Facets of Madness Chapter Six: Lust

[boosh_smeg_who]

Author’s Note:

Here you go, a nice long chapter to make up for the time between updates. Once again sorry it took a while! As I said, I like to make sure it’s all good before I post, and with the terrible flooding here in Australia I’ve been too busy to write much at any one time. The worst of the flooding was just 40 minutes away from where I live! Scary! So I thought I was lucky and that I should go and help, so I’ve been volunteering for the clean ups on weekends.

Anyway, I didn’t write the poem in this, it was written by Lewis Carroll for Through the Looking-Glass. But when I read it I just thought it so sounded like the Hatter talking about Alice to Underland children, and then maybe after she leaves the second time he writes about how wistful he is and how far away she seems. I hope it doesn’t count as plagiarism or anything because it’s not me using the poem for something else, it’s just the Hatter writing to Alice.

Six: Lust

The Hatter felt like he’d been accused of something nasty.
Henry was Alice’s husband, a barrier between him and his love, and therefore he liked to imagine him being a villain who had stolen Alice away.
“I beg your pardon?” he queried, staring at the two women who were, in turn, staring right back. Without removing her eyes from him, the younger lady came forwards and cleared her throat.
“This is…incredible. It’s you - well, almost you.”
“How can I be almost me? I am me,” he replied, “Unless you think I’m this Henry person, in which case I can assure you I’m not almost him at all.”
The older woman, who vaguely reminded him of someone, shook her head and regarded him coldly. “The man’s a fool,” she said, “Talking utter nonsense like that.”
“Contrari-wise, I have the utmost respect for people who talk nonsense,” the Hatter retorted, feeling irritated. “Now are you going to tell me where I am and who you are? And more importantly, who you think I am?”
The cold woman looked like she was fit to say something mean - but the younger one cut her off. “You’re on our estate, belonging to the Kingsleigh House on the outskirts of London. My name is Margaret, and this is my mother Helen. And you,” she moved closer towards him, “You’re the man my sister has been imagining.”

Kingsleigh. “You’re Alice’s family?” The Hatter regarded Helen in a new light. Of course she looked familiar; her stern face looked just like Alice’s when she was cross with him. Margaret didn’t much resemble her sister, except maybe her expression which was close to what the Hatter liked to think of as Alice’s Curious Face.
“Yes, we’re her family,” said Helen, “So would you care to tell me what you’ve been doing to her when you chase her through trees and shout at her?”
“Doing to her?” he repeated, “I haven’t done anything to her, I - hold on. Did you say she was imagining me?” He felt disappointed. Alice had gone through that with him last time, thinking he was just a dream. Did nobody at all in England believe in his world?
Helen’s face saddened, but Margaret looked excited, like a riddle was about to be solved. “When Alice left home to journey to China, she was perfectly fine. She was herself. But something happened.” At this her face turned dark for a moment, though it soon passed over. “But when she returned to us, some months ago…she came back with a husband that nobody could see. She was happy only when speaking with this imaginary character called Henry. She doesn’t even realise that we can’t see him.”

The Hatter was struggling with the information. He took his hat off and spun it in his hands. “But she can’t be gallymoggers; she can’t…” he murmured. “She seems perfectly all right to me. She’s just…Alice.”
“Well you seem to be getting the best of her,” Helen said enviously.
“She’s so removed whenever she’s home,” continued Margaret. “She keeps to herself, either up in her room or outside in the gardens, and doesn’t speak a lot to anyone. It used to be once every Sunday that she’d go out to the woods for a picnic. She’d pack up her basket, chattering away to someone we couldn’t see, and go wander the grounds.”
“But that’s changed these past few weeks,” Helen added, “Now she never stays at home if she can help it. At first we left her to it, because whatever it was that she was doing made her brighter and a little more respondent. We didn’t dare interfere.” She lost her voice very quickly, looking down. Margaret continued the story.
“Now she’s beginning to stress. She has dull conversations with her pretend husband, and tries to look as if she’s happy. And I had to know what had changed, so I followed her, saw…saw that tree. And now I know: you’re Henry. You have the hair and the hat, and your name starts with H. She’s been making up Henry because she misses you.”

Oh, Alice. Poor Alice. The Hatter was too confused to be pleased that she was obviously thinking of him so much.
“How can you know what he looks like if you’ve never seen him?” he asked.
“She’s done sketches of you and her together.” She looked at him closely, in wonder at his appearance. “Well, you’re a little different, admittedly. Henry has normal coloured skin, much calmer red hair and brown eyes. He wears a top hat half the size of yours, and a long brown coat. He actually looks like a mix of our father and you.”
The Hatter just couldn’t fathom what they were saying. How could this be true of Alice? Yes, she had a great imagination, but to this extent? That wasn’t creativity…that was madness.
“But why?” he asked, “Why dream up a man like that?”
“I suppose she just wanted someone who would protect her.”
“From what?”
“It’s not a pleasant story,” she murmured.
Helen watched the man like a hawk, jumping a little as he moved towards Margaret, but he only did it to clasp her hand. “Tell me,” he said softly.

