Facets of Madness Chapter Seven Part One (Alice in Wonderland)
Author’s Notes:
Okay, I’m just going to have to accept that I’m NOT a speedy updater, no matter how hard I try. I just get distracted easily or can’t find the time or just get too involved in editing it a hundred times. And with this chapter (which is the last), it seemed to go on FOREVER so I’ve decided, rather than come up with another chapter (because I like the name of this one) I’m splitting it into two parts. Here’s the first part, the second is basically written but in fragments and random paragraphs that need putting together. And then there’s an epilogue! Which I’m quite excited about! J So enough of my usual apologies and rambling, here’s part one of the last chapter, I hope you enjoy it!
And sorry but the whole chapter wouldn't fit on my post so this is Part One of Part One, the next one will be on my journal somewhere!
Seven: Peace (Part One)
“I think you may be in what most people call a predicament, Tarrant.”
The Hatter had trudged back to his hut with a spring in his step, mind buzzing with thoughts of Alice returning. But it was rather difficult to feel good about it when the Cheshire cat appeared at every turn, following his movements and talking of things he didn’t understand. Until now he’d never appreciated just how distracting it was to be followed by a floating cat head.
The Hatter turned away from the head, trying to concentrate on making his tea. “I don’t know what you mean Chess. Please, I’m terribly busy -”
“You know perfectly well what I mean, old boy,” Chessur interrupted, “Alice is rather lovely, is she not? She has no great penchant for grinning, mind you…but she can learn. She’s rather talented.”
“She’s very talented and she has an inspiring grin that she just doesn’t care to share with you,” the Hatter replied waspishly. His hands were trembling so much that the teapot was making a dreadful chinking sound against his cup.
The cat’s eyes widened more, if possible. “There’s no need to get snippy, Tarrant. I was merely suggesting -”
“I’m merely suggesting you stay out of my business, Chessur.”
The Hatter sat down at his dingy little kitchen table and toyed with his cup of tea. Looking around at his hut, he began to see how truly awful it was: cramped, lifeless and dark, with not a single colourful hat apart from his own. No wonder Alice had been so set on getting him to leave it. With a pang he thought of his old house, his real home, and wondered what had become of it.
“You were in such a good mood a second ago, what’s changed your mind?” Chessur asked as he settled down on the table in front of the Hatter.
“Perhaps I just don’t like being pestered by vanishing cats.”
“Now Tarrant, that doesn’t sound like you. I thought you were starting to feel yourself again?”
There was a smug tone in his voice that irritated the Hatter. It sounded as if his friend was gloating that he wasn’t really cured.
“I am myself, I haven’t always been but I am now and that’s how it’s going to stay,” he replied determinedly. He pushed the cup of tea away. “It’s just that I’m worried about Alice, that’s all.”
“Is it the wedding ring?”
The Hatter’s expression turned from one of sourness to sadness. “Oh, Chess, you have no idea.”
The cat disappeared then reappeared a few inches from his friend’s face. “Then give me an idea, Tarrant,” he said quietly.
His mouth opened for a moment, lip twitching, but then he just turned his gaze away and tugged his hat down over his face. “I can’t betray her,” he murmured. “I can’t tell you.”
“Well what about the White Queen?” the cat persisted, “Can you tell her? Or Absolem? If you don’t trust me, could you trust them?”
The Hatter looked up, expecting to see a hurt look on the cat’s face. But there was nothing other than curiosity. “The White Queen might understand…” he said, mostly talking to himself.
“Mirana would most definitely understand,” Chessur encouraged him, tail flicking with excitement.
“She’s a woman, after all,” he continued, as if this were a sudden realisation. He tilted his hat up again.
“She’s very much a woman,” said Chessur.
“And she would know just how to treat the situation,” the Hatter went on, ignoring Chessur. His eyes were glowing more brightly with every thought. “After all, Alice didn’t sound at all like she’d been speaking with her sister or mother…”
His curiosity burning now, Chessur was hovering so close to the Hatter that his whiskers brushed his cheeks. “Come on then Tarrant, let’s hurry to Marmoreal.”
“Yes,” he murmured, “Ye - no.”
As quickly as he’d stood up, the Hatter sank back into his chair. He looked despairingly at Chessur. “I surely won’t be welcomed into Marmoreal, Chessur,” he said forlornly. “Not after everything I’ve done.”
“What have you done?” replied the cat, unable to contain his exasperation. “What have you done other than fall victim to an illness that took control of you? I can guarantee we are all just waiting for you to come back to us, Tarrant.”
It was like someone had switched a light on in the room.
It must have cost Chessur, who so often had the most unreadable expressions, a great deal to announce how deeply they missed him. The Hatter cast his gaze over his shabby hut once more and felt the walls closing in. He could smell dust and unrest, and with a tip of his hat to his friend he hurried for the door and vowed he would not be returning.
