wanderamaranth | Best Intentions, Chapter Two

Helen didn’t know where to look first. Even with only his profile visible to her, the creature was a study of contradictions and confusion. A patched and singed top hat wound about with a salmon colored ribbon finally succeeded in drawing her eye first, but soon she was distracted by the tall striped socks that were proudly displayed under pants that were unfashionably short. The man-shaped creature’s waistcoat was a very fine embroidered piece, completely at odds with the rest of his disheveled appearance. When she stepped forward with one shaky, uncertain step, she noted the suit jacket upon his shoulders was made of a high quality silk, instead of the inferior fabric she'd expected.

A full view of his face was not necessary for Helen to know what he was--she knew what this creature’s presence in her home meant, as surely as she had known what the orange blossoms crowning Alice’s head had meant fourteen years ago.

“You’ll not have my daughter,” she said to its back, the control and clarity of her voice surprising her.

His head whipped in her direction, then, and any niggle of doubt (that part of her brain that had become thoroughly English during her years of living in London) Helen may have had about what this man--no, man was the wrong word, for this looked like no man she’d ever seen--this Under monster’s purpose for being in her home was completely eliminated.

Tri-colored eyes widened upon seeing her, burning vibrantly against his ghostly pallor. Damaged hands removed the top hat. A smile she was sure was meant to be reassuring split his dark lips.

He was gat-toothed¹, and his hair was of a dissembling color². Helen fought the urge to cross herself and succeeded in suppressing the ingrained action--barely. It was a sign of how shaken she was; it had been years since she’d relied on such Papish³ nonsense when faced with a Situation. (She should not do such a thing, even if the riot of hair that had been suppressed under that hat was the color of hell itself when set free.)

“You must be Mrs. Kingsleigh!” He made to step towards her, the smile even wider upon his face, and Helen violently backed away from him. His entire person drooped at her reaction; even the the silk of the jacket she reluctantly admired darkened in hue. “Yes, you must be indeed.” Heaving a sigh, his be-thimbled fingers worried the rim of the hat in his hands.

“I’m afraid, madam, that there is nothing to be done. Alice has eaten of our food, and she is finally of age.” The word ‘finally’ was spoken with a sort of longing desperation that was hard to mistake. Helen stared at the thimbles that capped his fingers, then took a long, hard look at the expression on his face.

This was the one, then. He’d been the one to place that thimble upon such a specific finger on her daughter--her little girl!--all those years ago. The 10/6 card stuck in the brim of his hat recalled the snatches of verse Helen had burnt in the fire, with it’s overly masculine script. Had it been his hand to pen those rhymes? Helen had never had the Sight, but she could right then See clearly this beast sitting at a low writing desk, lips pursed in concentration and muttering to himself as he attempted to craft little bits of nonsense to amuse her little girl.

This was the one that had been waiting for her daughter to grow; had been waiting for her to mature from the first time she’d been lured to that land. She shuddered at the idea of Alice at six years old in the company of this creature; of him forming salacious plans for her and thinking such mature thoughts based upon her delicate girl-child beauty.

Finally of age. Yes, Alice's twenty-first birthday had been a fortnight prior. Yet she'd only returned to port a week ago, and Helen had hoped...had thought that perhaps, if she were not here for the actual day...but it was no use. She looked up at the creature and wanted nothing more than to rip him apart, right then and there. She must proceed with caution, however—who knew what powers might be under this being's control?

Mostly green eyes looked down at his feet, almost guiltily, as if he could hear Helen’s outraged thoughts. From habit, Helen’s gaze followed his own, and they both stared at his bright red shoelaces until she forced herself to look upon his face once again. The creature rushed to fill the charged silence.

“I know not when it occurred, save it was never with me. Clean cup, clean cup, move down! Never let her eat a crumb, nor have a drop.” The corners of his nervous smiled wobbled. “He became quite cross with me, but it was for his own good! I would never allow anything to harm the Alice, and--”

“Hatter?”

Her daughter’s call echoed down from the top of the stairwell. Disbelief and hope colored that one word. Helen watched the man-that-was-not-a-man, saw the absolute radiance of emotion pouring out of him at the sound of Alice’s voice. His clothing became brighter, his eyes an almost solid green (with none of that off-putting yellow or orange). Even his bowtie perked to attention. A new, genuine smile transformed his face, making him appear decades younger despite the gap showing clearly in his stained teeth. Helen shuddered, as every fear she’d ever held in regards to her youngest daughter came to life at once. Why couldn’t Alice have simply accepted Hamish when he proposed? If she had, this wouldn’t be happening! She’d be married, maybe with a little one on the way. She’d be safe from…

“Alice!” the ginger creature trumpeted, rushing halfway up the staircase. Only halfway, because Alice had stumbled down the other half, and they met each other in the middle. The hat he’d been fussing with was abandoned on the bottom landing, where it rocked back and forth from where it had tumbled out of his beastly hands in the rush to reach her daughter.

