Missing Alice

by thisprofileisdeadbuthavemyfic

Alice lives between two worlds, trying to divide her time between her family above and her friends below. But it's like walking a tightrope, and she's about to fall off. Rated Teen for some darker themes. Originally titled We Are All Mad. Eventual AxH

15. Nightmare

Disclaimer:

And in that darkness when I'm blind,

With what I can't forget,

Perhaps I'll write something that's mine,

But, alas – not yet.

---

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – NIGHTMARE

Edith woke with a start, her eyes snapping open. She was in darkness, warm and stifling. She tossed about for a minute, not knowing where she was, when one foot connected with a hot water bottle.

Of course. She was home, safe in bed. She pushed the covers back and sat up, breathing a sigh of relief shakily. It had all been a nightmare, a terrible dream, and now she was awake and safe in bed.

Edith looked around her bedroom, the horror that always lingers after one's nightmares still on her skin, making her shiver slightly. Moonlight was falling in patches through her window, lighting the room softly. Edith could feel her hair brushing her shoulders, still damp from her bath. It hadn't been long since she was sent to bed.

She got out of bed and padded across the room to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. The grounds were bathed in white glow from the moonlight; dew was frosting on the grass.

It had been such a vivid dream, and now she could barely remember it – even now the details were slipping away from her. She had been in a strange place … full of strange people. There was talking mouse … and a white castle … Edith shook her head. It was pointless trying to remember now.

Yawning sleepily and ruffling her messy hair, she turned away from the window and caught something moving in the corner of her eye. She glanced at the mirror over her dressing table. There was no one there. That nightmare was making her paranoid.

Tomorrow morning she had to wake early, perhaps make Mother something special for breakfast. It was hard to believe that Grandmother's funeral had only been that morning. Edith rubbed at her face tiredly, and was thinking of sneaking downstairs for a mug of hot chocolate when she heard a knock at her bedroom door.

She started, a chill running down the length of her spine as though someone had poured a trickle of cold water down the back of her nightgown. She turned away from the looking glass to look at the door, just as a shadow flitted behind the glass of the mirror. Her head whipped back, but nothing was there.

The knock came again.

'Alice?'

Edith felt like all the breath had been knocked out of her.

'Mother?' she said hoarsely.

'I have a secret to tell you.' Her voice was sweet, like over-ripe fruit, putrid and stinking. She hadn't heard that voice in weeks. Weeks? No, hours; she had bid Mother goodnight only hours ago.

'A month,' hissed a voice from the looking glass, 'it's been over a month since you saw your mother. A lot can happen in a month. While you were stumbling through forests and stealing from houses did you ever stop and actually ask yourself if it was worth it?'

'Who said that?' Her own voice sounded panicky and high-pitched. There was no one in the mirror.

'Edie, let me tell you a secret,' whispered Mother sweetly.

With a sudden lurch of foreboding, Edith backed away from the mirror.

'Let me out,' she said to the empty looking glass, 'let me out of here.'

'We don't want to play with you, Edie,' hissed the voice, 'we want to tell you the truth.'

'I don't care, let me out.'

'Out of where, Edie? What are you talking about?' came her mother's voice through the door, over the steady knocking. 'You're safe at home, in your bedroom. Let me in.'

'No.'

'Edie,' coaxed her mother and the looking glass in perfect unison, 'you're safe. You're awake now.'

'Am I?' She wasn't sure anymore. 'Or did I drown, in the stream? It's impossible, I stopped breathing – I must have drowned.'

'You're awake, Edie. Awake and safe at home.'

Edith looked at the mirror – the mirror that didn't show her reflection.

'I don't have a looking glass in my bedroom,' she said quietly.

There was a tense silence. Then the knocking grew louder.

'Let me in.'

'I won't,' she said firmly, as firm as Mally was whenever she was telling her what a spoilt brat she was being. She felt a stab of panic. Mally. Where was she? And the Hatter and Alice –

The door handle rattled.

'Stop it.'

The thing on the other side ignored her, scraping on the wood of the door, thumping against it as if throwing all its weight into it.

'You can't scare me,' Edith said, though the shaking in her voice told otherwise.

The door rattled on its hinges ferociously, the handle twitching and shaking. Edith ran straight at the door, slamming into it with her fist.

'Stop it!'

'Let me tell you a secret.'

'I don't want to hear it!'

'It's only the truth.'

She knew it was the truth. Whatever it was, it was true. She knew it somehow, and suddenly she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears to block it out.

Edith scrambled to the window, fumbling with the lock. It was sealed shut, and the hinges had disappeared. Panic rising like bile in her throat, she banged on the glass, calling for help.

'Mally! MALLY! Hatter, Aunt Alice; where are you?'

'Edie …'

'Let me out!' That poker would have come in handy smashing the glass right now. Edith half-wondered where it was, then realised it was probably never real. She picked up the chair at the dressing table and tried to break the window open. The chair went straight through the glass and came straight out again, as if she were dipping it in water. Edith dropped the chair with a crash and pressed a hand against the glass in disbelief. The window was solid again. She noticed her hand was beginning to shake, and she shuddered in horror, remembering Mother's shaking hands.

'I'm going mad,' she muttered, shaking her sleeve over the hand.

'Or perhaps you've just gotten saner.'

'Perhaps you're awake.'

'Perhaps you drowned.'

'Perhaps you're dead.'

The voices hissed into her ear, the only thing she could hear over the rattling and scraping noises behind the door.

'Please,' Edith said weakly, feeling her knees giving way even as she tried to stay steady, tried to stay angry – anything to shield herself against the despair washing slowly over her. 'I have to find Alice …'

'How can you find her if you don't even know where you are?'

From somewhere far off Edith felt the pain of hitting the ground.

'That's silly,' she murmured to herself, 'this ground isn't real. How can it hurt me?'

'It's only a dream, Edie …'

'It it?'

'It's only a dream, and life is but a dream, ever drifting down the stream, lingering in the golden gleam …'

The singing lulled her to sleep as the shadows closed in, the knocking on the door beating steadily. And in that sleep the voices from the looking glass whispered into her ear, terrible, terrible truths.

---

What confused Mally was the fact that after jumping, she didn't land. She just found herself at a green door so familiar she felt her heart skip a painful beat. With a quivering hand she turned the brass knob and stepped into the room beyond, the smell of herb bread hitting her instantly.

She was standing in a dining room with an adjoining kitchen. The chairs at the table had patched and faded seats; the table itself was set for supper. On the stove a pot of steaming stew sat cooling, a pair of patchwork oven mitts hanging beside the oven. The whole room had been carved out of the centre of an oak tree.

Mallymkun's chest ached with the familiarity of it all. She trailed her hands over the chairs, touched her mother's oven mitts, breathed in the scent of the herb bread. Tears stung her eyes.

'This was my home,' she said aloud, her voice breaking.

'Don't interrupt, Mally …'

Mally jumped at the voice, then remembered.

'Sorry, Dormie. But you can't live on treacle,' reasoned her younger self from somewhere above.

She crossed the room to the stairs, but hesitated on the first step, one hand absently tracing the well-known contours of the banister. Where was she, exactly? How did she know she wasn't being led into a trap? In the place of the dread now there was numbness. Whatever instinct was telling her now she was ready to ignore it.

All thoughts of Edith, the Hatter, and Alice far from her mind, she climbed the spiralling stairs which wormed their way through the oak. She passed doors that led to other rooms and other floors and other flights of stairs, but she continued up the main staircase. The voices became clearer and clearer.

'Oh, just ignore Mally, Dormie.'

That was Elsy; the eldest, the bossiest.

'Hurry up with the story, please, brother,' begged another voice.

'As if you never interrupt stories, Lacy,' said the young Mally indignantly.

'Ignore them both,' declared Elsy, 'besides, if you don't hurry Tilly will be asleep again before you've finished.'

'No, I won't!' protested the youngest Dormouse.

'Yes, you will – your eyes are drooping.'

'They're not!'

'You always fall asleep, Tilly.'

'I do not!'

Mally reached the door of Dormie's old room. She could imagine the scene within; all five Dormice huddled in quilts on the bed, pushing each other and squirming and nudging Tilly awake whenever she fell asleep. Mally put a hand out to open the door, but something made her hesitate once more, reluctant to break whatever spell she was under by opening the door.

'They couldn't live on treacle,' said the young Mally within, her voice very serious, 'they'd have been ill.'

'And so they were,' said Dormie knowingly, 'they were very ill.'

There was a silence as all four sisters seemed to consider this piece of news.

'And these four sisters –'

'Were they human or Animal?'

'Shush, Mally!'

'No, it's a fair question,' said Dormie slowly. He paused a moment, then said, 'They could change between at will.'

'Mama said it's not possible to change –'

'Why did you ask her?'

'Why would you want to be human?'

'Mally's just curious, girls,' said Dormie, 'and, Mally, it was possible for these sisters,' he added firmly.

'Oh,' said little Mally, sounding slightly more satisfied.

'Now, these four sisters were learning to draw treacle.' Apparently the Mally in the room had opened her mouth to interrupt again, because Dormie added hurriedly, 'And they drew it from the treacle-well they lived in.'

'But if they were inside the well –'

'They also drew a great many things more. All manner of things beginning with an 'M'.'

'Did they draw me?' wondered younger Mally.

