The Envelope: Ken Me (1)
Dinner is a torment. A horrid, dreadful, miserable torment. Especially as Alice spends most of it alternately scrutinizing Hamish and directing toothy, insincere grins at Lady Ascot. But, mostly, Alice endures dinner as she wonders how to salvage the hopeful, playful mood of less than an hour ago. Upstairs, in his room, as Alice had tied his cravat for him, the Hatter had looked confident. Happy, even. Ready for anything.
"I have an idea," she had confided in him, averting her gaze as he'd handed the robe back to her.
"A crazy, mad, wonderful idea?" he'd wanted to know.
"I believe so. I would tell you what it is, except I think it would be better if you were surprised."
"Then surprise me, my Alice. I trust ye…"
"I beg your pardon, Miss Alice," one of the footmen gently interrupts, shattering the memory. He steps forward and offers her the contents of an ornate tray with aplomb. "This just arrived for you."
Alice stares at the envelope with her name clearly written on the front in very familiar hand writing.
"I took the liberty of sending word to your mother and sister, Alice. Informing them of your extended stay here," Lady Ascot announces in between sips of pottage.
"Did you? How thoughtful," Alice manages in a strained tone. She takes the letter and nods to the footman. It would be impolite to read it at the table, but she will deal with this as soon as she is able!
The lady of the house smiles thinly. "I'm sure you would have thought to do the same under normal circumstances."
I suppose now we'll never know, Alice returns in silent irritation.
"And I may have mentioned your… unusual acquaintance. You met by the lake, was it?"
"Hm," Alice replies vaguely, too busy imagining what sorts of horrors Lady Ascot might have described in that note. Alice and Hamish's mother have never been on the best of terms, not since Alice had turned down Hamish's first and most public proposal, encouraged Lord Ascot's visions of grandeur, and been caught trying to secretly train the dogs not to dismember the poor garden rabbits that the woman so loathes. (That had been a very busy year for Alice.) Nor does the woman particularly care for the fact that her grandsons - especially James - are rather more fond of Alice than they are of their own grandmother. Still, that's hardly Alice's fault! In fact, the boys ought to be commended for their excellent common sense!
"I thought so," the woman muses in a tone empty of both sincerity and genuine interest. Alice experiences a moment where she is viscerally aware of Lord Ascot's absence. Her former employer had always managed to curb his wife's bitterness and viciousness. He had refined the art of placating her and gently teasing her until she would even smile at her own audacity!
Alice regards the woman who might have been her mother-in-law. You miss him, too, Alice doesn't say, doesn't have the heart to say what with the Hatter sitting beside her dressed in one of the late Lord Ascot's suit trappings. These are the clothes that Alice had requested from the twittering maids that had been gossiping uselessly in the hall earlier. Alice had even managed to convince the Hatter to wear them with a minimum of fuss.
"To whom do these belong?" he had asked warily after Alice had managed to banish Hamish from the room with a very well-made threat to help the Hatter clothe himself with Hamish looking on. That had been enough to cause Lord Ascot to beat a hasty retreat, muttering darkly and slamming the door behind him.
"They belonged to the former Lord Ascot…"
The Hatter had studied her expression for a moment before deducing, "Whom you cared for very deeply. Thank you, Alice. I should be honored to wear them and obliged to look after them."
Seeing her beloved benefactor's clothes on the man she loves, Alice can't help but think of unbearable things: what would she do if, one day, the Hatter were gone? Her heart throbs with emotion. She damns herself again for not going looking for that rabbit hole sooner. Oh, all the time she has wasted! But, no. Stop it, Alice!
She takes a deep, calming breath as discreetly as possible. She will go wherever he goes. Her decision, hastily made earlier in the day, has not changed. Here or in Underland, they will be together. And she will not think about such horrid what-ifs. She will focus on the here and now.
She has been staring at him too long. Alice realizes this when he turns to her and genteelly passes the dish of curried carrots which had already been well within her range. She does not say Thank you. She smiles instead. He grins softly in reply and for a single, marvelous moment, it is just the two of them there, at dinner together.
