Chapter Four: The Hat

[manniness]

 

Yes, her mother had been scandalized when the doorbell had rung and Alice had announced, “That’ll be Mr. Hightopp. He’s agreed to have dinner with us.”

“Tonight?” Helen Kingsleigh had hissed as Alice had moved toward the front door.

“Of course. Mutton stew, isn’t it?”

“Potato. Oh, Alice!”

Alice had hidden a grin. Despite liking it very much when her mother uses her name as a curse word, she knows when not to provoke her. Well, not overmuch.

“Well,” Helen had rallied. “At least I’ll have an excuse to invite him back on Saturday: to apologize for tonight’s lackluster menu!”

And Alice hadn’t even had to hide a wince at that, which had disturbed her. Not that she’d winced – for she hadn’t! – but because she hadn’t even felt inclined to. The prospect of seeing the Hatter again – and so soon! – had not been... an unpleasant thing to contemplate.

“I’ll get it,” Alice had said to their housekeeper and had opened the door herself.

And there, on the stoop, Tarrant had stood with his hat – no, not his hat but one of his newer creations – in his hands and a nervous twitch in his brows. And then he’d seen her.

His smile had warmed her from the inside out. Has he always given her this smile? It looks no different from the ones he’d offered her in Underland and yet it feels different. Perhaps because, when he offers it to her, she accepts it now.

“Come in, Hatter.”

He had.

“It’s a lovely hat,” Alice had remarked as she’d offered to take his chapeau du jour and he had handed it over.

“But it’s not for you, I’m afraid, Alice,” he’d remarked in an apologetic tone.

“That’s fine. I’d prefer to see it worn than to wear it myself.”

And she isn’t sure why he’d looked so utterly thrilled at her words, but he had.

“As promised, I’ve brought one for you to try on,” he’d assured her, lifting the hat box he’d carried in from outside.

“Perhaps after dinner?” she’d suggested. “If you think it’ll still fit, that is.”

He’d giggled at her teasing. “I’ve taken second helpings into account!”

“Very good. Now, your gloves?” she’d asked, holding out her hand and the smile had melted right off of his face. Puzzled, she’d watched as he’d stared at her bare hands with a look akin to... longing.

“I’m sorry, Alice, but I must decline.”

“It’s fine.”

He’d grinned suddenly and Alice had nodded with a soft, wry chuckle: yes, a rhyme.

Alice had allowed her mother to draw their guest into a conversation, in part to distract him from the mediocre meal but mostly in an effort to assist him in impressing Alice. She knows this game; her mother is very good at it.

But with dinner and coffee finished, her mother had bid them a good evening and Alice had shown him into the parlor. Where she now stands as he places the hat box he’d delivered upon the drafting table.

“We could wait until we’ve discussed the terms of your contract,” she reminds him, seeing his fingers fumble with the hat box closure.

He looks up at her, his eyes unfocused with the intensity of whatever emotion he’s currently entertaining. “This hat has been waiting to be your possession for nearly as long as I have... um, been in London.” He winces and returns his gaze to the box.

Alice frowns at his disjointed speech and sudden case of nerves.

“Are you all right?” she murmurs.

“No, no, not hardly; I’m half right and half left, just as one should be.” He takes a deliberate breath and lifts the lid. “I hope you’ll forgive its insistence, but this hat demands to make your acquaintance. It won’t wait a moment longer.”

“Then, by all means, permit it to do so. The pleasure will be mine,” she answers, mindful of his pedantic nature.

He smiles, shows off that tiny gap between his two front teeth, and lifts it out.

Alice grins. “You’ve made me a top hat. And it’s so like yours!”

The Hatter’s smile is infused with a dash of sorrow at that comment. He steps forward and lifts the creation. Alice bows her head as he sets it in place.

“There,” he says, “now you look yourself, Alice.”

Smiling, Alice turns toward the mirror over the mantle and regards the top hat. The fabric is silvery and lightly tinted, sometimes blue and sometimes green, with an overlay of some sort of ghostly gray lace-like pattern. The ribbon... she would swear it’s from the very same fabric of his top hat’s sash and... those hat pins look very familiar, as well. Perhaps he’d had replicas made of one or two of them?

“It’s beautiful. I’m honored, Hatter. Thank you.”

