Chapter 7
OXFORD, 1875
IS IT TRUE THAT YOU’RE ALICE IN WONDERLAND?”
“I believe you know the answer to that, Your Royal Highness.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I believe you know the answer to that, then, Leopold.”
“No. Say it. Say what I want to hear.”
“I believe you know the answer to that.” I stopped, blushing; I had to look down at my gloved hands, folded gracefully in my lap, as I whispered, “Leo.”
“That’s better.” He placed his hand over mine; his hand was white, as soft as a child’s, with jeweled and crested rings on the long, slender fingers. Yet there was a strength in it; the strength of possession.
From the front of the room, Mr. Ruskin paused in his lecture to give us a look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. He stroked his chin, and then continued. “The gospel of the insolent and idle became the gospel of the painters of England.”
I hastily retrieved my hand from the one who had possessed it; His Royal Highness, Prince Leopold, who looked at me with round, sensitive blue eyes framed with long golden lashes, and frowned.
We sat in feigned attention to Mr. Ruskin for several minutes. Mr. Ruskin—who was now more or less permanently installed at Oxford as the first Slade Professor of Art—was giving one of his famous lectures, this one the first in a series of studies of the twelve discourses of Sir Joshua Reynolds.
Mr. Ruskin’s lectures drew enormous crowds, and often were given in the vast expanses of the Sheldonian Theatre or the Museum. As this series was supposed to be for students only, it was held in a large lecture hall in the University Galleries instead: rows and rows of hard oak benches, gaslights flickering on the walls. I was seated near the back of the crowded room. It seemed to me that every year Oxford welcomed more and more students; Great Britain was in the midst of an unprecedented period of peace and prosperity, as we hadn’t been at war since the end of the Crimean conflict in 1856. I suspected many young men who might have sought a military career felt there was really no future in it.
Naturally, there were no female students. More and more ladies did, however, attend lectures, particularly Mr. Ruskin’s lectures. Despite Mr. Ruskin’s public grumblings concerning this new practice—“I cannot bear to look out and observe the ridiculous costumes in that revolting green and purple plaid so many ladies are fond of, not to mention hats with dead birds upon them”—privately, he did not mind in the least, and was known to boast about it at parties. Still, I knew he did not countenance disruptions from either sex; his lectures were more like theatrical performances as he gesticulated and paced about.
Dutifully, I attempted to follow his words; as the daughter of Dean Liddell, my presence at any lecture was always noted and, I felt, appreciated. Yet how could I pay attention with Leo—my heart sang, to call him that!—by my side? I lowered my head to gaze at my lap—no revolting green and purple there; instead, a scalloped sky-blue taffeta, pulled tightly back into a bustle, which provided a welcome cushion to the hard lecture chair—and attempted to look at Leo with a sidelong glance. He sat easily, his plain black robe, identical to all the other students’, concealing a perfectly tailored coat and trousers, a rich gray vest, in which, I knew, resided a gold pocket watch with miniatures of his sister, the Princess Louise, and his dear dead papa. One graceful white hand rested on a simple ebony walking stick. The other hung lazily—tauntingly—over the arm of his chair, just within reach. While he appeared to be extremely interested in Mr. Ruskin, somehow he managed to convey his attention to me as well. It was in the way he reclined, leaning ever so slightly in my direction, his head tilted my way, while his body remained turned to the front of the room. I was aware of his soft, steady breathing, his occasional, gentle clearing of the throat, the way his Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed; the blinking of his eyes, even. For the room was tightly packed, and we were by necessity seated more closely together than we had ever been.
Resolutely, I gazed back at Mr. Ruskin, who now appeared to have thrown away his prepared notes and was pacing about the front of the room. “English society has fallen lower and lower, and therefore, now its nobles are gradually abdicating their ancient seats and leaving them to manufacturers.”
“I’m afraid I am unable to understand what Mr. Ruskin’s opinions of the decline of English society have to do with the teachings of Sir Joshua. Perhaps this lecture should be called ‘The Rambling and Egotistical Discourses of Mr. John Ruskin,’ instead,” I whispered to Leopold.
“I wager half a crown you would never say that to him in person,” Leopold replied, stroking his neat mustache.
“Sir, I am scandalized! Wagering with a lady?”
“It’s entirely your fault; you’re corrupting me. I was a wide-eyed innocent before I made your acquaintance.”
