Author's Notes:
Okay, I'm just going to have to accept that I'm NOT a speedy updater, no matter how hard I try. I just get distracted easily or can't find the time or just get too involved in editing it a hundred times. And with this chapter (which is the last), it seemed to go on FOREVER so I've decided, rather than come up with another chapter (because I like the name of this one) I'm splitting it into two parts. Here's the first part, the second is basically written but in fragments and random paragraphs that need putting together. And then there's an epilogue! Which I'm quite excited about! So enough of my usual apologies and rambling, here's part one of the last chapter, I hope you enjoy it!
Seven: Peace (Part One)
"I think you may be in what most people call a predicament, Tarrant."
The Hatter had trudged back to his hut with a spring in his step, mind buzzing with thoughts of Alice returning. But it was rather difficult to feel good about it when the Cheshire cat appeared at every turn, following his movements and talking of things he didn't understand. Until now he'd never appreciated just how distracting it was to be followed by a floating cat head.
The Hatter turned away from the head, trying to concentrate on making his tea. "I don't know what you mean Chess. Please, I'm terribly busy –"
"You know perfectly well what I mean, old boy," Chessur interrupted, "Alice is rather lovely, is she not? She has no great penchant for grinning, mind you…but she can learn. She's rather talented."
"She's very talented and she has an inspiring grin that she just doesn't care to share with you," the Hatter replied waspishly. His hands were trembling so much that the teapot was making a dreadful chinking sound against his cup.
The cat's eyes widened more, if possible. "There's no need to get snippy, Tarrant. I was merely suggesting –"
"I'm merely suggesting you stay out of my business, Chessur."
The Hatter sat down at his dingy little kitchen table and toyed with his cup of tea. Looking around at his hut, he began to see how truly awful it was: cramped, lifeless and dark, with not a single colourful hat apart from his own. No wonder Alice had been so set on getting him to leave it. With a pang he thought of his old house, his real home, and wondered what had become of it.
"You were in such a good mood a second ago, what's changed your mind?" Chessur asked as he settled down on the table in front of the Hatter.
"Perhaps I just don't like being pestered by vanishing cats."
"Now Tarrant, that doesn't sound like you. I thought you were starting to feel yourself again?"
There was a smug tone in his voice that irritated the Hatter. It sounded as if his friend was gloating that he wasn't really cured.
"I am myself, I haven't always been but I am now and that's how it's going to stay," he replied determinedly. He pushed the cup of tea away. "It's just that I'm worried about Alice, that's all."
"Is it the wedding ring?"
The Hatter's expression turned from one of sourness to sadness. "Oh, Chess, you have no idea."
The cat disappeared then reappeared a few inches from his friend's face. "Then give me an idea, Tarrant," he said quietly.
His mouth opened for a moment, lip twitching, but then he just turned his gaze away and tugged his hat down over his face. "I can't betray her," he murmured. "I can't tell you."
"Well what about the White Queen?" the cat persisted, "Can you tell her? Or Absolem? If you don't trust me, could you trust them?"
The Hatter looked up, expecting to see a hurt look on the cat's face. But there was nothing other than curiosity. "The White Queen might understand…" he said, mostly talking to himself.
"Mirana would most definitely understand," Chessur encouraged him, tail flicking with excitement.
"She's a woman, after all," he continued, as if this were a sudden realisation. He tilted his hat up again.
"She's very much a woman," said Chessur.
"And she would know just how to treat the situation," the Hatter went on, ignoring Chessur. His eyes were glowing more brightly with every thought. "After all, Alice didn't sound at all like she'd been speaking with her sister or mother…"
His curiosity burning now, Chessur was hovering so close to the Hatter that his whiskers brushed his cheeks. "Come on then Tarrant, let's hurry to Marmoreal."
"Yes," he murmured, "Ye – no."
As quickly as he'd stood up, the Hatter sank back into his chair. He looked despairingly at Chessur. "I surely won't be welcomed into Marmoreal, Chessur," he said forlornly. "Not after everything I've done."
"What have you done?" replied the cat, unable to contain his exasperation. "What have you done other than fall victim to an illness that took control of you? I can guarantee we are all just waiting for you to come back to us, Tarrant."
It was like someone had switched a light on in the room.
It must have cost Chessur, who so often had the most unreadable expressions, a great deal to announce how deeply they missed him. The Hatter cast his gaze over his shabby hut once more and felt the walls closing in. He could smell dust and unrest, and with a tip of his hat to his friend he hurried for the door and vowed he would not be returning.
This time she didn't know where to run. She didn't want to go to Kingsleigh House, nor did she want to remain anywhere near the Hatter.
The thing Alice was most certain of was her uncertainty.
How long had it been since she'd referred to Kingsleigh House as 'home'? Not for the first time in her life, Alice didn't know where she belonged.
Which was why Henry found her slumped on the grass and staring at the trunk of a willow tree.
She was aware of nothing but the texture of the tree's bark, of the damp smell of the grass and the feeling that no matter which side of the tree she was there would be a gaping hole left somewhere inside her. With all this running through her mind she didn't acknowledge that the warm something resting against her arm was another human being until he actually spoke.