“Don’t,” Helen warned, feeling protective of Alice. “I don’t want her story being thrown about.”
“Mother there’s nobody here to eavesdrop,” Margaret snapped, misinterpreting her warning. “I promise the Kingsleigh name won’t be disgraced.”
“I don’t care about that,” she replied, “I want Alice’s privacy to remain intact. She’s has so much of it taken away already.”  
Softening, Margaret went to her mother and put an arm around her.
“I’ve fought too hard to keep her safe,” said Helen weakly, “I don’t want to betray her now.” She felt a sudden tremble take over and had to sit down. The Hatter knelt before them, waiting for Helen to be seated comfortably with her daughter’s hand in hers.
“I’m not a stranger, Mrs Kingsleigh,” he told her kindly. “I’m Alice’s best friend. Please, tell me so I can return her kindness and help her. I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.” He smiled lightly and added, “I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”
Margaret looked imploringly to her mother, and when she nodded her acquiescence, she took a steadying breath to start. “Alice had made plans with Lord Ascot, an old business partner of my father’s, to become an apprentice with his trading company. They were to sail to China, to be the first to do business with the country to such a vast extent. But before reaching China they docked at a port in Hong Kong…” she swallowed hard. “She just wanted to explore for a while, they told us later. But…Alice never held much stock with rules. So ignoring their warning to take a crew member along for safety, she set off on her own. And she was…she’s always been so pretty…someone cornered her and…” Margaret broke off.

A memory sprang to mind, and the Hatter’s throat turned dry.
“I’d spend months at a time crossing the ocean, the only woman on a ship filled with men…I learnt how to defend myself.”
“Were you ever hurt? Betrayed?”
“Once…but I learned after that.”
What if she had made herself forget? What if she hadn’t just been teased by men on the ship, but viciously assaulted on land, and had blocked it from her mind?
He was aware that Margaret had started talking again, and forced his rage down so he could concentrate.
“…found her in an alley, just left there. Her clothes were ripped and she was bleeding.” She cleared her throat, held onto her mother more tightly. “Of course they’d come so far and it just wasn’t possible to turn back without reaching China. So she stayed in a cabin on board being looked after while they finished their business. They told us she just slept the rest of the way to China, but didn’t stop murmuring in her sleep.”
“What - what was she saying?”
Margaret’s eyes grew misty. “Stop.”
He threw his hat onto the ground in anger.

“Gradually on the voyage home she began to function again, but she still wasn’t right. And then she started boasting about this ‘Henry’ person she’d met, and fallen in love with and…you know the rest.”
It was very hard to speak, but he made an effort. “Surely she has some memory of the assault?”
“We don’t know. She never says anything important. She just becomes uninterested if we try to talk about any of it; thinks that we just don’t like Henry and that for some reason she was dismissed from her apprenticeship.”
“But what I want to know,” Helen said suddenly, finding strength in her voice, “Is who you are? If she’s invented this person to distract her from what’s happened, why you? How are you her best friend when we’ve never met you?”
“Because I’m not from your world,” he told them bluntly. Subtlety was not his strong point.
“I’ve had enough of jokes and madness,” Helen said sharply, “If you’re not going to be serious -”
“I’m telling the truth! I’m never serious, at least not when I can help it, but I do regard myself as a generally honest person.”  
“Then where are you from?” Margaret asked evenly.
“Underland.”
“…Underland?”
“I’m the Mad Hatter, former Hatter to the White Queen of Marmoreal. I live in a world very different from this one, where only the best kind of daydreamers and madmen from yours may find themselves. Alice has been visiting me for some time now.”

He hoped they wouldn’t ask why she was visiting him so often, as he didn’t want to tell them about his madness. But they seemed utterly speechless, so he was spared the questioning. While they tried to gather their thoughts, he realised he’d been holding a fairly normal conversation for a good ten minutes now, with no interruption. He had not broken down in tears or raged out at her tragic story. He had reacted like any other Underland inhabitant might, no more or less.
The others had doubted him, but he honestly believed Alice had cured him.
“I don’t know what’s worse: my daughter being involved in imaginary madness or being involved with…with…” Helen looked at the Hatter exasperatedly.
“With Underland?” he offered.
“With a real madman!” she cried, and both Margaret and the Hatter looked taken aback. “You’re clearly in need of help! Honestly, daydreamers and white queens? This is complete rubbish.”
Oh, no. The Hatter could feel himself growing angrier. Not because of Alice now, but because of her mother. “So if you don’t believe in it, it’s not real?” he asked quietly, tensing up. “You’re saying that everything I stand for, my world, my friends…my whole life, is just some absurd story that I should be ashamed of because you think it’s in my head?”
“Well Alice invented a whole story about her supposed husband -”
“Because she was attacked! What reason would I have for making this up if I were trying to help her?”
“Maybe you’re not really trying to help! Maybe you’re just -”
“What about the tree then, mother?”
Both Helen and the Hatter’s gaze flicked to Margaret.
“Why did Alice and the Hatter climb out of a tree? They didn’t know we were watching, so they wouldn’t have set it up for a joke.”
Helen was dumbstruck.
The Hatter was beginning to think Margaret was definitely more like Alice than her mother.