“Naturally. It’s only women who have the power to corrupt,” I murmured slyly, as Mr. Ruskin cleared his throat and looked our way, this time more pointedly. Naturally, all other heads turned to see who he was looking at; I suppressed a giggle and looked down at my lap, while Leopold merely nodded, a true Royal, and smiled at Mr. Ruskin, who bowed and continued.
At long last, the lecture ended to thunderous applause, to which I did not contribute. Looking at the admiring faces around me, I couldn’t help but believe that were Mr. Ruskin merely to stand in front of a lectern and belch the alphabet, he would be so rewarded—and likely asked to repeat the performance later.
Prince Leopold rose and helped me to my feet; we followed the crowd out the back door to the anteroom, where my maid and his valet were waiting to hand us our cloaks. The back of Sophie ’s hair was flat and unruly; I wondered if she ’d been napping while she passed the time. I would have to speak to her about this later.
“Miss,” she said with a curtsy, handing me an umbrella. “I believe it’s raining now.”
“Oh, bother,” I said, turning to Leo. “We’ll not be able to have our stroll.”
“Sir, I was going to venture that perhaps you should go back to Wyckeham House and rest,” his valet—an older military man who had served Prince Albert—said firmly.
Leo sighed, a look of frustration mingled with resignation crossing his face, even as he could not disguise the bitterness in his voice. “I must be the only undergraduate at Oxford who has to have a lie-down every afternoon.”
“You know you have to conserve your energy,” I consoled him. “You’re so dear to all of us, to Mamma and Papa; it would be unkind of you not to rest. Whatever would we do if you were to take ill? You’re being very selfish, you know.” I smiled, trying to coax him out of his mood before it began. A lifetime of being a semi-invalid had not encouraged him to bear his cross without some complaint. Matters were not helped by the Queen, who wrote daily expressing her suffocating concern for her youngest son, who had been born with hemophilia. Leopold considered it a miracle of Papist proportions that he had been allowed to attend Oxford at all; it was due only to the influence of Mr. Duckworth, his former tutor, that the Queen had consented to let him live beyond her protection.
The stories he had told me about his childhood—the servants whose only tasks were to constantly follow him, ready to catch him if he fell; the loneliness he suffered as the only boy among a household of women, as his brothers all went off to school and military careers; the stifling atmosphere of the Queen’s continual mourning, a strange world where Prince Albert’s clothes were laid out every morning, brushed and pressed, only to be put away again at night—broke my heart. I could not imagine how he had emerged so cheerful, really; I knew I must allow him his small complaints.
“I’m dear to your parents? Am I not dear to you as well?” Now Leo did smile, taking my arm and trying to tuck it under his. I persisted in retrieving it, uneasy at his public boldness. We walked out into the hall properly, a respectable space between us; the hall was full of students hoping to talk to Mr. Ruskin. As we passed, a narrow path opened up before us as students murmured and bowed quickly and respectfully to the Prince.
He did not appear to notice, however; he gazed at me with a steady, expectant expression, until I was forced to answer.
“Of course you are,” I murmured, not wishing anyone to hear.
“You never did answer my other question.” Now there was a mischievous glint in those light blue eyes, a twitch of the soft yellow mustache.
“I’m sorry?”
“Earlier. You never did confirm that you are the real Alice in Wonderland.”
“Oh, Prince—Leo, you know very well all about that.” I sighed, impatient—perhaps even irritated.
“So it’s true, then? Duckworth told me, before I came down, that I’d meet the real Alice. You realize it is one of Mamma’s favorite books? She is not one for reading, but she is exceedingly fond of your story.”
“That’s very flattering,” I said automatically, with that polite detachment I had practiced for so long to cultivate concerning the subject. Had I ever been proud to call it “my” story? Once, long ago. But so much had happened since then.
“Although I admit, I was surprised not to find you with long yellow hair.” He reached up and fingered a wayward strand of my plain black hair with a smile.
I slapped his hand away with a look. I sometimes felt that his illness made him too reckless, as if he believed he could not afford to move at the pace that propriety demanded. “Yes, well, I didn’t actually pose for the illustrations, of course. Those came later. Originally, it was intended simply to be a story shared by two—by two friends.” I concentrated on keeping my voice steady, unconcerned. “Naturally, I’m very happy that it turned into something much bigger, and that it has brought joy to so many people.”