'Sometimes,' said Dormie, before Elsy cut over the top of him.

'Who would ever want to draw you?' she said snootily.

'You shouldn't put on airs, Elsybeth,' said Mally heatedly.

'You're just jealous because Thom from the beech tree down by the creek likes me better than you.'

'Thom? Who wants smelly old Thom? He collects fly wings!'

'Thom not good enough for you, then? I guess should have known you would aim higher,' said Elsy slyly.

'Now, Elsy, leave Mally alone.'

'I don't think –'

'Then you shouldn't talk,' quipped Mally.

'Why, you little –'

'Children! Suppertime!' called another unforgettable voice from downstairs.

Outside the door Mally turned in surprise.

'Mama?' she croaked, too taken aback to move. Too late she realised she was standing outside the door and the young Dormice were about to run into her. The door slammed open and Mally tried to scramble out of the way, but her attempts proved pointless. Her brother and sisters and younger self ran straight through her as though she were nothing more than a ghost; clattering on down the stairs to supper they bickered and teased each other whilst Dormie tried to referee.

They all looked just as she remembered them. Dormie; with his brown fur and brown eyes; wise beyond his years and always the calm centre. Elsy; with her immaculate fur the colour of cream and her frilly dress, smoothing it down subconsciously as she tiptoed daintily down the stairs. Lacy; young and quirky, bouncing around like a ball of tightly wound energy and copper fur. Then of course there was Mally herself, tiny and runty and white, too-big hatpin sword held up with one hand to stop the new and precious gift from clanging on the stairs. Last of all, trailing behind sleepily, was Tilly, a blue ribbon tied around the bunch of mousy grey fur atop her head.

Tiny little Tilly, always sleepy and hard to wake. She had been the first to go – lost when the Red Knights set fire to the oak tree. One minute she had been behind them as they all ran and tripped down the stairs for last time, then next she was gone; taken by the flames.

Standing at the top of the stairs, staring into space, Mally heard a new voice whisper from Dormie's room.

'They're all dead, aren't they Dormouse?'

'What?'

Mally pushed the door further open and slipped into the room, trying not to look at the rocking chair and patchwork quilts and pillows littering the floor. Mounted on the wall opposite the window that let the light of the setting sun into the room was an empty looking glass.

Mally frowned when she saw the empty mirror. She picked up a toy horse from the bedside table and bounced it in front of the glass. The horse seemed to float in midair. She was invisible.

'Where am I?' she asked of thin air, letting the horse fall onto the mess of pillows and blankets on the floor.

'In your home, Dormouse,' came a voice from the empty looking glass.

Mally, shook her head, a bitter smile twisting her mouth.

'No, I'm not,' she said, 'my home is gone.' She looked around the room, trying not to breathe the familiar smells in too deeply. 'Where am I really?' she said as she picked up the toy horse and set it back on the bedside table, trying to appear and sound only vaguely interested, even amused, by her situation. Inside she was panicked whirl of emotions; worrying about the Hatter and Edith and even Alice, trying to work out where in Underland she actually was, and struggling not to let raw memories and grief engulf her.

'Do you remember, Dormouse? The night when everything burned?'

The half smile dropped from Mally's face, and she subconsciously gripped her sword.

'What?'

'Do you remember the night when your home was gone, burnt to cinders and beyond repair? Do you remember how angry you were? You joined the Resistance – do you remember how you persuaded your brother to join it too? Do you remember how reluctant he was, how he could never hurt a fly even if it wanted to hurt him?'

'You shut up,' said Mally darkly, drawing her sword, because it was the only thing she could do.

'Do you remember when they caught him, and they took off his head, then for good measure they took off your mother's, and your sisters'? Do you remember how you got away?'

'They didn't tell the Red Knights,' snapped Mally, 'that's how I got away.'

'They didn't tell the Red Knights,' echoed the voice with vicious satisfaction. 'You weren't there, and they didn't tell the Red Knights there was another Ipswich Dormouse. Why didn't they tell, Dormouse? Why didn't they say that you were the only one who had wanted to fight in the first place?'

'Because they loved me,' said Mally fiercely, a tear escaping as her voice cracked. She wiped angrily at the tear, brushing it off her cheek.

'Do you remember, Dormouse?'

Oh, she remembered, alright. She'd never forget it. Images of smoke and fire and tree limbs crashing down around her head, bodies lying on the ground – bodies that had once upon a time been people she had grown up with. The iron stench of blood – blood everywhere and burnt fur and hair.

'It was your fault they died.'

'It was no one's fault but the Bloody Red Queen's!' Mally roared.

'REMEMBER?'

'SHUT UP!'

Before she could move a shadow shot out of the mirror and swallowed her whole, enveloping her in darkness. Mally felt around blindly, trying to use the hatpin as a guide. There seemed to be nothing around her. Suddenly a light snapped into being, falling in a bright white column. She flinched, squinting against the brightness, shielding her eyes with her free hand. As she adjusted to the light she saw that it fell on another looking glass, full-length for a human. Finally her gut instinct returned, rushing at her with a warning to stay where she was.

Don't look in the mirror.

'Look in the mirror, Dormouse,' hissed the voices from the looking glass.

Don't.

'No,' she said, staring at her feet.

'Coward,' one voice spat.

Mally's head snapped up instinctively, ready to shout at the looking glass. Then she saw her reflection, and froze completely.

'We know the truth, Mally,' whispered the voices.

Instead of a small, white Dormouse with a hatpin hanging limply by her side, there stood in the mirror a girl – a young woman, brandishing the Vorpal Sword; a fierce, determined look in her brown eyes. She wasn't jaw-droppingly handsome like Isolda, or soft and beautiful like Alice, but she was pretty in a feisty, farmgirl kind of way. Her straw-coloured hair was braided into two short plaits; freckles were sprinkled across her pointed nose.

'That's not me,' said Mally, unable to back away from the mirror.

'It could be. It could have been. It might have been. It might still be,' chorused the voices.

'You're lying.'

'We speak only the truth. We see only the truth.'

'And what you see can be deceiving.' Mally laughed, the sound shaking in the silence, 'Why would I want to be human?'

The girl in the mirror disappeared. Images flashed in the glass; the girl fighting huge monsters, the girl talking to humans, riding a horse, dancing in a ballroom with –

'The Hatter.' Mally stared, transfixed as the Hatter in the looking glass spun and lifted the girl, laughing happily and holding her close.

'We know everything you're ever wanted, Mally,' whispered the voice, wriggling into her ear. 'And we can give it to you.'

'How?' The question came in spite of herself.

'In dreams.'

The illusion immediately fell away. Mally felt disgusted with herself, with her own dreams. She gripped her hatpin sword tighter, raising it above her head as her stomach flipped at the image on the glass. The Looking-Glass Hatter drew the Looking-Glass Mally to him, dipping his head down to hers. Mally stabbed the glass with all her strength a second before their lips met, shattering the image as a high, wailing scream rent the air.

---

It had all started off so innocently. It was one of those perfect, utterly golden afternoons, when everything was bathed in liquid sunlight; the breeze was gentle and cool, and the sky impossibly blue. It was an afternoon that begged to be spent with Alice. And as if she had somehow known, Alice had arrived at noon. And for once Tarrant had met her halfway, turning the corner whilst strolling in the gardens near the Round Hall door. They had bumped into one another, him too busy fiddling and thinking and she too busy drinking in her Wonderland to look where they were going. She stumbled back in surprise, and he caught her elbow to steady her, hardly able to believe their good fortune.

'Alice!'

When she looked up and saw who it was her brown eyes lit up with joy, making his heart soar.

'Tarrant!' She threw her arms around him in a hug, and as always he laughed and wrapped his arms around her, feeling full enough with happiness to beg her to never leave again.

'Alice, you'll never believe how glad I am to see you,' he gushed as soon as she released him, keeping her hands on his arms, 'it's a splendid day and I couldn't bear it if we missed it, what with you being Up Top and all; I thought it was a day we simply had to spend together, and days can't spend themselves, you know, or at least I suppose they must feel terribly lonely when they have to.'

Alice laughed, 'Is that why you're waiting here?'

'Perhaps,' he smiled, offering her his arm. 'Shall we?'

'I don't see why we shouldn't,' she said as she took it, 'my mother isn't here, after all.'

'She wouldn't approve of me, then?'

Alice fell silent for a moment, her grin slipping, 'She doesn't approve of anything much.'

He watched her silently, wondering if she was going to elaborate, but she seemed to shake her gloom off and looked up at him happily once more as they began to walk towards the woods, chattering together about how everyone in Underland was doing.

They were halfway to the Tea Party Clearing when Tarrant stopped them, hesitating.

'Hatter?' said Alice in concern. 'Is something wrong?'

'Wrong? No, no, I …' He peered down at her, trying to find the words. 'I just thought … it's such a lovely day, and we never seem to … well, we never seem to do anything together anymore.'

'Together?'

'Just … Just you and me.'

Her face fell, and immediately he felt guilty for wanting her company all to himself.

'I'm sorry,' she said, her hand fiddling with his sleeve, 'it's my fault. I don't come down as much as I used to, I haven't the time and –'

'Haven't the time for old friends?' he joked shakily.

