If Alice is going, of course Hamish will follow. It wasn't always a given that he would be brave enough or even willing, but for this, Hamish thinks it seems a matter of fact (even though it really isn't). He has spent some time with this madman, after all, and feels he i responsible (just a bit though, because really, how could he control someone with such fits? Completely out of his control, that was, Hamish certainly couldn't be blamed. But still-) for the man and he definitely feels responsible for Alice (because he's never done a thing for her before, the lout, and somehow feels like he should be making up for it now that it is past too late-a common ailment among men, Lowell informed him once) and is not going to stand in the kitchen and just not know what was happening between the man tossing the Kingsleigh furniture around and his vivacious Alice.
So he is on her heels after a few moments of hesitation (he is allowed those. He is Hamish, after all, and bouts of courage are not his forte). His resolve falters momentarily when Alice deftly, like it is completely natural and even elegant to do so, dodges a teacup that comes flying out of the sitting room and mashes into the wall about three inches in front of his face. It rather reminds him of the needle he has tucked in his breast pocket, where he had stashed it after he'd pulled it from the door frame-which was after it had been thrown at him (and with some malice, he thought). Would things continue to fly at his person in this way? He does not like this possibility.
But Alice is now in the midst of the storm, and Hamish has to push aside the thoughts (for he is going to need all his wits about him if he wishes himself and Alice to emerge from this unscathed-and he does, truly) and bring himself to venture after her once again.
The Kingsleigh sitting room does very much so resemble the Ascot's, as Hamish had expected it would. Overturned furniture, broken glass, ruined paintings-he could go on, but he is too busy dodging flying memorabilia, something Alice doesn't seem to have any difficulty with, oddly enough.
That is a bit encouraging to Hamish. The Hatter had made it seem like he and Alice were very much acquainted, good friends, even, but so far Alice had indicated nothing of the sort. She'd barely acknowledged the man's presence, as Stayne had said, and that has worried Hamish greatly, despite the proof upstairs in those childish drawings that Alice did know him-or at least, had known him once upon a time. Had he really let in a madman who had made a romance out of a childhood meeting? He prays not, and takes solace in how Alice seems used to Tarrant's fits, not bothered at all by the state of the room or his terrible, terrible cries.
"Oh joy." Hamish turns at the new voice joining them, and the action almost gets him hit by a rogue table leg. But he'd seen enough after his recovery to know that Stayne is probably more of a problem joining them than a help (really, the man even looked bored. Why had he bothered to follow at all? For the show?). "Alice, really. Just leave the poor wretch be."
Alice pays Stayne no mind, instead continuing her slow circle around the eye of the Hatter's storm (which is diminishing somewhat, as he is running out of furniture to throw and seems to be contenting himself with merely flailing about wildly). She is being careful, looking watchful, and when Tarrant whirls away from her with a roar, Alice leaps after him, grabbing his shoulder and twisting him around until she is able to slap her hands down onto both his shoulders.
"Hatter!" She cries, her voice firm and her face resolute.
And Mr. Hightopp's head shoots up, eyes locking instantly with the fair Alice's. And he doesn't move. Not a bit.
The storm is over, his tantrum stopped. Simple as that, there is only a broken, sad man standing there in rainbow colors, tattered and torn, all trace of his madness swept away, leaving him destitute and alone (despite the small group crowded around him, and Alice still holding him-she may be the only thing holding him up, he looks so faint. And really, the way they continue to stare at each other is highly inappropriate and makes Hamish shift uncomfortably).
"Terribly crowded, Alice." The Hatter whispers.
"Then leave." She answers simply.
And, as though they have just had a perfectly sensible conversation that has all the makings of something delightful, Tarrant smiles down at Alice, who in turn giggles softly and takes a step back. Mr. Hightopp stands on his own, apparently once again in good spirits.
Really? Just like that? Hamish thinks, baffled, befuddled, and all kinds of other confused. But Alice is smiling and Hatter is smiling and Stayne looks ready to vomit on the imported rug, so Hamish heaves a sigh of relief, puffs out his chest pompously as though it were he himself who had just averted a disaster (and judging by the condition of the Kingsley living area, no disaster has been averted, but on the contrary, has run its course right through, devastating the mahogany furniture and decimating the porcelain tea set, with no help or hindrance from young Lord Ascot in the least), and counts himself lucky that the chaos has abated (if only for a short time, for Tarrant's fits are, to Hamish's great affliction, apparently a regular event in the milliner's life and thus now, sadly, in Hamish's own).
Apparently satisfied with the Hatter's now jovial disposition, Alice peers over his shoulder and moves towards the window. She picks a piece of wood that Hamish can't identify the origins of out of the draperies and turns it in her hand. "Shame. Mother will miss this chair."
Her Father's chair, Hamish cringes. But Hatta joins Alice, peering down at what might have been the arm-or maybe the back?-of Mr. Kingsleigh's old sitting chair. "Bit small, iddint it?" He asks, looking to her.
"I suppose." Alice replies, tossing the slab to the floor.
"I said the same thing and your mother attempted to throw me from the house." Stayne drawls, kicking a nearby book.
"You know you said much more than that."
"Maybe, but I think you're missing the point. All I did was talk. Tarrant-" Stayne leans against the wall, which seems to be his favorite position, and nods to the Hatter, who shoots him a curious glance in return. "-has, however, utterly decimated your living area. Why isn't he being booted from the premises?"
"Because you started it," Alice says simply. "Hamish, would you inform my mother and the others that everything's calmed down now? It's dark out and I don't think we've discussed arrangements for our guests yet."