“Are you happy that it has brought me to you? That’s how it seems to me now. That it is all part of some greater plan.” Leo paused as his valet rushed ahead to open the entrance door. We walked out into the foggy October afternoon, both of us opening our umbrellas and holding them aloft. They offered just enough protection from the steady drizzle, although we had to raise our voices to continue our conversation.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, isn’t it interesting that Duckworth became my tutor? It’s as if it was all leading to you and me, in some mystical way. That he was there, with you, when the story was told, and now here I am, with you. Do you mind, Alice? Do you mind very much that I’m so happy to be with you?”
He leaned close to me, so close that his head was beneath my umbrella; I felt his breath blow warm upon my face. He smiled down at me, such a sweet, earnest expression in his eyes, and my heart surged within my breast, contained only by my tight bodice. I could not hold his gaze; I was no longer as bold as I had been as a child, when I was not afraid to claim the things I desired.
“No, I don’t mind,” I whispered as timidly as any lady; even Ina would have approved. Yet I also couldn’t prevent a happy, sure smile from escaping.
Perhaps I was not the lady either of us believed me to be, at that.
Satisfied, Leo returned to his own umbrella and took my arm, as any gentleman would under the soggy circumstances, guiding me firmly across the puddles that were gathering between the cobblestones. We were on St. Aldate’s now; Sophie and his valet followed, a proper three steps behind.
“It’s so odd, to realize that Dodgson is Lewis Carroll. Before I came here, I imagined that Lewis Carroll was a kind older-uncle sort. Jolly, plump, with whiskers. To find that he’s simply a fussy mathematics professor—and not a very good or popular one at that! Although Duckworth always speaks fondly of him; they’re great friends, aren’t they?”
“Yes, I believe they still are, although I haven’t seen Mr. Duckworth in years, not since he went up to London.” With effort, I slowed my breathing; with every passing reference to Mr. Dodgson, it had sped up so that it was matching the accelerating raindrops on my umbrella. Even so, I couldn’t prevent myself from shivering.
“Old Duck’s the same as ever—oh, my poor dear, you must be freezing!” Leo stopped, looking at me in alarm.
“I am, rather.”
“Then you must go right home. Come, I’ll escort you.” He made as if to shepherd me across the street, to the entrance of the Quad.
“Oh, no! No—you need to rest, and it’s so wretched out. I’ll be fine. You’ll be home much more quickly if we part now.”
“Will I see you tomorrow night?”
“Of course!” I flashed him a reassuring smile. “Mamma is delighted that you’re coming. She got the whole evening up just for you.”
“Then, tomorrow.” Leo took my hand, pressed his lips against it, and bowed. I curtsied and watched as he walked away, a slight, jauntily commanding figure beneath his large black umbrella, trailed by his somber valet, who was bareheaded, his thin hair plastered to his skull by the rain.
Sophie and I crossed the street, pushing our way through a sea of umbrellas—there was no hope for it; my skirt was now thoroughly drenched, as well as my shoes, and felt as if it weighed twelve stone. Just before we reached the entrance to the Quad, I looked up at windows north of the tower. There was light, shadows of objects behind curtains, but I didn’t see any movement there.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was being watched, as I’d been watched ever since I was a little girl playing croquet with my sisters in the garden. Only I wasn’t a little girl anymore. And my games were much more complicated.
“SO, TELL ME,” Mr. Ruskin purred, taking my arm and pulling me into a corner. “Will I be addressing you as Her Royal Highness anytime soon?”
We were in the dining room of the Deanery, brightly lit by two enormous chandeliers, the candles flickering gaily; refreshments were being served between musical acts. Mamma, her dark hair shimmering with a few threads of silver now, was hovering, handsome as ever in emerald green satin, with a boldly low neckline showing off her formidable décolletage. She was eyeing the refreshments, set out upon the table and sideboard—platters of cold tongue, pyramids of fruit in two low brass epergnes, delicate china plates of jellies and ices, and great cut-glass bowls of punch. She looked up anxiously, and moved a platter of tongue precisely as a dollop of wax was about to drip onto it.
Papa was holding court just outside the room; he was in the middle of a story about little Lionel, only six, and showing much academic promise. At long last, Papa had a son whose intellect could be hoped to match his own. Harry, kind and generous as he was, had not lived up to that expectation.