"I find that oak trees make for much better company. They've got a great sense of humour, where as willows just sit and sulk with you."
Alice laughed, but it sounded hollow amongst the relative quiet.
"That was pathetic!" Henry teased, "Honestly I've heard better laughs from an oak –"
"Then go and talk to an oak tree!" Alice snapped, hugging her legs to her chest.
She wasn't angry at him, not really. It was just that when she saw Henry she remembered kissing the Hatter, and felt so guilty it was easier to be picking on him than tormenting herself.
Henry frowned, but shifted himself closer to her. She huffed irritably and hugged herself tighter.
"Why are you staring at trees?" he asked quietly.
"I'm not staring at trees. I'm staring at a tree. Just one."
"Well why this particular one? It's not overly interesting, to be honest."
"You wouldn't understand, and trust me, you probably don't want to."
"I want to know everything you're thinking, Alice. You know that."
With a sigh Alice let her head fall onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. "If I told you that I'm thinking about running away, what would you say?"
"I'd say when are we leaving?" Henry replied without a moment's thought.
"We…" she murmured so quietly he didn't hear. "No, I didn't mean…"
"What about your mother and sister? Wouldn't you miss them?"
"I miss my father!" she burst out suddenly, "I wish I could see him just one more time! I wish he would tell me what to do."
She felt him kiss the top of her head. "I think he would tell you to forget about what everyone else wants, and do what you think is right for yourself."
She lifted her head to stare at him. The colour of his eyes, his hair, the shape of his face…for just a second, he wasn't Henry. For just a second she could hear her father's voice coming from his mouth, see Charles Kingsleigh's smile on her husband's face.
"What do I do, daddy?" she whispered.
"Whatever makes you happy," he replied, just as quietly.
"Alice! I've been looking for you!"
Margaret's voice shook her from a very deep thought, and she jumped violently. Looking back at Henry, he was now just her husband: an oddly familiar man with a sweet smile who was hopping to his feet and telling her he should be going. But much worse than being with Henry when she wanted to be on her own, was being with Margaret. Alice rolled her eyes as her sister came marching over. Henry had already vanished in the trees and she was now stuck facing reality.
"Why have you been looking for me?" she enquired in what she hoped was a polite voice.
"You're going to listen to me this time," Margaret said, sitting beside her sister and grabbing hold of her arms. "You're going to listen because it's very important, do you hear me?"
Surprised, Alice nodded.
"I know about the Hatter," Margaret told her slowly, like she was talking to a child. "I believe his story about Wonderland and so does mother and we want you to be able to talk about it with us."
Alice felt like someone had just poured cold water over her.
Of all the things she'd expected her sister to say, this wasn't one of them. She shut her eyes tightly and reopened them, hoping she'd just imagined that Margaret was there. No such luck. "It's – it's called Underland, not Wonderland," she said shakily.
"Right," replied Margaret in an off-hand way. "But that's not important, what matters is that –"
"But it does matter," Alice interrupted, tugging her arms out of her sister's grip. "I only called it Wonderland when I was six. Only ignorant people call it that." She was suddenly feeling strangely protective, like something in her care had been threatened.
"I – I'm sorry," Margaret replied earnestly, eyeing Alice curiously. "I didn't mean to be rude."
"How can you know about it if you can't even remember the name properly?" Alice asked shrewdly.
Margaret was exasperated. She'd expected her younger sister to be grateful to have someone to talk to, not to be downright impolite. "Well there was a rather large amount of information for me to learn, you know. If the name of the place happens to slip my mind again I hope you won't take offence."
"I'll take offence to whatever I like," Alice said stubbornly, her gaze flicking back to the willow tree. "You've just blatantly announced that you know all about my secret haven and you don't even have the good grace to care about what you call it!"
"Alice, you're being ridiculous! Aren't you more curious about the fact I know at all? Don't you want to talk about –?"
"I know how you've learned about it," Alice replied testily. "I suspect mother has had somebody follow me. I suppose you'll be climbing through there next –" she gestured at the tree – "And harassing my friends because you don't approve of them, just like you do with Hen –"
She felt the sharp impact of her sister's hand across her cheek.
It lasted only a second, but the stinging was still there when the tense silence was broken minutes later. "I don't know what's happening to you," Margaret said in a trembling voice, "But I'm just trying to help. You think I'm the bad person? You think your own mother is to blame? We're the ones being weighed down, Alice…by you. You think it's easy to sit and watch while your sister is tormented by things she won't talk about? And then to keep your mouth closed while she goes ahead and blames the ones trying to help her?" There were now tears making tracks down Margaret's tragically pretty face. "You're not Alice anymore…at least not when you're with us. But this Hatter person seems to think you're fine. I just want to know why you can be Alice around him, that's all."
