When the gardener had come, (most inappropriately running) frantic, into the Ascot's dining room about an hour earlier, interrupting Hamish and his mother, who had been engrossed in worrying over the absent Lord Ascot (who was still out and about with Alice on business, having insisted she needed a chaperone. "And rightly so." Hamish had to admit) over tea, he had been the first to volunteer a servant be sent out and his mother (and himself) stay where it was safe. For the gardener, once they had been able to get something coherent out of him, had said there was a madman in a top hat out in the garden.
They would have sent for the authorities immediately if it hadn't been for the fact that, while he was being pushed from the room to go calm down, the gardener shouted that the man had, between waving a large stick about and raving, demanded to be taken to Alice.
At that, Hamish had ordered the gardener right back into the room and onto his mother's sofa (she had voiced her displeasure over this, as the servant was filthy, but Hamish had silenced her with a determined look his mother rarely thought her son capable). Once water was fetched for him, he explained that he had come across the strange man while trimming the rose bushes near the maze, and while he had been on guard against the intruder at first, he'd quickly dropped his suspicions when the man had struck up pleasant conversation about the white roses. He'd seemed like a nice, though most definitely odd, gentleman who was in all probability lost (for he was behaving out of sorts enough).
But then things had turned sour. The gardener wasn't even sure what had triggered it, but the man had suddenly torn a limb from a nearby tree and began to wield it like a sword, snapping at him, full of uncontrolled rage. He'd started screaming in a language the gardener hadn't recognized and, in fear for his life, he'd fled.
But he had, without a doubt, clearly yelled more than once for Alice.
And thus, Hamish had screwed up his courage (for, while Alice had always been odd, he'd never known her to befriend the obviously dangerous). If this odd man was asking for Alice, Hamish would see him first (for no man in London would see Alice without him making sure he wasn't after her growing fortune. His father had been rather proud of his son when he'd set his foot down, in private, upon the point).
It hadn't taken much to find the strange man, who had still been out amongst the rose bushes, though to Hamish's relief he was no longer brandishing a stick. He was as the gardener had described him first—an agreeable temperament, greeting them politely with a bow before asking, with a bright smile on his pale face, "Is it, by any chance, anywhere near tea time or its equivalent here in Londonland?"
There is no possible way I am allowing this man into my house for tea, Hamish decided on the spot. Agreeable or not, the man looked out of his mind in a way Alice's appearance would never have hinted. And even his way of speaking, though light and easy, was odd and unnerving. He appeared wide eyed, innocent, and completely off his rocker.
"Sir." Hamish cringed at having to address the man as such, and made no attempt to appear civil as he spoke, but instead adopted his usual pompous carry. "May I inquire as to what you are doing in my family's garden?"
The stranger stared at him, his smile twitching slightly. It was rather creepy to Hamish, meeting this man's vibrant green eyes and trying not to show his fear (for he was growing rather afraid, for no reason he could really put his finger on). But it was hard not to be nervous, what with him being so deathly pale, with sunken cheeks, dark bags under his eyes, untamed red hair, bushy eyebrows, gapped teeth, wide eyes, outrageous clothing, and hands wrapped in brown cloth and bandages.
Bloody bandages.
Has this madman hurt himself—or someone else? Hamish wondered wildly, growing more worried by the second. Could he have been wrong? Could Alice finally have befriended someone truly dangerous? Or was this man even really an acquaintance of Alice, or some sort of freakish stalker?
Hamish's eyes narrowed at the intruder, who only smiled wider. "Do you own Londonland, then? I'm terribly sorry, I wasn't aware that I'd be running right into royalty when I'd only just arrived."
His smiled slipped off suddenly.
"...you're rather plain for royalty. And no hat. I should very much like to hat you."
The sudden proposition—as well as this man's behavior in general, for Hamish was quite thrown by being mistaken for royalty, and still wasn't sure why the man was calling his garden "Londonland"—struck Hamish with a temporary loss for words. He struggled with his senses, mouth opening and then snapping shut once, twice, before finally saying the only thing that came to mind, "I don't wear hats."
"Don't... wear hats?"
Hamish, even in his still shocked stupor, knew immediately he had said the wrong thing.
The man was glowering at him, no longer appearing young, naive, and harmless. Instead, he seemed tall, his shoulders set, and his eyes bright and menacing and feral.
"Ehs a one thin' ya don' say ta a milna, 'ya don' wear 'ats.' Evra one wears 'ats sumtime, so ta say ya don' makes ya a liar. Anna I don' like ta think tha' tha world whe'e Alice was born is ruled by ah bunch o' liars, so that must mean tha yer just sayin' tha cuz ya don' want me ta hat ya, and tha's an insult ta me trade and ta the last o' tha Hightopp clan AND YA WON' NA BE INSULTIN' ME FAMILY, YA FRUMIUS SLURVISH SLURKING URPAL-"
He was coming—no, more like storming—towards Hamish, a fury about him that needed no weapon. His hand was raised before he'd taken three steps, and Hamish had started backing away before two.