She seemed to see the hurt behind the jest and squeezed his arm reassuringly, 'I'll always have time for you, Tarrant. It's not my own choice, Mother keeps scheduling these pointless meetings with … well, it doesn't matter. The point is that I can't come down so much and when I do come down I haven't seen you all in so long that I can't help but see all of you.'

'It's not your fault, Alice.'

'It is, Tarrant, and it's not that I don't want to spend time with you – just you and me, because believe me, I do,' she said earnestly, meeting his gaze.

'What's stopping us then?' he said, feeling a grin spreading across his face. 'We can sneak away from the others just this once, can't we?'

Alice grinned back, gripping his arm tighter as they began to walk again, 'I don't see why not. It shall be our day, just for you and me. What should we do?'

He had considered this already.

'I saw Shifting Lake this morning,' he said, 'it looked particularly inviting.'

'I am not swimming in Shifting Lake,' said Alice seriously, though her smile was full of humour, 'so you can forget about that.'

'I wasn't suggesting swimming in the Lake, particularly not after our unfortunate meeting with the giant tentacled crab last time,' he said with a grimace, 'I don't know what we'd do without Mally and her impressive ability to take eyes out. No, I rather meant that I saw a little row boat on the Lake this morning, and we've never gone boating before, if I recall correctly.'

This idea seemed to be much more likeable.

'A boating trip? Really?' said Alice with delight. 'Shall we take a picnic?'

'An excellent idea; we can sneak into Thackery's old house –'

Alice rolled her eyes, 'It's your house now, Tarrant, when will you get your head around it?'

'It will always be Thackery's old house to me.'

'Why not renovate it?'

He glanced at her in surprise.

'I've no reason to renovate it.'

'You live in it.'

'Not for most of the time.'

It was Alice's turn to be surprised.

'Where do you sleep?'

'In my armchair,' he replied.

'In the Clearing? You sleep at the tea table?' she said in disbelief. 'Hatter, that can't be good for you.'

'That's what Mallymkun says.'

'Mallymkun's right.' Alice tried to peer into his face as they walked, her expression worried. 'Why do you sleep out there?'

The Hatter hesitated slightly before answering, 'I'd hate it if you came to visit and I missed you.'

He didn't look at her, afraid of what he might see in her expression now.

'I would never come and not see you, Tarrant,' she said. When he finally looked at her she had turned her head away. Then he saw her smile. 'Even if I had to barge right into your bedroom and clang two teapots together to wake you up just so I could say hello and get my hug.' She looked back at him, her cheeks faintly pink, 'I'm afraid I would act quite selfish when it came to you.'

'Well, here I am right now, being selfish when it comes to you,' said Tarrant cheerfully, 'so we're even.'

'I suppose we are quite selfish when it comes to each other,' she said thoughtfully.

They continued through the forest and crept into Thackery's old house in the clearing, filling a basket with cream cakes, scones, jam, blue lemonade, and cucumber sandwiches.

'You and your cucumber sandwiches,' said Alice fondly, nudging playfully at his arm as he packed a liberal amount.

'You can never have too many cucumber sandwiches,' he said wisely, shutting the lid on the basket and picking it up to set off. 'I think that should do it.'

Alice was trying to stifle laughter when he turned to her.

'What have I done to amuse you, dear?' he said with a smile, the endearment slipping off his tongue before he could stop himself. Luckily, Alice didn't seem to notice.

'It's nothing you've done,' said Alice, 'in fact I don't believe you'd ever do something so stupid … you just reminded me of something Mr Locksley did.'

'Mr Locksley?' echoed Tarrant, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

'Oh, one of Mother's fools,' sighed Alice tiredly as they walked. 'He dipped his cucumber sandwich in his tea, and dropped it, and then he tried to fish it out again surreptitiously with a jam biscuit. And then he ate the soggy sandwich bit and the biscuit, all in one go,' she added with disgust. 'As if I could ever marry such a character! Imagine having breakfast with him fishing his toast out of his morning tea every morning for the rest of my life!'

'Marry?' said Tarrant faintly. 'You're … you're getting married?'

'Not to him certainly,' said Alice decidedly. When she saw that he was looking at her in confusion, she explained, 'Mother still keeps trotting out man after man, trying to marry me off.'

'Oh,' he said, a hollow feeling in his chest.

'We had another argument about it last week,' she said, a little crease appearing between her brows, 'she wants me to start trying to find a husband – to "seriously attempt to pursue marital happiness".'

'And what did you say?'

'I told her the truth,' said Alice, taking the basket for a turn at carrying it, despite the Hatter's protests, 'that I'm not ready to get married yet and probably never will be. I want to marry for love. Like my parents. No matter how rich or poor or eligible he is.'

The Hatter opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off when Alice cried out in sudden delight.

'Oh, Tarrant, it's beautiful!'

They had reached the top of the hill, and Shifting Lake was spread out below them, the breeze teasing little waves upon its surface to glint in the sunlight. Tarrant saw with relief that the little row boat was still there, bobbing at the shoreline on a rope. The sight seemed to be too much for Alice wait for, and she took off down the hill before he could stop her.

'Alice! Alice, wait!'

He chased her down the hill, watching as her long hair bounced wildly behind her, catching the sun. She looked back at him, laughing, and, predictably, she tripped at the bottom and he went into a dive to stop her, sending them both to the ground.

'Are you alright?' he laughed, slightly breathless as she grinned down at him from where she was sprawled nearly on top of him.

'More than alright,' she said, just as giggly as he was, 'we have to do this more often.'

'Alice,' he said, mock reproving, 'are you suggesting that we make a habit of running down hills and falling over?'

'No,' she smiled, meeting his eyes, 'I mean this. Just us.'

He smiled back at her, chuckling when she suddenly shot up, crying out about the basket and worrying that it had upended and everything had spilled out.

He sat up while she scrambled about for the basket, setting his hat back on his head as she declared everything to be intact.

'Shall we go then, my lady?' he said, helping her and the basket up.

'We shall, kind sir,' she said with another grin, stepping into the boat carefully, followed by the Hatter.

The boat proved to be small and perhaps slightly cramped, but still comfortable, and they took turns rowing out to the centre of the Lake, swapping stories as per usual.

'I have one,' said Alice, '"there was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Perhaps she'll die."'

'Gruesome and short,' nodded the Hatter with amusement. 'Not your best, Alice.'

'Alright, then,' she said, accepting the challenge with a bright gaze. 'There once lived a man whose eyes could change colour. He was loyal, and brave, and much muchier than any other man you could find.'

'Much muchier?'

'Oh, much muchier,' said Alice, 'in fact, if it weren't for this man, I don't think I'd have any faith in the muchness of men at all. There are only three completely honourable men I have known: my father, Lord Astley, and you. The rest seem only to lie and strut and puff themselves up like peacocks and snob and cheat,' she said in a heated outburst, glaring out into the water.

Tarrant pulled the oars in, letting the boat drift as it pleased.

'Lowell, again?' he said gently.

'Margaret doesn't even see it!' cried Alice, throwing her hands in the air, 'I've tried to explain it to her and she just refuses to admit … Why would I ever want to get married with that as an example?'

'Not all marriages are like that.'

'He's horrible. He doesn't deserve her.' She wrung her hands in her lap, and looked at him with anguished eyes that made him want to put his arms around her in comfort. 'What if I did get married to someone I thought I loved, and it turned out like that? I don't know what to do to help her.'

Tarrant looked at her, so full of desperation and worry and dread, and took her hand; covering it with his own.

'Alice, when you marry, it will be for love, remember?'

She was searching his face for something.

'What if I really believed I loved him, when we married,' she said, her voice dropping nearly to a whisper, 'but then things changed? What if he wasn't there? What if I was always away? With the company, I mean,' she added, suddenly seeming self-conscious.

'I …' Talking about this hypothetical man, who Alice would one day love, pained Tarrant. 'Sometimes you just have to trust people.'

Her hand slipped out of his and fell to her side.

'And little Edith,' said Alice sadly, 'sometimes I wonder if she's noticed. She picks up more than people give her credit for. She sees things and she remembers them. Granted, sometimes that leads to her holding a grudge against a girl who she remembers stole a pencil from her when she was five.'

'How old is she now?'

'Seven going on eight,' she replied with a smile, 'and still refusing to be trained like a puppy. Apparently I'm a bad influence on her.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' he chuckled, pulling the luncheon basket out from under his seat. 'Sandwich? They're a bit squashed, I'm afraid, from our tumble.'

'As long as they're not drenched in tea,' Alice giggled, taking one.

'There's nothing wrong with being drenched in tea.'

'This from someone who is used to being drenched in tea on a regular basis,' she smirked.

'We all have our little habits, Alice. In Thackery's case violent ones.'

Alice was busy savouring the cucumber sandwich.

'Is there a cream cake near the top of the basket?' she said, leaning in to peep at its contents from her seat. 'We should have packed tea.'

'It sounds like someone skipped lunch again before they came,' he teased as he handed her a vanilla slice.

'I only just got off the boat,' she said, wolfing down the rest of the sandwich quarter before taking the slice, 'I couldn't resist coming straight here. You couldn't get the rabbit hole to follow me to China by any chance?' she joked.

'You've been to China again?'

'Third time now,' she said with another eye roll, 'and I still haven't had the time or money to go anywhere but the street where I stay and the street where I do business. China to me consists of two poky streets crammed with sweaty people bellowing about the wares they sell.'

