The Envelope: Keep Me (1)
Another moon and another balcony.
Alice pauses on the threshold. The night breeze caresses her bare ankles and plays with the hem of her unfortunately conservative nightdress which peeks out from beneath the edge of her robe. It is a cool night, but her feet are snug in their slippers and the robe is heavy on her shoulders so she doesn't notice. She notices only one thing, one man - the very same man who had kept her company on the first moonlight balcony Alice had been acquainted with.
And now here he - and that moment - is again.
She hadn't planned to seek him out tonight. Following dinner, she had led him to his room and wished him goodnight. He hadn't seemed to object; his smile had been warm and his grip upon her hand gentle. She had shivered with regret when he'd stepped away. But later, as she'd been just about to slide into bed herself, a floorboard in the hall had squeaked sharply. Alice knows that board well. As do her mother and Margaret. They all know to avoid it at night.
The Hatter, however, doesn't.
Curious, Alice had been drawn to investigate his nighttime wanderings. But not without a good dose of apprehension shadowing her! She had made her way down the hall as silently as possible through the familiar darkness, lecturing herself with every step: she is a grown woman! There is no need for her to feel like a child who expects to be sent back to bed with a firm scolding!
She had distracted herself from considering the possibility of such a kerfuffle by wondering what might have drawn the Hatter not only out of bed but out of his room tonight, prompting her reconnaissance mission.
And here, on the garden terrace, she has found him. He is standing in almost the exact place where their luncheon table had been set up earlier that afternoon. The light of the moon (which daringly glares down upon the earth through irregular windows in the clouds) bathes him in a ghostly glow. The scene he creates makes her pause. It reminds her of another night, on the eve of another battle.
Battle. Yes, although today had been stressful, sometimes-uncomfortable, and even now the outcome is uncertain, the struggles they will face tomorrow, in London, may well be worse. Alice continues to hesitate on the threshold. The night breeze plays with her hair rather than rubs against her ankles as she recalls the trials and tribulations of the day.
"Er, I did say 'magnificently eccentric' in my letter?" Alice had checked as she'd patted her sister's flushed cheeks with a cool, damp handkerchief. (Bright pink and promptly provided by the Hatter. He had readily offered it up for the cause in the same moment in which Alice had glanced toward the water pitcher on the sideboard.) Helen Kingsleigh had seemed rather mesmerized by the handkerchief and Alice had been required to repeat herself more than once before her mother had seemed to actually hear her.
"I believe the exact word was 'marvelous'," Helen had corrected her weakly. "Marvelous eccentricities…"
It had been very clear to her then that her mother's expectations - despite the warning she'd sent the night before - had been rather wide of the mark. "Ah…" is all she had said. Really, what else could she say? If her mother and sister had been startled this badly despite Alice's best attempt to prepare them, then how could she trust any other explanation to suffice?
"Alice?" Margaret, slowly coming to, had rasped on a guarded whisper.
"Yes?" Alice had asked gently, mindful of her elder sister's still-bleary gaze and fluttering lashes.
Hesitantly, Margaret had ventured, "Did I just imagine an orange man in a kilt on your arm?"
"Er… no, Magpie, I'm afraid not. Are you ready to meet him or shall we save that for later?" The following pause had been telling. "Later then. Right."
And later it had been. Alice had called for her maid, Louisa, and quickly arranged for luncheon to be held on the terrace and then she had escorted the Hatter from the threshold he'd been rather patiently occupying. They had made their way upstairs, ostensibly on a tour of the house and rather obviously leaving her mother and sister to recover from the shock in peace.
Their tour had ended in the family's sewing room. "The shops in London will have a more typical selection," Alice had babbled, unaccountably nervous, as the Hatter had surveyed the room in its entirety, "and I know many of these are rather dull - Margaret's fabric orders, no doubt - but if you find anything you like…"
"Trousers seem to be the custom here," he'd mused, looking over stacks of brightly patterned and interestingly textured fabrics that Alice had brought back from her journeys. She had always intended to have pantsuits or coats or dresses made from them, but in the end had never taken the time to place the order with a tailor. Looking at the Hatter as he had gently fingered a swatch of brocade that she'd picked up in India, Alice had at last admitted the truth: she'd bought these - each and every one of them - with him in mind.
"Might I make use of this bolt?" he'd asked with a hopeful grin.
In answer, Alice had leaned in close and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Use one, use them all. They're yours, love. Always have been."
His brows had arched nearly right off his head at that admission. "Alice you…?"
"I never forgot you, Hatter." Waving to the stacks of fabric bolts, she'd concluded, "Here's the evidence."
His hands had twitched briefly before tentatively cradling her face. His grin had been so wide that no words - not even a "Thank you, Alice" - had escaped. Alice had gently squeezed his wrists in understanding and then watched as a cunning gleam had entered his eyes an instant before the fabrics had once again claimed his attention.
Alice had seated herself on an old, last-of-a-dining-set chair and watched the Hatter work. He'd manned the sewing machine with ease, making Alice glad that she'd bought the thing despite protests from her mother and sister who had vowed never to use the contraption. At the Hatter's request, she had taken his measurements.
"No, no, not at the waist Alice, please. What sort of trousers would be the result of that? No, I shall need to know the distance between the tip of my nose and my left shoulder… No, no. The other left, laddie."
It had been, without a doubt, the most interesting tailoring session Alice has ever partaken in - positively educational! She'd learned that the Hatter's elbows are ticklish and the skin of his neck looks rosy compared to the dull, greyish hue of the measuring tape… She had also learned that the Hatter rewards his assistants very generously for a job well done.