When he turns back to his meal, Alice selfishly indulges in the pleasure of simply watching him for a few moments more. The Hatter reaches for a spoon, taking care to nudge the cuff of his borrowed shirt out of the way with a flamboyant flip of his wrist before collecting the utensil dexterously with his left hand. Alice does not remember the Hatter favoring his left hand in Underland… but then, perhaps this is yet more evidence that he has been forced into a realm that mirrors his own. His written words inevitably come out reversed. (They had investigated this as they'd been waiting for dinner to be announced.) Alice is unsure why she can clearly understand his speech but not read his handwriting. Perhaps because she had not taken proper lessons as the Mock Turtle had recommended? If her foggy recollections are true, then she had merely listened to the creature's history. Perhaps that had been enough "learning" for her to understand the Hatter even here, in Upland, but not enough to translate mirror-wise-written words?
She aches to pose this question to him, to ask for his advice or his thoughts on the matter. But, Alice has a job to do that will hopefully alter his tentative welcome in this house for the better.
"Alice!"
She startles, banging her soup spoon against the porcelain. The resulting chime echoes in the candlelit room. Lady Ascot winces expressively, William snorts, and James - the little urchin - giggles down at the contents of his bowl.
"Yes, Hamish?" Alice manages, returning Lord Ascot's flat stare with a mild look.
He sniffs with fascinating eloquence. "Contemplating what it would be like to fly, were we?" he muses.
Alice narrows her eyes. The phrase would have been a running joke between them if the original utterance hadn't been so utterly marred by Hamish's public humiliation. Alice had apologized for that, had even thanked him for thinking of her, for caring whether or not the daughter of his father's business associate needed to be properly taken care of…
"However gentlemanly the offer was made, Hamish, you need to know one thing: I do not require looking after."
He had seemed to believe her. And then he had met and married Laurel Whitcombe. Alice - then midway through her apprenticeship overseas - had been genuinely happy for him. Hamish has always been a good man, just not the right one for her. But then, after his wife had passed from a fever, Hamish had proposed again… and again and again.
Now tired of the endless pressure Hamish forces her to bear as she continuously deflects his honor-inspired, gentlemanly concerns, exhausted from upholding her dignity in the face of his un-imagination and pigheadedness, Alice returns his flat stare and, emotionlessly, replies, "No, perhaps you don't recall the balloon flight I took the year before last? The issue of flying has been settled to my satisfaction for some time now."
She clears her throat and glances at the Hatter. She can see the enthusiastic questions in his eyes - Had she really flown? What had that been like? - but she knows he will not ask them. He is waiting for her to fulfill her promise; he is trusting her to do so… and this is the perfect opportunity to address an increasingly-popular misunderstanding. Without further ado, she takes it:
"I was actually wondering what it would be like to speak backwards, mirror-wise, as it were."
"Mirror-wise?" James repeats, intrigued.
Alice gives him a smile and elaborates before either Lady Ascot or Hamish can scold him for speaking without first being spoken to. "Yes. Imagine a card - say, a tea party invitation - held up to a mirror. Now, you or I would have quite a bit of trouble reading the reflection, wouldn't we? Especially if we had not examined the words on the card beforehand or known the details of the party. Do you agree James? William?"
Both boys consider the issue carefully before nodding. While William's gesture is cautious, James' is blatantly enthusiastic, eager for the rest of the riddle.
"Now," Alice continues, "imagine that the mirror does not reflect images and writing, but sounds and voices."
"What nonsense," Lady Ascot waspishly proclaims. "Why-ever would we care to think on such an improbable phenomenon?"
Gathering her patience one evaporating ounce at a time, Alice explains, "Because, Lady Ascot, the occurrence may not be as improbable as it seems." She turns to Hamish's sons and asks, "Here is a challenge for you: what would my name sound like, if it were spoken mirror-wise?"
William scowls and mutters quietly to himself as he works the problem out discretely. James, on the other hand, spells out something on the tablecloth with his bare finger - presumably, Alice's name - stares at it for a moment, and then with a grin of triumph, announces: "Ecila!"