'Perhaps you could schedule a longer trip?' suggested Tarrant as he helped himself to another cucumber sandwich quarter.

Alice shook her head, annoyed, 'I've asked. The company thinks seeing the sights is a waste of money. I've never met more narrow-minded people in all my life; they pretend to listen to what I say but barely take it into account, simply on the basis of my being a woman. And now that Lord Ascot has retired from the whole cursed business they don't even have to pretend to respect me …' she trailed off, eating her cake in silence, eyes downcast. 'I feel like I've put so much effort into the company and now they don't even need me anymore,' she sighed.

They ate in silence for a few moments more, until Alice finished her cake, taking glee in licking the cream off her fingers.

'Mother never lets me do that,' she snickered when she saw the Hatter's amused look. 'It's always, "wipe them on your napkin, you silly girl, act your age".'

'I've always thought it very unfair for people not to have their share of amusement just because they've grown older,' said Tarrant, looking out over the water with a half smile.

'You think me very much older, then?'

He looked back at her. There was a sad sort of worry in her countenance that made him regret his words.

'You're only thirty, Alice,' he said gently, 'still younger than me.'

She frowned slightly.

'Not much younger than you.'

'Still young all the same. Your mother makes you feel old, I think. All this talk of marrying you off before you become completely infirm.'

Alice laughed at that, and he felt a surge of satisfaction at being able to restore the sparkle to her eyes, but still an air of the sadness lingered.

'You know, sometimes I wish I had taken your offer all those years ago.'

'Offer?'

'To stay.' Her eyes met his with a steady gaze.

There was a pause as they looked at each other, and Tarrant said lowly, 'You still could stay.'

For a moment Alice looked ready to cry, and her hand went out as if to reach for his.

'I wish …' She stopped herself, withdrawing the hand before Tarrant could move his to meet it. 'I can't.' She broke their gaze to shake her head, looking away.

Even as his heart stung, he leaned forward in an endeavour to catch her eye once more, saying in a voice as sincere as he could muster, 'Whenever you're ready, Alice, I'll be here.'

Finally she met his eyes again, and he was startled to see hers full of tears.

'I hate to do this to you,' she said.

'Alice,' he said with alarm, 'I don't mind waiting if it means I can see you.'

'I wish I could stay,' Alice said, pressing her hand against his, 'sometimes I want to more than anything.'

He stared at her.

'Then why don't you?' he said.

'I couldn't just disappear. I couldn't do that to my family.'

'You have family here –' Tarrant began, but stopped himself.

There was small silence, broken by the gentle waves tickling the sides of the bow, rocking them slightly.

'Can we talk about something else?' said Alice with a weak laugh, clinging tighter to his hand.

'Of course,' the Hatter smiled. 'Come, no more tears.'

She laughed thickly again, wiping at them with her free hand.

'This is our day,' she said, 'let's make it last.'

Right on cue, something caught Alice's eye that made her delighted smile return.

'Oh, look! Scented rushes!' She pointed behind Tarrant to the clumps of rushes growing in the water at the edge of the lake. 'Please, Tarrant, let's pick some! We can put some in a vase and set them on the tea table. And I can take some home for Edith. I've never brought her anything from here before, she'd love it!'

The Hatter obligingly rowed the boat into the midst of the rushes, tucking the oars back inside the boat so that Alice could prepare to lean over the side.

'I'll have to break them off well under the water,' she said as she rolled up the sleeves of her dress, 'I only hope the boat doesn't turn over.'

Tarrant tried not to think about the crab swimming amongst the reeds below, ready to snap off Alice's arms the moment she plunged them in. Alice turned to him before she began, much more cheerful now.

'Now,' she said very seriously, though her eyes sparkled with a playfulness that made his stomach do back-flips, 'you mustn't let me fall in, sir. If I look like I might fall, be sure to grab me and pull me back. Otherwise I will pull you in after me.'

'On my honour, my lady,' he nodded with a grin.

With that she leant carefully over the side of the boat, seizing the rushes below the water and pulling them back into the boat with her. Her long, curling hair dipped into the water, and the scent of the rushes soon filled the boat.

Tarrant watched her carefully, ready to fulfil his assigned duty and pull her back if necessary, but she seemed well balanced. She was now stretching for a particularly pretty bunch of rushes, lamenting that the prettiest ones were forever out of her reach.

'I think the Lake is Shifting just to taunt me,' she panted, almost rocking the boat with her latest attempt at reaching a reed.

'Shall I try?' he said, and she nodded, relenting and folding back into the boat. Tarrant set aside his hat and jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

She pointed to the desired bunch of rushes and he leaned past her to stretch out for them, absolutely determined that he would fetch them for her if he had to shed his shoes and dive in for them.

'Do be careful, Tarrant,' he heard her say anxiously.

His fingers just managed to brush the reed above the level of the water.

'I think I can reach it!' Even as he said the words the boat rocked a little.

'Tarrant, maybe we have enough –'

'No, I can reach it, I'm absolutely certain. I will get them, Alice –'

'Hatter –' she gasped behind him as the boat rocked again.

'Nearly there …'

'I think –'

Tarrant made a bid for the rushes, nearly launching himself out of the boat, which rocked so violently that if Alice hadn't been leaning heavily on the opposite side, they surely would have tippled over. He felt his hand close around the rush.

'Got it!'

'TARRANT!'

A pair of arms seized him around the waist and pulled him back into the boat.

He and Alice fell back, rocking the boat further. They froze completely, huddled closely together on the floor of the boat. In a moment it steadied, and they began to laugh. Tarrant felt his heart racing, pushed to beat faster when he saw Alice's face close to his, split into a smile that radiated warmth. She wove her arm through his, burying her face in his shoulder, her hair sweet-smelling and damp through the cloth of his shirt.

'I think – I think we have enough rushes now,' she laughed breathlessly into his shoulder.

'P-perhaps so,' he said faintly, giddy on a strange, swooping high he never wanted to come down from.

'Are you alright?' she said, craning her head back to look at him.

'I'm fine,' he croaked.

Her laugh at the familiar phrase died away as she gazed at him, utter contentment filling her brown eyes. For some time they said nothing, exchanging only each other's happy smile.

'I got it,' Tarrant said, remembering and pulling out the reed. 'Oh.' It was slightly squashed now, but she took it all the same.

'Thank you, dear,' she said sweetly, shooting him another dazzling smile before starting to get to her feet.

She did notice then, he thought to himself with another flip of the stomach.

'Need a hand?'

He took the one she offered and she pulled him to his feet with enough gusto to startle the boat and knock them into each other.

'Perhaps we should sit down again,' he suggested with amusement, holding her steady.

'Perhaps,' she agreed, and he, (somewhat reluctantly), released her and took his seat opposite her in the boat.

Alice took up the oars this time, and Tarrant returned his hat to its rightful place atop his head, lying his jacket across the seat next to him. It was only when he looked back to Alice that he noticed the remnants of a deep blush on her cheeks. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed to be determinedly avoiding his gaze, rowing in a very busy and concentrated fashion. He was just about to question her when something ahead sparked his interest.

'I do believe there's a gazebo ahead,' he remarked with pleasant surprise. 'It seems the Lake has decided to make up for its games with the rushes.'

The sight of the pretty little gazebo, mounted on a small island, had a strange effect on Alice. She paused in her rowing to glance at it and frowned vaguely before turning her back on it.

'Not your type of gazebo?' he said.

She finally made eye contact with him with a start, as if she'd momentarily forgotten where she was.

'I've had bad experiences concerning gazebos,' she said, then reddened even further as she looked at him.

Tarrant quirked an eyebrow at her.

'Nothing,' she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

'Shall we stay in the boat then?'

Alice's reply was to row energetically nearly all the way to opposite end of the Lake, which was no small feat.

'Alice,' said the Hatter, trying to catch onto one of the oars to stop her, 'Alice, I think you've rowed far enough now.'

Abruptly she stopped, dropping the oars into the boat, which slid forwards a short distance still under the force of Alice's last push.

The lady was silent, looking down at her lap.

'What in all Underland is so terrible about gazebos, Alice?' he asked in bewilderment.

She remained quiet, still highly coloured.

Tarrant sat back in the uncomfortable silence, wondering if he should take up the oars.

'Sorry,' said Alice suddenly, startling him.

'That's alright,' he said, still confused.

She sighed and seemed to relax, unwinding. The silence became slowly more natural and less awkward.

After some time Alice leant back, closing her eyes and breathing in. The sun made her golden hair and pale skin glow, and a soft smile danced across her lips.

Her voice was gentle and playful as she said, 'Tell me a story?'

'Once upon a time,' he began, leaning back himself but not closing his eyes, 'there was a young woman with long blonde hair, who was full of muchness.'

Alice laughed, but didn't say anything.

'She lived two lives in two different worlds. One in a world above, where she had a family who loved her, and job she had worked hard for; and one in a world below where she had many great adventures in a fantastical place named Wonderland. Sometimes she would wonder if Wonderland was a dream, but she knew she would have to be half mad to dream it up.

'She would travel back and forth between her two worlds, exploring both of them. Although no time passed for her in the world above, in the world below time was felt by the friends who missed her.'

The old sadness came back into Alice's smile, and Tarrant hurried on.