***
This time she didn’t know where to run. She didn’t want to go to Kingsleigh House, nor did she want to remain anywhere near the Hatter.
The thing Alice was most certain of was her uncertainty.
How long had it been since she’d referred to Kingsleigh House as ‘home’? Not for the first time in her life, Alice didn’t know where she belonged.
Which was why Henry found her slumped on the grass and staring at the trunk of a willow tree.
She was aware of nothing but the texture of the tree’s bark, of the damp smell of the grass and the feeling that no matter which side of the tree she was there would be a gaping hole left somewhere inside her. With all this running through her mind she didn’t acknowledge that the warm something resting against her arm was another human being until he actually spoke.
“I find that oak trees make for much better company. They’ve got a great sense of humour, where as willows just sit and sulk with you.”
Alice laughed, but it sounded hollow amongst the relative quiet.
“That was pathetic!” Henry teased, “Honestly I’ve heard better laughs from an oak -”
“Then go and talk to an oak tree!” Alice snapped, hugging her legs to her chest.
She wasn’t angry at him, not really. It was just that when she saw Henry she remembered kissing the Hatter, and felt so guilty it was easier to be picking on him than tormenting herself.
Henry frowned, but shifted himself closer to her. She huffed irritably and hugged herself tighter.
“Why are you staring at trees?” he asked quietly.
“I’m not staring at trees. I’m staring at a tree. Just one.”
“Well why this particular one? It’s not overly interesting, to be honest.”
“You wouldn’t understand, and trust me, you probably don’t want to.”
“I want to know everything you’re thinking, Alice. You know that.”
With a sigh Alice let her head fall onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. “If I told you that I’m thinking about running away, what would you say?”
“I’d say when are we leaving?” Henry replied without a moment’s thought.
“We…” she murmured so quietly he didn’t hear. “No, I didn’t mean…”
“What about your mother and sister? Wouldn’t you miss them?”
“I miss my father!” she burst out suddenly, “I wish I could see him just one more time! I wish he would tell me what to do.”
She felt him kiss the top of her head. “I think he would tell you to forget about what everyone else wants, and do what you think is right for yourself.”
She lifted her head to stare at him. The colour of his eyes, his hair, the shape of his face…for just a second, he wasn’t Henry. For just a second she could hear her father’s voice coming from his mouth, see Charles Kingsleigh’s smile on her husband’s face.
“What do I do, daddy?” she whispered.
“Whatever makes you happy,” he replied, just as quietly.
“Alice! I’ve been looking for you!”
Margaret’s voice shook her from a very deep thought, and she jumped violently. Looking back at Henry, he was now just her husband: an oddly familiar man with a sweet smile who was hopping to his feet and telling her he should be going. But much worse than being with Henry when she wanted to be on her own, was being with Margaret. Alice rolled her eyes as her sister came marching over. Henry had already vanished in the trees and she was now stuck facing reality.
“Why have you been looking for me?” she enquired in what she hoped was a polite voice.
“You’re going to listen to me this time,” Margaret said, sitting beside her sister and grabbing hold of her arms. “You’re going to listen because it’s very important, do you hear me?”
Surprised, Alice nodded.
“I know about the Hatter,” Margaret told her slowly, like she was talking to a child. “I believe his story about Wonderland and so does mother and we want you to be able to talk about it with us.”
Alice felt like someone had just poured cold water over her.
Of all the things she’d expected her sister to say, this wasn’t one of them. She shut her eyes tightly and reopened them, hoping she’d just imagined that Margaret was there. No such luck. “It’s - it’s called Underland, not Wonderland,” she said shakily.
“Right,” replied Margaret in an off-hand way. “But that’s not important, what matters is that -”
“But it does matter,” Alice interrupted, tugging her arms out of her sister’s grip. “I only called it Wonderland when I was six. Only ignorant people call it that.” She was suddenly feeling strangely protective, like something in her care had been threatened.
“I - I’m sorry,” Margaret replied earnestly, eyeing Alice curiously. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“How can you know about it if you can’t even remember the name properly?” Alice asked shrewdly.
Margaret was exasperated. She’d expected her younger sister to be grateful to have someone to talk to, not to be downright impolite. “Well there was a rather large amount of information for me to learn, you know. If the name of the place happens to slip my mind again I hope you won’t take offence.”
“I’ll take offence to whatever I like,” Alice said stubbornly, her gaze flicking back to the willow tree. “You’ve just blatantly announced that you know all about my secret haven and you don’t even have the good grace to care about what you call it!”
“Alice, you’re being ridiculous! Aren’t you more curious about the fact I know at all? Don’t you want to talk about -?”
“I know how you’ve learned about it,” Alice replied testily. “I suspect mother has had somebody follow me. I suppose you’ll be climbing through there next -” she gestured at the tree - “And harassing my friends because you don’t approve of them, just like you do with Hen -”
She felt the sharp impact of her sister’s hand across her cheek.