Before she can turn back to him, he steps up behind her and regards her reflection in the looking glass. He does not reach out to her, but he is so close she can feel the heat from him against her shoulders and back. She hadn’t put on a bustle when she’d dressed for dinner so there is no reason – no reason at all! – for him to not touch his chest to her back, wrap an arm around her waist, perhaps lean his chin on her shoulder and whisper in her ear...

What would he say?

Her imagination fails her at that point. Or perhaps she fails it. Perhaps she is not ready to hear that whisper. The embrace, though, she thinks she’d very much like that.

It does not happen, however.

Suddenly, he takes a step back. “I beg your pardon, Alice.”

“Hatter?”

She turns and watches as he reaches into his jacket pocket and removes a handkerchief. It’s in that moment that she realizes the intensity of his luminous gaze is not the result of happiness, but of tears. Alice leans toward him, her hand on his arm, and reaches up to his face to gently capture those tears with her fingertips.

He leans toward her – invites her! – and she is a moment away from touching his skin... It has been years since the last time...

And then Tarrant’s gaze shifts from her face to her hand. Without a word, he flinches away.

Alice stares at him for a moment, her hand frozen in the air. Again, his throat works against some internal force and his distress... affects her. She glances down, notices her hand is still on his arm. Gingerly, she lifts it.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Although she does not wish to apologize, yes, she’s sorry. Sorry she hadn’t touched him. She remembers touching him. She misses the texture of his skin like she’d missed his laughter, his lisp, his lazy yet so-intense eyes...

“’Tis I who shoul’be beggin’ yer pardon, Alice. So sorry.”

She nods. Even though she doesn’t understand, she nods. Enough, her heart pleads. Say no more.

He doesn’t. Not on that topic, in any case.

He sniffs and hurriedly deals with the three tears that had escaped him. He folds his handkerchief and places it back in his pocket. In that instant, Alice could almost call him selfish for keeping those tears for himself. Perhaps she is jealous of his pocket. Or perhaps she is jealous of the suddenly-not-so insignificant square of linen that had touched his skin, absorbed his tears...

“It’s a good fit,” he comments brightly and Alice realizes he’s talking about the hat. “I never did take your measurements for a hat... and then what with you being so many different sizes of Alice... I couldn’t be sure if it would. Fit. Fit you, that is. Fit you at your current size, I mean. Alice size. But it does. Fit. It fits.”

Alice can’t help but smile when he rambles. Once upon a time, she had stepped into his arms and softly called his name to bring him back to the present. But... she does not think he would welcome her that close to him now.

She slams the door shut on that thought.

“I’m lucky I suit it. It’s an indescribably lovely hat. Thank you.”

“You already thanked me,” he reminds her gently. His soft smile turns the reprimand into a prideful declaration.

“You deserved a second.” Which she would have been happy to give him except that it would have involved touching her skin to his and... and...

He doesn’t want that.

Alice shakes her head, remembers the other unfinished business they have and gratefully turns her every thought on it. “Would you care to discuss the particulars of the consulting position you’ve accepted?”

“Alice, I...”

And it is impossible for her to not look at him when his voice calls to her in such a way. One hand is resting on the hat box and yet the other is extended to her. She watches as his hand fists and he pivots smartly, turning back to the container.

“Actually, I ought to be going. It’s late.”

She consults the clock and realizes it’s very nearly ten in the evening.

“Of course. The contract will wait.”

“Until Saturday?” he asks, an odd warble in his voice.

She nods. “Yes.” He had accepted her mother’s invitation to dinner this Saturday, after all. “Saturday. We’ll discuss it then, if you like.”

He nods.

Alice searches for a way to assist him with leaving, even though she doesn’t want him to. But to stay here, in this room and not try to touch him again... To stay here and try not to remember how he’d shied away from her hand...

Unbearable.

“I treasure the hat.”

He smiles, but it’s a sad one. “You always have, I believe. It’s only right for you to have it.”

“A fateful hat?” she teases, her amusement at the idea that this hat has always been meant for her alleviates a layer of frustrated misery from her heart.

“Perhaps,” he admits. “Probably. Likely.”

Before he can recite a thesaurus’ worth of similar words, she reminds him, “I’ll see you out.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

His gloved hands caress the hat box. “Perhaps you’ll keep this as well? For safekeeping?”