Beside her, the Hatter startles. He glances at James and then turns toward Alice, a delighted grin splitting his face and showing off his gap-toothed front teeth. His fingers spasm restlessly, as if they ache to cross the tablecloth to keep company with hers.
Alice reaches for his hand and grasps it openly. She nods to James and then asks William, "Do you concur?" The boy may not have his brother's unconventional imagination or uninhibited curiosity, but that's no reason to overlook his contribution to the discussion!
"Ecila…" William agrees with reluctance, causing the Hatter to giggle.
"And now," Alice continues, turning to the Hatter, "if you would please say my given name, sir?"
Practically glowing with joy, he does. The Hatter declares, "Alice!"
And although Alice had heard own name properly spoken in his voice, the sudden silence surrounding the table communicates Lord Ascot and his mother's shock quite well.
"I'll be…!" Hamish murmurs as his sons congratulate each other. The dawning understanding pulls his expression into the manifestation of pointless disbelief and grudging amazement.
"Preposterous," Lady Ascot marvels, attempting to look unimpressed.
Before Alice can offer them a bit of crow for dinner - See! He isn't a lunatic after all! - James opines, "Fantastic! Aunt Alice, you understand mirror-wise English! You must teach me how to speak it, too!"
"Absolutely not," Hamish utters woodenly, more out of habit than any real objection. "Useless waste of time." Luckily, he's too busy studying - reevaluating, perhaps? - the Hatter to notice the conspiratorial wink Alice sends in the boy's direction.
"What would cause such an affliction, do you think?" the current Lord Ascot muses, mostly to himself.
Alice pretends to contemplate her soup as she says off-handedly, "The events of this afternoon were quite unsettling. Perhaps you struck your head and befuddled your brain?" This suggestion she directs to the Hatter, who happily plays along.
"Yes, yes! I cannot recall a bump to the head, but then again they are quite elusive things to capture in one's own memory, are they not?"
"That does not explain why you appear to be able to communicate with him," Hamish points out rather too rationally.
It is fortunate, then, that Alice has quite a bit of practice in discounting logical rationale. She responds, "Perhaps I suffered a similar but lesser injury. Or perhaps my… uniqueness is making itself useful."
Lady Ascot smirks. "We always knew you were not quite right in the head, dear."
"Naturally," Alice agrees, allowing the remark to flow off of her like beads of water off of a mink stole. "A head has both a left half and a right. I should hope I'm well balanced. 'Not quite right' sounds rather healthy to me so long as I am also 'not quite left'!"
James guffaws and even William smiles. Before Lady Ascot can launch another verbal cannon ball, Alice turns back to Hamish and asks in as reasonable a tone as possible, "Is it not within the realm of possibility that simply because something or someone does not appear to make sense, it does not necessarily follow that he makes no sense at all?"
Hamish glances from Alice to the Hatter and seems to ponder these words.
It is not a victory, Alice knows. But her years of experience in business negotiations tell her one very certain thing: it is not a victory… yet.
*~*~*~*
Alice had hated the thought of giving up, of leaving her point unpressed at dinner, especially when victory still had not been declared, but she knows Hamish. And she knows how he balks when faced with his own errors in judgment… knows how the man has the rather bothersome tendency of cutting off his own nose to spite his face.
So she had blatantly changed the topic by asking what Hamish had meant to say which she'd interrupted with riddles and other nonsense.
"I was merely attempting to confirm," the man had said, eying the Hatter appraisingly, "if you and your guest - Hightopp, was it? - will be staying the night."
Even now - hours after the fact - Alice is thrilled by those three words in Hamish's voice: "Hightopp, was it?"
It is the first time Hamish had bothered to care one whit about the man's proper name, which she had told everyone at the beginning of dinner, performing the introductions on the Hatter's behalf. True, Hamish might have simply used the Hatter's name for propriety's sake, but he had used it. Could it be possible that Hamish does not believe the Hatter is a lunatic any longer?
She tilts her head back against the pillow and smiles up at the ceiling in the dark. If she can convince Hamish that the Hatter is merely an eccentric or a victim of some vaguely-explainable condition, then surely she can manage introducing him to her mother and sister! Surely there is a way!