Alice could feel a sharp pain somewhere inside her that made the stinging of her cheek seem like nothing. She thought she had no idea what Margaret was talking about…inner torment…blame…except she did. There was some awful poison inside her that made her unable to see why her family was being so protective, and why she was becoming this woman that resented her husband. Overcome with the pain of it all, she reached out and wiped the tears from her sister's eyes, and they wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry I slapped you," Margaret cried.
"I'm frightened of what's happening to me," Alice whispered.
"What is happening to you? What is it?"
"I – I can't…" Alice just squeezed her sister more tightly. "I just want to be happy again…"
"Let me help you, sister, please let me help." Margaret pulled away and they sat together on the grass, sniffing back tears.
But Alice couldn't reply. Something of what Margaret said had triggered a memory.
"Let me in, Alice, I can help. Honestly I can," implored Henry as he held her. She shook her head, unable to speak of what had happened because she'd made herself forget. Alice began to think of all the times she'd gotten a whiff of foul cologne when there was no man around…of when she'd be touched innocently by the Hatter and vicious images in her head would make her shrink away from him. She began to wonder why there was such a large block of her life that she barely thought about: her time at sea, her apprenticeship…
"What's wrong?" Margaret asked as Alice's face became heavy with a frown.
"I think I remember…" she murmured, "I remember something…."
But at that moment a loud crunching sound in the undergrowth told her that Henry had returned, and sure enough she looked up to see him picking his way through the trees. For once the guilt was overshadowed by ecstatic relief, and she got to her feet and ran to him like a woman possessed. Margaret sighed heavily and watched with a wary expression.
"Where did you run off to?" Alice asked, allowing herself to be swept up into his arms.
"Nowhere important," he told her, "I just wanted to leave you alone with your sister."
"But why did you come back? She's still here."
He shrugged. "I thought you might need me."
Unable to explain why this aggravated her, Alice's brow furrowed. "You know that I'm fairly good at accepting things without explanation. But why do you never have a solid reason for things I ask?"
"Isn't you needing me a solid reason?"
"But how? How did you know I was missing you?" She slipped free of his arms and turned back to Margaret. "Does Lowell ever come home to you with clams of that?" she asked her sister, but Margaret looked confused.
"Claims of what?" she replied blankly.
"Henry said he came back because he thought I needed him!" Alice exclaimed, "Did you not hear him?"
"I – no, I didn't. Sorry, I wasn't listening."
Alice impatiently stamped her foot. "Well? Has Lowell ever had the great intuition to return to you without being called?"
Margaret shook her head, unable to speak.
"Why are you mad at me for being a good husband, Alice?" Henry enquired, looking put out. "Don't I treat you fairly? Don't I look after you?"
"Why does everyone assume I need taking care of?" Alice shouted, rounding on them both with a cold gleam in her eye. "I'm a grown woman! Honestly, the only people who don't trail after me like nurses are –" she broke off, about to speak of her friends in Underland…and the Hatter. When she was in England, people treated her like a child. When she was in Underland, they treated her like a hero. How had she ever gotten mad at them for needing her so? How had she ever been so ungrateful to wish they didn't rely on her so much?
A burning desire to go home filled her very veins. Where was the one place that she could be herself? Where were the people who trusted her judgement, who treated her like an equal, who asked too much because they never doubted she could handle it? The answer was blazing inside her head, her heart, like someone was calling her: Underland.
Settling her gaze on the willow tree, Alice turned her back on the pair of them. "Margaret, Henry is about see something he won't understand," she said evenly, without taking her eyes off the trunk. "Please explain it to him." She placed a hand on the bark and instantly a dim hollow became visible in the tree.
"Alice, what –?" but Margaret could only watch as her sister climbed inside the hollow without a backward glance and disappeared. The dimness then resolved back into the solid bark of a tree, like nothing had happened at all.
Maybe if she hadn't slapped her sister, she'd have stayed. Maybe if she'd been better at pretending to know what Henry was talking about. Perhaps, even, if she'd simply stood her ground and physically stopped her from going. But none of her wistful thinking did any good. The clearing remained resolutely empty around her and Margaret knew one thing, at last: that Underland had won. She didn't bother to look around for the man she was meant to be explaining it all to, knowing he wasn't there at all.
Trying to catch his breath before entering Marmoreal, the Hatter wondered how Alice could stand running away so often. He'd just run the entire distance to the White Queen's castle, and it was not an experience he wished to repeat any time soon. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took a deep breath and entered through the enormous archway that led into the gleaming castle. Instantly a conflicting wave of relief and apprehension washed over him. It felt wondrously good to be here at last, but at the same time he felt as if he were trespassing. It had been such a long time, how could he still be allowed to enter the Queen's court?
"No," he heard himself murmur, "Now is not the time for fear. Alice needs me."
He squared his shoulders, repositioned his hat to a more daring angle, and strode towards the White Hall. As he passed he could feel a subtle vibration in the air – which built up to an audible humming, and then loud, clear notes. A cacophony of jarring discord that beat in time to his heart. He'd thought at first he had begun to play music in his head to make the moment seem dramatic. But it was actually the trees. The pink-leafed trees that lined the entrance to the White Hall, who had obviously benefited from the White Queen's singing lessons in the past four years. The last time he'd passed their swaying ranks they had not managed anything more than a sweet whisper of a tune.
