TRIP

Edith knew full well that Aunt Alice visited Wonderland regularly. She knew when – the days when she would slip away in a bad mood and return only moments later bizarrely light-hearted; laughing at the slightest thing and full of new stories for Edith. She just couldn't work out how. She knew there was a rabbit hole, and she was sure it was in Aunt Alice's garden; whenever she and her family visited the Kingsleigh residence Edith would scour the place for it but never find a single ditch. The garden was nicely kept, with white roses and daises planted here and there, and when she asked Jamie the gardener about rabbit holes he was affronted that someone would think he'd let a rabbit in any garden under his care. So Edith took to following Aunt Alice around whenever she was a bit annoyed, hoping that she would lead her to Wonderland. Of course, this plan didn't work well at all, for when one is annoyed one does not want a seven year old trailing around after them, and Aunt Alice seemed to think Edith wasn't ready for Wonderland yet.

'It will come for you, when you need it, or when it needs you.'

'But I want to go now!' Edith demanded.

'You want to, but you don't need to. Wants and needs are entirely differently things, Edith.'

Edith thought this the height of unfairness. Aunt Alice could go to Wonderland whenever she wanted to, so why couldn't she?

One day when Aunt Alice returned from a trip to Wonderland, she was acting extremely ... odd. Edith was again visiting their house for a week with her mother while her father was away on business, and as soon as she recognised the familiar signs in her aunt, she had cornered her in the garden and assaulted her with questions of her latest adventure. Usually Aunt Alice was eager to share every detail with her, but this time something was significantly different. She didn't even seem to hear Edith's queries, instead she laughed vacantly, the sound skipping and trilling like a musical note; and she seized little Edith in her arms, swinging her around.

'Twinkle, twinkle, little bat,' sung Aunt Alice, a smile melting blissfully onto her face, 'how I wonder what you're at. Up above the world you fly, like a tea tray in the sky ...'

'You're singing it wrong, Auntie Alice!' giggled Edith, wriggling in her grip. Aunt Alice set her down onto the grass again, patting her head vaguely before wandering away, still smiling dreamily.

'Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle ...'

Instead of this strange new mood fading over the next few days as the Wonderland-happiness usually did, it persisted; almost growing stronger each morning as Aunt Alice wafted about the house aimlessly, smiling to herself foolishly and giggling at odd moments.

'What's Aunt Alice doing?' Edith asked her grandmother as she watched the woman waltzing solo across the lawn below from an upstairs window.

Grandmother looked up from brushing the crinkles out of Edith's bed cover and joined her. The secret smirk Edith had frequently seen her exchanging with Mother lately appeared.

'Nothing, Edie,' she replied, in a voice that said that it was plainly something. She went to pat Edith's head, and ended up attempting to smooth out the mess of her hair. 'You know how funny Aunt Alice gets sometimes.'

Edith twisted away from her, pushing her hands away.

'She's different this time,' whined Edith resentfully, 'she won't play with me.'

'Aunt Alice is a busy woman, Edith.'

Edith looked down at Aunt Alice pointedly; she was now sitting on the turf playing with a daisy.

'I think something happened in Wonderland,' she said stubbornly.

Grandmother's expression changed instantly.

'Now you mustn't listen to those mad stories, Edith,' she frowned sternly, 'that's all they are – stories.'

'They're real,' said Edith, frowning back at her.

'No, they are not,' Grandmother said, raising her eyebrows dangerously.

'They're real, and I believe in them!' snapped Edith, balling her fists.

'Edith Manchester, do not raise your voice at me!'

'I'm not!' she shouted petulantly.

'Edith, I don't want this spoilt behaviour –'

'I'm not spoilt!' Edith cried, stamping her foot.

There was no dessert for her that night. She was sent to bed early in disgrace, and rose the next morning surprised to find a stranger in the household.

His name was William Harrison, and he was visiting Aunt Alice on matters concerning the company. If Edith had been older she would have recognised him as a charming, rather handsome man, with rich brown hair and eyes and a pleasant, well-meaning smile, but she only saw a grown up in a very sensible brown suit who was quite bemused to find Aunt Alice much changed from how he remembered her.