Breaking the soft, unhurried, and magnificently thorough kiss, Alice had whispered, "I hope it's not your custom to thank all your workers thusly."
He'd giggled. "One and all!"
She'd pinched him in retaliation for the teasing. He'd yelped with more enthusiasm than necessary, eliciting one more kiss from Alice: an apology.
Louisa had knocked on the door shortly after and called them to lunch. And lunch… Well… Alice supposes it could have been both better and worse…
"Mother, Margaret," Alice had practically sung with confidence that had only been shaky around the very edges. The table that had - rather intimidatingly - been set to perfection on the terrace overlooking the garden and Alice had been glad for the Hatter's solid presence. It had reminded her - briefly - of seeing the Jabberwocky for the first time, interestingly enough. Despite the wimble-wobble of her nerves, Alice had triumphed - completing the introductions as polite manners dictate: "This is Mister Tarrant Hightopp, a hatter of extraordinary skill and vision."
"Mister Hightopp," Helen had said, standing and offering her hand. "Thank you for joining us for luncheon."
The Hatter had rather brilliantly avoided the necessity of responding verbally by collecting Helen Kingsleigh's hand carefully in both of his own and bowing - with great extravagance that had made Alice's cheeks ache with the size of her grin and her heart swell alarmingly with affection - over first her mother's and then her sister's offered hands. Alice had somehow managed to finish the standardized greetings and small talk despite the smile which should have made speech impossible.
And then the Hatter had assisted Alice with her chair, moving with deliberate grace. Alice remembers that moment now as ahe studies him in his stillness in the light of the moon. His grace at luncheon had entranced her. Her pulse had begun to race and her lower belly had inexplicably tightened as she'd remembered that lithe strength. She had glimpsed it on the battlefield, when he had fought Stayne, and - more recently - she had felt it against her own body…
Luckily her mother had interrupted her thoughts before her eyes had glazed over completely. "Alice?"
She had rather guiltily snapped back to attention. "Hm? I'm sorry, Mother. What were you saying?"
Her mother and sister's concerned looks had smoothed away, but Alice's moment of relief had been limited. She had glanced at the Hatter then and the brief sensual-memory-filled look he had given her had turned that cool afternoon into a decidedly warmer weather event.
"I was wondering," Helen had begun, "how it is you two came to be acquaintances."
Alice had considered lying. She'd considered telling the truth. She'd considered how much a nice plate of tossable scones would be welcome at that precise moment…
With a bright smile, Alice had said, "Well, it all began when I fell down a rabbit hole-"
Surprisingly, Margaret had laughingly sighed out an exasperated breath. "Oh, Alice. Not another one of your stories!"
"My stories are quite good!" she'd replied with mock affront, placing her napkin upon her lap. "Very original with fascinating characters. You're in need of a better ear, Magpie."
Helen's sigh had been noticeably heavy with the weight of tolerance.
Alice had relented in the face of her mother's wordless prompting. "Oh, very well. It wasn't a rabbit hole, then. It was the lake at the Ascot estate. You see, it was such a nice day, so I suggested a picnic as the setting for our business lunch…" That had not been the entire truth - no, of course not! - but Alice had refused to bring up the fact that Hamish had asked her to accompany him. That revelation would have only begged more questions, chiefly: Why? And then: What did he wish to discuss? And undoubtedly: What did you tell the poor man this time, Alice? Out of respect for Hamish and for the Hatter, there had been no point in bringing all that up again.
So she had cunningly distracted her mother and sister from whatever discussion may or may not have taken place between herself and Hamish by dramatically narrating her own near-drowning in a lake that is quite innocent of the charge.
"And then the Hatter pulled me out of the water," she'd concluded grandly. "I'm sure you can imagine how glad I was to see him! And Lord Ascot - as I mentioned in my letter - was kind enough to offer us hospitality until our things were wearable again."
The story she'd told them has more eyeholes than one of those wretched corsets that are so in fashion these days. Alice doesn't doubt that both her mother and sister had noticed that very fact, although, oddly enough, neither had said a word. Perhaps, in the face of Alice's obvious happiness, they hadn't dared.
Alice leans against the open French door and considers her lover. Her brilliant and wonderfully mad lover. The Hatter had been right when he'd declared that a lack of logic could be forgiven in the face of success. If Alice's happiness is that success, then perhaps that is why her family had forgiven her for her lies.
"It was quite fortunate that you happened to be there, Mister Hightopp," Margaret had remarked pleasantly as Helen had stared at Alice in silent reprimand. Yes, yes, Alice ought to know better than to daydream and such so near a lake; she ought to keep her head out of the clouds and so on and so forth. Honestly, near death experiences are not all that interesting, but Alice can see why her mother might assume her youngest daughter's opinion on the subject to be otherwise. It is Alice's own fault for parading her exploits so blatantly… and for so many years. Or perhaps this is merely another failure in communication: Alice's definition of dangerous deeds surely does not match her mother's.
"Very fortunate," Alice had gladly agreed. "Truly, there is not a single good reason for why I was there or why the Hatter happened by when he did… It was fate, surely."
She'd then shared a smile with the Hatter who had looked quite charming and boyish in that moment. So much so that Helen had seemed compelled to point out, "We've yet to hear your side of the story, Mister Hightopp."
In that moment, things could have gone very badly, Alice knows. That moment had been the turning point in their metaphorical battle, and the Hatter had trusted Alice to lead them both to victory. With a silent nudge, he had urged her onward.
Alice bites back a smile as the conversation that had followed comes back to her…
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mother. Erm, you see, he doesn't speak our Queen's English."
"Well, what sort of English do you speak, then, sir?" Margaret responded with uncanny insight.