'But her friends waited for her. One in particular.'

Her smile brightened, 'Tell me about him.'

'Well, he was rabbit,' Tarrant said, just to tease her.

Alice snickered and kicked his shoe playfully.

'No, he wasn't.'

'Are you saying you know more about my story than I do?'

'No, I'm sorry,' she laughed, then sobered to a little smirk, 'I'll be quiet.'

'So this young woman's friend had known her for many years, since she was very small.'

'And while she kept coming back older and older, he stayed the same age,' Alice cut in, her voice anxious and sad again.

Tarrant sighed.

'I believe we've had this conversation already.'

'I can't help but –'

'The woman didn't realise how young she was.'

'The woman had very real worries,' retorted Alice.

'And she didn't realise that she would never really grow old. Not to him,' he said softly.

Alice opened her eyes. She sat up slowly.

'That doesn't – didn't change the fact that one day she would visit and she wouldn't be able to run around with him anymore. She wouldn't be able to climb trees and have adventures. Or go on boating trips,' she said, brown eyes unbearably sad.

Every word felt like a tiny dagger to the heart, and Tarrant moved to sit next her, gripping her hand.

'But he would wait for her,' he said, squeezing the hand he held. 'He would wait for her until she decided to stay with him. In a way he'd been waiting for her since she was nineteen.'

'Waiting? Do you mean …?'

'He didn't want to grow up if it couldn't be with her,' he said, his mouth dry with self-consciousness. 'So he waited for years, hoping and wishing that one day his friend would stay; worrying that she would forget him, or that she would lose interest with her Wonderland. Worrying that she would marry.' He could hardly believe the words flowing from his own mouth; Alice was staring at him with a strange expression but he couldn't stop now. 'And sometimes he worried so much he felt sick; sometimes the need to see her again hurt like a physical pain –'

The boat bumped to a halt against the shoreline.

'Hatter –'

'But he couldn't do anything but wait, and hope that maybe she felt the same way, and the way he felt was – well, sometimes it was painful but sometimes it was – it was wonderful; because he liked – cared about – He loved her –'

'Hatter, I have to go.'

'Fez?' Oh, he hated himself sometimes. He resisted the urge to slap himself in the face and concentrated.

He had never seen Alice look so anguished. She was as pale as death, eyes fixed on his face. She seemed utterly torn.

'I should go,' she said, but didn't move.

Tarrant let go of her hand, feeling something inside his chest slowly withering and crumbling.

'I would leave the company in a second,' she said after a moment, 'and I would leave my world. But I couldn't leave them.'

'You could visit them,' he said, 'time doesn't pass there. It passes here.' He struggled not to add, "it's not fair."

'How could I …? I'd pass months away down here and then go back to find things the same as the day I arrived,' she said wretchedly, twisting her hands in her lap, 'I'd always be out of step with them.'

Tarrant didn't know what to say. It was the closest he'd ever come to telling Alice how he felt. And she was horrified.

'I … I'm confusing at the best of times, I know,' he said carefully. 'Did you understand what I meant, when I said …?'

'I think so,' said Alice in a dazed voice, as if it were something she still couldn't quite comprehend.

'You seem shocked.'

'I am, I suppose.'

'I thought it was obvious,' he said quietly. His heart was aching something dreadfully now; every inch of it felt shot through with a strange, nearly indescribable pain. He stood, stepping off the boat with the intention of returning home to bury himself in a flurry of hat-making, where mercury and needles were the only things that could prick and sting him. 'I'm sorry the way I feel – the way I've felt,' he said with forced calmness, slipping back out of the brogue, 'for these eleven years, is so … disgusting to you.'

Without looking at her he offered his hand to help her out of the boat, and was dully surprised when she took it.

'It's not disgusting,' said Alice in such a voice that he knew now she was crying, and he hated himself even more.

'It offends you,' he said, about to withdraw his hand. She suddenly gripped it with something close to desperation.

'Tarrant, it's not like that; I didn't know – sometimes I did think maybe … but I was never certain, sometimes you treated me just as you treated everyone else – with kindness and affection – and I could talk myself into believing you didn't think of me that –' she stopped herself and took a breath before continuing, her voice wavering with emotion, 'Please, look at me.'

He did, lifting his eyes up from his shoes. Tears were flowing thick and fast down her face, and she seemed to be fighting some inner battle with herself. Both her hands were closed around his.

'It's not just a question of – It's not that I … Because –' again she stopped herself, looking straight into his eyes and pleading with him to understand. 'You have to understand, my mother, and my sister … my niece – Edith, sometimes I'm scared I'll go back to the Overland and she'll be all grown up and I'll have missed it. They're the only blood family I have. And I love them, Tarrant.'

And suddenly Tarrant felt the most ridiculous stab of jealousy. He pulled his hand out from between hers, stepping back away from her. He was being childish, he knew. But he couldn't help it.

'Didn't you love your family?' she said softly, breaching what she knew was a taboo subject with him. But he was too numb with pain to hurt any further.

'Yes,' he said, 'but I love you too. It is possible to love more than one thing at once.'

'I know,' she said, almost flinching as he spoke.

'But you're saying you love them but not me.'

'I –' She seemed to struggle internally with something once more, before stepping closer again, holding his gaze with streaming eyes. 'You're my dearest friend,' she said forcedly, 'my dearest friend in either world.'

'Your friend,' Tarrant echoed, feeling his poor heart hurting enough to make his head spin with the words. 'I couldn't ever be …?' He looked down at his shoes again, regretting ever taking her on this silly little excursion, for daring to open his mouth at all, for even risking the friendship they had. 'I – I'm so foolish, Alice – I've ruined everything – you're going to hate me, I'm so sorry –'

Two warm hands cupped his face gently, silencing him immediately.

'Don't be sorry, Hatter,' she said calmly, while her eyes cried. 'There's nothing to be sorry for.'

'But –'

'Please, Tarrant,' she begged, the crying eyes looking straight into his, 'please, don't make me choose. I can't leave them. Not yet.'

He nodded, swallowing, as her hands slipped from his face and sought his own hands, entwining them together. Then Alice surprised him by leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. The spot tingled as she stepped away, the smell of her hair still lingering around him and the dampness from her tears on his cheek.

'I'll be back soon,' she promised, smiling her soft smile. 'There are some things I need to think about, but I'll be back.'

'I'll wait for you,' he said, trying to smile back.

'Fairfarren, Tarrant.' She turned away, walking back to the Gardens.

'Fairfarren, Alice,' he whispered, his cheek still tingling.

---

Tarrant woke from the memory to find himself lying on something cold and hard in the darkness. He slowly rose to a sitting position, feeling around for his hat automatically. And it was just as he remembered that it had been knocked off outside the Round Hall that he saw Alice lying not two feet away from him, pale as moonlight in their shadowy surroundings.

For a moment he was paralysed with shock, then sprang to his feet and hurried to her side.

'Alice.'

Her eyes were shut; her skin sickly and pale. She was lying quite neatly, her blue skirt fanned out and her hands carefully folded over her chest. It reminded him with a chill of a corpse in a coffin, and he hastened to move her hands gently, checking her pulse on one wrist. It was faint but steady, like a drumbeat sounding from far off, and he let out half the breath he had been holding in. She seemed to be sleeping.

'Alice, de –' he bit off the endearment when he remembered with a pang that he had no right to use it. 'Miss Kingsleigh,' he said, then felt silly. She would have laughed to hear me call her that. 'Alice,' he whispered, 'Alice, wake up.'

She didn't stir, and he didn't know exactly why he was whispering. There was no one there but the shadows, him, Alice, and young Edith.

His head swiveled around again in a double take.

'Edith?'

The girl was curled upon herself in a foetal position, surrounded by a thick, swirling layer of shadows. She was barely visible inside it – it almost looked like a grey egg. It was pulsing slightly, like a leech feeding off its prey.

'Edith,' said the Hatter, louder this time, 'can you hear me?'

The niece seemed to mutter, twitching her head. Tentatively the Hatter jabbed at the shadows with a finger; they bulged and twisted, squirming away from him.

'Get off her,' he said, shooing them away, all the while with the growing impression that these weren't shadows that would take kindly to be shooed. These were the type of shadows that would remember, and plot revenge. 'Go on, leave her alone. She can't have that much misery to feed off, she's only a child.'

The shadows cleared off, dissipating like fog and leaving behind a shivering and pale Edith, clasping her knees to her chest.

'Are you alright?'

The girl didn't respond, her eyes clenched shut and her mouth forming low, muttering words.

'Come on, Edith,' he coaxed, untwisting her hands and pulling her into a sitting position, 'you're awake now.'

At the words her eyes suddenly snapped open, black and huge and frightened. She fell forwards, grabbing his jacket to stay upright.

'Edith?' he said uncertainly, straining his ears to catch her mumbled words.

'I'm dead – dead and dreaming, it's just a dream, it's not a dream – I'm dead, I drowned, I must be …'

'What are you talking about?'

'I don't know … Can you still dream after you die?' Her gaze wandered, unfocused, and an icy coldness radiated off her.

'Edith, I found Alice.'

She looked back to him, and said with anxiousness, 'Is she alive?'

'Yes.'

She choked and released him, burying her face in hands, shaking with relief. An odd, strangled noise began, and it took a moment for Tarrant to realise that Edith was crying.