She lifts her fingers to the brim of her top hat. “Yes. I’ll take good care of it.”

“I trust ye, Alice,” he assures her, his brogue like a purr in the room.

She shivers.

The house is dark and silent as she leads him down the hall, toward the front door. She collects his cane and top hat and offers them to him.

“Thank you again for accepting the invitation. And for the hat,” she murmurs, mindful of the quiet house and her mother upstairs.

“The pleasure was mine,” he replies.

She reaches for the doorknob.

“Alice!” he whispers suddenly, taking a step toward her.

She looks up and into his eyes which seem to be burning from the inside. He leans toward her until his lips are a mere breath’s distance away and his body is a moment away from crashing into hers and the utter intensity of him steals her breath, her thoughts, her mind.

“Alice... I wan’teh. Ne’er doub’tha’, Alice, I beg o’ ye. Bu’ we mussn’.” He closes his eyes and leans away. “We mustn’t,” he lisps, his jaw and fists clenched tight. “That does not remove the desire,” he informs her, opening his eyes. “But knowing that you would have...” His gaze drops to her lips. “Knowing that you wished to... helps delay it.”

“Hatter?” she asks with a frown.

He blinks, glances away, clears his throat nervously. “I... beg your pardon, Alice. I spoke out of turn.”

Confused, Alice ignores her pounding heart as best she can and asks, “Hatter, what—?”

“Until Saturday, dear Alice,” he gently insists and she can hear the plea in it. He cannot speak of this, think of this, whatever this is. It takes a monumental effort on her part to oblige him, to not demand an explanation. That will have to wait.

She opens the door. “A safe journey home,” she bids him. And then her lips twitch. “Fairfarren, Hatter.”

“Not so far,” he reminds her. “Just until Saturday.”

“Until Saturday.”

He steps outside, stops, turns, and brushes his gloved knuckles and thumb over her cheek. Once again, his gaze moves over her face, memorizing her, mesmerizing her.

“One day,” he assures her.

And then he jogs down the steps and gets into the waiting carriage.

Alice watches the vehicle pull away and wonders at his parting words.

How very odd that he – a man of such an exacting nature when it comes to words – still manages to miscount the days. One day, indeed! It’s two days until Saturday!

She withdraws into the house and locks the door. It’s not until much later, as she’s putting the hat he’d given her to bed in its hat box and she’s dressed for bed herself that she realizes what he’d meant.

One day.

Not as in “one day from now”...

No, he’d meant, “one day” as in “someday” as in “not now but soon”...

Alice plops down gracelessly on the edge of her bed. Dear umbrella birds of Underland, she had very nearly missed that!

And if she’d nearly missed that, then what else has she missed?

It’s a very long time before she manages to fall asleep, and even then it’s not because she’s satisfied with the thorough examination she’d given her memories. It’s because she cannot bear to coexist with the sense of failure for one moment longer.

 

*~*~*~*

 

“What’s this?”

Alice glances down into the small wooden box then looks up at the Hatter’s befuddled expression. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a revolver before!”

“All right.” He declares, “I won’t tell you I’ve never seen a revolver before.”

She gapes at him.

He giggles. And then he straightens, clears his throat, and peers down into the velvet lined case once more.

“Not that I’m not deeply appreciative of the gift, Alice, for any indication that you think of me at all in the interim between our meetings is precious to me, but why a... revolver?”

She smirks even as her heart swells at his earnest confession. “At last we come to the particulars of your contract.”

Alice enjoys the worried start he gives. “My contract demands the use of a revolver?”

That should teach you not to sign anything before you’ve read it thoroughly, Hatter, she reprimands him in silence. Her look must communicate it well because he ducks his head, flushing slightly.

Alice aims to put him out of his misery: “It might. Although the likelihood of being troubled by pirates is minimal along the route, it’s entirely possible we’ll encounter difficulties in port or once we reach our destination. It’s required that everyone who sails be able to defend themselves.”

The Hatter looks up, a stubborn gleam in his eyes and his dark lips parting in protest.

Alice talks over his intended rebuttal, “And a revolver lends itself to portability far more easily than a claymore.”

With this, he cannot argue. But he tries. “A claymore would be quieter.”