"You wouldn't believe your ears if he so much as wished you a good afternoon," Alice declared haughtily.
"I beg your pardon!"
"In fact," Alice blithely concluded, contemplating the condiments tray, "I'd wager you would swoon right into the chutney."
"I fear you'll be sorely disappointed!"
"Oh, will I?"
"It's a guarantee!"
"You'll want to be wary of broken promises, Magpie. They've quite sharp edges."
"Alice! I will not swoon!"
Alice lifted her water glass with a bored air. "Will," she argued and then took a sip.
"Will not!"
"Hm… I think you will."
Looking well and truly incensed now (Fantastic! To Alice's knowledge, no one has ever fainted from irritation.) Margaret carefully enunciated, "For the last time, Alice-"
"Marvelous!" she replied. "Then I shall have the final word!"
Eyes narrowed, Margaret gritted out, "I will not swoon."
Alice suppressed a grin and lifted a dainty ham sandwich to her lips. "Will," she said before enjoying a bite.
"Oh, for the love of the queen, Alice!" Helen huffed. "You behave as if Mister Hightopp is a backwards man who lives on a backwards hill or some such. Honestly, if it were up to you, you'd have us believe that he walks on his hands."
"Er…" Alice blinked at her mother and then glanced at the Hatter.
"Indeed, Alice," Margaret interjected. "Perhaps you've convinced Mister Hightopp to speak in nothing but rhyming couplets in order to shock us."
Alice rallied, "And what would it matter should he speak in iambic pentameter?"
Beside her, the Hatter giggled helplessly. "I believe you just did!" he lisped on a laughter-infused whisper. "And made a rhyme, by the by!"
She shared a triumphant grin with him in the moment before Margaret's gasp interrupted.
"Oh... my…"
Alice waited, but her sister simply gaped at the Hatter. Clearing her throat, Alice broke the tableaux: "I believe you've misplaced a word, Magpie. The one you're looking for - that is, the one that typically follows those first two - is 'lord', if I'm not mistaken."
"Good gracious, Alice!" Margaret stuttered, ignoring her sister's playful sarcasm. "This is… He…! Mister Hightopp," Margaret began, addressing him directly and practically glowing with inquisitiveness.
"Yes, Madam Manchester?"
Margaret blinked at him once, twice, and then frantically waved a hand at Alice to call her attention. The gesture was utterly unnecessary, however, as Alice was still riveted by the exchange. "Did he just say my name, do you think?"
"That's precisely what he said," Alice replied. "The word 'madam' sounds the same front-to-back as it does back-to-front," Alice lectured as she watched her mother watch the Hatter.
"Do you mean…!" Margaret gave the Hatter a reevaluating look. The Hatter gave her a friendly smile. "Mister Hightopp speaks in the reverse?"
"Yes," Alice answered. "'Mirror-wise' is the term I use." Alice waited for her mother to say something… anything. But when no comment was forthcoming, Alice summoned a smile and a summary, "Fantastic, isn't it?"
"It's mad!" Margaret declared, looking thoroughly entertained.
"My point exactly!" Alice agreed enthusiastically, charmed by Margaret's obvious glee. "Extraordinary!"
Yes, he is, Alice silently concurs with her memory. Seeing the Hatter contemplating the garden from the moonlight-made silver stone terrace calls forth many such impressions, including the other balcony they had once occupied together. She remembers that he had hesitated on the threshold, much like she is doing now. Had it been for the same reasons? An over-abundance of inarticulate-able thoughts warring with the need for a companion who understands the restless anxiety of undefined and unknown (but undeniably imminent) challenges on the morrow?
She thinks of their scheduled departure for London and experiences the distinct sensation of things-left-undone. They are no closer to finding a way back to Underland, and leaving the countryside feels like a forfeiture. But what other options do they have? If their time here in Upland is limited, then Alice will show him as much of her world as she can and, in doing so, perhaps she will never have to truly say farewell to it. If the memory exists within both her own mind and the Hatter's, then they might visit it again together merely by closing their eyes and whispering.
Alice will miss her family when she and the Hatter return to Underland. But perhaps this way - this farewell - is preferable to her sudden and announced tumble down the rabbit hole the day before. This way, her family will know that she is making a new life for herself with someone she loves. Surely, they will be happy for her, even if they are also sad to see her go.
She thinks of her mother and knows it will be hard for her to accept. In fact, Alice admits uncomfortably, her mother had not seemed to accept much of anything. She had hardly said two words during the remainder of lunch and Margaret's demand for Alice's services as a translator had prevented her from investigating the mystery of her mother's silence. Margaret had then insisted on accompanying Alice in showing the Hatter the grounds and Helen had excused herself. When dinner had arrived, Alice had done her best to draw her into conversation, but her mother's responses had been succinct and vague. Not rude, perhaps, but… unwelcoming of further conversation. Oh, her mother had been pleasant to the Hatter, certainly. It is simply that she had seemed… concerned. Although concerned about what exactly Alice cannot even begin to guess. (Perhaps, if her own mind were less contrary, then she might have managed to anticipate this worry.) However, Alice decides not to waste any more time contemplating it now. No doubt, it will be revealed on the morrow when her family realizes her intention to not only accompany the Hatter to London, but to remain with him there indefinitely.
There are many things to discuss. Perhaps that is why Alice pushes all of them away. Approaching the man on the terrace with careful steps, she asks softly, "Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"
The Hatter turns and smiles with delight. "Yes," he says softly, destroying the mirror image of that years-old memory. "They are alike in the same way that hay and ham sandwiches are similar!"
Alice grins, marveling at his nonsense.