"You've definitely improved," he told them, though he knew these trees to be listeners rather than talkers. "And you've even learned to set the atmosphere! If I wasn't in such a great rush I would tell you I'm very impressed."
He thought he heard their tone drop to something not quite as over-the-top, something more welcoming, and smiled as he continued on. The doors were already open as he approached, which was mildly disappointing as he'd hoped to throw them forcefully open to gather everyone's attention. The better he had them listening, the sooner. He stifled a giggle at the thought, feeing giddy now with anticipation as he strode purposefully through the White Hall. He was ready to burst in equal parts excitement and apprehension, because surely he should not be storming the castle on his own without permission? But he had to find Mirana.
"White Queen," he berated himself, "Or Your Majesty. I must remember my manners."
At last he found a sign of life: at the foot of the largest staircase, a fish-servant was scrubbing the marble until it shone.
"You there," said the Hatter, ignoring the look of shock and fright on the fish's face.
"Where is the Queen? I must speak with her!"
"She's – she's in her office, sir," the fish replied, "But she's terribly busy, I don't think –"
"Then I shall have to make her day regrettably busier," he interrupted, and began taking the stairs two at a time.
He bounded over the top step and bolted down the corridor at a speed that was most indecent in a Royal Castle, narrowly avoiding a frog-servant who had unfortunately found himself in the way. Flinging himself around a corner, he at last reached the beautifully engraved white door that signified the White Queen's Office. It took all his restraint to at least be polite enough to knock.
"Come in," called a strained voice from within.
"Your Majesty," he said at once upon entering the room, "I have terrificle news –"
"–Tarrant?" Mirana exclaimed, casting her usual airiness aside. Her quill dropped onto parchment with a delicate splattering of ink to accompany it and she gazed at him open-mouthed. It was a good few moments before she had the good grace to close it and simply stare at him.
Her reaction reminded him once again of the irritating fashion of manners, and he hastily bowed before approaching her desk.
"Your Majesty, I have terrific – terrible - terrificle news of Alice," he said again, in a sombre tone he hadn't expected to use. He even dared to splay his hands on the wooden desk and stare imploringly down at her.
There was a pregnant pause, in which they both could see how their clever friend Time had seen fit to change them.
Mirana had not seen her former Hatter in just over a year, though not for lack of trying. In the first year of his madness he had shunned her more than any of the others, making it so difficult to visit that she had been forced to admit defeat. He hadn't let her inside his hut, nor had he ever said anything to her other than an aggressive 'go away', barely recognisable in his heavy accent. In his second year, he had cried so intensely during her visits she feared his very heart would break at the next sight of her. The third year he gave no acknowledgement of her existence at all. The fourth…she had stopped coming. Her world was rebuilding itself and needed a leader with a mind set on the future, not the past. And that point, the Oraculum had shown them Alice would be coming, and her guilt had given way to anticipation. But now she could truly see the damage his years alone had done: despite the time spent with Alice again he was still thin, his clothes in need of repair. His hair, strangely enough, had not grown an inch. It looked as if it had simply given up, turned a dark muddy red and was now not bothering to shine. His face bore the expression of an impossibly tired man. It was exhaustion so bone-deep that a million years' rest would not erase the lines under his eyes.
But his eyes…they gave her the answer she'd been hoping for. They were burning bright green, so brightly that she could see the beginnings of rebirth in him: the very tips of his hair were that impossible orange, his face was tired but excited, and he had at least patched up his torn cravat.
"Dearest Tarrant," she murmured, "Why didn't you let me help you?"
The Hatter studied her carefully, noticing the tension in her posture that had never existed before. Her heavy lidded eyes showed no sign of the wayward fluttering they were once famous for. But her gaze was steady, her hand clutched tightly in a ball, like she were gathering muchness within it. She looked like a woman trying very hard not to be overwhelmed. His mouth opened and closed over the words he'd been about to speak – the words about Alice. Thrown off balance by her tender use of his real name after so many years, he instead cast his mind back – with significant difficulty – to remember why he'd turned her away in the first place. "I…I blamed you, Your Majesty…" he whispered, ashamed. "I blamed you for not persisting with Alice, persuading her to stay. And then…then I felt as if I'd failed you. I was the Royal Hatter, and I had abandoned you…but of course with that came the thought that I was merely a Hatter. What great betrayal had I committed, really? I was never an important part of your life, Your Majesty."
He closed his eyes gently.
She smiled sadly. "Please call me Mirana, Tarrant. You're a friend, not just a Hatter, and I won't have you think so little of yourself ever again."
This time when he bowed it was out of respect, and gratitude, and all the good things that politeness should be about rather than mere tradition.
"Now what is it that you've come to tell me?" she asked, more calmly than she felt. After all, why was he here and not with –?
"Alice isn't married," the Hatter breathed out. "She's just mad."
Mirana kept her face carefully blank. "She's just….mad."