Mamma had survived her childbearing years, and our family was now complete with the addition of Violet, Eric, and Lionel. Complete, and now, also, expanded; Ina had married last year, to a nobleman from Scotland, William Skene. His family held many estates, to Mamma’s everlasting delight, while William was also an academic close to Papa’s heart. He had been a fellow at All Souls College when he met Ina. Thus, they lived in Oxford for part of the year.
“Mr. Ruskin,” I murmured. “If that were true, you would be the first to know it.”
“Deception, Miss Alice, does not become you.” He looked at me from beneath those unruly eyebrows, his blue eyes glittering. “I would be the last to know it.”
“From my lips only; to be sure, you would hear it from some other. One of your sources, perhaps?” I smiled wickedly, moving away from the table into the hallway, to the staircase, which was draped with picturesque couples. The ladies were in jewel-toned evening dresses of the current fashion (tightly fitted bodices and front skirts, pulled back to beribboned bustles cascading with lace and bows; low necklines, tiny puffs of sleeves, and short gloves of lace or net). The attending gentlemen—holding dinner plates for their partners—were in black tailcoats, white vests, and white shirts with the new winged collar. The round-globed gaslights, recently installed in the Deanery, threw off hazy yellow light against the dark flowered wallpaper, although Mamma still insisted upon candles being lit as well.
“Don’t be coy with me, Alice,” Mr. Ruskin grumbled, following so closely that he stepped on the train of my peacock-blue Worth gown, a birthday present from Ina and Mr. Skene. “I observed the two of you at my lecture. Very cozy, you were. I wonder if the Queen is aware?”
“I’m confident that Leo—the Prince—hides nothing of importance from her.”
“Leo?” Mr. Ruskin’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
“The Prince,” I repeated firmly, my face burning at my mistake.
“Hmmph. So the Queen approves?”
“I said he hides nothing of importance. He and I are friends; that is all.” With a great effort, I swallowed my rising unease and favored him with a coquettish smile, one I knew had a soothing effect upon him. I used it often during our art lessons, whenever he leaned too closely over my shoulder. While I still enjoyed painting, I continued my lessons, dutifully accompanied by Edith, who did not share my talent, simply because they remained the only course of study open to me. The end of my schoolgirl years was marked by my Grand Tour; even as I was traveling through Europe with my sisters, unaccompanied, for the first time, by either of our parents, I worried how I would occupy myself once we returned. I was grateful to be in Oxford, at least, where young ladies attending lectures and reading books wasn’t quite as shocking as it would have been in a more fashionable place, such as London.
However, my pursuit of art meant that I was thrown, more and more, into the company of Mr. Ruskin. Hence my reliance upon certain coquettish smiles and playful phrases.
This evening, unfortunately, he was having none of them.
“You and the Prince are merely friends, my dear? I find that very hard to believe. How can any man ever content himself with friendship?” Stepping off my train, he pressed close against me so that his breath blew chills across the back of my neck. “Especially when it comes to Alice in Wonderland? Do you think the Queen knows all about that business?”
“I do wish you wouldn’t call me that,” I hissed, squirming, attempting to get away. He had pressed me into a corner behind the stairs; I had no choice but to confront him. “And pray tell me what you mean by ‘that business.’”
Mr. Ruskin smirked, his generous mouth tipping up at the corners, half concealed by his unruly sideburns, which were heavily perfumed with a sweet, overripe fragrance; I turned my head, nauseated.
“Now, Alice, don’t look like that. We’re friends, you and I. We have much in common, and I believe I can help.”
“Help?” I looked down at him; he was starting to stoop with age, and I had grown tall in these last years. Surveying his figure—filled out in the shoulders, at the hips, yet strangely slim at the waist, suggesting a corset—I managed to conceal a smirk. “I wasn’t aware I was in need of rescue.”
“Dear Alice—dear, innocent, na?ve Alice.” He chuckled, sounding like the benign scholar so many people believed him to be. “Is Mr. Dodgson aware of your new friendship?”
I stiffened, drawing myself up to my full height; I was my mother’s daughter, after all. I rapped my fan against Mr. Ruskin’s shoulder, pushing him away.
“I have no need for deceit. I’m sure that Mr. Dodgson, like all my friends, would only wish me great happiness. That is, were there any occasion for it, which there is not.”
“How bewitching,” Mr. Ruskin purred, stepping aside, releasing me. “That you believe, even now, in Wonderland. It’s one of your many charms, my dear.”