He leans in and kisses her gently. Alice wraps an arm around his shoulders. When he pulls back, she keeps it there and he keeps his around her waist. They regard the moonlight-dappled lawn. The clouds above move swiftly and the darkness around them shifts from pitch black to tarnished silver again and again at irregular intervals.
"Did I apologize properly for startling your mother and sister when we arrived?" he mutters softly. "I meant to, but I cannot recall if…"
"It's fine," Alice assures him. "They seemed rather relieved that we didn't bring it up, actually."
He considers that before turning his attention to the pruned-with-precision grounds and then, finally, he surveys Alice's very conservatively-tailored night things. "I believe I understand now, Alice," the Hatter lisps softly, raising his gaze to hers. "Why it is you fell into Underland not once but…"
"Ah… yes." She supposes it is rather obvious now how very unlike her own people she is. "I suppose I am rather… mad here. Still, you mustn't underestimate Uplanders, Hatter," she argues. "Your ways might startle them, but they adapt quickly." Or rather, Alice hopes that will continue to be the case! Margaret had seemed quite taken with him, in the end. Alice's mother on the other hand… well, she's sure that sooner or later she will learn the reason for her unusually reserved mood. She leans closer to the Hatter, tightening her arm around him.
He muses, "I must seem rather… well, in comparison to such tamed surroundings and… well, I haven't encountered so much as a talking cat in this country of yours! They are rather curious and pompous creatures, you know. It's inevitable that you'll cross paths with one, no matter where you travel. And yet, here…"
"Here there are no such things. Merely cats. Pompous and curious, yes, but…" She sighs, wondering again what has become of Chessur and Mallyumkun, Thackery and Nivens, the White Queen and the Tweedles, Bayard and the Bandersnatch… "So many things that are possible in Underland are utterly impossible here."
"Then it follows that many things that are possible here are impossible in Underland," he deduces.
For the first time, Alice considers that possibility. "You're correct," she answers. "I simply never looked at it that way before…"
The Hatter turns toward her, prompting her to finish that thought with an inquisitive twitch of his brows.
"Upland…" But no, that isn't what she means to say. "England," she corrects herself, "the country we are in now, despite having a queen, is a man's society. I never would have become a successful businesswoman without the late Lord Ascot's continuous support. In his will, he named me president of a subsidiary of his company. Actually, I now run the very company that my father started years and years ago. Most women never have such an opportunity. All of this-" She gestures to the house and grounds. "-is mine because a man willed it to be so. I have no illusions about how tenuous that state is."
Alice secretly dreads the day when either the board members of the company grow greedy or times become hard and they actively begin to move against her, mutiny as it were. They tolerate her now because Alice's unconventional ways have made them all very rich men. Alice had learned - from Lord Ascot himself - that the best way to maintain control is through generosity. Luckily, the company has been successful enough to afford Alice - and, by extension, her mother and sister - a great deal of financial security. The funds she has already earned are safe, Alice knows, but the future is always uncertain.
"In Underland, the path was mine to make. Even though the Oraculum showed my confrontation with the Jabberwocky, there was no indication of my victory. We did that," she tells him, studying his expression. "Together, you and I did that."
"I have not seen any Jabberwockies here," he points out helpfully and Alice grins widely.
"No, no Jabberwockies, thankfully."
The Hatter lifts a hand and begins deftly tucking wayward strands of her hair behind her ears. "I do believe that you prefer Underland."
"Yes, you are correct." Despite the sheer overwhelming oddness of the place, yes, Alice prefers it. It is only her confidence in herself that wavers from time to time. If she returns to face yet another adventure, will she rise to the challenge as she had before? Is she still that Alice?
"Absolutely Alice," he lisps, unknowingly reassuring her.
In thanks for his uncanny ability to lift her spirits, Alice kisses him. As she does so, a Thought occurs to her. "Why didn't you kiss me that night on the balcony? On the eve of Frabjous Day?" she whispers against his lips.
"Ye were just a wee lad, then, Alice," he replies in a startled tone. Clearly, he feels that the reason should be self-evident.
Alice persists, "And yet you waited for me in that room, dressed as you were…" She gives him a long look. "That kilt is for special occasions, isn't it?"
"Your return was a special occasion."
"Hatter…" she pleads softly, gently shaking him by his jacket lapels. "Why did you wait for me?"
His hands settle on her waist and his thumbs draw lazy half circles through the fabric that separates his touch from her skin. "Ye vowed teh b'back afore I kenned it… an' I…" He studies her intently as the moonlight fades and then washes over them again. "I ken hauw Time is 'ere… I kenned ye woul' come back an' when ye did… ye woul' nae launger be a wee lad…"
Alice closes her eyes and presses her lips to his chin, his jaw, the lobe of his left ear… Of all the things in the world there are to wish for, of all the dreams she could spend a thought on wanting to make real, the only thing she truly desires is to be worthy of all the waiting he had done for her.
"I was such a silly girl, a thoughtless child, and yet you…" She has no words to accurately define the scope of his vision and generosity. He had quite possibly loved her even then and yet she had not seen it - had not been capable of seeing it - nor had she deserved it. Debatably, she does not even deserve it now. A wave of guilt crashes over her at the thought of how delightfully strange the last two days have been… all because Underland is underwater.
Alice cannot think of a single person more selfish than herself.
"Tarrant…" she dares, addressing him by his given name for the first time.
"Yes, your Majesty?"
She presses her forehead to his shoulder and smiles against the fabric. She inhales and thinks that it smells like him. Or perhaps he smells like it. The scent is marvelous, either way. "You think too highly of me, and I do not think-"
"Then ye shoul'nae speak," he hushes her, his arms pulling her closer until it would take more effort than she cares to expend to draw a breath deep enough with which to argue. She subsides. Some other time, perhaps, he will be willing to hear her apologies. Not tonight.