"Gallymoggers!" he confirmed, "Bonkers! Mad as a March hare, barmy, round the bend! Call it what you wish, she's ill!" he clenched his hands in fists on the table and his eyes desperately searched hers for understanding. Mirana was now not sure what to make of him. He had seemed so much better, so much more like his normal self…she peered closer, but no…there was no discernible trace of madness in his gaze. But how could their Champion be mad? Alice was a daydreamer, yes, but she was also quite level-headed and sound.
"Your Majesty?" the Hatter enquired when she still said nothing. "Mi-Mirana…please, I need your help. I must help Alice."
She cleared her throat. "What did you say? She's not married?"
Now they were coming to the delicate part of the story. The Hatter sighed heavily and started wringing his hands in front of her. "Aye, there's no husband. She's just imagining him."
Oddly, Mirana noticed that his voice seemed to be changing. It was not an aggressive tone, nor was it his gentle lisp-tainted sound. It was a subdued, deeper voice, with just a hint of his brogue. It was vaguely familiar coming from him, a sound she hadn't heard since before…
"I have to help her, but I don't know what to do," he continued, starting to pace. "I need a woman – well, that is to say, I need another woman – not that I'm not happy with the one I've got – well, I don't quite have her, I almost do – but that's not to say I own her, almost or not –"
"Tarrant!" she cried, trying not to smile. He was too much like his old self. Though he did wince as she used his name again. Mirana wondered briefly if the memories behind it hurt him.
"I'm fine," he bit out, "It's Alice that's not."
"What makes you think she' imagining Henry?"
And with an expression that wiped the almost-smile from Mirana's face, the Hatter told her of the assault, of the madness, of the husband nobody could see. When he was finished he was quite red in the face, both with anger and unease, and couldn't stand still. All that could be heard was the cracking of the Hatter's knuckles as he paced the room, casting furtive glances at her. Taking a few calming breaths, Mirana pressed her face into her hands and stayed that way for some time. At that moment she was immensely grateful for the years of Royal training that had taught her how to be logical despite emotional distress. This was a tender subject, and she needed to think of something perfect or Alice would be lost.
She would have to speak with Absolem…but no one else. The Hatter was adamant – and completely right – that nobody else in Underland could know of this. Of course, once she did ask the butterfly, he would more than likely advise her to read the Oraculum and find out what should happen. However, not only were the oracle's illustrations open to interpretation, but it was against Mirana's personal rule. She didn't believe in living her life by how it was predicted. That was why she only allowed the Oraculum to be read once a month unless something as important as the Haverlock Day was discerned from a reading. The Haverlock Day…it was only three days away. But maybe they could just borrow from it? A few ideas? The Hatter had given Alice a list of his feelings for her. But feelings couldn't be read, they needed to be seen. He needed a grand gesture. If Alice could see how focused, how almost completely cured he was…If she could see that he'd overcome his own madness to help her with her own, then surely she would listen?
"All right, I know what to do," she said at last, emerging from the cover of her palms. The tone of her voice was warbling on the verge of something powerful. The Hatter stopped moving and met her gaze with equal force. "And you must succeed," she told him, "Because Alice must choose to stay. The thought of who she becomes when she's up there, in that world…I can't bear it."
"Nor can I," replied the Hatter quietly.
Later, when their plan had been set, Mirana sent for McTwisp. She asked him to gather the Hatter's friends, and they met soon after along with Absolem and the Tweedles. Mirana was watching the Hatter speak animatedly of his plans for Alice, and the way the others were trying to look surprised about the idea of a tea party for two. He didn't know that this notion was borrowed from the Haverlock Day they all knew about. Nor did they know the definite reason for his sudden urge to impress Alice. Mirana followed the way he waved his hands for emphasis, his eyes glowing, and smiled to herself.
"I thought the Haverlock Day was when Alice would cure the Hatter," she said in an undertone, "Not the other way around. You and the Tweedles read the Oraculum wrong, Absolem."
"I read nothing wrong," replied the butterfly, "I did say the Hatter would be cured on the day, did I not? I only neglected to mention that Alice would benefit from the day too."
"So you've noticed too, have you?" replied Mirana with a smile, still watching the Hatter.
"He's definitely almost cured," Absolem declared. "He's almost as mad as he was before."
"Do you think we should tell him?"
"Where would be the fun in that?" replied the butterfly.
It was all to do with timing.
If Chessur had just happened to be heading to Marmoreal when the Hatter had, it was not his fault. If he also just happened to be visiting Mirana at the same time, he couldn't be blamed. If he had then been about to materialise in the Queen's office when he realised the Hatter had beaten him there, it only made sense that he would simply stay as an inconspicuous grin on the wall and wait his turn.
If he happened to overhear every bit of their conversation, really, it wasn't exactly his fault.
It had all been rather poor timing, just like Alice now being more than late to return to the Hatter. And really, seeing as he now knew of the importance of the Hatter's plan, it would be wrong not to try and find the girl and find out what the devil was taking her so long.