'Hush,' he said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. The girl sobbed harder, and he hesitated before pulling her to her feet and guiding her over to where Alice lay. 'Come and see her. She's fine.'

She looked at Alice, hiccupping, and crouched beside her, reaching a hand out to touch the woman's sleeping face. Then her own face crumpled and she began to cry once more, curling into a ball and hiding in her nightgown.

'But she's alive!' said the Hatter, alarmed. He squatted down beside her, 'We did it; we found Alice, and she's alive.'

'My mother's dead,' Edith blurted, her face in her nightgown, muffling the words, 'she died three weeks ago, before I even got here. She's been dead all this time and …' the rest dissolved into sobs that shook her body.

'But how could you possibly know that?'

'They told me. And I – I know it's true … I know it …'

'Who told you?'

Edith raised a tear-stained face, and the Hatter felt a jolt of pity at how vulnerable she looked.

'The voices from the looking glass,' she said.

---

Alice drifted, wrapped in layer upon downy layer of dreams and memories and dream-memories. She was being carried by song – musical notes floating in a golden haze around her.

'Alice, dear, where have you been?' sang the voices; chiming, lilting notes in harmony. 'So near, so far, or in between?'

There was no need to speak or to even think, only to drift. Nothing existed beyond the hazy sunlit sphere she was woven tightly into. The voices spun threads around her as they sang, cocooning her in gold.

'Alice ... Alice ...'

She was sitting on the floor of a drawing room.

My drawing room, she thought. At home.

But it was a home from her childhood, from long ago, before a family of three had become a family of two and their house had stopped feeling so much like a home. Before they had moved away, away from the memories of happiness that haunted every nook and cranny.

She sat at a low coffee table of expensive-looking dark wood, leaning back against the crimson armchair behind her. A fire was burning merrily in the grate next to her, filling the room with warmth. There was a chess set sitting on the coffee table, the pieces stationed ready for a game. Alice reached out and picked up the red queen piece and then the white queen piece, gazing at them with distant half-interest.

Something leapt into her lap, and Alice dropped the two pieces onto the board with a clatter of surprise. The thing mewed, and her hand automatically went to stroke its fur.

'Hello, Dinah. You frightened me.'

Dinah mewed and licked her hand with a little pink tongue.

'Where are Black and White?'

Perhaps hearing their names the two kittens trotted in, the black one rubbing its face against the floor in annoyance, trying to shake off the bell tied around its neck.

'Now, Black,' scolded Alice, picking it up and frowning at it, 'how many times must we tell you to leave your bell alone? Naughty creature.' She tapped it gently on the nose, only meaning to reprimand it. It bit her.

Alice gasped, withdrawing her hand. A droplet of blood hit the cream carpet. Mother would not be pleased.

'Black! My, what sharp teeth you have.'

She picked up the white kitten instead. It was the more obedient of the two, and soon curled up in her arms, purring contentedly. Alice fiddled with the white knight piece with one hand, nursing White in the other arm.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond the drawing room.

'Alice?'

She sat up straighter as her mother entered the room. Alice was frightened to notice tear tracks on her cheeks.

'What's happened?' she said, her voice sounding somehow muffled, as though her ears were suddenly blocked. Dread flipped her stomach over. 'Is it Father? Has he gotten worse?'

'Alice ...' Mother's eyes were brimming over with fresh tears.

Everything went dead. There was no sound. The world blurred together, a haze of crimson and dark wood panelling and chess pieces. Numbly she felt White stir restlessly in her arms, as if the kitten had been the only one other her to realise that the bottom had just dropped out of the world.

'Is there time for me to see him?' she heard herself say, fighting to keep the words steady. Her cheeks were wet.

Mother nodded, her own tears spilling over.

'Hurry.'

Alice stood so fast that White was startled out of her grasp. The kitten leapt onto the table with a reproachful yelp, scattering the chess pieces everywhere; they rolled off the table and into the hearth, some licked by flames and others remaining on the chess board like the corpses of some great massacre.

Alice left the room, the white knight piece still clenched in one hand so hard it hurt.

The door from the drawing room led deep into the forest. The voices led her deeper still, into shadows. Somewhere in the distance a man was singing.

'I have not seen thy sunny face,

Nor heard thy silver laughter,

No thought of me shall find a place,

In thy young life's hereafter ...'

The voice was dimming, fading slowly.

'Wait!' cried Alice, picking up her skirts and running through the forest after the voice, stumbling over the uneven ground in the dim light. 'Wait, please! I have to tell you – oh!' A root tripped her and she went sprawling onto the ground.

'Enough that now thou wilt not fail,

To listen to my fairytale ...' The voice was nearer now; she had gained on him. Alice climbed to her feet again, catching a glimpse of white moving amongst the closely-growing trees.

'Mr Rabbit?' she called. 'Mr Rabbit, wait!'

She gave chase, and soon a figure was visible between the gaps in the trees ahead. It wasn't a rabbit.

The White Knight turned to look at her as she approached him, slowing down.

'Alice?'

'Father,' she panted, leaning on her knees crossly, 'why did you make me run after you?'

He chuckled, the sound deep and comforting and familiar.

'Alice, you know that to stay in the same place you have to run as fast as you can, and twice as fast as that if you actually want to get anywhere.'

She smiled dryly, straightening and crossing her arms.

'What were you singing?' she asked out of curiosity.

'You would have to ask him,' said the White Knight, with an infuriatingly knowing smile that refused to share any secrets, 'he was the one singing it.'

'Where can I find him?'

'You're wearing your mother's necklace,' observed the White Knight, as if she hadn't asked the question.

She saw his gentle eyes through the gap in his helmet; brown as her own and full of sadness.

'She misses you,' she said.

'She misses you too, Alice.'

Alice felt her throat sting with regret.

'I know. I'm sorry, Father. I should be around more often.'

He smiled again, offering his arm.

'Come. I'll see you safely to the end of the wood.'

They walked in companionable silence until the trees thinned and the light streamed down in golden shafts. They reached the beginning of a road that wound far into the distance, and the White Knight stopped, turning to Alice.

'And here is where I leave you.'

Alice felt a flutter of panic, and held onto his arm.

'No, please, don't. I still have all this way to go.'

'I would if I could, Alice,' he said with shining eyes, 'but you can walk by yourself now.'

He disentangled himself from her, and reluctantly she let him go. 'Will you see me off?'

Alice nodded, swallowing, 'Of course.'

The White Knight pressed her hand, the bright eyes filling with immeasurable pride.

'Wonderland's Champion. Partner in the company. You've been there when I couldn't, Alice. But you have to live your own life now, not the one I left unfinished.'

His hands slipped from hers and she watched, speechless and powerless as he slowly faded away.

When there was nothing before her but the sunshine and the clean air, Alice turned away and began the long walk alone, her tears tickling her cheeks.

'Where are you?' she called to him. 'Father said you were singing.'

'A true saganistute,' the man's voice whispered on the wind.

'That's Outlandish, isn't it?'

There was no reply.

Alice soon came upon a vendor with a brightly coloured stall, hung with flags and bells. When the vendor saw her he dashed forward, the bells sewn into his clothes jingling like a Christmas sleigh.

'I see you are admiring my stall,' he said with a swooping bow. 'It's the best in the market, you know, all my customers say so.'

'Where is the market?' asked Alice, interested.

He became irritable at that, straightening as stiff as bamboo pole and frowning down at her.

'Here, of course, you stupid girl,' he snapped.

Alice was understandably taken aback and insulted, and it must have shown clearly on her face, because the vendor immediately fell over himself trying to make amends.

'Beggin' your pardon, miss,' he said more congenially with a tip of his bowler hat, 'I only meanta' say that the market's right 'ere and all 'round, you see. Only thing is I 'appen to be the only stall at the present time.'

'Where all the other stalls?' said Alice, puzzled.

'Ach,' said the vendor, scratching his head, 'they be on the beach, by the Red Sea. Ye cannae argue the logic of it with 'em.'

'The logic? Whatever do you mean?'

He cleared his throat and looked so stern that Alice took a step back.

'Young lady. Are you intending to purchase any of my wares at all?'

Alice thought it would be best to at least politely look over some of the things before making a hasty retreat. She bent over the table and inspected the array of jewellery, socks, hats, and beetles for some minutes before going to walk away.

'Oh, please, miss, do wait,' said the vendor fretfully, twisting his hands, 'I'm sure I can sell you something, really I can.'

'I'm afraid I don't have any money,' she said, pitying the poor shopkeeper.

'That doesn't matter a whit of it!' he said grandly. 'I shall prove my prowess as a vendor – I can sell something to you even when you have no money!'

She decided not to point out the faults in this argument.

'Look here, look here at this necklace, missus.'

'Oh, I already have one, thank you.'

'Hmm,' the vendor grunted, shooting the offending object a disgruntled look. 'This?' He jabbed a finger at a cockroach.

'No, thank you,' said Alice, who had been trying not to look at it.

The shopkeeper stared at intently for so long that Alice began to feel uncomfortable, then dived under the table with an overjoyed exclamation of: 'I know exactly what you want!'

Alice opened her mouth to bid him a good day and good bye, but he emerged with a circular box in his arms.

'This is what you want, Miss Kingsleigh,' he whispered, and with utmost care removed the lid for Alice to peer inside.