“You remember!”

Her daughter’s reply nearly broke her heart.

“Of course I remember! How could I forget?” Then the child smiled, a wide, gloriously pleased smile, one that she hadn't seen since Alice boarded the Wonder. Helen could feel panic steal her breath. She knew why this particular creature had been permitted to be the one to come and collect her, now. It was not just his claim on her, oh no.

No! Helen wanted to scream, the passionate part of her nature wanting nothing more than to burst forth and attempt to rend this monster limb from limb. Years of English logic forced her silence instead, and she clenched her fists so tightly she would not have been the least surprised if the bones of her knuckles forced their way through her skin.

“I’ve come to take you home, Alice!” This was said with such joy, such sincerity, that even Alice was a bit startled. Helen could tell from the way the skin about her eyes tightened, even if Alice still smiled at the absurdity standing before her.

“Hatter, I am home.”

Hatter’s (for Helen realized that must be the creature’s name, as Alice had called him that twice now) entire demeanor darkened. The tie that had been crisp and bright under his chin drooped; the jacket that had been a vibrant blue was suddenly a murky gray.

“I’m afraid you must come with me, Alice. You’re of an age now--”⁴ and Helen was sure she didn’t imagine the look of avarice that overcame his features at that statement, “and you’ve eaten of the food, or drank of the wine. If you don't return--”

“No!” Alice’s denial was a sharp interruption, and the Hatter flinched. “Hatter, you must know…” she took his battered hands in her own. “I tried to eat something other than upelkuchen or pishalver, but Queen Mirana always insisted that I didn’t need to eat while I was there. She said I would never become truly hungry! And…” Alice stopped speaking of a moment, a memory flickering behind her eyes. “The soup.”

Taking her gently by the arm (and Alice did not protest this forward action the way she should have! Why Helen was fretting about that when such a situation was upon them, she wasn’t certain, but she felt it was important) the Hatter led her down the rest of the staircase. He walked her right up to Helen, and they three stood in a tight little circle for several moments, silent.

The footman came to see what was happening, his curiosity and general nosiness momentarily overcoming his common sense. Helen hastily waved him away. He left, reluctantly, no doubt wanting to pick up gossip to spread about to the other households.

“I tried a finger of the March Hare’s soup, right after I escaped from Stayne and Salazem Grum. I told him that it needed salt.” Alice said faintly, staring into the Hatter’s eyes. A silent conversation that Helen could not follow passed between them.

“My fault, for not being there. I could have prevented it, I…” Words seemed to fail him. Finally he took a deep breath and started again.

“You ate of Underland, my dearest. So surely you must agree that the most reasonable thing to do is come home. You’ll stay with me at Windmill House, of course--I’ve made ever so many repairs, you would hardly recognize it now!--and you will never want for anything.”

Alice’s mouth opened and closed, incredulity splashed across her features at the earnestly spoken words.

“Yes, Alice, it’s true!” the beast pressed, kissing the knuckles on the hand he still held. “You’re to live in Underland now. Don’t you see, you’ll be with me!”

Apparently he had misunderstood that particular gob smacked expression of Alice’s, but Helen had not. It was the same one she wore when Hamish had proposed to her, so Helen knew it very well.

Words were failing Alice, but they did not fail Helen, even if they were a bit shaky when they flew out of her mouth. “I do not see. You’re taking my daughter for one innocent taste of soup? No! I will not allow it!”

It was always difficult for the hero of an Auld Tale to bargain with the fae; difficult, and often with a high cost to the petitioner, but not impossible. For her daughter, Helen was willing to face any difficulty.

“One bite, one finger, and forever?” she continued on. “How was she to know?”

Hatter blinked heavily at Helen, and then turned his attention back to her daughter. “Alice?” he said, a question creeping into his voice when he saw she was still immobile--she was neither screaming in horror nor yet jumping with joy. She was simply…existing, staring between her mother and Hatter, an expression of utmost distress on her face.

“You half-faced grout!⁵ You think you can come into my home and away with my daughter, just like that?” Helen snapped her fingers under the creature’s nose, drawing his attention back to her. His eyes flashed with a glimpse of their inner fire at the action.