I whirled around, about to contradict him, for I had long since stopped believing in a land where reality could not intrude. Then I paused. Since Leo had arrived, had insinuated himself into my life, my heart, I realized I had allowed myself to believe once more.
His Royal Highness, the Prince Leopold, had appeared in a swirl of ceremony, one more Royal pupil for my father to welcome to Christ Church; I was mildly curious about him, as I remembered the Prince of Wales telling me of this youngest brother when I was very small. Mindful of the past and heeding Mamma’s warnings for the future, at first I was resigned to remain in shadows, watching with amusement as she pushed Edith toward the dapper young Prince, seating them next to each other at dinners and concerts, arranging romantic musical evenings like tonight.
The Prince, however, did not play his assigned role. He saw me in the shadows, ignored my mother—who was not used to being ignored—and insisted upon pulling me into the sun. Where I realized, to my great surprise, that I still wanted to believe in fairy tales, after all.
Yet how could they come true while I remained here in Oxford, trapped by my past, trapped by my very name, even? Trapped by eyes, eyes everywhere; eyes once kind. Now, however—I did not know. I didn’t want to know. I wanted only to forget.
“Alice, where have you been?” Edith came gliding up, her hair—a darker auburn now—arranged in cascading curls held off her smooth white brow with diamond clips. Her deep green eyes took in my discomfort at once; she placed her hand on Mr. Ruskin’s arm and dimpled prettily at him.
“Mr. Ruskin! I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I’m very angry at Alice for monopolizing you!”
“Dear girl! Dear, dear girl!” He preened and twittered like a malicious magpie. Stroking his sideburns, he allowed himself to be steered away by Edith.
“Oh, Alice! Ruskin! There you are!” Prince Leopold joined us, unfortunately before Edith could succeed. Leo’s smile, when he saw me, was pure happiness; I wondered, not for the first time, what he saw when he looked at me to make him smile this way.
“Your Royal Highness.” Mr. Ruskin bowed, as Edith and I curtsied.
“Oh, do stop it. We see each other with too much frequency here at Oxford; we must dispense with such formalities.”
“I don’t recall your brother, the Prince of Wales, expressing himself so when he was a student, Sir,” Mr. Ruskin replied.
“No, Bertie wouldn’t,” was all that Leopold had to say about the matter. “I’m so very glad I caught the two of you together,” he continued with an impish grin. “I made a wager with Miss Alice here—yes, I am a very corrupting influence—and I must see it through.”
“Oh, Prince Leopold!” I shook my head, laughing—attempting to pull him away from Mr. Ruskin.
“Come now, Alice. I’m no welsher.”
“What? You two made a wager concerning me?” There was no use for it; of course Mr. Ruskin’s considerable vanity was now involved. I shook my head at Leo, who was watching me with laughing—innocent—eyes.
“Mr. Ruskin,” I began, my voice as light and merry as I could make it. “As you observed, I had the pleasure of attending your typically brilliant lecture yesterday. Somehow, I fail to see what your opinion concerning the current, declining state of English society—which, after all, is hardly an original opinion, at that—has to do with Sir Joshua Reynolds’s valuable discourses. There. Where is my half crown?” I held my hand out to Leo; he laughed, reached inside his pocket, and tucked a coin into my palm, folding my fingers over it with a lingering, possessive gesture. Mr. Ruskin’s sharp eyes did not fail to observe this discreet ceremony.
“Well, as usual, it’s delightful to hear a lady’s—hardly original, in its own way—opinion about a scholarly subject.” Mr. Ruskin did not quite manage to conceal his contempt with a smile. “Miss Alice, would you do me the pleasure of further enlightening me? I would very much like to continue our conversation.” He raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Tomorrow afternoon, perhaps? In my rooms, for tea?”
“Oh dear! I believe I have a dressmaker’s appointment?” I looked at Edith, who nodded much too vigorously; she was not as skilled a liar as her elder sister.
“Yes, I’m sure of it, Alice. I remember it’s been scheduled for days.”
“I think you can postpone it for an old friend, can’t you? You, who have so many old friends scattered about?” Ruskin bowed, finally allowing Edith to drag him away—but not before he whispered in my ear, as he brushed past me, “Alone.”