***

A boat beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July -

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear -

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream -
Lingering in the golden gleam -
Life, what is it but a dream?

--- I penned this the night you left us for the second time. I remembered years ago telling children of the Hightopp clan about the fantastic mischief you managed as a child. You mightn’t remember too well, but we got off on the wrong foot the first time we met. We were such a carefree, rude trio, Mally and Thackery and I…and I’m sorry to say we weren’t as polite as we could have been. You held your head high, however (that was a great sentence then, only halfway through and I’ve already used four H’s), holding your own against our rudeness. Even then I could see the muchness within you as you nit-picked Mallymkun’s story of treacle wells. And then before I could finish the perfect poem of petite Alice, a terrible grief stole the quill from my hand and I couldn’t help myself. I had doubted my own reality, thinking that if you weren’t here then perhaps I was still asleep at that Tea Table, dreaming and dreaming, destined never to wake, for what was life without the young woman I had hoped to see and - hold - hand - and Alice
Sorry, I’m fine. I’m still not that good at keeping my thoughts in order, but I’m fine.

And yet why should they be forced into submission, simply to make sense to another?
This is what you’ve done to me, Alice.
I never spoke with the intention of making sense before. You make me want to choose my words carefully, so that everything I say might make an impression upon you in some way. Have I made a rhyme? I know some are doubtful that I’ve recovered, mostly because I can’t seem to hold my temper (but others get angry and you don’t hear them being called mad! And I honestly never realised how much the March Hare twitches - it’s very distracting and would make the most collected person a little anxious). Ten seconds ago I was certain that I’d never be well enough to leave my sanctuary. Now I can’t stop thinking about that sunshine you showed me, and the grass we ran through, and how much I’ve missed Underland. My people are gone and I’m alone, but not really alone, I have my friends and I have - you. And I’m not sure if I’m cured or I’m just filled with wishful thinking but I don’t think it matters. I love you, Alice, and I want to be your best friend and I want to dare to hold your hand and hold your waist and dance with you and have tea parties every hour and make you all kinds of hats and show you my real house and

Sorry, I’m fine. Really fine. The point is, if I want to do these things with you I don’t see why it should matter if I lose my temper sometimes or cry a little because I miss my family. I love you because for four years I haven’t cared that I was beyond mad, and now that you’re here, I want to be better. I love you without really knowing the ins and outs of it, because I’ve never quite loved someone like this before. You’re stubborn and curious and sometimes too tall and sometimes too short and you’re not afraid to shout at people and then in the next instant comfort them. You do what you think is right, even if that’s leaving - which is a complicated thing indeed, if I am to love you for that. It doesn’t quite benefit me, but you’re just so…so very Alice when you do the right thing that I can’t help but realise what a slurvish, frumious fool I was to go mad just because you didn’t want me.
But then why would you?
I only fought against the Big Head every day of her reign because I knew you were coming. I only believed in you every step of the way. I only came to your aid when it seemed the Jabberwocky was overpowering you. Why should you love me at all when you have a perfectly acceptable husband at home?
But then if he was perfectly acceptable, why would you return to me time after time, even when I had already given up on myself, even when I tried to hurt you. And if you love this Henry so much why did you not talk about him before, or -

I’m sorry about that last paragraph. I let my bitterness get the better of me and had to walk away from the parchment. You’ll notice I’ve still included it though, simply because those last words are true of my feelings, if not so harsh and strong as they are written there. I’m not sure what else to say…I’m trying not to sound as if I’m forcing you to read this and choose…but it’s difficult. Because I do want you to stay with me. Couldn’t you imagine it? Alice and the Hatter, free at large with all of Underland to play with! We could spend hours trying to reason why a raven is like a writing desk. We may even come up with the answer (though I still don’t think there is one). I just hope you’ll read this and come away with something, even if you won’t come away with me.
Love,
The Mad Hatter.

Alice poured over the Hatter’s letter a thousand times until she knew it off by heart. Then she took out her wedding ring from its hiding place and thought of Henry. He was her husband; she had loved him for a good long time now. She had fallen for him because he had seemed so familiar already, so trustworthy, so unlike the other men. But that was also how she felt about the Hatter.
She remembered the first time she’d met Henry. He had just appeared on the ship, like a godsend, a friend when she had none:

She stared at the ocean. She stared at it for so long that she thought if she closed her eyes, all she’d ever see again was blue. Thoughts seemed to be swirling around her head but they didn’t make much sense so she tried to ignore them. A pain was gnawing at her navel. She idly scratched the front of her dress and rested her gaze on the ocean with more resolution.
“You know if the wind changes your face will be stuck that way. You’ll be looking mildly intrigued for the rest of your life.”
“I’d better change it then; I don’t want people thinking I’m interested in their politics and idle chatter.” She tore her eyes from the water and looked at the man before her. His smile was surely one she’d seen before.
“Have we met?” she asked.
“We have, just now. I’m Henry.”
“Alice Kingsleigh.” They shook hands. She glanced at some of the crew on deck; none had paid him any attention. “How did you get on board?”
“I thought you could use some company.”
“That’s not an answer at all.”
“It would be if you were asking why I’d come over.”
“But I’m not asking that. I’m asking how you got on board if you’re not a member of the crew.”
“I just became a member. Just now.”