It had nothing whatsoever to do with a heroic wish to help Alice, he would argue, if anyone dared suggest it. It was simply that he couldn't bear seeing a perfectly good afternoon tea go to waste. No, it wouldn't do to let everyone know he had a soft side, or else he'd be asked for help so often there would be very little time left for grinning. It didn't take long to find her that afternoon.
"You have an unusual habit of lurking in doorways, love," he commented, un-vanishing himself at her side. She was pacing around the willow tree to her world, looking distraught.
"I like having a view of both sides," she replied without looking at him. She was throwing glances over her shoulder at the tree. Thinking that it was not an overly interesting thing to be glancing at, Chessur cleared his throat loudly to focus her attention.
"Or is it simply that you're unsure of where you want to go?" he ventured. Seeing that a simple fake throat-clearing was not going to work on her, he gave up on any pretence. "The Hatter's waiting for you," he told her.
"The Hatter's always waiting for me," she replied distractedly, flicking a hand as if to brush him away. She stopped pacing and finally seemed to see him. "Henry was here, Chess."
"Oh?"
"That's all you can say? Oh? My husband was here, Chessur, just a second ago! He's never followed me before, but he was – he was there –" she pointed at a spot just beyond the closest tree, "– and then he was gone! Do – do you think he's gone wandering off? He loves new places, he always said – but why wouldn't he talk to me if he was just there –?" she was pacing again, and Chessur got the distinct impression she was no longer speaking to him.
Desperate times, he thought. "The Hatter's gravely ill, I'm afraid," he announced loudly.
"The Hatter's always wait– what?" Alice ground to a halt, staring at the cat. "What did you say?"
"He's taken leave of his senses, completely, and it's caused a brain fever. He's terrifically sick."
A heavy, heavy weight dropped somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to digest the news calmly, but panic was setting in fast. Panic, nausea, helplessness, unease, help me, oh please let this be a mistake –
"Take me to him," she bit out, "Please."
With his feeling of victory being marred only slightly by guilt, Chessur led the way. He kept a watchful eye on her as he glided through the trees. She was still holding herself as she stumbled after him, a glazed expression on her face. There was something wrong about her. She looked pale and grey, like she was fading out of sight. Maybe he wasn't the only one with evaporating skills. Or maybe it was more important than ever that she get to the Hatter right away.
At any rate, he was very glad when they finally reached the place.
They stopped at thick copse of trees, the other side of which resided the Hatter.
"I shall leave you to it," he told her, but she looked around at him wildly.
"To what? What am I supposed to do? I'm not a doctor –"
"Good, because he doesn't need one," he replied, gesturing at the trees and then vanishing from sight.
Alice closed her eyes, recognising the Panic, the Nausea and the Helplessness that had made a sudden acquaintance with her in the last few days. She wasn't used to being the weak one, the frightened one. But ever since her kiss with the Hatter she'd felt like she'd been knocked off her feet. Things that were once so straight forward now felt twisted and difficult. What rational woman would rather spend time with a madman than her husband? What would drive someone to turn their back on their family so easily? How could she be the one to help, now, if it felt like she was the mad one? Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way through the trees and stumbled out the other side.
And found she had another impossible thing to believe: just the sight of the Hatter was enough to make her feel sane again.
He was sat at one end of a long table alight with candles, and instantly she felt herself being drawn towards him, cares be damned. He was not on his death bed, nor was he raving mad. The Cheshire cat had obviously played a cruel trick, and she made a mental note to be cross with him later. For now though, she was burning with curiosity. The Hatter was yet to display any obvious emotion. What was he doing out here alone in the evening?
"Hatter, what have you been doing?" she asked gently, approaching the warmth of the glittering table.
But as she looked closer at the set up she realised it was far more intricate than a simple tea party. The setting sun illuminated the table in a rich pink hue, broken up by splashes of light from flickering white candles. There were scattered red and white roses, like drops of blood in snow. Delicately frosted cakes surrounded silver and black teapots and cups.
Perfect, shining teapots with not a single crack in them. He'd clearly gone to a lot of trouble.
He was gazing at her expectantly, his eyes impossibly wide with an emotion she couldn't interpret. It was hard to see the colour of them in the light. "Hatter, you did all this for me?" she spoke the realisation out loud.
When he replied, it was with a voice she hadn't heard before. By Underland standards it was exceptionally ordinary, but up in England it could have been charming. It was certainly less mad than the voices he normally used.
"Well I certainly didn't do it for the March Hare. Please," he gestured to the seat beside him at the head of the table, "You must sit."
She sunk into the padded chair and was overwhelmed by the heat and the heady scent of the candles. The flames danced across his face so it was difficult to read. Alice glanced at him nervously, thinking of the picture in the Oraculum with the two of them…
"How long did this take?" she asked in a dry voice.
"A few hours, at most. I was adamant that it would be perfect."
"How strange," she replied, thinking of the short time she'd just spent in England. "I was only away for a few hours as well. The two worlds must be running alongside each other for once."
"Actually," he said carefully, "It's been three days."
She blanched. "Three days?"
