Heart and Sole Update: Chapter 21
After promising Hamish that she will never again mention buttered fingers or urine of the horsefly in his presence (and after he stops accusing her of suffering permanent brain damage from her fever), Hamish rather pompously and with much blustering takes his leave. On his way out, he passes Tarrant in the hall and Alice unashamedly attempts to eavesdrop as Hamish has a few words with him. Irritatingly, the man speaks too softly for Alice to hear precisely what he says. It must have been amusing, however, because Tarrant reenters her room snorting with mirth.
“Hamish says he’s armed you with a book and I’m to beware,” he explains, simultaneously setting down her breakfast tray and answering the questioning look she gives him.
Alice rolls her eyes. “Oh yes, ‘tis mightier than the sword,” she mocks, reaching for the volume and reading the title: “Sense and Sensibility.” She huffs out an exasperated laugh. “That utter… man!” she exclaims, slamming the book back down on the table.
Tarrant pointedly clears his throat. “Perhaps it’s not only the book I’m to beware of?”
Alice snorts softly with a tickle of wry humor. “Yes, please learn from Hamish’s very bad example.”
“Done and noted,” he promises, smiling. “Tea?”
She nods and listens to him hum to himself as he prepares their cups. Alice finds herself mesmerized by the burgeoning color of health in his face, knowing it is his renewed heart which forces the deathly whiteness to retreat. When the tray is ready for them, Tarrant eases an arm behind her shoulders and helps her to sit up. She takes this chance to breathe deeply, savoring his warmth and Hatterness.
He finishes arranging the pillows behind her and, as he steps back, she reaches for him with her right hand, touching the side of his face. Tarrant pauses immediately and gives her his full attention. Petting the lingering circles beneath his eyes, Alice guesses, “You didn’t rest much at all while I was ill, did you?”
His answer consists of the softening of his expression and eloquent silence. With unbandaged but scarred fingers, he gently arranges her hair, tucking it behind her ear.
“I look forward to seeing more of this,” she tells him, brushing her thumb along his chin. “Color suits you.”
He seems oddly bashful in response to the compliment. “You may look as often as you like,” he invites her quietly.
Tarrant’s gaze moves over her and he leans in just a bit. Alice feels her lips part as his eyes darken with emotion and then, just when she’s sure that he means to kiss her-
He steps away, clearing his throat.
Alice swallows back her sigh of disappointment. True, this is not the place for such things but… it would have been very nice.
The tailor and seamstress that Hamish had warned her about arrive after her afternoon nap (during which Tarrant had endeavored to make sense of the novel Hamish had plucked from the shelf). Alice endures having her measurements taken while Missus Mallory assists her with standing upright. She finds that the simple task makes her startlingly lightheaded.
“I would like you to disregard whatever instructions Lord Ascot gave you, madam,” Alice says to the middle-aged milliner woman. “Well, with the exception of warning you against my innate stubbornness and current ill temper.”
The woman chuckles briefly without breaking stride (so to speak) in her measuring of Alice’s shoulders and arms. “And what instructions would you give me, Missus Hightopp?”
“I’d prefer a simple blouse and a skirt. Something which I can put on and take off myself with one hand.”
“That we can do and much faster than altering one of our day dresses for you, but what of your arm itself? Would you like a capelet rather than a jacket?”
Alice sighs with relief. “That would be perfect, thank you.”
“If I may be so bold as to say,” the seamstress volunteers as Missus Mallory assists Alice with climbing back into bed a few minutes later, “you are far more agreeable than your cousin lets on.”
My cousin, indeed, Hamish you paranoid peacock. “Ah, well, I do try to restrain myself when in the presence of someone who has not earned my full irritation.”
Laughing, the woman departs, leaving Alice to rest.
“Missus Mallory,” Alice begins as she settles back in bed. She considers the way the woman expertly handles her, avoiding irritating her still-healing shoulder. Surely, this woman had been her main caretaker, helping her to the chamber pot and changing her nightgown, even bathing her over the past five days. She highly doubts that the doctor would have permitted Tarrant to assist her in such personal ways, husband or not. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
The nurse smiles kindly. “Think nothing of it, dear.”
Alice returns her smile and, left to her own devices, fusses a bit with her blankets.
“I really must get out of this bed as soon as possible,” she tells Tarrant when he returns from his own suit-fitting in the room across the hall. “I’m utterly useless.”
“I strongly suspect that is untrue,” he argues, picking up the book again and waving it in the air.
“Well, perhaps I could muster up the strength to use my only weapon, but it would have to be under dire circumstances.”
He snorts with abbreviated humor. “As we are not currently faced with dire circumstances,” he replies playfully and begins flipping through the pages, “perhaps you could answer a question of mine instead.”
“I will do my best.”
Gazing at the text before him, Tarrant queries, “Are relations amongst one’s family members truly as complicated and convoluted as expressed here in this tome?”
Having read the book herself, Alice laughs and tries to ignore the burning of her shoulder in response to the sudden movement. “Often times they are more so.”
“I’m afraid I cannot offer you such an, er, entertaining variety of relatives, Alice,” he informs her sadly.