Mother and Grandmother seemed quite excited by his visit; Edith thought perhaps they hoped he would knock some sense into silly Aunt Alice – her behaviour was very amusing, and Edith knew how much they hated it when Aunt Alice was amusing. The two of them had been swapping more little giggles and smiles, peeking through the curtains when Mr Harrison and Aunt Alice talked of Business in the garden. The atmosphere in the house was becoming strangely anticipating and hopeful.

One late afternoon Edith came looking for her mother and found her and Grandmother in deep discussion with Mr Harrison on the patio. They looked as though they were doing something they didn't want to be caught doing, so Edith kindly hid behind the door and eavesdropped instead of bursting in.

'You think so?' He was raising his eyebrows at them as they nodded vigorously, grinning from ear to ear.

'I've never seen her act this way,' Grandmother said, her voice low, her eyes darting up to Aunt Alice's open bedroom window, from where nonsensical nursery rhyme singing was floating out into the dusk.

'I'm a little teapot, at a tea party; there is the hatter ...'

'Never in all my life ...'

'Never,' echoed Mother.

'Alice has never given me any indication that she ... well ...' the man blushed, yet there was something kindling in his gaze as he looked up at the window, 'not that I wouldn't ... Alice is very attractive – I mean ...' he stammered hopelessly as the women beside him closed in for the kill.

'You should show her you feel the same,' urged Mother.

'Before someone else steals her away,' egged on Grandmother.

'I – show her I? No ... I don't ...'

The faces either side of him fell theatrically, and he hastily backtracked.

'What I mean is ... I wouldn't know how!'

'We can help,' said Mother so fast her mouth blurred.

Edith frowned to herself, and then turned away and darted up to Aunt Alice's room, almost tripping on the stairs haphazardly.

'... Dear to me; when I come to visit, we'll have tea, dip me backwards and kiss –'

'Auntie Alice!' she called, poking her head into the bedroom. Aunt Alice was sitting on her bed drawing as she sang; she looked up almost lazily as she heard Edith.

'Edith!' she said, as if overjoyed to see her. 'Where's your mother?'

'On the patio with Grandmother. They're trying to convince Mr Harrison to marry you.'

'Yes, it was a lovely cake, wasn't it?' she smiled absent-mindedly, adding a few more lines to her drawing. Then she looked up again, as if she'd only just realised Edith was there. She beckoned to her, chuckling to herself.

'Edie, quick, close the door,' she stage-whispered across the room; 'I have a secret to tell you.'

Eyes wide, Edith shut the door and hurried over to Aunt Alice, jumping onto the bed and sitting up next to her.

'What is it?' she whispered just as loudly. 'Is it about ... Wonderland?'

Aunt Alice nodded; her grin spreading, then softening, turning into a shy little smile which drifted across her face gently.

'Have you ever been on a boat, Edith?'

Edith shook her rattail-hair.

'Not even a little one? A little rowboat? Just you and ... maybe a friend?'

Edith shook her head again, confused.

Aunt Alice sighed happily and leant back into her pillows.

'It's wonderful ...You feel warm and cool at once, under the sun and over the water, with a little breeze playing with your hair... and though you might be little scared of falling in too deep, you feel sort of daring ...' Suddenly she leant forward, as if a terrible thought had occurred to her, 'Don't tell Mother now.' It was hard to tell if she meant Edith's or hers. 'They already think I'm mad enough as it is, without them thinking my dearest friend is in ... they don't like it very much, you see.'

'I know,' said Edith very seriously.

'They might take me away, and make me grow up the way they think I should. And if I grow up ... I'm not allowed to go back,' she whispered, this time with a hushed fear that bled into her eyes.

'It's our secret,' promised Edith.

Aunt Alice smiled her soft smile, and Edith grinned her wide, toothy grin.

'Thank you,' she said, touching her knotted hair as if it really were the golden curls of the cherub that never was.

'Even if you were mad,' Edith said, unusually quietly, holding her gaze sincerely, 'I wouldn't mind at all.'

Aunt Alice laughed, seeming to remember something.

'All the best people are mad, you know,' she said conspiratorially.

'Then you are most definitely mad,' grinned Edith.

There was a small, comfortable silence, until Edith decided it had gone for long enough, and said, 'Are you really in love with Mr Harrison?'

Aunt Alice blinked, thrown by this sudden accusation.

'What?' she said, her hand dropping onto the pale blue quilt.