Inside the box was a top hat of dark green. A faded dark pink ribbon was tied around it, and many hatpins were stuck into it, clustering on the side. Something deep inside Alice cried out at the sight of it, and she put her hand out to trace the numbering on the paper pinned on one side.

10/6.

'That's the price,' said the voice of the shopkeeper, snapping Alice out of her daze. 'Would you like it?'

'Yes. Yes, please,' she said, still feeling light-headed.

The vendor stuck his hand out, 'Money, please!' he sang.

Alice stared at him.

'I told you, I haven't got any money. You said you could sell me something without taking money!' Her hand was still absently tracing the numbers, unwilling to break contact with the hat.

'And I wasn't gonna' show you this. Then you showed me your necklace,' said the vendor, raising an eyebrow. 'Come on, sweetie, you want it, you got the dough now.'

Alice gripped her necklace with her free hand.

'This was my mother's,' she said firmly, 'it's not for sale.'

'Neither is this. But we can cut a deal.'

'I'll come back with money,' said Alice, finally taking her hand away. The box was snapped shut, and she felt a pang of longing.

The vendor shook his head, 'It will be gone. Long gone. Necklace or hat, you choose, missy.'

'I can't! This is ridiculous, surely there's more than one option.'

The vendor stared at her, emotionless.

'Necklace or hat.'

'So near, so far, or in between?'

'There's another option, Alice.'

'Alice, stay and be our Queen ...'

'Alice ... Alice ...'

'Miss Kingsleigh?'

Alice turned at the sound of his voice.

'Where are you?' She was so confused, but she almost laughed. 'Since when have you called me "Miss Kingsleigh"? That's for stuffy lords and rich men, not for you, dear.'

'Alice ...'

'Where are you?'

'Miss Kingsleigh, do you need assistance?'

Alice looked up from the marble floor at the brown-haired man with the amiable smile.

'Mr Harrison?' He helped her to her feet, her head spinning slightly. 'What happened?'

'You fell,' he said.

'Yes, I ... gathered that.'

Mr Harrison blushed to the roots of his very brown hair.

'Well,' he said awkwardly, 'shall we continue dancing, then? Only the other couples are beginning to stare.'

Alice looked around. The other pairs of lobsters, turtles and whiting on the white marble dance floor were indeed staring at them, standing stationary as they were in the middle of the ballroom. Above a giant chandelier lit the golden chamber, making the dresses of the lobsters sparkle and the polished wood doors lining the room glow warmly.

A nearby couple nearly careened into Alice, and Mr Harrison seized her waist and pulled her into step with the other dancers, ignoring her protests. They began to dance a strange version of the quadrille, in which Alice attempted to escape and found herself twirled back into Mr Harrison's arms.

'Mr Harrison, please! I do not wish to dance!' With a small struggle she stamped on his foot and freed herself, running past the lobsters and turtles in the ballroom as they continued to dance, ignoring her completely.

Alice stopped at a seat in the furthest corner she could find, and sat down on it with the resolution not to move for the rest of the night until Mother stopped all this ridiculous business and came back with the carriage. She would not pull this trick on her again, no, she wouldn't.

She crossed her arms and watched the dancing women and men. It wasn't long before Felicia, the youngest Chataway girl, dropped into the seat next to her with that uncanny way of materialising which most annoying people are gifted with. One minute you're minding your own business, next, poof – there they are with a stupid grin on their face.

'Hello there!' Felicia shouted brightly, as if they were sitting on the opposite sides of the ballroom rather than right next to each other.

Alice nodded once, rather sullenly, and then remained silent, scanning the crowd.

'This is my first ball, you know,' gabbled Felicia, winding a bit of ribbon off her dress around her finger, 'the whole business is so very monstrously exciting, don't you think?'

When Alice didn't reply, Felicia followed her gaze and squawked with amusement.

'Are you looking for someone, Alice? I may call you "Alice", mayn't I? After all, we've practically been raised together and Fiona and Faith do call you "Alice" whenever they speak of you, so I thought that I might too? So are you looking for someone? Someone special?' Felicia jabbed her with one pointy and frill-covered elbow, giggling madly, 'Ooh, is he handsome? I bet he's ever so handsome.'

Alice slowly turned her head to look at her. Whatever you do, she thought to herself, you mustn't blush.

'I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Come now, Alice, don't tease me ... Who is he? Tinker, tailor? You can't hide it for long, you know, I pride myself on having a natural instinct for these things.'

He wouldn't be here anyway. I wish he was. At least I'd have someone to talk to.

'You are, after all, sitting in a corner alone,' continued Felicia slyly, 'and I did see such a look of yearning on your face, I'm sure I spied it across the room.'

'You confuse yearning with boredom,' said Alice, not lifting her eyes from the crowd.

This caused quite a kerfuffle with the younger girl.

'Boredom? What cause is there for boredom in such a place?' Felicia stood, hoisting Alice up with her, 'I do declare I shall find you a man if you won't own up to one yourself.'

'Oh, no, Felicia, I'd rather just sit –'

'Waiting for them to come to you is useless, Alice. Men never are sure what they want, so you have to tell them.' And with that Felicia marched right into the fray of waltzing couples, dragging a struggling Alice along with her.

'Henry,' she cried, thrusting Alice right into her older brother, 'I have found you a dance partner.' She winked a heavy and cringingly obvious wink in Alice's direction and then sailed away before the woman could protest further.

Just as she was turning to excuse herself from the brother's company, she caught a rather pitiable look of hope dawning on Mr Chataway's face, and the excuse died on her lips.

'Shall we dance?' she said weakly, knowing she was signing herself up for a night of torture.

'Indeed we shall!' he said with a fancy, fluttery little bow which Alice thought made him look rather silly.

They glided onto the dance floor, or rather, Mr Chataway glided and Alice trudged resignedly along behind him.

She was forced to dance the rest of the night with him. Every time she went to take her leave he would look so crushed, and then when even the crushed looks could no longer earn her pity he appeared at her side and began to talk incessantly about the apple orchard in his father's manor. Dancing, she found, at least shut him up, as he seemed to find it impossible to do more than one thing at once. Finally everyone was beginning to leave, Mother still hadn't returned with the carriage, and she completely lost patience with Mr Chataway.

'... And you should see it in the spring, the sweetest little blossoms –'

'Mr Chataway,' said Alice, earning herself a stern look for interrupting, 'why is a raven like a writing desk?'

He blinked at her. She could see the works slowly grinding around and around in his head, dusty from little use.

'Because ... they both have ... clawed feet?' He looked very pleased with himself.

Alice turned and walked away from him right there.

That was a memory, wasn't it?

Alice drifted, remembering and dreaming.

It's getting hard to pick the difference now.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Why do I ask each one the riddle?

Well, Alice reasoned to herself, I'm trying to find the right man, aren't I? So, I'm trying to find the right answer.

You've already found the right answer, whispered her own voice back at her. The one that made you smile.

But even if it is the right answer, what if the right answer isn't the right answer? What if it's the right answer, but it itself can't be the answer?

That's very confusing.

This place is confusing.

I wish I could dance with him. I wish I could stay with him.

Yes, it's hard to tell the difference between dreams and memories sometimes. Other times, she knows it's a dream. It's too perfect to be true.

Alice stepped onto a marble balcony. White roses bloomed through the cracks in the pavement, winding around the pillars of the balcony wall.

'Enough that now thou wilt not fail,

To listen to my fairytale.'

Alice didn't turn. She didn't want to break the spell of the dream. She knew this one; she'd had it many times now.

'I'll listen,' she said softly, 'I'll truly listen this time, and I won't just hear the problems and the obstacles.'

'A tale begun in other days,

When summer suns were glowing,

A simple chime, which served to time,

The rhythms of our rowing ...' He neared her, and her skin tingled.

Still she didn't turn.

'Whose echoes live in memory yet –'

'Though envious years would say "forget",' Alice finished as the Hatter stood beside her, his hat tucked neatly under one arm. She smiled at him. 'There you are.'

He returned her smile somewhat tentatively.

'Tell me, dear. Why is a raven like a writing desk?'

For a moment the dream was shot through with a memory – crystal clear and so treasured it was completely familiar.

The small smile on his face was sad and silly, and maybe a tiny bit bashful; his eyes soft and trained on her.

'I have absolutely no idea,' he smiled quietly.

'Do you think it's pointless to look,' she said, as the memory faded and the dream-Hatter reappeared in its place, 'when you've already found what you're looking for?'

He didn't say anything, he rarely did in dreams. She could never predict it perfectly enough.

'When we met, I was a little girl who tried to act like a dignified woman, and you were a man who acted like an undignified little boy. You told me to get my hair cut, do you remember?' she smiled, the taste of the memory bittersweet. 'You did pour me a cup of tea to make up for it, though.'

He was silent, waiting for her to go on.

'And when I came back I was a young woman who had just lost her father and wasn't ready to grow up, and you were a man who had just lost his family and wasn't ready to give up. And you snapped me out of it, and I snapped you out of it, do you remember?'

He smiled his gently half-smile.

'And you said, "why is it you're always too big or too small?"' Alice put one hand over his, resting on the balcony wall. 'Would you have kissed me?'

'Passionately,' he said, the smirk of his mouth betraying the joke.

'I'm a woman now,' she continued, 'and you're a man. So why don't you kiss me now?'