Alice sighs out her happiness until her thoughts are calm again. But as they calm, they sadden. The Hatter is down the hall in his room and she would much rather be there. And, really, why shouldn't she be there? He is her Hatter, after all! And she is a grown woman! As long as the boys don't see her sneaking through the halls at night…
She shouldn't do it. Perhaps that's why she does. Sensing that sleep will not answer her call tonight - perhaps she and it no longer speak the same language, or perhaps she requires the Hatter's assistance with a translation - Alice slides out of bed, puts on the robe and slippers provided for her, and silently exits her room.
It is nearly pitch black in the hall, but she knows the layout well. And she knows precisely how many steps it is to the Hatter's door. What she does not count on, upon reaching it, is the startling swiftness with which it opens before she can even knock. She gasps reflexively and warm hands fumble for her shoulders in the dark. And then she hears him giggle softly.
Relieved, she moves toward him and quietly shuts the door behind her.
"Hatter," she whispers as she smooths her cheek against his slightly stubbled one.
"Yes, Alice?"
"May I stay the night?"
His arms pull her closer. His teeth worry at her earlobe. "I've a bed nauw," he murmurs. "Hauw wou'ye like teh use it?"
"Thoroughly."
This time, when they come together, there are no clothes or other fabrications between them. Alice gasps softly against his bare shoulder, counts the irregularities along the skin of his chest with her fingertips. Several slash-like lines of raised skin here just below his heart, a pucker of once-burnt flesh there near his collarbone… to name a few. She had not noticed them earlier as she had not given herself permission to explore his form thoroughly and she had steadfastly refused to allow herself - despite her burning curiosity - to survey more than the view he'd presented to her when she had entered the room initially, but now… Now she understands why, on the drive of Marmoreal, clearly thrilled to have escaped Crims with his life, the Hatter had not embraced her although, at the time, she had expected he would. She does not ask why he had merely clasped her hands briefly then. She does not ask what these marks are, nor why they are on his chest rather than on his back; she already knows.
"Do you forgive me?" she murmurs. "I was late. So very late. I did such a poor job of saving you…"
"Hush, my Alice. Hush."
She does. And later, he holds her close until she falls asleep in his arms. The next morning there is no shout of outrage when the maid discovers Alice's bed still empty. The gossip had made the rounds and the bets had been placed. The smirking and now-seven-shillings-richer maid merely knocks softly upon the Hatter's door and, when there is no reply, slides the basket containing Alice's just-laundered clothes into the room and shuts the door behind her.
Sometime later, when Alice opens her eyes, the Hatter is already dressed in his Underlandish clothing and eagerly waiting to assist her with her dress. She has never woken up to someone sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her sleep, and she does not know if it will become a regular occurrence, but if it does she rather thinks she could get used to it. She smiles blearily up at him and reaches for his hands. The embrace is warm and silent and wonderful. Alice sighs, knowing she had better get up before the rest of the house wakes. She has no desire to meet Hamish as she exits the Hatter's room so early in the morning. She is a guest in his home, after all.
She washes up and the Hatter assists her with gentleness and speed into her clothing. Alice breathes a sigh of relief to be out of Lady Ascot's old dress once and for all.
When the Hatter chews on a yawn, Alice feels a twinge of guilt; he'd been waiting for her to wake up before enjoying his morning cuppa.
"Not that I don't appreciate your assistance this morning - because I do! - but you could have gone downstairs for tea without me," Alice whispers, mindful of the silence of early morning that permeates the manor. She takes the Hatter's offered arm as he closes the bedroom door softly behind them. "I would have found you."
"Perhaps," he agrees, placing his hand over hers. "But I would have been rather lost in the meantime."
Alice guides the Hatter through the Ascot family home to the breakfast room. Due to the early hour, it is still unoccupied. The Hatter assists Alice with her seat, takes the tea tray from the butler and shoos the man away.
Smiling, Alice watches the Hatter prepare their teas: cream first, then sugar, and finally the tea itself. "You'll want to stir that clockwise, Alice," he suggests softly although his own motions are the exact opposite.