It lasted only a second, but the stinging was still there when the tense silence was broken minutes later. “I don’t know what’s happening to you,” Margaret said in a trembling voice, “But I’m just trying to help. You think I’m the bad person? You think your own mother is to blame? We’re the ones being weighed down, Alice…by you. You think it’s easy to sit and watch while your sister is tormented by things she won’t talk about? And then to keep your mouth closed while she goes ahead and blames the ones trying to help her?” There were now tears making tracks down Margaret’s tragically pretty face. “You’re not Alice anymore…at least not when you’re with us. But this Hatter person seems to think you’re fine. I just want to know why you can be Alice around him, that’s all.”
Alice could feel a sharp pain somewhere inside her that made the stinging of her cheek seem like nothing. She thought she had no idea what Margaret was talking about…inner torment…blame…except she did. There was some awful poison inside her that made her unable to see why her family was being so protective, and why she was becoming this woman that resented her husband. Overcome with the pain of it all, she reached out and wiped the tears from her sister’s eyes, and they wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry I slapped you,” Margaret cried.
“I’m frightened of what’s happening to me,” Alice whispered.
“What is happening to you? What is it?”
“I - I can’t…” Alice just squeezed her sister more tightly. “I just want to be happy again…”
“Let me help you, sister, please let me help.” Margaret pulled away and they sat together on the grass, sniffing back tears.
But Alice couldn’t reply. Something of what Margaret said had triggered a memory.
“Let me in, Alice, I can help. Honestly I can,” implored Henry as he held her. She shook her head, unable to speak of what had happened because she’d made herself forget. Alice began to think of all the times she’d gotten a whiff of foul cologne when there was no man around…of when she’d be touched innocently by the Hatter and vicious images in her head would make her shrink away from him. She began to wonder why there was such a large block of her life that she barely thought about: her time at sea, her apprenticeship…
“What’s wrong?” Margaret asked as Alice’s face became heavy with a frown.
“I think I remember…” she murmured, “I remember something….”
But at that moment a loud crunching sound in the undergrowth told her that Henry had returned, and sure enough she looked up to see him picking his way through the trees. For once the guilt was overshadowed by ecstatic relief, and she got to her feet and ran to him like a woman possessed. Margaret sighed heavily and watched with a wary expression.
“Where did you run off to?” Alice asked, allowing herself to be swept up into his arms.
“Nowhere important,” he told her, “I just wanted to leave you alone with your sister.”
“But why did you come back? She’s still here.”
He shrugged. “I thought you might need me.”
Unable to explain why this aggravated her, Alice’s brow furrowed. “You know that I’m fairly good at accepting things without explanation. But why do you never have a solid reason for things I ask?”
“Isn’t you needing me a solid reason?”
“But how? How did you know I was missing you?” She slipped free of his arms and turned back to Margaret. “Does Lowell ever come home to you with clams of that?” she asked her sister, but Margaret looked confused.
“Claims of what?” she replied blankly.
“Henry said he came back because he thought I needed him!” Alice exclaimed, “Did you not hear him?”
“I - no, I didn’t. Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
Alice impatiently stamped her foot. “Well? Has Lowell ever had the great intuition to return to you without being called?”
Margaret shook her head, unable to speak.
“Why are you mad at me for being a good husband, Alice?” Henry enquired, looking put out. “Don’t I treat you fairly? Don’t I look after you?”
“Why does everyone assume I need taking care of?!” Alice shouted, rounding on them both with a cold gleam in her eye. “I’m a grown woman! Honestly, the only people who don’t trail after me like nurses are -” she broke off, about to speak of her friends in Underland…and the Hatter. When she was in England, people treated her like a child. When she was in Underland, they treated her like a hero. How had she ever gotten mad at them for needing her so? How had she ever been so ungrateful to wish they didn’t rely on her so much?
A burning desire to go home filled her very veins. Where was the one place that she could be herself? Where were the people who trusted her judgement, who treated her like an equal, who asked too much because they never doubted she could handle it? The answer was blazing inside her head, her heart, like someone was calling her: Underland.
Settling her gaze on the willow tree, Alice turned her back on the pair of them. “Margaret, Henry is about see something he won’t understand,” she said evenly, without taking her eyes off the trunk. “Please explain it to him.” She placed a hand on the bark and instantly a dim hollow became visible in the tree.
“Alice, what -?” but Margaret could only watch as her sister climbed inside the hollow without a backward glance and disappeared. The dimness then resolved back into the solid bark of a tree, like nothing had happened at all.
Maybe if she hadn’t slapped her sister, she’d have stayed. Maybe if she’d been better at pretending to know what Henry was talking about. Perhaps, even, if she’d simply stood her ground and physically stopped her from going. But none of her wistful thinking did any good. The clearing remained resolutely empty around her and Margaret knew one thing, at last: that Underland had won. She didn’t bother to look around for the man she was meant to be explaining it all to, knowing he wasn’t there at all.
***