'Because I also happen to be a gentleman,' he said with a grin that almost suggested otherwise, 'and gentlemen don't do such things unless they know it will be welcome and won't earn them a slap in the face.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't know for certain how you felt. My head gets in the way of my heart and it confuses things. I had a family and that confused things too.' Alice sighed, looking sadly into his face, 'I wish I could explain it to you.'

She remembered it so clearly. The Hatter's mischievous smile as he suggested the boating trip. The flutter in her heart as she heard him call her "dear".

The Hatter running, laughing, down the hill behind her, his coat flapping out and his pockets trailing brightly coloured ribbons like a kite.

'Whenever you're ready, Alice, I'll be here.' His eyes were as blue as one of her dresses as leaned forward, his voice reassuring. He was spending his whole life waiting for her.

'I hate to do this to you.'

The scent of the rushes, heady in the air around them as he leaned past her with rolled up sleeves to reach for a reed; brushing against her bare arm and zapping her skin. The boat rocking, him crashing into her and both of them landing in a heap on the floor of the boat; she couldn't resist moving closer, threading her arm through his and leaning blissfully on his shoulder. Neither could she resist shooting an endearment back at him, just to see his eyes blush. They had stood up just to knock straight back into each other, and as she tilted her head up at him he smiled so sheepishly down at her.

Kiss him, whispered a voice in her mind.

'Perhaps we should sit down.'

Anything to hide the burning that was surely making her cheeks as red as two tomatoes.

And then that gazebo. Her head was so full of him, and without order it constructed a memory of her first disastrous proposal – for a fleeting second she envisioned a different redhead going down on one knee and felt her cheeks redden further.

Then he started the story. The thinly-veiled account of her own life. And of course it wasn't long before Tarrant himself came into the story, and things got personal and awkward and she had to be cruel and her heart broke for him because she had never seen him look so hurt. His eyes were bruised and his tie drooped like a withered flower, and what was worse was that she knew it was all her fault. She flinched as he told he loved her in a soft, sad voice.

Shout at me, please, she thought despairingly, swear at me in Outlandish, be angry; just don't be so hurt.

'You're my dearest friend,' she said aloud, her desperation leaking into her voice. She knew what he meant, she knew exactly what he was talking about, and she was suddenly afraid; afraid of what choices she would have to make because of it. 'My dearest friend in either world.'

She might as well have stabbed him. She wished she could explain it to him, but it was all happening so fast and her brain couldn't conjure the right words and maybe a lie would make it better, so she forced out words like "friend" even though they made his eyes dim more and made her feel sick. What she wanted to do and what she knew she had to do were two different things.

She was twisting her hands in an effort not to grab him by the bow tie and kiss him; holding his gaze and trying to reassure him while she simultaneously destroyed all his hopes; and trying to make him understand without explaining everything to him.

Because how would that explanation sound? While Alice couldn't be sure that the Hatter loved her she could lie to herself, and while she could lie to herself she didn't have to choose between her two worlds. It was that simple, and that complicated, and that selfish. She was a child at heart, and falling in love was another way of growing up.

And she had lied to herself for so long, telling herself firmly that she and Tarrant were merely friends – that he was the brother she had never had – while they walked down a street hand in hand. And then one day they had been sitting at the tea table, Thackery laughing and giggling madly as he drummed a rhythm on a line of teapots, out of beat with the music; Mally sipping her tea quietly halfway down the table, seemingly lost in thought; and Alice and Tarrant deep in discussion about topiaries at the head of the table, Alice leaning forward as she listened to him. They had been distracted in a debate over whether a reindeer or a snowman topiary would look more ridiculous, and Tarrant hadn't noticed that the cup of tea he was pouring Alice had long overflowed. In fact, neither of them noticed until boiling hot tea dripped off the sodden table cloth into Alice's lap and she leapt up with a shout. When he'd realised what he'd done Tarrant had jumped to his feet in horror, apologising profusely while searching the cluttered table for a napkin. In his mortification he managed to slip and stick his elbow right into a thick vanilla slice with a large squelching noise. There was a silence as even Mally and Thackery turned to stare at him. Slowly, his sheepish eyes met Alice's and he turned pink right through to his bow tie, and Alice realised quite calmly that she was crazily, madly, wonderfully in love with him. And from that moment things got slightly more complicated. It was one lie that she couldn't lie anymore.

'You're my dearest friend. My dearest friend in either world.'

What had she been thinking? She had lied to herself, (and one's self is always the worst person possible to lie to), and now she had the nerve to lie to him too? It had all happened too fast, and she had made some terrible wording choices, and by the time she had stopped thinking only that she would have to choose between him and her family and had started to finally comprehend that he loved her, Tarrant loved her, she was already out of the rabbit hole and Edith had pounced on her full of questions about her latest excursion. And even then she had wasted time savouring the feeling of loving and being loved in return, and imagining the future, which now seemed so bright and not half so long and stretching endlessly out in front of her. Then of course there had been another suitor fiasco with Mr Harrison, which was even more of a fiasco than the average fiasco seeing as it was Mr Harrison's nephew who was set to inherit a large portion of control over the company when Lord Ascot passed away; and Alice had found the whole mess a rude awakening, and everything had been brought back into painfully sharp focus. The last straw had been the argument with her mother, who right then in Alice's eyes was little more than one of the three people that were holding Alice back from finally going home to stay with Tarrant.

'Oh, Alice, I'm so tired. All I want is to see you settled before …'

Don't say that, Mother. It only makes me feel worse about what I'm going to do to you one day. One day soon, now.

'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! 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!'

I do know what I want. I've made my mind up now.

And then she ran away, telling herself that she would come back, but after lying to herself for so long it was hard to believe it.

And that was where it all ended. All Alice's memories went up to that one stormy night when she ran away for good. Everything seemed to cease to matter after that, there was nothing left but drifting in a web spun from golden threads and dreaming and remembering and regretting every bad choice of wording.

'How many miles to Wonderland?' sung the voices around her. 'Please tell us so we'll understand ... Alice ... Alice ...'

---

'The voices from the looking glass.'

The Hatter stared at her, and Edith hated the pity in his gaze.

'Where's Mally?' she asked him, her voice that of a petulant child once more.

The Hatter shook his head, looking down at Alice.

'Where's Mally?' Edith said again, louder, 'I want Mally.'

Mally won't pity me. Mally's too clever for that. She'll snap me out of it.

'She probably followed us, if I know Mallymkun,' he said somewhat vaguely, most of his attention on Alice, his eyes darting up to check how delirious Edith was getting now and again.

'Then she's here somewhere? She's here in one of the doors and she could be in danger and you don't even care?' What would have usually made her furious just made her feel weaker, and all she could think was that everything was completely pointless. 'Why would she follow you, Hatter?'

'She followed us, not me.'

'You, mostly,' Edith murmured into her nightgown, 'and you don't even care.'

'He doesn't care,' her own voice whispered from what felt like long ago, straight into her ear.

'He doesn't. But I do,' came her mother's reply, echoing like a ghost.

'Your mother is dead.'

'Please, stop,' Edith moaned, curling into herself. 'Please ...'

The voices wouldn't stop. They wouldn't leave her alone. They had followed her from a nightmare into reality, and now she wasn't so sure she was even awake.

'Edith.'

'What?' It came out sharper than she meant it to, and her head jerked up to look at him. Then she saw her aunt stirring on the ground.

'Alice ...'

Alice slowly sat up, blonde curls falling into her eyes. She didn't push them away. She just stared at them just as much as they were staring at her. It was all Edith could do not to fling herself at her aunt in a hug, sobbing and seeking comfort from the only familiar thing in her surroundings. She glanced at the Hatter. He seemed to be struggling not to hug Alice himself, watching on tenterhooks as she looked from one of them to the other. Then she stared directly at her niece, and Edith felt a chill when she saw how blank her eyes were.

Alice tilted her head.

'Why, Mary-Ann, what are you doing out here?'

Edith blinked, the world seemed to shrink around her, and from somewhere far away she felt a cold tear hit her cheek.

'What?' Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong.

The Hatter turned his head, narrowing his eyes at the woman uncertainly, 'Alice?'

Alice's attention shifted to him, and he seemed to shudder slightly under her blank stare. Then she frowned, and pointed an unsteady finger at him.

'I know you,' she said.

The Hatter waited for her to continue, watching with a silent kind of dread.

'I know you are a friend,' Alice nodded to herself, 'a dear friend, and an old friend. And you won't hurt me, though I am an insect.'

His eyes paled to yellow, any colour left in his cheeks draining away.

'You don't remember me,' he said, as if he had just walked into a nightmare.

'I remember you well,' said Alice steadily, 'excellent well.' She jabbed his chest with her finger. 'You are a fishmonger.'

The Hatter looked like Alice had just kicked him in the gut. He looked straight at Edith, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She knew what he was thinking. She cringed, waiting for his eyes to turn fiery orange, waiting for the brogue to hit the air. It never came. Instead were only bruised eyes, and a broken-hearted voice.

'You promised.'

---

A/N:

I know this chapter was quite long,

But I must confess,

I couldn't find a place to cut,

And not disrupt - the text.

I hope you followed all the twists,

And turns, in tone and tense,

Oh, and some feedback would be loved,

That is my one request.