Tonight, on this terrace, in the light of this moon, there are soft kisses and warm nuzzling caresses and soft sighs. And if Alice suspects that someone is watching her and Tarrant from the shadows of the house, she tells herself she doesn't care. She can guess who it is and if her mother feels the need to play chaperone, so be it. When Alice begins yawning at regular intervals, the Hatter escorts her to her room and tucks her in bed. She makes an inarticulate sound of grumpy dissatisfaction when he moves away.
"Nae, my Alice. I'll nae stay."
"Tomorrow… London," she reminds him on a jaw-cracking yawn.
"Tomorrow," he agrees, brushing his fingers through her hair and humming Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat until she falls asleep.
The next morning, Alice discovers that she had been correct about her mother and sister and their reaction to Alice's premature move to town.
"Mister Hightopp," Margaret addresses him when Alice excuses both of them from breakfast with a "Well, it's off to London, then!"
Holding out her hand, her sister announces, "It was a great pleasure meeting you. Thank you for indulging my curiosity."
Alice translates this and conveys the Hatter's eloquent reply: "I am always honored to be permitted to encourage curiosity, madam."
"Louisa?" Alice quietly prompts her maid.
"Yes, Miss Kingsleigh, your trunks are ready."
"Thank you-"
"Trunks?" Margaret sputters as Helen gasps softly.
Alice tries to ignore the feeling of cowardice that haunts her as she fiddles with her gloves. "Yes, well, I know I've only just returned, but there's really so much to be done that I believe I'd best transfer myself to town." And then Alice deliberately places her hand on the Hatter's arm.
The implications are clear. They resonate in the silence. Alice watches the conclusions form in her mother and sister's expressions. Helen looks… alarmed but stoically maintains her composure. Margaret, on the other hand, is far more blatant with her reaction as she realizes that when Alice had introduced the Hatter to them as an acquaintance, she had actually been preparing them for this moment, this unveiling of the depth of his true importance to Alice.
"And… where will Mister Hightopp be staying?" her sister queries daringly.
"With me."
Margaret is left speechless.
"Alice," Helen finally whispers hoarsely. Alice suppresses a wince. Now she will hear what has been on her mother's mind, she is sure of it! "Might I have a word? In private?"
"Of course, Mother." With a reassuring squeeze to the Hatter's arm and a brave smile, she gently removes her hand from his elbow and follows her mother into the parlor where, just yesterday afternoon, Margaret had fainted rather spectacularly.
Helen closes the door softly behind them. Alice waits for her to speak first, launch the first volley, as it were.
"Darling…" Helen begins carefully. "This man, Mister Hightopp…"
It is too soon to really know what objection her mother is about to raise. All Alice knows is that an objection is on the tip of Helen's tongue and it pertains to the Hatter. Alice cannot restrain herself from presenting whatever counter-attack she can manage. "I know he seems very strange, but he's really a wonderful gentleman and… well," Alice briefly considers her words. Perhaps a bit of ambiguity would not be awry? "I've some ideas… regarding his future, you see. If he is of the same mind, then our association could be very rewarding."
Her mother knows her too well to be comforted by that vague reassurance. Hesitantly and with no small amount of suspicion, Helen postulates, "So, am I to understand that you are merely assisting him out of a sense of charity, Alice?"
"I… What?" Charity? True, it had been hard to miss the fact that he'd arrived with only the clothes on his back, but…! Oh, bugger all. Perhaps Alice had best stick to telegraph messages. Verbal communication and correspondence via letters are failing her miserably in recent days.
"Ah. Yes," Helen surmises, looking as if she'd very much like to sit down. "That's what I feared."
"What you feared?"
Alice gapes openly until her mother sighs and reaches out a hand to rub her shoulder warmly. "Don't be upset with me, darling. What am I supposed to think? Lady Ascot sends the most atrocious note and yours following it is only marginally more comforting and then you show up on a mad tinker's arm-"
"Mother! How could you... you…!" Right. Enough is enough. Time to deal with this misunderstanding so that it is properly forgotten and never brought up again. "By your standards, I am a mad tinker! Have you always judged me so harshly?"
"This is not about judgment," Helen insists with poise.
"What is it about then?" she challenges doggedly.
"This is about your future, Alice." She studies her mother's expression and cannot find fault with it. She is genuinely worried. "You've worked so hard over the years, providing for your sister and for me… even though it was not your responsibility to do so." They do not mention the name of the man whose responsibility it should have been. Lowell has been persona non grata in this house for years. Helen continues, "The accomplishments you've made and the reputation you have built for yourself… what will happen to all of that when London Society learns of your association with… someone like Mister Hightopp?"
"Someone like Mister Hightopp," Alice echoes, disbelieving. "Precisely what is it about him that you are objecting to? His orange-ness?"
Helen shakes her head helplessly, clearly indicating that there exist far too many unfortunate faults to list. "Alice, darling, please think carefully about all you may be throwing away if you continue to associate with him."
"What about all that I may be gaining?" Very deliberately, Alice places a hand over her lower belly. The gesture is not lost on her mother. Helen visibly pales.
"Oh, Alice… What have you done?"
"I'm a grown woman, Mother, and I've found the right man for me. As for my reputation…" She shakes her head. "I won't say it doesn't matter, because we both know differently, but you're wrong about him. He's going to be a marvelous hit in London. You're worrying about all the wrong things."
"I hope so, Alice. I sincerely hope so."