Stayne's "most rude of you" is ignored as Hamish nods, eyes both of the other men in the room, and then inches his way towards the kitchen. He is loathe to leave her in there with them, but, as it seems she is much more adept at handling the two than he (as she is much more adept at handling a lot of things than he, so long as they don't pertain to his Lordliness, proper manners, and such), there doesn't seem to be much need in him being there so he does as told.
Entering the kitchen through the still open door, he finds the inhabitants gathered together tightly as though physical proximity will protect them from what has transpired in a different room. Hamish smiles reassuringly and opens his mouth, but Lowell beats him to the mark.
"Has he been restrained?"
Disapproving Lowell's choice of words, Hamish never the less nods. "Mr. Hightopp has indeed calmed down-"
"That's not what I asked-"
"And Alice is in control of the situation-"
"There wouldn't be a situation if you hadn't brought that-"
"She wishes to discuss lodgings for her guests-"
"Those two psychopaths are not staying any-"
"And, as I said, I will be reimbursing you for the damages-"
"There wouldn't be any damages-"
"It's fine, Lowell." Helen interrupts, sighing. She fixes Hamish with a rather tired look, and he knows what is coming and fights the urge to bolt from the room so as not to face it. But he steels himself, and sure enough, she asks, "How bad is it, Hamish?"
He doesn't even try to fake a reassuring smile. It would have been insulting. "I'm sorry, Helen."
All of Charles' furniture, the Kingsleigh heirlooms and old hand-me-downs, pieces Helen and her husband had picked out together in their younger days and all that their daughters had grown up around and made memories with; all that made Mrs. Kingsleigh's sitting room special, a part of her life, her family, is now ripped up and scattered about a room that, alone, means nothing.
What has been destroyed here is so much more than the expensive imported set that had decorated the Ascot's mansion.
But Helen merely nods coolly, looking shaken but hiking up her composure well, and she strides past the young Lord out of the room, and Hamish is quick to follow (more because he doesn't want to be left in the same room with Lowell at the moment, Margaret or no Margaret, for she is little defense against his righteous indignation). After a few moments of what is surely hushed conversation, the young couple emerges and trails behind Hamish and Mrs. Kingsleigh.
Alice is getting on to Stayne again, the group can hear them even out in the hall. It doesn't quiet down even once they all step into the room. Hamish is beginning to think that this is probably the norm with Stayne, though (much as fits of anger and destruction followed by melancholia is the norm with the Hatter), and doesn't pay any attention to what they are discussing but breaks right in. "Your mother, Alice."
"Oh, thank you Hamish-"
"Those two," Lowell interrupts, which merits a cross look from Margaret. He does his best to ignore it and carries on. "Cannot stay here, and I certainly won't allow these destructive hooligans to stay in the same house with my wife-" Margaret's frown disappears in favor of a satisfied smile and slight coloring of the cheeks. "-so I think it would be best if they went on their way. It will be a bit of a rush for them to find a room for the night at the local lodgings."
Oh, no. Hamish sucks in a breath and cringes, knowing exactly what is coming and dreading it. But, if it is for Alice (and it most certainly is, for he'd never do anything like this for himself, for it would be more of a punishment than a favor), well...
"Nonsense. We can't just throw out our guests. Mr. Hightopp and Mr. Stayne will stay at my estate, if the arrangement suits them."
Hamish holds his nose up in the air, aware that everyone in the room is staring at him, and not in a good way. No, where there most certainly should have been impressed looks of gratitude and respect, there is in place instead the appearances of unhidden shock and confusion. Just why does everyone seem to find it so strange that he would offer a potentially psychotic and a definitely ill-willed stranger a place in his most honorable and luxurious home?
Right. Because he is Hamish.
"Thank you, Hamish," Alice finally says, wide-eyed. "That's very kind of you."
"Yes, well. We should be going then. Mr. Hightopp, Mr. Stayne?"
Stayne looks like he will say something (most likely insulting, demeaning, rude, or in some other way terribly inappropriate) but merely shrugs and strides out of the room.
Lowell's eyes follow the other man out, and he holds his wife closely to his side. Helen, however, walks briskly after Stayne without even a glance at her ruined home. "I'll call for a cab."
"Hamish, might I speak with you for a moment?"
He is answering before even thinking. Alice's voice has that kind of control over him at times. "Of course."
To Hamish's confusion, Alice, too, strides from the room, and he follows after her once again. He finds himself in the kitchen (he is ever so tired of being in this kitchen tonight), where Alice turns to him with a face glossed with faint troubles.
"Hamish, there's something I need to ask you."
Puffing up proudly, the young Lord stands tall. "I am here to help in any way I can."
"I'm having a bit of a problem... with... something..."
"Yes?"
"Oh!" Alice twists in agitation, obviously distressed. Hamish is still wondering what could be troubling carefree Alice so much when she huffs out a breath and hurriedly goes on. "It's the Hatter."
"...Oh?" Instantly, Hamish deflates. He does not want to discuss this new... rival (for want of a better word, as Hamish is truly out of the running for fair Alice and knows it) for Alice's affection with Alice herself. Especially if it is disturbing her this much. Is he, as Lowell had once jokingly called him, Alice's substitute for female companionship (for Alice has so few true friends in which she confides, and even fewer of those which are female as they should be by all proper standards)? Has he truly fallen so far as a man as to be considered someone to be gone to for the talk usually kept between close womenfolk?
But Alice flashes her blue eyes at him, soft and pale, filled with worry and pleading with him, seeking advice or some such thing, and Hamish knows suddenly that he has no pride at all when it comes to Alice.
His voice is steady and as consoling as it has ever been when he replies. "And what about Mr. Hightopp, Alice?"
And then she speaks to him words that make his blood curdle in his veins.
"I..." She crosses her arms across her chest and rubs, as though cold. "Hamish, I don't know who he is."