She finds it very interesting that there are many things that the Hatter performs in reverse with ease - the fixing of tea and mirror-wise writing (that is, from right to left), to name a few. While she cherishes these eccentricities, they also remind her - in screaming silence - of the fact that this is not the Hatter's world.
But… could it be? Would he even consider staying? Even if Underland is not completely lost to them? Perhaps it has moved. Or perhaps someone had placed a lake in the garden that leads to the room of doors… They might still return, if not via the rabbit hole, then another way, perhaps.
Considering that, Alice says softly, mindful of people who are surely minding her business rather than their own, "Hatter, in looking for your hat today, we'll undoubtedly encounter the rabbit hole again…"
"It's not likely to be a close encounter," he muses, sniffing a dullish-looking biscuit with suspicion. "We already inspected that area and deemed it hat-less."
"We did," she allows, passing him the Battenberg which he accepts with a happy noise. "But… would you prefer it if it were a close encounter… following the retrieval of your hat?"
The Hatter pauses, his fork hovering over the slice of cake. "Alice… are you suggesting…?"
"Would you prefer to return today? If we're given the chance?"
He narrows his eyes in response to some unhappy thought or other. After a moment, he points out gently, "Your mother and sister are expecting us today, are they not?"
She nods. "I sent a note after dinner last night introducing you briefly to them. And a good thing I did, too. Lady Ascot has a true gift for portraying circumstances at their most… dire. I'm sure Mother and Margaret would have made the journey here, in the middle of the night, if I hadn't replied." Alice shakes her head at the thought of her family's well-meaning interference. She is a grown woman. Truly, the ways of her homeland are perfectly blind when it comes to the capability of a woman to live her own life.
"Are you… concerned," the Hatter inquires delicately, "that your kin will also react adversely to making my acquaintance?"
"Hm? Oh!" Alice exclaims, realizing how that explanation must have sounded. Oh, how she would like to reassure him, but to do so would be to commit a grave injustice. She will not coddle him, not when he most assuredly does not need it. He has never been anything other than unfailingly honest with her. It would be a mistake for her to behave otherwise now that it is he who is the guest in a strange world. "Well… I'm not saying that it'll be easy, but if I can convince Hamish, the unimaginative business man and self-made skeptic, to give you chance…!"
"Hm, yes. I rather thought Lord Ascot looked a bit… illuminated at dinner," the Hatter observes, his brows wiggling with humor. "Thank ye f'r tha', laddie."
Alice returns his soft smile. "It was my pleasure." And then, replaying his comment, she asks, "So, he's Lord Ascot now is he? Whatever happened to that Hamish?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure," the Hatter answers, and then leans forward to confide, "Do you suppose he's still there?"
Alice smiles. "It's possible. But if he wishes to be civil, I advise you to let him."
"Very uninteresting - civil behavior," he opines with a wrinkle of his nose. He then glances at the bread and butter and his wild brows adopt a hopeful tilt.
Alice passes him the dishes without being asked. "You're welcome," she says.
"Thank you, Alice," he replies on a giggle. Indicating the plates by his elbow, he points out, "Although I appreciate you making the effort to adopt Underlandian table manners for my sake…"
"I didn't pass them properly, I know. I'm afraid it isn't the custom here to expedite such things." Alice can only imagine what Lady Ascot would think upon hearing that Alice and the Hatter had been tossing food at each other over the breakfast table.
The Hatter shakes his head in woeful disappointment. "How is it you managed to develop such sound logic in the face of such utter backward-ness, Alice?"
She smiles and sips her tea. After a moment, she gently reminds him, "So, if the rabbit hole is agreeable to permitting us passage today…?"
Setting down his empty teacup and reaching for the cream again, the Hatter says in a gently chiding tone, "It's very rude to break an appointment."
Alice isn't sure what to feel in response to that. It's not that she minds the reprimand, although there is something odd about the Hatter lecturing her on rudeness, she acknowledges. Perhaps she is edgy and anxious at the thought of remaining in Upland because she had not prepared for that eventuality. And besides, there's the mystery of a very wet Underland to solve… Still, the Hatter is aware of the situation. Alice had given him the choice and he seems to have made it.