“I should think I am more of a halfpenny⁶ than a grout, in this case, madam.” he said coolly, his grip on Alice’s hand tightening almost imperceptibly. “If it were in my power, I would not have this be so. I want her to chose to return to…I was told before coming, though, that the Alice's health was at stake, nay, possibly her very life, so the Alice I have come to fetch. I'd the thought of allowing her to decide if she wished to return...”

“Oh! You are kindness itself!” Helen broke in sarcastically. The creature continued as if she hadn't spoken.

“But now that I am here, and I see in person...yes, perhaps it would be better if...”

“I will not have my daughter become Lotoph’agi.”⁷ the woman said, imperiously.

“Even if that is what would make her happiest? If it would ensure her good health?” the ginger asked, eyes hard. He truly was of the devil’s ilk--he knew precisely where and how to push her.

“I am not convinced that would secure her joy. Look at the girl! Does she appear as one well-pleased with the proposal you have laid at her feet?” Helen knew what the words he’d spoken to Alice--of her staying in his home with him--meant, even if they had not occurred to the girl herself. Her ‘Hatter’ was intending on wedding and bedding her, whether she was willing or not.

When insecurity and a dash of fretfulness danced across his face, Helen pressed her advantage. “It might be reasonable to say that if my girl had eaten a full meal that your land could mark her in such a manner.” (She thought this not reasonable in the slightest, but simply said so to turn the conversation to her favor.) “But she had only a drop of soup--a mere dribble! The magic that would hie her back down the rabbit hole to your realm should not be so strong as to force her to stay there for all time.”

Alice found her voice. “Mother, what are you speaking of. The rabbit-hole?” She pulled away from both of them, lips quivering. “You know of rabbit holes? You’ve known and allowed me to think I’m mad?”

As much as her heart was breaking for her child, as much as she wished nothing more than to scoop her into her arms and reassure her that everything she’d done was for Alice’s own benefit, she knew she would not be able to do so until the danger was over, and it was not over yet.

Not hardly.

Hatter’s eyes seemed to beseech Helen. She was unmoved. “She must come, madam. I’m sorry. If she doesn't...” Enormous green eyes grew wider and almost...gray, at the notion.

“A week per anum.” Helen said, the words tasting like ashes as she spoke them.

“Mother, what are you--?”

The faerie turned to her, also ignoring Alice’s growing distress. When he spoke, a thick brogue became evident. His eyes yellowed to a demonic hue as the true nature of the beast surfaced. “I have no the power to bargain wit ye--”

“A month!” Helen cut him off before he could protest further. What was she thinking, to condemn her daughter to even that long in a place full of beings such as this one? Yet it was either successfully bargain for a lesser sentence or she would be there forevermore, and that was a concept more abhorrent still. When the creature told her Alice had to go Below, she reluctantly believed him. The way her health rapidly declined after her second trip below, and then her startling improvement after the third (followed by her subsequent relapse aboard the Wonder) supported the beast's words.

Red-purple lips tilted to one side, considering. Helen believed the monster to think his expression compassionate; all it did was make her want to slap him.

“She’ll just age here, Mrs. Kingsleigh. Time is ever-so unkind to those that live in the Above world…he will kill her, as surely as he is destined to kill you, and all of those that abide in his favored realm. The Fading already makes her body older than what her years would indicate.” The words were not spoken unkindly, but to Helen they were a knife slicing her down to the bone.

“Her health.” Helen said. “You are saying that I was correct in thinking that...”

The creature nodded.

Tears began to stream down Helen’s face. “Two months. Surely that will be all that is needed per year,” she begged. “Unless Alice herself decides otherwise.”

“You’ll not barter me about like a cow at auction!” Alice was fuming in the background, but Hatter and Helen only had eyes for one another, and heard her protests not at all.

“Three months,” he lisped, his brogue completely gone. “Three months of Above’s time per year, unless Alice decides she wishes to stay longer. She does that, Mrs. Kingsleigh, and you agree to cede to her desires. That is the very minimum amount of time she can be with us without showing obvious signs of the Fade.”

“Let me come with you?” Helen clutched at his jacket sleeve. If she were able to be there with her, watch her health improve, possibly nurse her as she had been...

“Nay.” He shook his head, ginger curls quivering with the movement. “I've only potion enough for the pair o' us, and if I dinna go with Alice, then her journey to Underland will be for naught.”

“She is...connected to you, then?” Helen whispered. She could not bring herself to speak the word for what type of connection she suspected between them. Hatter nodded.

“It was...no o' my choosing. But...aye.”

A wave of sudden and unexpected sympathy welled within her for the man-shaped creature. She swallowed it down—there was no place for sympathy here. Even if he had not chosen their...connection...himself, he was still a strange being from the fae, and he, very obviously, desired that connection now, despite however he may have felt about it at its inception. No, she would not feel for him, not when he was preparing to take her daughter away from her.

