Chapter Two: The Gala

[manniness]

 

“Alice, why must you insist on bringing a stack of calling cards with you? It’s a soirée, not a business luncheon!”

Alice bites back a sigh, replaces the cards in her handbag, and determinedly stares out the carriage window, not that she can see much in the solidifying shadows of approaching night. She’s come to hate carriage rides with her mother. Ever since that day they’d gone to the Ascots’ summer home and Hamish had proposed and Alice had fallen down the...

Alice twists her face away from the window with a sharp jerk of her chin.

She bites out, “Don’t start, Mother. We’ve been through this. You know I’m expected to recruit investors. It’s part of my job.”

“Your job.”

“Yes, my job.” She opens her eyes. Glares. “And I enjoy it very much. Most especially when my family isn’t trying to tell me how to behave.”

Her mother’s skills at the Art of Reproach are undiminished despite Alice’s time abroad. In fact, with only her perfect sister, Margaret, to keep their mother company, it had probably been distilling these last months. Yes, Helen Kingsleigh’s disappointment has been refined into the rare and pure form Alice experiences it as now.

Her mother’s retort is expected but it still stings: “If you’d behave like a lady, nothing would have to be said.”

“Well, that’s unlikely to happen.”

“Alice...”

She holds up a gloved hand. “Please. Don’t. I’ve agreed to go to this wretched ball. And you promised not to fill my dance card without my knowledge.” Again.  Dear ships and ceiling wax, that evening had been an unmitigated Disaster!

“I did, but Alice, you can’t spend the entire evening working.”

Alice’s irritation pushes her with surprising insistence until she’s braced on the edge of the bench seat. “It’s preferable to being treated like a prize cow at the country fair!” Alice leans away, closes her eyes, sighs. “I’m sorry. I’ve never had much patience for these things.”

“I know.” It doesn’t help that her mother doesn’t bother to mask her profound dissatisfaction.

Alice doesn’t respond. There’s no point. After every voyage, the discussion and the disappointment are the same. She knows her mother endures the pitying whispers and grating gossip that her youngest daughter’s choice of lifestyle has generated. Time and time again, Alice has tried to reason with her, urge her to see things as Alice’s father would have:

“Papa would have wanted me to be happy.”

“I’m seeing the world and accomplishing great things!”

“I know it’s unconventional, but I always have been.”

Her mother hears these points and unerringly returns to the one objection Alice cannot deny or rebut:

“But you’re all alone, Alice. That’s not how you’re meant to live your life.”

She knows.

She knows... but there is nothing to be done about it. Nothing she hasn’t tried already... and twice daily since.

The interior of the carriage is thankfully silent for the remainder of the journey. They arrive and disembark. As they stride up the stairs toward the warmly-lit home, Alice briefly closes her eyes...

Takes a centering breath...

Thinks of him...

Chooses...

Falls up...

And is Denied.

Again.

Again!

She refuses to dab at her eyes. Let the other guests think she is blinded by the loveliness of the décor, the brilliance of the lights, the nostalgia at being back in London again.

Let them think what they will. They always do regardless.

Alice enters the ballroom and begins her task of making new business contacts for the company. She smiles. She charms. She laughs. But she does not dance. Her dance card has been hidden in the base of a potted plant this time (rather than under the tablecloth covering the refreshments bar or slipped into the umbrella stand beside the front door). All she has to offer is glowing praise for the company’s accomplishments, a business proposition, and an official calling card. Although her attendance at events like this one have been scattered and irregular, the London Society males all know Alice Kingsleigh is only charming when it comes to business... and never accepts invitations to dance.

She’s just excused herself from the presence of an older gentleman who had seemed curious about the company’s up-coming venture (but who had only been attempting to make polite conversation), when she sees something she’s grown heartedly sick of waiting to glimpse. Something she would give anything to lay eyes upon. Something she has been hoping to witness for over two years.

Something impossible:

A ginger-haired man in a top hat.

The top hat is wrong and his hair has been cut and when Alice realizes these two things, the disappointment is crushing. She wishes she could walk away but her strength is gone. She glances away – that much is within her power to do! – and just as she does so, he turns. Her heart skips a beat as this man who defies the custom of removing his hat indoors looks directly at her and she glimpses eyes so green in his pale face she thinks her memories will emote her on the spot.

He stares.

And Alice knows she must return it.

With a measured breath, she does.

The man’s dark lips stretch into a smile, revealing an endearing gap between his tea-stained front teeth. His bushy – but trimmed! – orange brows rise and his emerald eyes unfocus with obvious delight.

He draws in a breath to speak.

Alice turns away. She pushes her way through the crowd, uncaring whose glasses she upsets and bustles she treads on. She erupts from the ballroom and into the hall. She glances at the front door... but no. That is the first place anyone looking for her would check. She heads deeper into the grand house, ducks into the kitchen, winds past startled cooks and servers, and shoves her way out the back door.