'Mother and Grandmother said you're in love with Mr Harrison.'

She shook her head, as if trying to it clear of water.

'Mr Harrison?' she laughed. 'Of course not!'

'Good,' nodded Edith importantly, 'I think he's a terrible choice.'

'Edith!' Aunt Alice scolded, trying not to smirk, 'He's very ... amiable.'

'He's an awful bore. I bet he doesn't even know what futterwacken is.'

Aunt Alice smiled again at that, then looked troubled.

'Mother and Margaret are at him, aren't they?' she said, heaving an exasperated sigh and pushing herself off the bed, 'I'll have to go down and stop them. Give them ten minutes and they'll have him convinced he's in love with me too.'

Edith trotted after her as she descended the stairs and followed the sound of voices from the patio.

'... And take this. Oh, Alice, dear!' Grandmother seemed extremely pleased to see her, as did Mother – Mr Harrison was still trapped between them, gulping at Aunt Alice's sudden appearance. The woman herself was unimpressed, arms crossed over her chest.

'We were just talking with Mr Harrison about Shakespeare,' rushed Mother, getting to her feet in unison with Grandmother. She took a protesting Edith by the shoulder and yanked her inside, Grandmother following soon after and slamming the door shut so forcefully Edith couldn't help but worry she wasn't going to open it until the desired results were achieved. Edith hunched slightly to peek through the keyhole, but was swiftly pulled upstairs by her mother and sent to her room for some unexplained reason, while the other two women scurried down the hall to a window where they would have a good vantage point.

'Alice.'

'William.'

'Er ...' It seemed that was about as far as he had planned.

Alice took pity on him.

'William ...'

'Alice, I – I have something to say,' he interrupted loudly, gathering his resolve.

Alice open and shut her mouth like a goldfish, at a loss as to how to stop him before things got horrendously awkward. He lunged forward suddenly and grasped her hand, making her jump; her free hand flying to her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

'I was talking – to – to your mother and your – your sister ... just now,' he added, so as to be sure she was following, 'and ... you see ... the thing is ... we weren't actually talking about Shakespeare.'

'You weren't?' said Alice faintly.

'We weren't,' William said, shaking his head slowly. 'Alice, I've known you for years ... and I've been watching you ...'

'You have?' she said, surprised and not entirely sure how she felt about it.

'I have,' he nodded, blushing like a schoolgirl, 'but I didn't ever think ... dear Alice,' he smiled, and squeezed her hand. 'I didn't ever think you might feel the same.'

She started to shake her head, coming out of her horror-stricken state.

'But now I can see it! So happy to see me – singing! Alice, I've never heard you sing before!'

Alice was now shaking her head so hard she felt like windup doll, but William had gained momentum and he wasn't going to be stopped.

'Of course you'll miss your mother and sister, I know, so I can move down from Liverpool here to London! I know of a lovely house, nice and large – an important trait when starting a family! And we can both support each other; both of us can come home from a long day hard at work, hang up our coats and hats by the door – well, for me just my coat, you know how I can't abide wearing hats –'

'William!' Alice cried, finally finding her voice.

' – and we'll sit down to dinner – perhaps a nice rabbit or hare – and tell each other about our day! Oh, Alice, I never thought I would marry!'

'Mr Harrison!' she exclaimed, 'please! Stop!'

But before he finished, he whipped out a blooming red rose, presenting it to her with a flourish.

'Will you be my wife?'

Alice stared at the red rose, and then stared at him, taking in his friendly brown eyes and his neat brown hair; the faint freckles dusting his nose and his straight, white teeth. And then she shook her head, slowly at first but then faster and faster.

'I can't!' She ripped her hand out of his grip, turning away from his red rose. 'I can't.' She couldn't look at him.

'... You are promised to another?'

Low, rumbling brogue and funny, tittering laughter shot through her mind unbidden, making her stomach flip with butterflies.

'No ...' she said slowly, hating how unsure she sounded.

'Ah. I see.' And for once he sounded like he really did see, and more than Alice was seeing at that.

She heard him stand but still couldn't look at him, feeling her cheeks burning.

'I think I'd best take my rose somewhere else,' he said, his voice full of forced cheerfulness. 'I'm sorry for disturbing you.'