“You’ll not coerce her decision.” Helen pressed. “No lotus blossoms, nor any other similar substances to suppress that which should always be remembered.”

“Aye,” the Hatter nodded his head. “As long as you do not do the same at any point, should she choose to come back Above.”

Closing her eyes, Helen swallowed, hard. She wished, with a sudden wrenching pain in her chest, that this was not something that she had to face without Charles at her side.

“Agreed,” Helen said, choking on the word. She opened her eyes, and looked back at the cause of and solution to her daughter's misery. “Agreed,” she repeated.

The bargain struck, the fae turned his attention back to a shaking Alice. “Pack whatever you believe you’ll desire, my dearest heart,” he cooed at her. “Worry not about clothing or hats or boots, though, love…you know I can provide those for you well enough.” He knelt in front of Alice and took her hand, kissing her palm. “But please hurry, my sweetest Alice, for home is calling to us most insistently. We must gie ye there, make ye well again.”

A fury that Helen had witnessed several times (mostly at the hapless Hamish Ascot, poor boy) rose within Alice, and she sharply withdrew her hand from the Hatter’s grasp. He moved forward and hugged her, and she began struggling, thumping her hands on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you!” she hissed. “You think because you and my mother came to some sort of strange agreement without my input or consent whatsoever that now I’m going to happily take your hand and abandon my home?”

“Alice…Alice, please!” Hatter cried, “Dearest--”

“I am not your dearest! Nor yet am I your love, nor your sweetest!” Alice howled, struggling further more. What color had managed to sneak onto the Hatter’s face was bleached clean at this ascertainment. “Let me go!”

“Aye, ye are.” he choked, the brogue back. “And nay, I willna let ye go.” Fighting against her flailing limbs, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Alice fell limp in his arms, fast asleep. He stayed kneeling as Alice’s body relaxed against his own, and Helen thought she detected more than the hint of tears on his lashes as he closed his eyes and gathered her close. Alice’s reaction had seemed to pain the creature, and for the first time Helen wondered if perhaps it had been a kindness that this one was the one to come and collect her…it almost seemed as if…

“Mrs. Kingsleigh,” Hatter nodded at her. He was fully standing then, Alice on the ground before him. As he walked over to retrieve his hat, (which was squashed atop his head in a hurried, inpatient manner) a vial was withdrawn from his inner waistcoat pocket. This he unstoppered with his teeth, and Helen believed he would have spit the cap upon the ground had he not taken a quick look in her direction. Instead, he placed it in the jacket pocket the whole vial had originally come from, a guilty grimace on his brow.

Kneeling back once more at Alice's side, he poured a bit of the substance within down her unresisting throat, then swallowed a mouthful of his own. A cloud of smoke rose about the pair of them, and just that quickly, they were gone.

“...Alice?” Helen called weakly, stumbling over to where her daughter's body had just lain. “Alice!” she cried, the full import of what she's just done (had she just sold her daughter's soul for security—for peace of mind, for her physical health? What of Alice's eternal reward? Had she just damned her for the possibility—not even the guarantee!--of a few more years on this mortal plain?) and, turning, she grabbed the first breakable item she could find—it happened to be a lamp—and threw it with all of her might against the far wall.

Damn her English-ness! How could she let propriety and what was 'real' or 'imagined' sway her so greatly as to barter her child away? Had she gone that far astray? Helen Kingsleigh, you are a useless, sniveling, spineless creature, she thought, as she growled under her breath. She was of no use to anyone. Helen would have never behaved as such, once. Once, she would have fought the sidhe herself, would have...

“What have I done?” she whispered, afraid that if she screamed, she may never stop.

*~*~*~*

Author's Notes:

1 Gap-toothed; such person are traditionally thought to be lustful or wanton

2 Shakespeare referred to red hair as such in “As You Like It”; this eludes to the common belief that Judas had red hair.

3 A derogatory Scottish term for Catholic.

4 Coming of age; traditionally this could be 16, 18, or 21. For the purposes of the story, I've chosen 21.

5 Debased grouts during the reign of Henry VIII had the king's head in profile, as opposed to the ones issued during the reign of Henry VII, which showed the king's full face. While this was long before the Victorian Era, I think it's within the realm of possiblity that Helen would still use such a turn of speech.

6 “I am come back again, like a bad halfpenny.” meaning that the visitor is more free than welcome. In this instance, the Hatter is saying Helen will not be able to be rid of him easily.

7 A Lotus Eater. In the Odyssey, Odysseus describes the effect eating Lotus' had on his men; they had no desire to return home.

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