He said nothing, just watched her. She peered through the shadows at the long table before her, and realised with a pang of guilt…the cakes were indeed looking harrowed and stale, the tea pots were not billowing steam. The intricate little candles were burning very close to the quick, with wax drying in lumps on the table. Her heart sank.
"I'm so sorry, Hatter. You must be furious with me."
But the sudden realisation that it had been three days made her insides squirm. If three days had passed…then it was Haverlock Day. This wasn't an innocent, pretty tea party for two. This was the night the Hatter would say something to make her finally fall for him, absolutely, earnestly, completely. She would betray her husband, but accomplish what she'd been working towards for months: curing the Hatter. I don't think I can do this, she thought, despite the fact she'd up and left her sister and Henry to run back to him. Instantly, maybe even without conscious recognition, she hardened her resolve and prepared to ignore anything even remotely enticing that might come from him. No, he was not going to trick her into falling in love with him. She'd cure him some other way.
And although he was feeling sharper and more clear-headed than he'd felt in years, now was not the time for clever tricks. Now was the time for embracing the truth, or they would both be lost.
"I'm not furious, Alice. I'm not even remotely agitated," he told her in that same, measured voice. He rested his chin in his hands, elbow sitting unnoticed in a bowl of cream, and settled his calm gaze on her. "I'm actually rather grateful."
Alice copied his movements, raising a dubious eyebrow. "Nobody has ever been grateful for lateness, Hatter. You've had to kill Time on numerous occasions just waiting for me."
"Time and I have an agreement now, in which any errors on my part relating directly or indirectly to Alice Kingsleigh are to be excused and or forgiven," he recited quickly, "Given that it happens so often and it would be a simple inconvenience if Time were to take offence to every little thing I did in the future."
"But that still doesn't explain why you're grateful."
"What does one do with spare time?"
"This isn't a time for riddles, Hatter."
"But this isn't a riddle, Alice. This is a confession. I used my spare time to think, of course."
Now aware that she'd also let her elbow rest on something that wasn't just table cloth, Alice finally averted her gaze to wipe the crumbs off herself.
"Oh?" she replied distractedly, "And what have you been thinking about?"
He watched patiently as she moved the cake away. "Ravens and writing desks…and things that begin with M," he answered.
"So the usual, then?"
"The unusual, actually: matrimony, misunderstandings…and madness."
This got her attention. She felt her resolve harden again. He was going to tell her why he would make a better husband than Henry, why he wasn't too mad to love her. She was ready for it. "And what did you come up with while thinking of such things?" she asked.
"That I'm not the one who needs help, Alice," the Hatter whispered, "It's you."
So it isn't tonight after all, she thought, He's still deranged. "Hatter…" she murmured sadly, laying a hand on his arm, "I thought you were getting better."
He wasn't going to be swayed. "No, Alice, really –"
"–I thought today you'd be –"
"I'm fine! I am! Alice, please listen –"
He was gripping her arms firmly. She looked down at his calloused, pin-pricked hands wrapped around her and felt as if she were suffocating.
"Please let go," she bit out, her vision blurring.
"You must listen –"
"I will! I'll listen just – just let go!" she begged, choking back a sob.
Instantly he did, and she felt a prickling relief roll down her spine.
It took her a moment to realise the harsh breathing that filled the air was her own. The Hatter did nothing but watch sadly as he waited for her to calm down. "You're getting worse," he uttered, "Don't you see, Alice?"
"Why am I like this?" she replied in a hushed voice, "I never…I liked it when we touched, Hatter. But now…"
"May I tell you a story?" he asked, and she nodded. Tentatively his fingers sought out hers, his thimble-topped thumb stroking the back of her hand. He waited until this little motion calmed her before starting to speak. "Twas just shy of Brillig when a Hatter, mad as myself, for it was myself, called upon the help of his once-forgotten friends. Twas three days ago when I held grave concerns for these involved parties-thrice: this tea party you see before you; myself, for I was sure to lose any marbles I'd gained if this plan were to fail…and most of all you, Alice. I held concerns for your muchness and your mind, both of which had taken such a slithey beating you weren't aware of it." Half of her was poised to flee, half felt itself listing towards him, eager for more information. The stroking of her hand remained a constant, subtle force that kept her rooted to the spot. "But by the end of the second day, when the tea was sadly cold and the Bread-and-Butter-Flies had thieved their share of food, I began to think about what I was thinking about."
His mesmerising voice changed in pitch, to a sound that tamed the resolve inside her. "I'd been pondering the future, your future, without sparing a single thought for myself. And so I sat in my favourite chair, and pondered til I could ponder no more, and at last I came to a wonderful conclusion. It's the reason why I have gone so long without an outburst of any measurable sort; why I can't spare a thought for my past because I'm obsessed with the future."
They bowed their heads together, until the brim of his hat cast a shadow on her cheek.
He met her gaze and whispered with absolute conviction: "I'm not mad anymore."
Alice could no longer feel his thumb on her skin, she was numb, she was frozen.
She believed him. Believed him.