“A claymore won’t stand a chance against another revolver or a pistol. Or in a narrow corridor or alley.”

He sighs. “I must learn to use this blasted thing?”

Alice snorts at the pun. “I’m afraid so. If you like, I could show you how although I’m sure Lord Ascot could recommend someone – a gentleman – far more knowledgeable than—”

“I choose you, Alice. Of course.”

Well, she’d given him the option of doing so, after all. “All right.”

At the first available opportunity – at the office on Monday – Alice asks Lord Ascot if she and the Hatter might use a secluded corner of his estate for their lessons in firearms. Her employer agrees readily and, once again, the Hatter clears his schedule.

“You’ll lose all your clients if you keep this up. I’m sure they’re hoping you’ll complete their orders before you sail,” she observes, leading him toward the small clearing where Lord Ascot had taught her how to shoot.

Tarrant glances toward her and she notices that his gaze travels over her hat, the hat he’d given her last week. “I chose you, Alice,” he answers simply, as if that non sequitur is answer enough.

At this time on Thursday last week, it wouldn’t have been.

Now, however, it is. Tarrant Hightopp has chosen her. And not merely as a firearms instructor. He’d signed a contract that would permit him to be involved with her next assignment, to travel and work with her on a daily basis for months. He’d given her his personal calling card. He’d forsaken the experience of his first gala to be with her in that garden. But... does any or all of this mean he intends to court her? she wonders. Or perhaps she’s misreading the situation and he intends something quite different, for example...?

Actually, she cannot think of another realistic alternative interpretation. Perhaps there’s a mysterious or mystically backward Underlandian motive at work here?

“Hatter...”

“Yes, Alice?”

“Perhaps you could explain something to me.”

“I shall do my best to oblige.”

She pauses, uncaring that they’re still on the open lawn, visible from any number of windows. “If you have chosen me... why wouldn’t you let me Choose you? Whenever I tried to find you?”

His expression twitches and she expects him to look away. He doesn’t. “I wasn’t ready for you to find me.”

“But the night of the gala, when I...?”

The Hatter giggles. “If I’d permitted you to Arrive, at that moment, you might have suddenly found yourself in the champagne bowl.”

Alice has to admit that would have been... awkward. Still... “You can’t explain away every instance as a case of poor timing!”

“Nor will I attempt to.” His eyes dull with sadness. His mouth sets with determination. “I had things to do before I could permit myself to see you again, Alice.”

Once more, his gaze lifts from hers to her hat and a small smile curves his dark lips. “I had hoped, of course, but... I’m so very glad that you’ve...” He meets her gaze again and says, quite bluntly, “I’ve waited... a long time to give you your hat, Alice.”

She studies him, studies his tone, his words. Since her evening of careful introspection, she has realized that the Hatter never says what he does not mean and yet he often means much more than he seems to say. Just like when he’d promised her, “One day...”

Just like now.

There is something special about this hat, something special to him. There is some significance in her having accepted it. Something...

She can’t put the itch of a thought into words, so she errs purposefully, hoping that he’ll correct her:

“Hatter... are you... Is it your intention to... court me?”

He blinks in a startled and nervous way. She’d surprised him with the truth.

She’d also surprised herself.

But he says only, “You accepted the hat.”

“Yes, and I can see that’s very important to you, but I don’t understand why.”

“Ah, well...” The Hatter fidgets slightly with his cuffs before taking a deep breath and doing her the courtesy of meeting her gaze again. “In accepting my hat... your hat, I’ve brought you under the mantle of the Hightopp family.”

Despite the fact that his declaration begs for confirmation, there is one point she had most definitely not missed. “Your hat?” she prompts.

He sighs and looks up at the top hat she wears proudly. “Aye. Once. Bu’twas yers th’moment ye returned it teh mae. Once it had touched yer hands, I knew... ‘twas nae mine any launger.”

He reaches out with one shaky hand and gently touches the brim, the ribbon, the hat pins. Alice is struck speechless by his confession.

“Why...?” But no, he’d already answered that. “How could you part with it?” But again, he’d already told her the answer. “Hatter...”

Alice studies his face, feeling her own tighten with sorrow. She’ll never see him in his wonderfully morose and battered top hat again. He’d remade it and given it to her. To her.