"Well," she remarks, buttering her bread from the bottom up, as the Hatter had done, "if it's an issue of manners, then I suppose we'd better be late as well."
"That, my Alice," he returns with a rather knowing, gap-toothed grin, "I would be happy to assist you with."
And he does. Following breakfast, Alice and the Hatter make their way across the lawn. They had not encountered either Hamish or Lady Ascot at breakfast and so Alice had left word with the butler regarding their whereabouts. The moment they are within the shadowy protection of the forest, the Hatter whispers her name, tugs on her hand, and Alice steps into his arms.
Their mouths meet hungrily despite the fact that they had just breakfasted. Alice moans softly at the taste of him: buttery and sweet. His fingers splay and his palms press against her lower back, urging her closer.
"Again I've nae bed, Alice," he mumbles as he investigates the space behind her ear with the tip of his nose.
"A truly frustrating conundrum," she agrees, aching to feel him moving with her and within her again. She leans toward him, presses her lips to his white throat and he shivers. She briefly contemplates finding a patch of grass to accommodate them, but then she remembers that they only have this one change of clothes. Bugger and blast. While Alice might not mind the Hatter greening her skirt, she's fairly sure that the introductions later today will not go well at all if it's clear what she and the Hatter have gotten up to.
As the Hatter nuzzles under her chin and nips at the buttons on her blouse, Alice damns the very life she has worked so hard to build: she and the Hatter will never be able to resume their intimate activities if they stay with Alice's mother and sister. There's really only one solution to be had…
Alice's hand slides from the Hatter's hip to the front of his kilt. He jerks impulsively against her, and she feels his hardness briefly against her palm. Oh, how she wants…
The Hatter steps away, brushing gentle kisses along her cheek, her jaw, her chin. "Alice," he warns her gently.
"I know," she sighs. As delightful as this is, now is not the time, here is not the place, these are not the garments, and there is still a hat to be found. "But we will begin this later, sir."
He gives her a wide grin. "I look forward to it, my Alice," he growls softly, his rough fingertips trailing gently down the side of her neck before encountering the lace that blocks further exploration.
As the more intimate expeditions will have to wait, Alice suggests taking the road less traveled. They spend the morning attempting to lose themselves in the forest. The Hatter provides excellent rationale for this:
"A lost hat must be somewhere, but as we do not know where that somewhere is, then it must be elsewhere, and everyone knows the only way to find an Elsewhere is to lose yourself Somewhere."
It sounds like utter nonsense and Alice adores him for it. After searching the trails, trees, and brush for nearly an hour, Alice suggests, "Perhaps it followed our trail back to the rabbit hole?"
As the Hatter has no other suggestions, they meander their way back to the spot where Hamish had found them the day before.
Alice hears it before she sees it: the sound of bubbling. Rounding the bend in the trail, she and the Hatter are confronted with something that is rather larger than a rabbit hole at the base of a gnarled tree. They stare at the muddy pool that has replaced the hole. It occasionally bubbles and froths and the rhythm, though seemingly random, reminds Alice of a beating heart. But, returning to the task at hand, she notes with disappointment that there is no hat nearby. Not huddled under a bush or dangling from a branch overhead.
"I'm so sorry, Hatter," she says, placing her hand on the small of his back.
"I'm not," he answers. His expression is solemn as he wraps an arm around her and nuzzles her hair. "My hat or my Alice. I made mae choice an' I d'nae r'gret it." Alice returns his embrace in silence.
For not just one or two, but many moments all strung together like berries on a string of Christmas garland, Alice holds onto the Hatter - her Hatter - and he holds her back. This is all he has now - in this world, anyway - she realizes: the clothes on his back, the trinkets in his pockets, and her. She vows to be a keepsake of equal - if not surpassing - worth.
"Oi! Aunt Alice! Hallooooo!"
Alice looks up from where her cheek had come to rest upon the Hatter's shoulder and glances back the way they'd come, toward the house.