This seemed good enough for her.
“To be honest I’m more of an adventurer than a sailor,” he said, casting a wary eye at the water. “I like new places better than the travelling. You’re very brave for coming out here, so far from home.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I understand. We’re the same, you and me. You want adventure and different worlds…but it’s not always safe.”
She didn’t say anything to that. A pang jolted through her again and she winced.
“Are you all right?” he asked. 
“No,” she told him without meaning to. She never spoke of her pain if she could help it, so why should he be different now? “I’ve been ill. I feel sore.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re a survivor, and a strong one at that.”
They’d only just met; he couldn’t have known that, but she took it for granted because she liked talking to him.  
“It feels like I haven’t spoken to anybody in months.”
“I couldn’t tell. You’re pretty good at it.”
She laughed and her face lit up, all thoughts of pain gone.
“There,” said Henry, watching her. “If the wind could change right now, you’d be that beautiful forever.”

Infuriated with herself, Alice groaned and rubbed her eyes, feeling the pangs of a headache. Who did she want? Who did she need? Where did her heart lie?

In her aggravation she grabbed a quill, dipped it into ink and inscribed a fat, thick H onto her palm. She re-dipped the ink and went over the lines that made up the letter, so harshly and so many times that she began to scratch the letter into her very skin. She didn’t feel the sting of it, nor did she pay any attention to the tiny specks of blood that gathered in her palm. She was breathing hard, staring at the letter on her hand, and telling herself to look at this in times of doubt and remember which man had taken her heart. It was suddenly much later when she looked up at the clock, and realised with a start that she must have fallen asleep. Calculating the hours, she understood why. It would have been about two days since she’d last had any rest. Her stomach was beginning to grumble as well, and just when she was thinking about sneaking into the kitchens her bedroom door burst open.
Henry was standing in the threshold, eyes ablaze, his hair a mess as he ran his fingers through it.
“Quickly Alice my love!” he shouted enthusiastically, “They’re coming! We must hide!”
Alice subtly slipped the Hatter’s scroll under a book, but gave no indication that she found his entrance frightening. “Not now, Henry.” 
“But Alice!” he cried, dashing over to her and gripping her shoulders with dramatic desperation. “The fiends are coming to tear us apart! Haven’t I told you before? Constant vigilance! That’s how we survive!” When she didn’t respond, he dropped the act and eyed her worriedly. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Alice replied, staring at the door beyond him. He had thrown it open just seconds ago, so why was it closed? “I’m just tired.”
Henry took her hand as she stood, and gathered her close in his arms. “Too tired to play games? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Well that’s how I feel, so it must be me,” she replied tersely.
He gave her hand a squeeze, a wickedness lighting his eyes again. “Unless you’re an impostor.” The mischievous air was returning again, and this time she just had to laugh.
“I might be,” she conceded, “But if I was I’d never say, would I?”
“Unless you’re a really bad impostor,” Henry replied, grinning. “You’re a new recruit of the enemies’ and you always give yourself away.”
“Are you calling me foolish?”
“Alice Kingsleigh? Foolish? Never!”
“The very idea!”
He hushed her suddenly. They could hear soft footfalls coming to her room.

“They’re here,” he hissed, “Come, we must hide.”
Ignoring her half-hearted protests he dragged her into the closet, pulling the doors shut quickly. Pressed up against him in the dark, Alice had a sudden flashback of being in the closet with the Hatter, almost in this position. Her good spirits faded quickly.
“Are you going to hit your head too?” she asked bitterly under her breath. He hushed her again, flashing a wicked grin. She heard the bedroom door open and an irritated sigh fill the room.
“Alice, I can hear you in there,” the voice of her sister called. “Stop this silly game and come out, I have to speak to you about Henry.”
“Henry,” Alice grumbled, “Have you been teasing Margaret again?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he whispered. “She adores me.”
“She ignores you. I told you to stay clear of my sister, she’s not very pleased with you yet and she hasn’t been in the best mood.”
“She’s never in the best mood. She’s always in the worst mood.”
“She’s exhausted! The baby is keeping her up and she’s always trailing after me for god knows what reason -”

“Alice!” 
Rolling her eyes, Alice squeezed past Henry and clambered out of the closet.
“Yes, Margaret?” she enquired coldly. Henry came out and stood right beside her, but her sister looked only at Alice.
“We need to discuss your husband.”
“It’s a little rude to talk about someone when they’re standing in the same room,” Alice replied. She took Henry’s hand.
Margaret looked like she was keeping her face carefully blank.
“Can you please ask him to leave him, then?” she asked evenly.
“Ask him yoursel -” but Alice looked, and Henry had already disappeared. She suddenly felt very irritated and hungry. “I haven’t had dinner yet,” she said.
“That can wait,” Margaret said, “Please ask Henry to leave the room.”
“He’s gone! Margaret, whatever you have to say I’m not interested. Whether you like him or not Henry’s my husband and until his estate is ready for us to live in he’s going to continue to come here.”
“Alice will you just listen for a moment! I know about the Hatter.”
But Alice wasn’t paying her any attention. She was trying to remember when she’d felt Henry’s hand leave hers as he left the room. But she could only recall that one moment he’d been there and the next he wasn’t. She felt a sharp pain, but this time it wasn’t from hunger.
“I’m going to the kitchens,” she told her sister weakly. “I haven’t had dinner yet.”
And Margaret watched sadly as her little sister drifted absently out of the room.