"I've been so consumed by thoughts of helping you that it's no longer of any importance if you stay here or not," he continued, sensing her walls starting to crumble and prodding at the weak points. "All that matters to me is that you stop imagining husbands and avoiding being touched. There are far more interesting things for you to imagine, Alice. All I care about is making you better…" he tried to swallow but found his throat was dryer than it had ever been, "…and not…not what will happen to me if you choose to return to England. It's no longer about my madness and my terrible memories, Alice…it's about yours."
A very complicated series of thoughts were running through Alice's mind:
I believe him – why do I believe him? Because he's telling the truth – how can you tell? Because I know what he's talking about – no I don't – yes I do – no – yes I remember – oh no I don't want to remember this – no it can't be true if I don't say it is – it doesn't work like that - I remember I remember –
"A-Alice?" the Hatter murmured, squeezing her hand, and her eyes burst open to find his mere inches away and more green than she'd ever seen them –
"This isn't how it was supposed to be!" she burst out, "The Haverlock Day is about you being cured –" the pain that resided deep inside her flared to an excruciating level. She fisted her hands in her dress and shut her eyes tight. "It's not true," she said fervently, "I'm not mad, I'm Alice, I'm the Champion, I have a husband and –"
"There's no marriage!" the Hatter cut in desperately, "There's only your mind and this ring –"
She felt his hands slide up her throat, there was a sharp tug, and before she could scream it was over.
Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes to find the Hatter holding her broken necklace in his open palm, with the ring resting atop it. Picking it up, she noticed something she'd not seen before: an inscription on the inside of the white-gold band.
Safe travels, my daughter, it read.
And Alice realised this was not a wedding ring at all.
It was just the good-luck charm her mother had given her before she set off for China.
The Hatter watched her, transfixed, heart racing…but all the energy left him at the look on her face. "He's not real, Alice," he murmured, plucking the ring from her limp fingers and setting it aside. "I'm real." He gathered up her hands and pressed them into his chest, so that she could feel his heart beating – had she ever truly felt the beating of Henry's? – And sat so close his nose brushed against hers. "You dreamed him up, like you thought you'd done with me, except I am real and I love you and I do want you to stay for all the evers there ever are –"
She tore her hands from his grip and got to her feet.
"I can't!" she cried, "I can't love you!"
"Why not?" he pleaded.
"Because…because if I love you now, then I always have," she whispered, "If I love you…then it's true. All those terrible truths…it all happened –"
"But I'm going to fix you, Alice!" he replied, "I'm going to fix you like you did for me –"
She took a step back, though any distance between them made her ache anew. "This isn't the same thing –"
"Alice!" the Hatter thundered, eyes ablaze, and because he was deathly sick of her running away, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him and kissed her.
Alice wanted to scream. She very much wanted to cry out, or make some form of protest, but in all honesty she could no more protest to this than she could fly to the moon. And she'd tried that at five. It hadn't ended well. No, the urge to fight was leaving her and for once, she let it go. Because this wasn't surrender – there was no battle – this was an alignment, a joining of forces, Alice and the Hatter, converging to fight her demons.
Because this was like no kiss they'd ever known.
The slow burn rippled its way from their mouths to their heads and hearts within seconds, so it was all they could do to hold fast to one another to keep from shattering. Desperation upon fear, determination upon love, the emotions entwined and lay down over their souls so it was difficult to define the exact reason for their actions. The way he tilted her chin up with a finger reminded her of the way Henry would kiss her, but the way he tasted was something completely Hatterish. The moan that escaped her throat was a sound she'd made for her husband, but the sheer firmness of her grip on the Hatter was something all their own.
Henry – Hatter – Henry – Hatter -
The names ran over and over in her mind until it was hard to know which man she was with. And then the Hatter brought the palm of her left hand up to his mouth and looked into her eyes to say that yes, he'd known it was for him all along, the H. He placed his lips against it, claiming it, and she suddenly thought how foolish she'd been to think it could ever be for anyone else. Slowly he lowered her hand and dipped his forehead to hers.
Alice could do nothing but tremble in his grip. His eyes were not quite orange and not quite green. They bordered so slightly on the edge of each other that it was impossible to tell what colour they were. There were no answers to be found in them this time.
"Are we mad or in love?" she whispered against his cheek. He reached between them to link his fingers with hers, and sought out her gaze once more before replying:
"Why can't it be the same thing?"
And from this answer she knew that if anyone in the world were to understand her, it would be him, and she would be fine, some day, with his help.
"Yes," she murmured suddenly.
"I'm sorry?"
"You asked me a question a little while ago and I'm giving you an answer now."
But he'd asked her a lot of questions, and this didn't help clarify the matter at hand. Until she pressed her lips to his cheek and sighed against his neck. He drew back a little to completely take in the sight of her.
"Alice, are you saying – after all this – do you love me?"
She nodded with the sort of smile that told him she was terrified of her confession. But she'd been scared for so long now that it hardly mattered, and if he was to fix her like she'd done for him, confessing seemed a good place to start.
"Absolutely, utterly, completely," she said, and the Hatter wore a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat's.
End of Part One