The urge to defend the Hatter is nearly overwhelming, but Alice knows she is toeing the line drawn by ladies who doth protest too much. Alice wrestles with her urge to have the last word. Wrestles… and wins. With a nod, she sweeps past her mother and lets herself out of the room. She is not surprised to find both Margaret and the Hatter standing in the hall just on the other side of the door, clearly guilty of eavesdropping.
Margaret glances, wide-eyed, from Alice to the Hatter and back again.
"Yes, Magpie?" Alice asks, offering her hand to the Hatter for him to take. He expertly tucks it into the crook of his elbow.
"Er… the coachman," Margaret rasps, "wanted to know… the bolts of fabric…"
Ah, a logistics issue. That Alice can deal with. "Thank you. I'll see to it. Keep in touch," she bids her, stepping forward to press a quick kiss to her sister's cheek. The walk to the front door seems to stretch on for miles. Alice half expects her mother and sister to attempt to forcibly restrain her from leaving… but of course they don't. Alice breathes a breath of relief when the Hatter escorts her through the door and out onto the drive.
As requested, she confers with the coachman and confirms that, yes, she is quite satisfied with having the paper-wrapped bolts of exotic fabrics strapped to both the boot and the flat top of the carriage. It is a small thing - a truly tiny issue - but she enjoys an instant of accomplishment; she has managed to resolve something even if she is currently running away from all of the major problems that ought to receive her attention: her mother's worries, her sister's shock, the fate of Underland…
But no more today. She is exhausted and it's not even ten o'clock in the morning.
She accepts the Hatter's solid and strong assistance into the carriage and looks back at her family standing on the doorsteps. As the carriage lurches forward on its journey, Alice forces herself to wave farewell to her mother and sister. She doesn't doubt that she hasn't heard the last of their reactions to all of this, but that's no reason to allow her pique and shock and disappointment with them to get the better of her. After all, who knows when another path to Underland will present itself? This may be the last time she sees them…
And then she does not see them at all. The carriage follows the bend in the drive and the house and grounds are obscured by trees. Alice leans back in her seat and tries not to sigh.
For long moments, they travel in silence. She endures the cacophony of the wheels, the mind-numbing rhythm of the hoof-beats of the horses, the miscellaneous creaks and squeaks of the vehicle itself… The Hatter's stillness becomes increasingly unnerving until Alice cannot bear it any longer. She reaches for his right hand, collecting it in her left, and studies it in the diffused light that illuminates the interior of the carriage through the open curtain of the side window.
The Hatter's attention is riveted on their clasped hands. "Shall I apologize now, Alice?" he whispers after a very long moment. "Your mother is correct: they are a tinker's hands… a mad tinker's hands…"
For a moment, Alice wonders if Tarrant had somehow understood the conversation… but no. Alice had used those very words herself in objection. The Hatter had merely inferred the gist of Helen's comments from Alice's reaction… which she had stated quite loudly.
"Yes, they are," she agrees. "And no, you should not apologize. I forbid you from feeling the need to do so at all. These are the hands of a brilliant man. My Hatter."
Sighing out his worry and stress, he burrows his nose into her unbound hair and breathes deeply. "Aye, laddie. Aye." He pulls himself closer to her on the bench seat. "I only hope I'll not disappoint you in this London, Alice."
"I don't believe that's possible," she reassures him.
He presses his lips to her temple in thanks and then mutters haltingly, "I've already let you down… Your mother…"
"Is not the parent from whom I get my sense of vision," she deftly interrupts him. "She needs time and opportunity to see in you what I see. Everything will be fine," she counsels him… and takes some comfort in her own words.
Their arrival at Alice's home in the frumious city of London holds true to the recent pattern of disbelief, shock, and general contrariness that has been established over the past few days.
"Mister Hightopp will stay here?" her housekeeper objects, astounded by Alice's daring. "As your guest? Unchaperoned?"
"That is correct, Marta. Please see that the guestroom is in good condition."
Alice leaves the coachman and the housekeeper to their tasks and escorts the Hatter into the parlor where they will be out of the way. She briefly flips through the pile of calling cards that had been left for her since her return to England and the Hatter wanders over to the window. Twitching the curtains aside, he regards the soot-smudged street beneath the grey, overcast sky.
At one point, Alice glances up in time to catch him considering his trousers: his newly-tailored trousers - longer than the style he had worn in Underland - yet created from a fabric far more brilliant than his previous pair had been made from. Alice regards the eye-wateringly bright combination of peacock blue jacket, indigo vest, pink dress shirt, and emerald green trousers.
He frowns mightily at himself. Alice hums an inquiring tone and waits until he seems ready to speak. The Hatter mutters in an evaluating tone, "I believe I made the trousers long enough. It must be the color." He glances up. "That has been causing the epidemic of unhinged jaws and wide eyes upon making my acquaintance," he explains further.
Smiling, Alice corrects him, "Colors."
"So it is true that Lord Ascot's utterly bland sense of fashion is the norm?" The question is rhetorical. He sighs moodily and spares one more glance out the window at what Alice expects are grey, brown, and black-clad passersby.
"Unfortunately, yes."
He contemplates this for a moment, sighs once more, and then warns her, "I shall have to ask you to kill time if I'm to make a new suit for myself before we venture out today…"
Alice abandons her correspondence. She rounds the corner of the writing desk and reaches for his hand. "I wouldn't advise such a thing."
"True, Time can be quite irritable when dead."
"No, no, Hatter. The suit. You needn't make it."
"Why-ever not?" he responds with honest confusion. In her grasp, his fingers are constantly moving, twitching and caressing. "Would it not make the tasks ahead of us a lesser challenge if I were more-?"