***

This time, she found him in the bedroom.
She’d kept herself away from Underland for a full two days while she tried to sort out her feelings, but it had been time wasted. She was more frustrated than ever, with the Hatter, with Henry…and with herself. So Alice had given up hiding from him, thinking it was probably a rude thing to do to someone who had poured their heart out to her. But when he hadn’t answered the door, she’d come in through the window and began her search. He was tangled in his bed sheets, looking like he was having a terrible time. She’d never seen the Hatter asleep before, but she’d always imagined him to be a deep sleeper who maybe grinned and occasionally laughed while he dreamt. But there was no joy on his face. He looked pained, irritated even, as he twisted around under the sheets. His eyelids fluttered constantly and he moaned every so often. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. He wasn’t wearing a shirt - she felt a blush heat her cheeks as a bare white arm snaked out from under the blanket. Afraid to venture closer, Alice watched him from the doorway with curiosity. She thought of how odd it was to see a man sleep, to be so vulnerable.
“But you have seen it before,” she told herself in an almost chastising voice. “Henry sleeps next to you, doesn’t he?” What a strange thing to think then, that the Hatter was the first man she’d ever watched.
“Alice…”
She started, but her voice hadn’t woken him. He was muttering her name while he twitched fitfully, something reminiscent of a smile on his lips now. It suddenly seemed wrong to be watching him like this.

Feeling maybe now was the time to wake him Alice tiptoed to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge next to him. He shifted closer to her warmth and his movements settled down. She studied his face intently, laying a hand on the sheets beside his arm and leaning over him. He moaned quietly again, making Alice slightly uncomfortable. But she was determined not to leave Underland again until she’d spoken with him, even if she had to wake him up so early in the morning.
“Hatter,” she whispered, feeling nervous. His lips twitched. “Hatter, wake up -”
She gasped loudly as his eyes flew open and he grabbed her arm.
He held on firmly, his fingers very warm on her skin. A strange image flashed through her mind - grimy hands with a rough grip, strong, forceful hands - ­and she lost her balance and fell a little closer to his face. Neither of them said anything for a long measure of time, their eyes fixed each other. Almost imperceptibly the Hatter’s gaze flicked to her mouth, and Alice felt her insides squirming, and thought that this would be a scandalous position to be in if found by someone else -
“What are you doin’ here, lass?” he croaked in that Scottish voice, and she felt a shudder down her spine but couldn’t answer. Suddenly his orange eyes melted to green and he looked down at his grip on her arm as if unaware he’d been holding it.
“Sorry Alice,” he mumbled softly, relinquishing his grip, and she hastily stood up.

“You looked like you were having a nightmare…moaning and twisting around…” she replied, her voice shaky. “I wanted to wake you up…to save you from it.”
The Hatter surveyed her standing there, in his bedroom, alone with him, watching him sleep…and remembered he hadn’t been moaning because of a nightmare.
He coughed forcibly and tried to lighten his smile and the heavy atmosphere.
“If you’d let me change clothes I’d be happy to spend more time with you, Alice. Outside the uh…bedroom.”
She looked like she’d been roused from some deep musings. “Oh! Yes, sorry! I’ll just - wait outside…” she backed out of the room and sat down to wait on the grass.
When she was gone, the Hatter let out a shaky breath. Sneaking into his room, sitting by him on the bed, hovering over him so closely…if she was trying to distance herself from him because of Henry she was going about it in entirely the wrong way. Was that how they hid their feelings up in England?
“Strange girl,” he muttered, climbing out of bed and changing into his usual clothes with difficulty - he seemed to have gotten a case of wobbly legs. “Then again, that’s why I love her - wait, Henry!” The events of yesterday came rushing back now that he was awake. Alice’s assault, her madness, her mother and sister…She must have made herself forget if she was brave enough to enter a man’s bedroom, the Hatter thought to himself.

After convincing Alice’s family that he genuinely was from Underland and that he and Alice were best friends - he’d neglected to mention his love for her - they had made a plan. Margaret would tell Alice she knew about the Hatter and Underland, all of it, in the hopes that Alice would open up and talk to her sister about something real. Once they established these conversations they hoped it would make Alice forget about Henry, because she wouldn’t feel so isolated and alone. She might even talk about what happened on her voyage, and they could work out how to help her from there. In the meantime, the Hatter’s job was to do nothing.
With a frown, he admitted it wasn’t his favourite part of the plan.
Helen had told him sternly he was not to tell Alice he knew Henry was a lie. It would only upset her, she’d said, to find out the only person she really trusted was now sided with her mother and older sister. No, the Hatter’s job was to continue to spend time with Alice, keep her as happy as possible, and wait for Alice to open up to her family.
Which probably meant he shouldn’t keep vying for her heart’s attention.
Sighing, the Hatter resigned himself to a long day of hiding his feelings - but it was going to be difficult, because from the moment Alice had touched him today he had felt on edge.