“I’ve le’go o’ th’ past, Alice,” he confides in a low tone. “’Twoul’nae b’ righ’ fer mae teh keep it. Bu’... as I said... it chose ye. I merely obliged it.”

“And I accepted,” she summarizes.

He lowers his hand. Nods.

Alice clarifies, “So... we are family now?”

Again he fidgets. He clears his throat and confirms, “I’ve made the offer. You’ve only to formally accept... if you wish to.”

“You mean... a courtship?” she presses, relieved that this conversation has come back around to the matter that most concerns her at the moment.

“A... courtship. Or a kinship. It would be entirely your decision, Alice. I simply... I simply don’t want to see you leave... again.”

“I don’t want to see you leave me” he doesn’t say, but she hears it in the tiny beat of uncertain silence.

She burns to reassure him but she has so many other questions and there’s so much that still doesn’t make sense and she’s only been reacquainted with him for two weeks and...!

He starts to turn away. “Shall we...”

Alice captures his face in her gloved hands and stops his evasion, his redirection, his suggestion that shooting blasted things is somehow more endurable than the sudden, awkward silence.

“Hatter...” she says and then corrects herself. “Tarrant...”

The man who is offering himself to her – in whatever capacity she prefers – shivers. His eyes close; his lips part. His face is warm even through the fabric that covers her palms. “Yes, Alice?”

He wants this, she sees. Touch. Her touch. He wants it, and yet he denies them. She does not know why but she knows she cannot ask him this now. No, now is for other things. There will be time later for that.

She caresses his cheekbones until his eyes open. “Thank you,” she says, “for the offer.”

She wants to tell him she will accept, but she’s wary. The future is so vast and shapeless now and it scares her.

He covers one of her hands with his own. She doesn’t doubt that, had he not been carrying the gun case under his opposite arm, she would have found both her hands pressed against his face.

Tarrant smiles. There’s hope and sadness in it. He’s disappointed, she thinks. Disappointed that she hasn’t given him her answer. Can’t. Not yet.

He replies, “You are most welcome, Alice.”

And this time she looks past the common pleasantry and sees the Invitation therein.

 

Comments

[niphuria.livejournal.com]

You are incredibly amazing at keeping tension high with the smallest of sentences, statements; in the giving and receiving of Meaningful Things. :)

So, finally he has let go of the past. I've always dreamed of a Tarrant who can do that so utterly as to remake his hat or be without it. So often that hat seems more precious to him than even Alice.

But there is so much more here. Alice finally realised that he always says what he means, yet she has missed so much! She won't be making that mistake again if she can help it.

Again, simply wonderful! This has me hooked completely. :)

[manniness.livejournal.com]

I realize that my OPK series has given the impression that I prefer Action to Character-centered pieces. "Choosing the Path" was a nice change of pace (did I just pun?) from that. Not that I don't enjoy writing Action... but it's been ages since I did a purely character-centered piece. And in only one POV, too. (^__~)

[starlight623.livejournal.com]

It's like an oversized, feather pinned, hat shaped engagement ring. :-)

I adore the tension between these two (which is rare for me, being a instant gratification addict), and I just chomp at the bit to see where it goes next.

Stupid needing sleep.

I do hope you don't mind me fawning all over this story. ;-)

[manniness.livejournal.com]

an oversized, feather pinned, hat shaped engagement ring

Well, Tarrant certainly hopes so! But we shall see...

Sweet - or would that be naughty? - dreams! (^__~)

[inahs.livejournal.com]

His smile had warmed her from the inside out. Has he always given her this smile? It looks no different from the ones he’d offered her in Underland and yet it feels different. Perhaps because, when he offers it to her, she accepts it now. - *heart melts*


How very odd that he – a man of such an exacting nature when it comes to words – still manages to miscount the days. One day, indeed! It’s two days until Saturday! - haha silly alice. i know what he meant. ;)


Aww I knew it was his hat he gave her! although I had thought for different reasons. Poor Tarrant having to part with it. :(

The puzzle pieces are seeming to fit now! He wanted to marry her but he couldn't unless he felt he was financially able to provide for her and be accepted in her own world, right?


The man who is offering himself to her – in whatever capacity she prefers – aww and thats why I heart him and thus my heart aches for him to see him sad. The ending was so touching, so lovely and sadly beautiful. ♥