She slumps against the railing on the steps that lead down to the small but well-kept garden and wheezes. In truth, she does not see the steps. She does not see the garden. She sees him.

The Hatter, her thoughts whisper again and again. His immaculate tailcoat and satin top hat and too-short, fashionably wavy hair... all wrong. But his eyes... his smile... his Delight...

It’s him. The Hatter. He’s here, Alice. He’s...

She closes her eyes and grits her teeth. “Damn you, Hatter.”

“If that is what you wish,” a soft, male voice lisps from the shadows of the garden below.

Reluctantly, Alice opens her eyes and gives him her attention. “It’s what I wish I wished,” she informs him.

“With regards to wishes, it’s best to have as few wishful generations as possible,” he murmurs.

Alice looks him over. Despite the elegant suit, despite the unadorned hat that shades his eyes from her, it really is him. She’d know those twitchy hands anywhere, even in fine, white gloves. She’d recognize those shoulders that lift and lower with his every breath with only the tiniest candle flame to assist her.

“It’s you,” she tells him on a dry sob.

“Aye. ‘Tis mae.”

And how can she not lean closer, not brace her hands on the wrought iron railing and not try to gather more of his soft whisper into her ears? “How did you outflank me?” she asks.

“Th’ windae in th’ gentlemen’s pah’lor.”

“I see.”

He clears his throat. “I don’t think you do, Alice,” he lisps once more, daring to take a step toward her, doffing his hat and tucking it under his arm. He looks up at her. She stands on the landing and he a mere five steps below. The golden light from the gas lamps that had been lit in every room of the house illuminates the silence between them.

“I’m sorry, Alice.”

“You... are sorry?” she confirms, her gloved hands grasping the railing even tighter. “For what, precisely? For ignoring me, perhaps? For worrying me, maybe? Or, wait, I know: for not trusting me to keep my promise to return.” She glares at his shape, blurry and fuzzy through her tears. “Of everyone, you were the one to believe in me first and foremost.”

He says nothing.

But that’s all right. There’s more to be said. “I went back the very next day. It was the Unshattermade and the queen was all alone. Worried about you.”

“Alice...”

“She thought you were with me. You’d given everyone that impression when you left, hadn’t you? Was that part of your plan? What was the plan? And why ruin it all now? You’ve been hiding for years, gotten quite good at it, I’m sure!”

“Alice, please.”

Please what? she wants to ask but her previous words had been too sharp; her throat feels as if it has been shredded, her vocal chords severed. She should turn around and head back inside. She should run down these stairs and throw her arms around him. She should demand answers. She should require apologies. She should... She should...

“Alice, I’m sae ver’sorry I caused ye teh worry. ‘Twas nae mae intention.”

“What,” she hears herself ask on a whisper that’s nearly a gargle with tears, “was your intention?”

He takes a step closer. “Why di’ye return teh Underland sae hastenly?”

Alice shakes her head. She will not tell him that. She will not say what he already knows to be true: she’d returned because she’d promised him she would. She can’t bear to be laid open so completely. Not by him.

“Alice?”

She closes her eyes for an instant, torn. She wants to run, escape; she longs for the safety and anonymity of the ballroom. And yet, if she turns away from him now she dreads it will be the last time she ever sees him.

“Damn you, Alice,” she whispers.

“Nae!” The Hatter’s urgent protest brings him to the bottom step. “D’nae say tha’... ne’er say tha’, Alice.”

And because she can think of nothing else to say, she says nothing.

She sniffles as discreetly as possible, but of course he notices. He notices everything. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dares to hold it out to her. She considers denying him, ignoring him, allowing the tears to flow and her nose to run... but nothing will be gained by being difficult now. Nothing except a sticky mess.

Alice leans down and collects the fabric then tends to her leaking sinuses.

He smiles gently up at her.

“You’ve kept your muchness,” he observes in his most courteous dialect and she has to bite her lip to keep from letting loose a sob at that. “You’ve become very successful, in fact. Quite well-known in your city. In your world...”

For all the wrong reasons, she silently corrects him.

“You’ve traveled. I can’t remember the names of all the places, but Hong Kong? India? China?” She nods and he smiles. “I’m so proud of you, Alice.”

Alice locks her jaw together to keep silent, clutches the railing to keep herself from flying down the steps and into his arms. How is it that this man who has rejected her twice a day for years – who has pushed her away as easily as breathing – dares to be the first to utter those words to her? Not even Lord Ascot has ever said...

How dare you! she wants to scream.

Wants to, but can’t.

“Why are—you—here?” she manages on a hitching breath.

“I was invited,” he answers simply. “It’s my first gala, actually. Do you attend many? If I’d managed to merit an invitation sooner perhaps we might have... that is, perhaps I wouldn’t have kept you waiting quite so long.”