She was waiting outside in the sun, her expression heavy. Now that he knew her terrible story, he couldn’t help thinking how vulnerable she looked.  
“Shall we go for a walk?” he asked, holding out his hand.
This was a mistake. The moment she took it he felt hot under the collar. As they walked arm and arm through the woods he waited for a good moment to casually slide free of her grip. The longer they touched, the more he felt compelled to talk of forbidden subjects: his love for her, Henry, her family…and the silence they walked in was not helping matters. His thoughts were buzzing around like Bread and Butter Flies.
“Hatter, I wanted to talk about what happened yesterday,” she said carefully. “And about the letter you gave me.”
The Hatter didn’t think it possible to feel this anxious without suffering a heart attack. “Oh, that?” he replied meekly.
“It was sweet, very sweet…”
“And?”
“And I don’t know what to say to you,” she sighed, examining her left palm with a meaningful expression. “I want to talk to you about it but I just don’t know how I feel.”
That was a lie. They both knew how she felt.

“Would you rather we changed the subject?”
She smiled gratefully. “Yes. Please. For now, at least.”
He racked his brains for something interesting to discuss that was safe, but before he could stop himself he blurted:
“What does your family think of Henry? Do they approve of your rushed marriage to a man they hadn’t even met?”
Alice felt familiar pangs in her stomach. She dropped his arm - he felt his body heat lower considerably - and began toying with her finger nails as she walked. 
“They…it’s been difficult,” she admitted. “They very rarely acknowledge him when he visits.”
“Visits? You mean you don’t live together?”
“Well no…he’s been overseas for so long that his father’s estate isn’t suitable for use. See, he decided to travel when his father died, and he’s inherited the property but hasn’t returned to it. Once it’s organised we’ll be living together.”
“Then where does he stay when he’s not with you?”
She flinched, as if the questions were painful to answer, each word a struggle. “He’s my husband,” she answered vaguely, “He visits often enough. What does it matter where he stays?”
“Is he a better man than me?”

“Hatter,” she growled warningly, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this.” 
Helen was going to murder him, but he couldn’t help himself. Being alone with her, in these secreted woods…it was doing things to do him. He felt possessed. “Alice,” asked exasperatedly, “Can you even remember how you met him?”
“Of course I remember meeting my husband!” Alice answered indignantly. “I was having a bad day. The crew were avoiding me and I’d spent a lot of time in my cabin. I was ill and they went out to work while I stayed on the ship. And he was just…there.”
“And didn’t the others think it was odd, that this man just appeared on their ship?”
“They didn’t pay him any attention. He said he’d just joined the crew. He said he understood me, and said I was very brave for going out there. And I told him I’d been ill, and he said…he said I would be okay. That I was strong enough to survive.” She frowned. “It sounds like an odd thing to say to a stranger but it didn’t occur to me then, because I just wanted someone to be there for me. And I felt like I just knew him, right from the beginning.”
The Hatter looked on the verge of commenting, but she was no longer listening. The conversation was draining; she kept feeling pangs of unrest. Looking around, she realised they had walked so far she didn’t even know where they were. Oh, if she got lost and couldn’t make it home in time for dinner her mother would have a fit. She was always worried about her being home after dark.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t lost,” said the Hatter, watching her as she craned her neck around to check their path. “I know Underland like a Zipfarg knows his Shrinefack.”
A smile tugged at her lips as she gazed at him. “And is that…well?”
He grinned. “It means I know it well, yes.”
Grateful for the end of their earlier conversation, Alice leant into the Hatter’s shoulder and sighed. “I remember you once said you were friends with Time, is that true?”
He nodded.
“Do you think you could have a talk with him?” she enquired with a smile, “He seems to take great pleasure in making sure I’m late to everything.”
The Hatter nodded very seriously. “I’ll see what I can do. I did kill him, after all. He was terribly upset about that.”
“Does Time generally hold grudges?”
“Only against those who don’t respect him. Those who think they can escape him, but they don’t realise how patient he is. He’ll catch up with you in the end.”
They walked on in silence, mutually deciding upon the path they walked.

“Would you like to hear a riddle?” asked the Hatter quietly.
“Yes please,” Alice answered.
He drew himself up. When he usually recited riddles his voice grew heavy and Scottish, but this time it was just as gentle as ever. “This thing all things devours - birds, tress, beasts, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down.” 
Maybe she'd been spending too much time with him, but she answered straight away this time.
"It's Time, isn't it?"
"That was a little obvious wasn't it?
"You made it easy for me. Why would you do that?
Before he could answer she flicked her gaze around them. The land was no longer full of thin trees and oversized mushrooms. Instead there were trunks so thick they had to stand close together to walk between them, and bushes with a hazy outline so she couldn't quite tell what shapes they were. The air seemed strange, hard to breathe in. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
"I think we might have taken a wrong turn," Alice said thoughtfully.
"But we don't have a pre-determined route, so we can't have made a wrong turn," the Hatter pointed out, examining their surroundings. "Though I'm almost a little certain we should have avoided these woods."
“Oh?” she drew closer to him. “Why’s that?”