Alice turned suddenly, calling out to him as he left, 'The trading you have –'

'Matters of the heart and matters of business are two very different things,' he said, paused with his back to her. He pushed a hand against the door handle and Alice called out again to him;

'I'm sorry for misleading you.'

He faced her, still red, eyes on the ground at his feet.

'It was not intentional, I hope?'

'No,' said Alice, a little too vehemently.

'Well, then,' he winced, 'I wish you the best of luck with ... whoever caused you to sing.'

'I ...' Whatever words had been planning to come out, they stuck in her throat.

'Goodbye, Miss Kingsleigh.'

'Wait!' Alice leapt to her feet, reaching out to stop him, and he twisted around warily.

'I have to ask you a question,' she said, nearing him.

'Yes?'

'Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?' she breathed, the garden seeming very quiet all of a sudden.

'Er ...' He was quite bewildered. For a moment he thought on it, then seemed to come a triumphant conclusion, 'Edgar Allan Poe?'

Alice smiled a smile that was a mix of pity, relief, and a queer sadness.

'You don't understand,' she said gently, 'you couldn't possibly.'

When the truth was uncovered that evening after Mr Harrison left all a-flutter, not only were Margaret and Helen bitterly disappointed, they were also furious. Little Edith was hanging about off everyone's arm demanding to be told what had happened on the patio, getting gradually louder and louder until she yelled and Margaret dragged her up to bed, kicking and screaming and scowling all the way up the stairs. Helen was left alone with Alice, who was pacing the drawing room like a caged animal.

'Oh, but Alice he was so …'

'So rich?' she said contemptuously.

'You say that like it's shameful!'

'And you say it as though it matters,' she bit back haughtily.

'Matters? Of course it matters! I would have thought this one would be good enough for you; and you're thirty years of age! It's high time you were married! And he was so handsome!'

Alice snorted.

'Don't toss your head like that!' Helen sunk into a chair, her energy seemingly exhausted. 'Oh, Alice, I'm so tired. All I want is to see you settled before …'

'Oh, stop it! I'm tired of you bringing that into every argument, as if you'll – as if you'll be gone next Tuesday!' she cried, tears pricking her eyes. 'And how can I settle when everyone keeps trying to force me into marriages with entirely the wrong men?'

'Well, why don't you help us find the right man? We do try, Alice, again and again, each one more amiable than the last, and the truth is we don't know what you want and I don't think you do either!'

There was a strained pause as Alice's eyes flickered around the room; looking for an escape route, from the cream curtains to the cream walls to the immaculate cream couches.

'Alice.'

The wide, tearful brown eyes flitted back to Helen's.

'What do you want?' she said softly.

And ever so slowly, Alice began to back away, out of the drawing room and into the hall, her eyes finally breaking free from Helen's pleading gaze as she turned tail and ran.

On the way to the front door she almost bowled over little Edith, who had obviously crept back downstairs and resumed her usual habit of listening at doors.

'Alice!' Helen came hurrying down the hall, her shadow casting long and thin from the meager light spilling out from the gas lamps in the drawing room, disappearing as she stepped into the darkness of the hall.

'Aunt Alice? Where are you going?'

Alice didn't answer, her white hands shaking as she fumbled with her thick coat, her face closed and turned away, unreadable in the dark.

'Go to bed, Edith; MARGARET!' called Helen, trying to usher the child away.

'Why is Aunt Alice going out? It's raining,' said Edith in confusion, peeping out from between her grandmother's arms at Alice's silhouette, busying itself with buttoning up its coat, slim and eerie against the blue gloom from the windows set into the front door.

'Alice,' Helen said breathlessly, 'where on earth are you going?'

Alice turned to her, her coat buttoned and her hand on the doorknob.

'I know exactly what I want,' she replied, her voice shaking only the tiniest bit. With that she plunged into the downpour outside, flinging the door open as though leaping from a jail cell.

'She's gone round the bend!' gasped Edith, her nightgown sweeping as she was suddenly released by Helen, who had darted forwards the moment Alice had opened the door.

'Alice!' As she reached the door it slammed shut in her face violently, blown by the furious wind. She turned the handle frantically, fighting against the gale outside. Suddenly she felt small hands pushing the door underneath her, and glanced down to see little Edith putting all her weight against the door.