The Hatter muses, "Is that…?"
"James," Alice confirms wryly. "It must be after breakfast." Normally, the boys' lessons would be starting now, but she can imagine Hamish relenting just this once so that they can have their stories from Aunt Alice before she departs for her own home. "Hamish must have agreed to a bit of storytime before they start their lessons for the day."
"Ah, yes," the Hatter recalls. "You did promise the wee lasses you'd give them a picture show."
"I did." And as that appointment had been postponed until after dinner following the dramatic episode that the Hatter had orchestrated, and then rescheduled completely due to the necessity of replying to the urgent note from Helen Kingsleigh, Alice has to admit that the boys have been more than patient with her.
"A question, Hatter," Alice begins as they lazily move along the path toward the sounds of two boys on a storyteller hunt.
"Yes?"
"Not that one," she teases him and he giggles. Taking his hand in hers, she asks, "Why call me a lad and William and James lasses?"
He blinks at her with such befuddlement that Alice laughs out loud. "I can see that this is another point of contention between Upland and Under," she mutters around her giggles. "How delightful."
"Quite frankly, Alice," the Hatter finally says, "everyone knows 'tis th' lads tha' gae off teh battle. An' 'tis th' lasses tha' follow."
Alice sobers at that, remembering the Battle of Frabjous Day. "It's the same here, more or less. Perhaps Upland and Under are not all that different after all…"
"Aunt Alice!" The call precedes the sound of pounding footsteps.
"We've been found," Alice alerts the Hatter unnecessarily.
"Hardly!" he disagrees. "You have been found. I might still make my escape."
She doesn't let go of his hand and he doesn't resist her grip. For a crazy moment, she remembers their flight from the Red Knights and imagines herself as right-sized and the Hatter as a small, Pishsalvered man tucked in her pocket. "What sort of hat would I have tossed you to safety on?" she muses as they maintain their unhurried pace.
The Hatter grins. She can tell by the wild tilt of his brows that not only had he understood her non sequitur, but he already has something very specific in mind. The answer to her riddle is there, she sees, inside his mind and its existence calls forth the ghost of an idea…
And then James bursts into view on the trail. He races up to them and then windmills to a halt in their path. Panting, he braces his hands on his knees and wheezes, "You're-late-again!"
"I know!" Alice despairs, ruffling his hair. "It's a terrible affliction. Luckily, it's only contagious through hand-to-hand contact."
"Oh…" the boy manages between breaths. And then seeing that Alice is holding the Hatter's hand quite firmly, he laughs. "You are doomed, sir."
Alice does not have to repeat this for the Hatter's benefit. Noting James' pointed look and quirky grin, the Hatter giggles happily and swings Alice's hand between them, not at all disturbed by his fate.
And then another voice echoes through the forest. "Ooooi! Jamie!"
"Down the trail!" he calls back to William.
"Shall we meet him in the middle?" Alice asks, offering her other arm to James.
As they meander along, James dares to peep at the Hatter around Alice's now-laundered skirt. The Hatter peeps back.
"You really talk mirror-wise?" the boy asks, clearly remembering the discussion from dinner the night before.
"He sounds mirror-wise to you, but you sound mirror-wise to him," Alice explains.
James is thrilled by the revelation. "So… I can already speak mirror-wise… and I didn't even know it?"
He does a little skip-hop dance, jostling Alice.
William catches up to them - or perhaps it is they who catch up to William - shortly and James explains their natural abilities at speaking mirror-wise. William doesn't look nearly as impressed as James and, with a calculating gleam in his eye, dares to test the theory.
"Is it true you hear my words in reverse?" he dares the Hatter. In response, the Hatter tilts his head to the side in the universal gesture for confusion.
The boy grins, "So if I said you looked like a girl in that skirt and your hair is worse than Mrs. Martsen's old brooms and those stockings make you look like a tinker-"
Alice interrupts him drolly, "I think you've made your point, William." The Hatter is utterly undisturbed by the child's observations. Although, in all honesty, Alice isn't sure he would be offended even if he had understood the teasing.