“The reason escapes me, but…” they both stopped in their tracks. “Actually, the name of it escapes me too.”
“How can you forget if…” Alice trailed off. A strange feeling was washing over her, a sort of warmth.
She found she was suddenly very calm, at peace. The blurred shapes of the bush were fascinating; she squinted as she tried to make out what they were. The closer she got, the blurrier they became.
“What are you doing?” asked a man’s voice behind her.
“I’m looking at the…these…” she couldn’t find the words for it. She turned around to face the owner of the voice, and felt herself blush. He was handsome, in an unusual sort of way. His eyes were deep amber and they seemed to penetrate her soul. “Who are you?”
“Don’t be silly,” he replied, “We were just walking together. I’m…I’m…”
He looked very puzzled. She couldn’t help laughing at him.
“Well what’s your name then?” He sounded annoyed but she didn’t miss the way his lips parted slightly and his eyes flicked over her.
“I’m…not sure,” she replied dazedly. “Should we be worried that we don’t know who we are?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed, and stepped towards her. “Whoever you are, you’re very pretty.”
She blushed again, stepping towards him. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re quite…quite…” she breathed out heavily. He stood so close that his shadow fell upon her face.

With one hand on her arm, he raised his other to eye level and examined it with interest. It was a pale hand, calloused in some places and scarred with pin pricks in others. There was dirt under the fingernails, and a thimble on the thumb.
“What do you suppose you’ve done to have hands like that?” she asked him, watching the way he flexed his fingers nimbly and feeling a hitch in her throat.
“I’ve no idea,” he replied, dropping the hand and picking up hers instead. “That seems to be about all we can say, isn’t it?” They both watched as he threaded his fingers through hers, examining them closely. She didn’t have overly soft hands, like another woman might have had. They looked like hands that someone had tried to tame: manicured nails that were cracked and dirty in places, smooth hands with grass stains in places. “You seem to be some kind of larrikin,” he said, and his voice had become thick with an accent she thought she should probably recognise. Then he turned her hand over, revealing a thick letter ‘H’ on her palm, marred by fresh scratches and dried spots of blood.
Frightened by the sight, she snatched her hand back. “Does it matter who we are?” she asked defensively, as he started to feel his way along her collar bone and gently caress her swan-like neck. He stopped with his hand tilting her chin up to him.
“I don’t think so,” he whispered, and they descended upon each other.

Lips on lips, eyes shut tight, noses brushing against each other - they moved with perfect synchronicity, as though spontaneous bouts of kissing were a regular occurrence between them. He dipped his head closer to hers, adjusting his angle, and bid with his tongue that she open her mouth to him. She did, avidly, allowing him to devour her from the inside out. They were flushed from head to toe, burning alive; her skin seared as he clamped his hands on her wrists and dragged her closer still. It made perfect sense, that these two should find each other in the woods. At least that’s what ran through his head as he kissed her. They knew nothing but their attraction to one another and why couldn’t that be enough? He felt her lips start to pull away and groaned, but she looked far from finished with him. Licking her lips, she backed away and let out a joyous laugh. Then, flashing him a sultry look over her shoulder, she began to run. Laughing too, feeling dizzy, he gave chase. It was a dance between them: they wove between the thick trees with an almost feverish speed, meeting up and kissing before running again. There was no sound in the woods but the pounding of their feet on the forest floor, their mad laughter, the smacking of their lips as they rounded on each other. When their chests were both heaving and their heads too dizzy to walk, he caught her by the waist and pushed her against the nearest tree. Panting, she reached up and knocked the hat off his head, winding her fingers into his hair and tugging his mouth down for another kiss.

Apparently he was good at multi-tasking, whoever he was, because while they kissed he began to pull at the ties on the back of her rumpled dress. Feeling the fabric loosening, she thought that fair was only fair - she slipped her hands beneath his coat and began tearing at the buttons of his vest.
“You’re beautiful,” he hissed, still working at her dress. “Bold, brave, brilliant -”
“Things beginning with B, I know,” she replied, without having the faintest clue what they were talking about. Feeling her footing slip on the huge roots of the tree, she dug her fingers into his arms for better purchase and threw her head back as his tongue moved over her neck. They roved up her jaw line until returning to her lips once more and she gasped at the strength of the kiss, at the meaning there must have been behind it. She gasped again when suddenly her foot slipped completely and they tumbled down beside the tree, into open air. He tried to break her fall but it didn’t quite work. He fell half on top of her, panting heavily, and she laid spread on the grass with her hands still clinging to him and -
Alice blinked.
She gazed up at the Hatter, lying over her. Their breathing was erratic, their skin flushed pink, and they were no longer in the strange woods. She licked her lips, realised she could still taste him. Panicking, she let go.
“Alice, I’m sorry -”
She waved her hand at him and ignored his attempts to help her up.