'MOTHER!' she bellowed, and Helen was as amazed as always that her tiny body could hold such volume. 'HELP!'

As if heeding her cries the door flew open and both Helen and Edith tumbled forwards into the dark, falling painfully on the brickwork under the door, and Helen felt her ankle give way with a sickening crack. Younger and spritely, Edith scrambled to her feet, sprinting away into the downpour after Alice's billowing form.

'AUNT ALICE! TAKE ME WITH YOU! TAKE ME WITH YOU!'

'Edith!' choked Helen, her ankle shot through with pain, 'Edith!'

'You can't leave without me!' the child was screaming, both her and Alice disappearing from sight, 'YOU CAN'T!'

'Edith, Alice! Come back!'

She heard a commotion behind her, and felt Margaret pull her up gently by the waist; she cried out as the pain in her ankle intensified.

'Mother, you have to come inside!'

'The girls, they've run off, Margaret!'

'I know, I know,' she soothed, hoisting her to her feet. 'Alice may be as wild as Edith, but she won't let harm come to her. I'll fetch Jamie and Josephine, and I'll go out myself once I see to your foot.'

'No, Margaret,' protested Helen in utmost distress, 'you didn't see Alice, she's not in her right mind, please; you have to go after her now!'

'After I see to your foot, Mother,' she repeated firmly. 'Come now, inside.'

Once Helen was propped up on the couch with her foot sticking absurdly in the air, Margaret left the room to call the maid and the gardener as she'd promised, returning a few moments later looking as though she was pleased she was handling the situation so well.

'They'll be back in less than twenty minutes, I'm sure,' she said, inspecting Helen's foot calmly.

'No … Margaret …' Helen moaned, 'something isn't right … Alice is going somewhere, and Edith knows …'

Neither Jamie nor Josephine was back within twenty minutes. They were not back within the next two hours. Still Margaret was infuriatingly unruffled by the ordeal, while Helen begged her to go out and aid the search.

'I'm sure two people are more than capable of finding a couple of headstrong girls …'

By the time midnight was striking on the grandfather clock Helen had worked herself up into such a frenzy that Margaret pulled out the smelling salts.

While her ankle was impaired, her hearing certainly was not, and when Helen heard the telltale creak of the back door she sat up abruptly, not caring about the multiple stabbing pains in her injured foot.

'Alice?' she called.

Margaret looked up from the book she was reading to see Jamie enter the drawing room, dripping wet and completely soaked through, cradling in his arms a small, wet body in a white nightgown.

'Edith!' both women cried, and immediately Margaret's book fell to the floor as she leapt for her daughter, shaking her by the shoulders.

'Edith! Wake up!'

'Miss!' gasped Jamie, trying to pull the child back to him.

Helen sat transfixed in horror, as the still, white body with its trailing, knotted hair flailed like a rag doll. Then suddenly it recoiled, and coughed. She had never been so glad to hear the sound.

'Edith!' sobbed Margaret, near choking the girl as she clasped her to her chest.

Edith still didn't open her eyes; shivering violently and as pale as her nightgown, the ghost of a frown lingering on her damp face.

'I found her curled up underneath that big old pine tree out back,' said Jamie, wiping back the strands of greying hair that were plastered to his face, 'thought she were a little white rabbit at first, so tiny she is.'

'Where's Alice?' asked Helen quietly, afraid to hear the answer.

Jamie looked at her, twisting his cap in his hands.

'Josie's looking for her,' he replied.

Margaret ceased her crying; Edith had opened her eyes.

'Edith!' she gasped, 'are you alright?'

Edith nodded and looked from the dripping Jamie to Helen lying on the couch to Margaret, wide eyed and fearful.

'Edie. You have to tell us. Do you know where Aunt Alice is?'

A phantom flitted behind the girl's eyes.

'She fell.'

Helen stifled her cry with her hands.

'Where did she fall, Edith?' said Margaret, her tears falling thick and fast, her voice cracking.

Edith shook her head silently, and then mumbled, 'Secret.'

'You – you have to tell us, Edith. Aunt Alice might be ... she might be hurt.' Margaret bit her lip desperately, the arms that held her daughter quivering. 'Where did she fall?'

Edith hesitated, fiddling with the strings of her gown. She looked up, her eyes full of longing.

'Wonderland,' she sighed.