Alice sobers. She reaches for his hand and is a little startled by how readily he grips her fingers. “I wish I’d met them - your family,” she replies quietly, “but, despite that, I’ve found nothing lacking in our life at Iplam.”
“Truly, Alice?”
“Tarrant,” she sighs, shaking her head at him. “I’ve the remainder of our year and a day to win your love. There is nothing else more precious to me than that.”
He looks away as if struck by a sudden episode of bashfulness. “I cannot vouch for the quality of such a prize, but…”
“Hush,” Alice softly requests. “I know your worth.”
“Do you?” he replies, quirking his brows with renewed humor. “Even if - at present - I can do naught but warm your hands and read you passages from dusty tomes?”
“What a coincidence,” Alice teases him back, “for that’s precisely the sort of fellow I require at the moment.”
They spend the evening thus: Tarrant reads, pausing to make some delightfully insightful observation or pose a hypothetical question, and Alice dozes. They eat from a tray brought up by Missus Mallory and then Tarrant excuses himself while Alice bathes and readies herself for more time spent in that damned bed. She wishes for fresh bed linens, but cannot bring herself to ask for them as she and Tarrant will likely be leaving on the morrow once their new clothes have been delivered.
She tries to stifle her restlessness. Sitting up with Tarrant helps. They discuss how they will organize their yet-to-be-built joint workshops and shop front. Tarrant will need tall looking glasses and Alice short ones, as well as stools of all sizes just like Cordwain has in his shop.
“If I had a bit of charcoal and paper, I could sketch all this down,” he murmurs at one point, his eyes twinkling at Alice’s suggestion of various doors - in all sizes - for their wide variety of future customers to use.
“I can see it very clearly,” she assures him. “It’ll look much like the Room of Doors. Have you ever been there?”
Amazingly, he hasn’t, which prompts Alice to begin describing it in all its great, grimy detail.
The doctor bids them a good night and the clock downstairs chimes the ten o’clock hour before Alice is tired enough to sleep, but without the freedom to shift and roll as she would often do over the course of a night, she wakes periodically, mood disgruntled and shoulder wound stinging. Nearly every time she blinks open her eyes, she discovers Tarrant unmoved from his slouch. Still seated in his chair, he slumps over the edge of her bed onto his forearms.
Her heart aches at the sight. Surely Hamish or Doctor Wellington had encouraged him to rest in an actual bed. Well, Alice decides, this trend will change and change soon!
When Alice wakes up for the final time the next morning and finds Tarrant flipping through the pages of a different novel, she starts the day with announcing her intention to get some exercise. She spends much of the morning alternately pacing back and forth in her bedroom and sitting on the edge of her bed for brief rests while Tarrant hovers, offering to brush her hair or fetch her tea.
Their clothing is delivered just before lunch and, with Missus Mallory’s assistance, Alice bathes and dresses. She makes a mental note to thank Hamish for his generosity. Well, in her case, the clothing is a necessity. In Tarrant’s, while there’s nothing wrong with his usual clothing like, say, a large blood stain and a sizeable swatch of fabric missing from the shoulder, it would have been an embarrassment to Hamish to be seen associating with a man with short trousers and mismatched stockings in public. How utterly irritating it all is. She’s more sure now than ever before that Underland is her true home. And Hamish, despite being surprisingly resilient and adaptable to the delightful madness there… well, she can’t expect him to fly in the face of social convention simply because he’s been to Underland a few times. The maxim “When in Rome” applies equally at both ends of the rabbit hole.
Alice sighs. Yes, she’ll have to thank Cousin Hamish properly. It’s the least she can do considering the financial burden they’ve placed upon him.
Upon his arrival later that afternoon, Alice expresses her gratitude (and also Tarrant’s) before moving on to her most pressing concern regarding their imminent stay under his roof:
“Please tell me you have a bed or a couch for Tarrant to use,” Alice requests.
“Alice, I’m fine-” Tarrant begins, attempting to perk up a bit from his exhausted slouch.
Before she can point out that the dark circles beneath his eyes speak for themselves, Hamish clears his throat and informs them, “I’m afraid I only have one guestroom available but, as it was used by the previous occupant’s wife - whom I’m given to understand was quite fond of Parisian fashions - it also contains a fainting couch. Will that be sufficient?”
Tarrant’s brows twitch nervously.
Alice beams, thrilled that he’s not even attempting to put them in separate rooms. “Cousin Hamish,” she replies, “that is perfect.”
Tarrant noticeably withholds judgment.
They thank the doctor (Alice assumes Hamish had already paid for her treatment and it bothers her that she has no means of reimbursing him) and then they three very carefully begin the short walk to Hamish’s residence.
*~*~*~*
After the stress of the past week, Hamish is relieved to have Alice upright and conscious, moving under own power and even offering him grudging thanks. Relieved and redeemed. He feels as if he owes it to Helen Kingsleigh as the only other person on Earth who had been present in that hallway and had watched Alice disappear before their very eyes.
Yes, Helen Kingsleigh would have asked him to look after Alice. He’s glad he has managed such successful results despite the request never having been made.