"Challenges be damned! I don't want an Almost Hatter or a Not Hardly Hatter," she chides him, releasing his hand in order to un-straighten his bow tie. "I'm actually rather envious of the combinations. You have so many outer garments to coordinate yet I've only a skirt and blouse. Rather dull, if you ask me."
The Hatter blinks once before his gaze sweeps erratically over her. When he next looks into her eyes, his own are practically glowing with an idea. Alice can guess just what sort of idea it might be, too. With any luck it will coordinate well with the proposal she would like to make him. Well, no time like the present!
"It will take some time for everything to be readied here. Let's go out," she declares, reaching for her satchel.
"Out?" he echoes with a nervous twitch of his wild brows.
Alice bites back a laugh at his alarmed expression. "Yes, out. My office isn't far. Have you a handkerchief handy?"
The Hatter produces a canary yellow square of embroidered linen. "Of course! Handy and in hand! It wouldn't be much of a handkerchief otherwise!"
"Indeed it wouldn't," she agrees and produces one of her own. "Excellent. We'll arrive at our destination none the worse for wear, then."
They depart via the rear entrance to the house. It is only mid-afternoon, but the sky is darker than intuition expects with coal smoke from the factories. Alice applies her kerchief to her face and the Hatter does likewise. The Hatter offers her his free arm and Alice leads the way. As they navigate the streets, she can't help but notice how this bare-headed, brightly-clothed man stands out like a majestic orchid amongst muddy grass. Oh, yes. London Society needs Tarrant Hightopp… they simply don't know it yet.
They pass a variety of shops, and Alice pauses occasionally to allow the Hatter to peer in through the grimy windows as she lists the content of their wares. "This one," she says, gesturing briefly with her handkerchief, "sells inks and pens, parchment and such." She considers the necessity of having calling cards made for the Hatter… but that will have to come later. They've still the issue of language to sort out… if it can be sorted out.
"And this one?" he interrupts, pausing meaningfully before a poor, wretchedly dirty shop.
"Nothing at the moment, although it used to be a men's suit emporium. If you look just there, you can catch a reflection in the looking glass."
He cranes his neck to see and, after a moment, they continue on. The next time they stop, it is at Alice's request.
"This is your office?" Tarrant mutters through the layers of haphazardly folded handkerchief.
"Er, well, no," Alice admits, urging him up to the door. "It's a teashop. We missed lunch."
"Ah, marvelous!" he declares, moving with alacrity now to open the door for her. "I was beginning to wonder if lunch wasn't an everyday event here!"
Alice procures a table and orders for both of them. As they wait (and as they ignore the pointed stares and hushed, gossipy whispers of the other patrons), she tells him of her business and what she does at her office on typical days.
"And on untypical days?" he asks with avid interest.
"Well, I suppose those would be spent aboard a ship, sailing."
"I've never been on a ship," he declares.
"It's much like this establishment," she replies, waving a hand to indicate the small, dark, cramped atmosphere.
He wrinkles his nose at their surroundings. "Ah."
Alice laughs quietly then reaches across the table to pat his hand. "I will give you a tour of the Wonder sometime."
"Is that a promise or a threat?" he muses wittily.
"Both," she replies. "From the outside, the ship looks rather romantic. It's only the interior that is rather… less than exciting." Alice had spent quite a lot of time above deck for that very reason despite having a rather comfortable suite to herself.
Their tea is delivered and as the Hatter creams, sugars, and pours their cups, she asks, "Hatter… if our return to Underland continues to be delayed… well, have you given any thought to what you would like to do here in the meantime?"
"That," he replies, passing Alice her teacup, "is a whiting."
"Slippery and difficult to grasp?" she defines.
"Precisely. I am a hatter, and yet I am unsure if the hatters here are me."
Alice chuckles. "That is an excellent point. No one here is like you, love."
"That is very untrue, Alice."
She looks up, startled, and finds herself on the receiving end of his piercingly sensual stare. Oh. Yes, well, perhaps she is the one exception.
The tea is weak and the sandwiches are dry, but Alice would not change the moment for anything. She is suddenly struck by the realization that the Hatter must be real and this must not be a dream because, in the midst of all this tiresomely rational reality, here he sits. With her.
With teatime finished, Alice promises the stop at her office will be quick. "I only need to collect something…"
And yet, upon their arrival, her office assistant endeavors to make that vow difficult to keep.
"Miss Kingsleigh!" the man at the reception desk announces with profound relief. Alice is unsure, but it looks as if the poor fellow has lost even more of his greying hair since he'd met her at the wharf last week. Well, at least his waistcoat is rather smart. "Welcome back!"
"Thank you, Mister Phelps."
"You've several messages-"
"I always do. How else would you earn your salary?" she teases him with a perfectly straight face.
"And Sir Godfry stopped in today inquiring about the-"
"Spices that he has yet to pay for, yes," she summarizes, still moving the Hatter through the lobby and toward her office.
"Also, there was a man from-"
"Mister Phelps, have I left you alone here so long that you've forgotten your manners? This," she says with a demonstrative gesture, "is Mister Tarrant Hightopp."
"Oh, good gracious, I do apologize, sir!"
The Hatter nods, his green eyes sparkling with mirth.
"Now, as I was saying, Miss Kingsleigh, there was a man from the papers here asking about Japan."
"Botheration!" She'd completely forgotten about that. She'd promised the papers an account of Japan as well as sketches upon her return. "Bugger all," she mutters, making the Hatter giggle and Mister Phelps fidget nervously.
"I've composed replies to the most urgent correspondence, ma'am. If you would but approve them…"
With an apologetic look at the Hatter, Alice relents. "Very well, show me the drafts. I'll sign them and then we really must be on our way!"