Legs feeling far too weak to support her Alice put a few good feet between herself and the Hatter while she waited for her heart to stop racing. He looked shame faced. Casting an eye around for his hat, he kept his eyes averted as she tied up the back of her dress with trembling hands.
“Alice,” he said again, quietly, “I’m -”
“What was that?” she interrupted, “What did that place do to us?”
Understanding had dawned on him, and the realisation both made him feel guilty and incredibly happy. “It doesn’t have a name, because nobody who’s entered can remember it,” he explained slowly. “It’s the place where creatures lose their identities.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well we couldn’t remember who we were, could we? In there we had no names, no memory or pretence. There’s nothing but the emotions you’re feeling at the time…and acceptance. Because you don’t know anything else.”
He waited for this to sink in.
“So we just…because we felt…”
He nodded. “I am sorry it happened this way, you know.” He was looking at her like he was waiting to be admonished.
“No, of course, I know you are,” she waved his apology away, deep in thought. Her cheeks had gone bright red. “Hatter, I - I kissed you…”
“I know,” he said in a small voice. “Bit hard to forget something like that.”
“Oh, I really have to go,” she said emphatically, “I’ll be back - Hatter, I’m sorry -”

And this time, because he knew she would definitely return, he let her go without protest.
Alice ran away from the Hatter yet again - why was she always doing that - ran until the land started to look familiar again, finding her own way back to England.
She was breathing harder than ever when she finally arrived at the trapdoor that would lead her away. Resting for a moment, Alice clutched at the stitch in her side. It was still only early, not even lunch time yet. The forest was fairly quiet around her.
“Stupid, stupid girl,” she cursed herself. “What are you doing?” Even as she said it she found her fingers toying with her bottom lip, which was still tingling from the Hatter’s kiss. There wasn’t much of it she could remember - it was all just one big blur - but the best she had was the taste of him: something sweet, tea perhaps, which would be typical of him…but something else too. It was a sharp taste that lingered on her tongue, a flavour akin to spices or coffee…it awoke something inside her. 
“What an infinitely puzzling development,” came a sly voice from the air.
Alice jumped a foot and scowled. “Chessur!” she hissed as the cat appeared above her. “Why do you always seem to appear at the most opportune moment?”
“Why indeed?” answered the cat. “But here’s a more interesting question: Are you aware of the mess you are about to enter into?”
He had been watching. Of course he’d been watching. “How long have you been following me?” she demanded.

Chessur tutted. “You make it sound so sordid when you say it like that. I’ve just been…keeping an eye on you.”
“For how long?”
“Since you arrived this morning. In my defence, the Haverlock Day is drawing ever closer and I’m the only one inconspicuous enough to check that things are moving along without interrupting you.” He looked smug. “I should say it’s gone well so far.” Alice narrowed her eyes at him. “You knew this would happen,” she said accusingly, “That’s why you didn’t want me to know about the Hatter’s feelings early on, and why you didn’t want me to tell him about Henry. You wanted all the secrets to flourish.”
The cat was now reclining above her head, lazily examining his claws. “I only did what I had to in order to ensure the Hatter would be cured.”
“So you thought that helping him fall in love with a married woman would be helpful?” 
Chessur tutted again. “You’re usually much cleverer than this, Alice. No dear, I thought that helping him fall in love with you would be helpful.”
“But I am a married woman!”
“Yes but that doesn’t hold so much as a candle to the fact that you love the Hatter.”
“But -”
“There’s no point denying it, Alice.” Chessur’s voice had changed. He’d stopped hovering so airily and was now fixing her with a stern gaze. “I’ve known of your impending dilemma for some time.”

“And what would you know of my dilemma?” she asked defiantly, folding her arms.
“More than you, I dare say.”
“Oh? Go on then…enlighten me,” she gestured at him brusquely.
“It’s easy to see from the outside looking in,” said Chessur mystically. “You should have seen yourself with Tarrant, on the day you defeated the Jabberwocky. But how could you see yourself, poor child, when it was happening to you?”
“You’re not making sense, Chessur,” Alice snapped.
“I’m a grinning, blue cat that vanishes,” he replied in an uncharacteristically testy voice. “When would I ever make sense? Now, listen. There were two kinds of madness to see that day. Most obviously, with poor old Tarrant. But the other kind I saw in you. In your eyes, that pain one would associate with leaving. There was too much pain in those eyes of yours for you to ignore it. I knew you’d return, long before the others did. Before the Oraculum showed us.” 
“What are you saying? That I was in love with the Hatter even then?”
“No, I’m saying you soon would be. If you had stayed, you would at least have had a chance with him. But you left at that crucial moment, and so you spent the next few years wondering what might have happened.”
Alice narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “So you’re saying I fell in love with him while I was away from him…because I had secretly wanted to stay just to know if I could love him…” this was giving her a headache. She squeezed her temples with her fingers. The Cheshire cat regained some of his old merriment and chuckled at her.
“You know there’s a much clearer way of saying it than that,” he said. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“True, but time heals all wounds. So which is it? Does time apart make us want to be together or does it make us forget each other?”
Chessur eyed her carefully, and to her annoyance he began to fade slowly out of existence.
“Wait!” she shouted, “Answer me Chessur! Which is it?”
His lantern eyes and wide mouth were all that were left as he spoke:
“I’ve never thought of love as a wound before, Alice.”