He has the decency to look abashed at that. Alice barely notices. His words kick something loose in her memory. “Waiting,” she wonders aloud. “Is that what this was all about? I kept you waiting for so long you had to kill Time and now it’s your turn to repay the favor?”

The Hatter twitches as if she’d shouted in his face. She hadn’t. It had been a dull whisper. She knows this because the sound of her voice does not echo against the garden walls or the side of the grand house. The sound of it falls like a misting rain and is absorbed into the earth and foliage.

“No, Alice. No. I came as quickly as I could.”

“Well. You’re late,” she informs him.

His entire being seems to still at those words. “Am I?”

She doesn’t answer. The pain in his eyes, the fear, the dread captivate her.

“Am I too late?” He places a hand on the railing and pulls himself up onto the lowest step. “Unforgivably late, Alice?”

She gazes into his soulful green eyes. They’re the same as always, right pupil larger than the other, slightly lazier than the other, his right iris ringed with a hint of red madness. His gaze pleads with her. His throat works. Perhaps it fights against a case of too many words.

“Alice?” he breathes.

“What do you want from me?” The question escapes her so suddenly she startles herself.

The Hatter climbs one more step. “Alice...” he says, his eyes studying her face as if she holds the secrets of the universe in the shape of her eyes, the bridge of her nose, the seam of her mouth.

He’s still three steps away but he leans toward her, one hand gripping the railing as desperately as her own and the other curling closed and then slowly opening again and again at his side. The moment lengthens as she waits for his answer.

And then the kitchen door opens.

“Alice!”

She startles at her mother’s appearance and frowns at the reprimand.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” At this point, her mother’s eyes narrow as she takes in Alice’s reddened eyes and nose and the used handkerchief in her gloved hand. She then leans around her daughter’s shoulder and spies the handkerchief’s owner. “What is the meaning of this?”

The Hatter takes a deep breath.

Alice hurriedly interrupts. “Mother, everything’s fine. I just received a shock. I thought... that is, I’d heard that...” She takes a moment to breathe and forces herself to remain calm. “Mother, this is Tarrant Hightopp. We met some years ago and, until just now – when I saw him inside – I’d been under the mistaken impression that something... unfortunate had happened to him. I’m sorry I caused a scene.”

Helen Kingsleigh raises her brows at her daughter. She then holds out her hand to the man on the steps. “Mr. Hightopp. A pleasure to finally meet you. Your creations have become something of a legend.”

“Thank you, madam. I couldn’t be happier to make your acquaintance.”

Alice gawks at her mother. How is it that her own mother knows of not only Tarrant’s name but his reputation and yet she had never mentioned either to Alice?

“Alice, if you’d like to retire for the night, I’ll send for the carriage and make our excuses.”

“Excuses?”

“The Duchess thought perhaps you had a sudden case of food poisoning. I’ll let her know you’re fine, but tired.”

Bemused, Alice nods.

“Mr. Hightopp, if you would be so kind as to see Alice around to the front of the house, I’ll join you both presently.”

The Hatter bows. “It would be an honor, madam.”

As she turns to head back inside through the back door, Alice’s mother sends her a piercing look. She knows that look. That’s the Be Sociable, Alice! look. That’s the look her mother has perfected in order to signal that Alice is in the presence of a very acceptable and unattached male.

For a moment, Alice’s mind is utterly blank with shock. Never, in all of Alice’s wildest dreams, had she ever dared to imagine her mother would be encouraging her continued association with the Hatter...

The door closes and they’re alone again. For a long moment, no one speaks. Moves.

“Alice?”

She gives herself a small shake and turns back to him. “Hatter?”

Warily, he offers her his arm. “Would you... like me to see you around to the front?”

“I’m not sure,” she answers honestly. “Will it be the last time I see you for another two years and some-odd months?”

“Two years, seven months, nineteen days, and – if I’ve calculated the time difference and taken leap year into account correctly – sixteen and a quarter hours.” His lips twitch up into a nervous smile. “And no, you may see me as often as you wish it. If you wish it.”

Still, she doesn’t move.

“Alice?” he inquires softly, his elbow still held out to her. “Do you wish it?”

“I don’t know. I still don’t understand...” If he had been counting the years, months, days, and hours since he’d last seen her, why had he refused to let her go to him even once during that time?

“Alice,” he says on an exasperated sigh. “We’ve had a discussion similar to this before. Just as stating that you don’t think is hardly a discerning comment, neither is announcing that you lack acumen.”

She has to search her short term memory for the comment that must have sparked that observation...

Ah!

“I don’t know...”

That must have been it. She snorts inelegantly.

“Great galumphing Bandersnatches,” Alice replies with a wry grin. “You are, without a doubt, the most pedantic man I’ve ever met.”

He grins and Alice watches as his confidence seems to restore itself inexplicably. “Why, thank you, Alice. And on that point, I shall endeavor never to disappoint you.”

“See that you don’t,” she warns him with a burgeoning smile and, finally, places her hand on his arm.