Hamish had all but forgotten the servants he'd brought with him, and it wouldn't have mattered anyhow, for they were all mimicking his panicked face, moving back slowly so as not to draw the madman's attention.
At times like these, there were only two options; Hamish had been raised to immediately revert to them in any emergency, and he didn't even have to think about it now. Option number two was in the works: he was backing away, prepared to run.
The other option? Diplomacy—also known as verbal cowardice.
"Sir, I'm terribly sorry. We have a misunderstanding." He broke into the mad tirade of incomprehensible insults, his voice loud and quick so as to be heard (and saved). "I never meant to insult your trade, sir, or your family. I didn't realize you were a-"
Not watching where he was going, Hamish's leg caught on the discarded branch the man had wielded earlier, and as he stumbled back he shouted his next word much more loudly than intended. "—HATTER!"
"-scrum... size... fez..." The man trailed off, stopping abruptly. His eyes bugged out, looking lost, and his whole body relaxed. When he focused on Hamish again, his lip twitched. "I'm fine."
Hamish just stared at him, dumbfounded. And when the stranger frowned again, Hamish took an involuntary step back once more. But the hatter merely said, in a rather heartbroken voice, "You're not Alice."
Yes, Hamish thought, 'heartbroken' is the only way to describe this pathetic wreck of a man now. But before...
Before, he was nothing but dangerous.
"Where is Alice?" The man asked, looking around like he expected her to pop out and surprise him. And, oddly, he made sure to look not only sideways in both directions and behind himself, but up high in the trees, down on the ground, and then straight up into the sky.
Hamish was struck with the reminder of Alice once telling him she'd wondered what it would be like to fly.
"S-sir?" He was loathe to recall the man's attention, but, insane or not, he was asking about Alice. And, even if he had to do it in fear of his life (and he certainly did fear for his life, frozen almost in place, knees locked and sweating like a pig), he was going to talk to this man about her. How he knew her, when he'd last saw her, what he knew about her. He would find out if this man was, in fact, a friend of Alice Kingsleigh.
The hatter brought his gaze back to Hamish, looking rather startled to find him there at all.
Holding his chin high once again and faking every bit of his confident manner, he said, "I do believe you inquired of tea time? It is, in fact, and we were just having it. If you would care to join us, then we may discuss any matters of Alice you might wish to engage in."
And that was how Hamish had led a madman into his house.
He'd sent the servants away for the most part, making sure no one made mention of what had happened outside to his mother. If Lady Ascot were to find out that Hamish had let him in after that episode, she would throw a fit. She is prone to those.
But now, it doesn't matter. Because she was in the room, witnessing firsthand the madness of Tarrant Hightopp, Milliner of the High Court of... wherever it is he had said he was from.
At least this time the madness isn't verbal, nor is it directed at any person in particular. No, it is merely painful screams of agony and anger accompanying blind rage as the hatter tearing up their living room.
The tea table had gone first, upending and almost striking Hamish in the face. He'd moved just in time, throwing himself to the floor. Then he was up again, grabbing his stunned mother's hand and pulling her to the hall, where, upon hearing the shattering of glass and another unearthly scream, she'd promptly fainted.
The servants come running, and they immediately set to work moving Lady Ascot, but after Hamish is sure his mother will be fine he presses himself to the wall, peering into the living room to watch the chaos. Most of the furniture is upturned, the windows broken, lamps smashed, bookcases toppled—anything that can be in any way disturbed, it has been. The milliner continues to rage about the room, tossing things that have already been tossed, smashing things that are already smashed, paying no heed to anything except that he has to keep moving, keep grabbing, keep throwing, keep screaming.
It goes on for over twenty minutes, and no one dares go inside the room. A few still stand outside the door, watching, but when a broken lamp comes sailing into the hallway they clear off. Hamish joins his mother in her room, where she's been laid out on her bed, and the servants bring her a fresh cup of tea and a wet washrag when she recovers.
She seems dazed at first, and accepts the tea with poise, but when she sets it down, a loud roar rends the air and she sends it toppling to the floor. "Hamish, is that madman still in our house?"
She looks both scandalized and terrified, and Hamish doesn't blame her. He still flinches every time he hears a yell, but they've grown less frequent in the past minutes. He is hoping the man will calm down enough soon that he can have him escorted off their property and to someplace more fitting for him—like a madhouse.
But Hamish is also aware that he has yet to send for the authorities. Because, insane as it seems even to himself, he still has questions for the man. He is going to try to talk to him again. But... not now.
A crash rings out, making mother and son flinch.
No, not now.
Now, he isn't going near that madman.