I must remedy that. Yes, if the Hatter wishes to stay in Upland for a significant length of time - and he may have to if they don't find another rabbit hole to accommodate them! - then he should be able to understand the speech here. Alice will not tolerate him being taken advantage of or mocked. Alice considers what sort of approach to this might be the best weapon with which to arm him in order to avoid those scenarios.
"You shut your mouth about his stockings!" James eagerly defends the Hatter. "They are the best stockings in the whole world!"
Alice disregards the brotherly squabbling. After all, it's probably best for them to get it all out of their systems before they all sit down together for Alice's stories. She is not quite sure she has the mental acumen to deal with a rambunctious audience today. Not with so many other potential obstacles on the pre-dusk horizon.
Despite her reassurances to the contrary, Alice is concerned about how her mother and sister will react. Hopefully, the "marvelous eccentricities" Alice had mentioned in her note will cause her family to imagine something far more… colorful than is actually the case. Although… considering the Hatter's preferences in fashion, that may not be a realistic expectation. Still, they will get through this together! She had promised him they would and, one way or another, they will.
The boys suddenly forget their argument when a squirrel darts across the path ahead and then both Alice and the Hatter are forgotten as they tear off after it for a better look.
"Alice…" the Hatter begins slowly.
"Yes?"
"Would I be correct - or nearly - in assuming that you like children?"
Considering the intimate nature of their relationship, Alice takes a moment to construct her answer. "I enjoy spending the occasional afternoon with William and James. I realize that having a child of one's own may be a vastly different experience, but it is one that I am not opposed to."
She glances up to gauge the Hatter's reaction to this. In her hands, his fingers twitch. He smiles brightly and then glances toward her belly. "I… It… Don't you think… Well, might it be odd for…"
Alice waits for him to get all his thoughts in the correct order.
"You continue to call me Hatter," he finally says, his brows twitching with worry.
She caresses his captured fingers with her thumb. "Would you prefer that I use your given name?"
"I… no, I don't think so, but how would I ever explain why… and that's assuming I could explain it! But… should there be a child, Alice…"
She blinks, startled by the implications of his inarticulately phrased concerns. Yes, if there is a child, would he or she understand the Hatter's speech as Alice does? Or would the child be like any other born in Upland? At the present time, and under the present circumstances, there is no way to know for sure.
With the lush greenery of the lawn in view just up ahead, Alice pauses and lifts her hands to Tarrant's face. "Should there be a child," she whispers, staring into his wide eyes, "our child," she further clarifies, "I would be overcome with joy. The rest," she promises yet again as a tremulous smile begins to form on his dark lips, "will sort itself out in time." Either the Hatter will learn Uplandish Speech or the child will learn both. Really, it doesn't matter. The real mystery is how it is possible for Alice to both comprehend it so effortlessly and make herself understood to him using plain English. She wonders, idly, if she might be dreaming all of this.
"Pinch me," she whispers as he leans toward her, their mouths brushing.
"Why would I do that, Alice?"
"To prove I'm not dreaming."
He giggles against her lips. "You still believe this is a dream, do you?"
"If it is, it is the best dream I've ever had."
She grasps his shoulders and his palms cradle her face as their mouths meet in earnest. Her blood heats and dances within her and those shivery, shimmery feelings are back. Her fingers itch to undo his shirt buttons and her thighs ache to wrap around his hips and…
"All this time, I've been in love and I didn't even know it," she confesses with her eyes still closed and his taste on her tongue. "Absolem really would call me a stupid girl for that… and I would most definitely deserve it."
The Hatter's only reply is a kiss for her honesty. She does not need to hear him say the words, they exist here and now, as plain as day; he may be concerned about his hat and the fate of Underland, but he is here - with her - first and foremost. Any words he could say to express what that signifies would be purely superfluous.
"Where's Aunt Alice?"
"Lost again, I bet."
She and the Hatter giggle quietly at their escorts' exasperated tones.
"Come along, Alice," he whispers warmly in her ear. "I do believe we are just late enough for your appointment."
*~*~*~*