And yet, now he has yet another challenge before him. Alice and Tarrant Hightopp are now his official guests - houseguests, even! - here in China. The weight which had been lifted from him upon seeing Alice’s returning health revisits. As their host, there is still much he must do. And, as Helen Kingsleigh’s representative, there is even more he must see to.
But he resolutely pushes those thoughts away for another time. He takes a deep breath, forces himself to pay attention to his surroundings, and is startled to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirrored surface of the tailor’s window.
“It was just here,” Hamish volunteers as they pass the shop. He wonders why he feels compelled to remark on it; Alice hadn’t asked about the night of her rescue, nor had Hightopp. And yet he’s inexplicably driven to speak of it. “I glanced in the window as I passed by. It was very late and the moon was unusually bright.”
Alice’s fingers tighten upon his arm as he slows his strides even more and Hightopp, on Alice’s opposite side, considerately matches the new pace.
“I looked into the window and rather than seeing the homes across the street reflected in it, I saw a meadow and a newly built house. I turned and, suddenly, there I was.”
He encounters no observations, comments, or questions in reply to this, so he continues, “I’d just spent the day shooting so I had my new revolver on my person. Due to the late hour and my lack of companions, I’d assembled it and placed it in my coat pocket as a precaution.”
Hamish regards the perfectly empty street around them; it’s well after the lunch hour. The neighborhood children have returned to their lessons and their mothers are likely enjoying tea. The men of the area are in the bustling city center, working hard at making their fortunes. There is no one except the woman on his arm and the man who will one day be her husband to hear his confession.
“There she was,” he rasps, recalling the sight of Iracebeth standing in the overgrown field, “laughing, utterly mad. My old gun was too big for her to wield easily and I’d just been practicing with its replacement only hours earlier and suddenly, the weapon was out of my pocket and in my hand, hammer drawn, aimed, and fired.” He lets out a long breath. “It should have been harder to do… shouldn’t it?”
Alice squeezes his arm reassuringly. “It is frighteningly easy to kill,” she agrees softly. “Once events are set in motion, the momentum carries you through the deed. I’m sorry you know what I’m talking about, Hamish.”
He frowns briefly, wondering why Alice would know what he means, but then he remembers: she’d slain a Jabberwocky, whatever that creature is. Or, rather, had been.
He pats her fingers upon his arm. “I’m sorry for both of us.” And then the conversation, brief though it had been, is over; they’ve arrived at their destination and Hamish refuses to speak of Underland here. This is a gentleman’s house; there is no room for such fantastic things within these mundane walls. Here he is only Lord Ascot and, for a short time, Alice Hightopp’s fictitious cousin.
“Here we are,” he announces, gesturing toward the correct house. “I hope you’ll let me know if I can make your room more comfortable, Mister and Missus Hightopp.”
The guestroom is upstairs, but Alice stubbornly insists on climbing the steps herself (after making the acquaintance of Hamish’s butler, of course). She is leaning heavily on Hightopp by the time they enter their new room. Hamish notices the Hatter’s glance at the couch which is followed by a look of relief. Dear God, had the man actually believed that a fainting couch is capable of fainting?
“It’s a perfectly normal piece of furniture, Hightopp,” Hamish informs him as the Hatter helps Alice to the nearest chair. “I’ll fetch some blankets.” Eying Alice’s wan appearance, he adds, “And some refreshments.”
“Surely you have other business which demands your attention?” she asks, breathless from her exertions.
Hamish shakes his head. Last week, work had been a welcome distraction from simply waiting for Alice to conquer her illness. Now, however… “No, madam. I’m afraid you and your husband are obliged to endure my company for the remainder of today.”
“And here I am without a book to throw,” she replies with a brave attempt at a smile.
Hamish harrumphs to hide his grin.
The Hatter chuckles warmly.
Alice turns at the soft sound and studies the man’s face with such an expression of love that Hamish doesn’t bother to excuse himself from the room. Truly, with Tarrant Hightopp’s devoted gaze trained upon Alice, neither of them will notice if he leaves. In fact, he probably shouldn’t have closed the office at noon today; he could have gotten a bit more work done while Alice and the Hatter are busy being utterly enthralled with each other. Hamish sighs and takes his time putting together the tea service with a bit of assistance from his butler.
When he returns to the guestroom upstairs, Hamish is rather surprised and gratified to see both of his visitors clearly waiting for him. He sets the tea tray down upon the room’s small games table and the Hatter promptly gets to work sorting out cups and spoons.
“Hamish,” Alice begins, “where is your set of dominoes? What do you say we teach Tarrant how to trounce someone?”
The Hatter startles and squeaks a bit at that very sudden declaration. “Alice, I’ve no interest whatsoever in trouncing either you or Hamish.”
Enjoying the man’s nervous energy and Alice’s somewhat predatory smile far more than he probably should, Hamish confesses, “It’s in the study. I’ll only be a moment.” As he walks away from the Hatter’s continued protestations, Hamish smiles, glad he’d taken the day off today after all. Yes, very glad indeed.