Disapproving, cutting me a sideways glare, he’d hissed, “Stand up and let me get a look at you.”
I was self-conscious to do it, afraid small dots of remnant blood may have marked my night rail, or that he would find fault in the state of my face as my mother had only that morning. My hair was still golden, and it was long and full, but the rest of me was far less glorious. Wan, dark circles under my eyes and bruises on my face, I was unpretty. I had grown taller, the baby softness of my cheek gone, and my limbs felt lanky and awkward. “We have not shared tea in quite some time, sir.”
He ignored my cheek and my bitterness, yellow eyes running over my form from toes to crown. “Your gown is ripped and worn. Half the lace is spoiled. Do I not deserve better?”
Everything he claimed was true. My night clothes were tattered, my ankles on display because the skirt was too short. “I am not to enjoy new things until I cease ruining what I have already been given. But I am not the one who spoils them. The horrid boys always grab at—.”
The Hatter stopped abruptly and spun to stand over me. “But, you’ve let the Red Queen touch you too... we all know it! You let her slide her slimy hands around your throat.”
I vehemently disagreed. “That is not true! Only the boys wring my neck. It is them I have to thank for this bruise under my eye.”
The weight of the Hatter’s disapproval sat on me like a pile of rocks. There was something disgusting in his voice, something very bad. “Lies. I can smell the blood from here.”
I knew what he spoke of, and it had nothing to do with the one he called Red Queen. Cheeks flaming, I set my mouth into a stiff frown.
“You stink of her!” He’d spoken with venom, spittle flying from his lips. “What value is there in devouring a child’s innocence when you are not a child anymore? If you are going to bleed, it should be because I made you bleed. After all the years of my attention, all I have done to mold you, how dare you give her what is mine!”
I had no idea what it was he alluded to. All I knew from the past few years since that terrible Christmas, was that when he got in these tempers he was far more terrifying than the rest of them combined. I crossed my arms over my chest. Above them bulged a roundness the flopping, unstarched ruffles had hidden until I’d pulled them tight.
I saw yellow eyes dart to the swells, and dropped my arms before he might see.
“What do you have there, Alice? I thought you claimed you’d never grow up.”
Swallowing, I looked away, embarrassed to my core.
“There are such worse things I can send your way than two vicious brats. Do you seek the attentions of the others? Shall I allow the Madman of Cheshire to rise from that chair and carry out what he dreams of doing to you? Continue to refuse me, sweet Alice, and you have no idea what nightmares I can release from the pit.”
Eyes wet with unshed tears, I felt my lip quiver. “You’re my only friend, but you never visit me anymore. Now that you’ve come, you’re cross.”
In a snap, he was cooing, all sweet smiles and soft looks. “Dear Alice, every night should be ours, I agree. It pleases me to know you long for my attention. Take my hand now, let me kiss your mouth, then I shall pour our tea.”
The Hatter had already snatched at my fingers, toying with them and weaving his boney knuckles with mine until our hands were fully united. I stood ramrod, not even so much as blinking. The only way he might reach my cheek was to bend at the waist, his yellow teeth displayed by a full grin. He had kissed me before, often and with great enthusiasm, but that night was the first time I had an inkling of what he thought to accomplish by pressing his mouth to the corner of mine.
He wanted me to turn my head... he’d said kiss my mouth.
I finally understood. Without my participation, unless I offered, he couldn’t do what he desired and it irked him. That was why he asked, why he tricked. My hands he could handle at his whim, the left side of my waist available to trill his fingers upon since the night I’d let him waltz me ‘round the room.
In that moment I grasped, there were rules to this game. The Red Queen could not approach so long as I stared at her. The Laughing Man could do nothing but drive me mad with noise. The boys could pinch, bite, and scratch me... but that was all they could do. My moment of clarity may have come with the wisdom of greater age, but I saw through the Hatter’s smiles and gentle coaxing, muttering, “You cannot touch me without my permission...”
With his face so close, his lips grazing my cheek, in his eyes, those yellow burning eyes, I saw a multitude of evils. “It is a wonder the way your imagination deceives you. Your soul has been mine from the day you first drew breath. Guiding you to me, to all you’ll ever know, has been my greatest pleasure. You will come begging.” His fingers crept towards my lips, dipping to trace over my teeth, threatening to pry them apart. “Apologize to me and give me my kiss. If you do, I will allow you to sleep tonight. If you do not, the others will be set loose and the next time I come to you, I will make you suffer.”
He slid his fingers from my mouth, smearing spittle down my chin, gloating like he’d already won some prize.
I had to know if I was right. If there was a way to outwit the Hatter, then there was a way to outwit them all. “I will not kiss you.”
Jaw unhinged and head thrown back in a roar, the sound of a thousand beasts let loose to shake my walls. As the Hatter raged, I was plunged into darkness, and in that darkness I had dwelt all the years since.
The old man sitting on the couch in my mother’s dayroom room, spouting diagnoses, and asking uncomfortable questions would not be able to change that.
In fact, he would only make my torment unbearable. Where before my days had been lonely, in the care of Sir Rothfield, sunlight hours would grow to hold a fresh agony.
The Hatter had been right. I would beg for his help. And he had also been honest. He would make me suffer.
Chapter 6
While standing before my parents, I was told that I should appreciate how gentle my care would be. I was told that modern medicine and carefully applied practice would cure me. But, all progress hinged on trust; Sir Rothfield said so. I was to trust him. I was to obey.
I promised faithfully, Mama and Papa as witness, to do just that.