"Would Mister Hightopp like to wait in the lobby…?" Mister Phelps hints strongly.
"No, he wouldn't," Alice answers for him. The lobby is for boorish clients and pompous investors. The Hatter would surely go mad in such a proper place!
Once Alice is seated at her desk, frowning at a pile of cards and letters, and the office door has closed behind Mister Phelps, the Hatter twitters gleefully. "That man is in need of a pocket watch and longer ears!"
Alice considers her assistant and his uncanny likeness to a certain white rabbit. She snorts. "I'll consider the pocket watch for his annual bonus, but the procurement of the ears, I'm afraid, is beyond me."
Alice tries to deal with her correspondence as quickly as possible, knowing that even the novelties and oddities that clutter her office will not entertain the Hatter indefinitely. He plays with the meditation stones Alice had been given in China, admires the scimitar she'd purchased in Siam, taps his thimble-less fingers on the rawhide drums she'd discovered in Lagos…
When he begins idly spinning the world globe on its axis with idle flicks of his wrist, Alice signs the last letter and, shuffling the papers together into a mess that will surely take Mister Phelps an hour to sort out, she teases the Hatter, "Are you as frightfully bored as you look, sir?"
"Not if you're about to suggest another cup of tea." His smile is spectacularly hopeful.
"Hm…" she replies, grinning. "Not tea, but…" Here she pauses to open her desk drawer and do a bit of noisy rummaging. "But something that I hope is equally stimulating."
The Hatter's brows rise. A lascivious gleam enters his eyes. Alice chuckles and holds up a key for his inspection. His burgeoning smile flips into a thoughtful frown and he tilts his head to the side in silent inquiry.
Maintaining the mystery a bit longer, Alice merely rises and collects her satchel. "Your arm, please, sir," she says, approaching him. "I require your services as an escort."
"It would appear," the Hatter says, hesitating before opening the door, "that you will also require the services of a Bandersnatch." He nods in the direction of the lobby and Alice's very Nivens-like assistant. "To clear the way."
"Hah," she declares softly. In a conspiring whisper, she explains, "I am my own Bandersnatch! Watch this, sir."
"And is it also safe to smell?"
She giggles. "Yes. Quite. At least until we get outside…"
With a nod of agreement, the Hatter opens the door and Alice bustles through, already speaking. "Now I've taken care of those signatures and such Mister Phelps. I believe you'll find everything on my desk as per usual-" Alice is midway through the lobby of the office now and Mister Phelps has just stood up from his desk out of courtesy. "I'll be back tomorrow at my regular time and we shall go over any questions you might have about the changes I made to your drafts." She places her hand on the door handle and concludes, "Please hold my messages while I'm out and appraise any visitors of the fact that I will return their calls by the day after tomorrow at the latest!"
And they're out the door before Phelps can get a word in edgewise.
"Alice," the Hatter lisps through his yellow handkerchief.
"Yes?" she prompts, turning them in the direction of her townhouse.
He giggles. "That was champion."
Her own laugh is smothered by her handkerchief. They retrace their steps past the teashop until they arrive at the long-closed men's boutique. The Hatter watches Alice curiously as she reaches into her jacket pocket and removes the key she had briefly introduced to him back in her office. With a wink, she fits it into the lock and the Hatter gestures his willingness to assist her. She steps back and he shoulders open the stuck door, lurching inside.
They each study the contents of the room (which is chiefly dust and old newspapers) before the Hatter seems compelled to investigate. Watching him peep into screechy bureau drawers and fiddle with the unoiled latch on the nearest wardrobe, Alice says, "When the tailor retired, I took up his lease."
"His lease? Whatever for?" he mutters, opening a set of wardrobe doors which protest the disturbance with a grating squeal.
"I'm not entirely sure," she admits. "But this shop is mine for the next seven months. As you can see, I've done nothing with it."
"Shame on you, Alice, for abandoning these wardrobes to such an empty existence."
She glances at the interior of the wardrobe that the Hatter had opened and spies nothing but item-less shelves. "I know. I'm a horrid proprietress. But really, I wouldn't even know what to do with this shop even if it were tidied up…"
"Why, you would tend to custom, of course!" the Hatter lectures. "The looking glasses there are for final fittings, you see. The mannequins over there look dreadfully uncomfortable in their state of undress. They'd be rather smart in the large window there, were they clothed. And, oh! Hat stands!"
Alice watches as he inspects them with increasing enthusiasm, unmindful of the clouds of dust he stirs up.
"This could be a very grand shop, Alice," he decides, "why, it would only take a bit of stock and-"
"A key."
"-a rather lot of undust-ing to… I beg your pardon?"
Smiling, Alice cradles the Hatter's hand in her own and deposits the key into his palm. At last, the ideas that have been blossoming over the last few days come to fruition. She thinks again about each of them: what sort of hat the Hatter might make for her, how he might use his savvy and cunning to his advantage in business, what sort of fantastically coordinated fashions he might produce, and how he might enjoy crafting masterpieces from the fabrics she had collected overseas. "The shop is yours if you want it."
He gapes. He swallows. He stammers, "But… I… you…"
"Would be proud to order hats or dresses or any of your creations, Hatter. This town needs color and imagination and, yes, a bit of madness. And you will need a means of income and an occupation until we are able to go back to Underland." Not because she is requiring it of him, of course. Alice would be happy to provide for him, but, were she in his place, that would not please her for long. "You needn't agree to this, of course," Alice deliberately reminds him, gesturing to the looking glasses and empty wardrobes. "It was only a thought I had."
She surveys the dim and dusty interior of the shop once more and then, turning back to his gob smacked expression, says invitingly, "What do you say?"
*~*~*~*