I shivered, turning to Leo, longing to grab his hand and run away to—where, exactly? There was no place for us to go; there were so many eyes upon us. Mamma’s eyes, too, worriedly watched the two of us; I could see her brow knit, her lips press themselves tightly together as she stood in the doorway to the dining room. I looked away. I did not want to see my thoughts confirmed in my mother’s face.
“Strange fellow. Whatever did he mean?” Leo watched as Edith skillfully steered Mr. Ruskin back toward the refreshment table.
“I couldn’t say.”
“Alice, are you ill? You look pale.”
“No, no, I’m perfectly fine. Although I’ll never hear the end of it from Mamma if I monopolize you—she so wants to enjoy your company.”
“I sat next to her all during the Bach quintet. I brought her a glass of punch. I promised her I’d be her guest of honor at a winter ball. Now I must claim the reward for my patience.” He stroked the top of my satin glove, pressing my hand against his chest; I allowed this liberty only long enough for me to feel his heart beat against the palm of my hand, before I gently pulled it away.
“Oh, Leo,” I said, wishing I could hide my face against his shoulder; hide my shame, my past, my fears.
“What? Alice—are you crying? Whatever is wrong, my darling?” He pulled me to him, looking into my face, his eyes round with alarm. One strand of dark yellow hair fell across his forehead, giving him such a youthful look.
I shook my head, blinked away my tears, and glanced around the room, desperate to find something amusing to lighten my thoughts.
But I did not find such distraction, and knew we had lingered too long in our private alcove; with calm determination, I moved toward the hallway, which was lined with family photographs, particularly of the three identically dressed Liddell girls when they were very small.
“What a tableau!” Leo paused in front of one photograph; it was of the three of us, Ina, Edith, and me, in identical short lacy dresses with pantalets and ankle socks, strumming tiny guitars, or machetes. Of the three of us, I was the only one looking right at the camera—or rather, right at Mr. Dodgson. Yet I did not remember taking the photograph; it must have been in his rooms, probably at the instigation of Mamma.
“Mamma was fond of dressing us up and having us photographed,” I told Leo now. “She did not mind Mr. Dodgson at those times.”
“Mr. Dodgson took the photographs?” Leo still gazed at the picture, and I smiled, wondering what he saw in my younger self.
“Yes, he’s very skilled.”
“A man of many talents. And a man of obvious discernment, choosing you as his muse again and again!” Still looking at the photograph, Leo slipped his hand in mine, and I allowed it to linger there for a moment more than usual before I moved away.
“I’m not sure about that, it was simply convenient back then as we all were such great friends, living practically next door to each other,” I murmured, watching Mamma start to make her way toward us.
“I wish to have a photograph of you.” Leo turned to me just as Mamma joined us. She bowed—but paled, as she must have heard what he said.
“Sir?” she asked, somehow making it appear as if she was smiling at both of us, although she never once looked my way.
“I was saying to Alice I wish to have a photograph of her. I don’t have one, and I’m just now aware that there’s a gifted photographer right in our midst! Would you be so kind, madam, as to arrange for Mr. Dodgson to photograph Alice? We could make it a party—I’m terribly fascinated by the whole process. I have a camera myself, but I’m rather clumsy with it.”
“Sir, I’m happy to arrange for my daughters—for I’m sure you meant to include Edith, naturally—to pose for any of the wonderful photographers we now have in Oxford. Surely you’ve heard of Mrs. Cameron? The girls have posed for her before—in fact, there’s a lovely photograph of Edith in the library, if you’ll allow me to show you?” With a sure yet respectful hand upon his arm, Mamma gestured down the hall toward the library.
“I’d consider it a great favor if you asked Mr. Dodgson,” Leo replied firmly. “I cannot pass up the opportunity to have Alice in Wonderland photographed by Lewis Carroll.”
I was frozen, a polite smile plastered on my face. I felt utterly helpless. I could not bring myself to meet Mamma’s accusing gaze, nor could I try to cajole Leo out of his whim; not here, not in front of her.
“I understand, but you have no idea how beautifully the girls photograph with Mrs. Cameron—”
“I said Mr. Dodgson.”
I had never heard Leo speak so imperiously before; neither had Mamma. But she recognized a Royal command when she heard it. She had no choice but to curtsy and hurry away, announcing to all the company that the musicians had returned, and everyone was to take their seats.
During the rest of the evening, while sitting next to Leo—Edith resided on his other side, placed there with scowling determination by Mamma—I pretended to enjoy the delicate trills of a Mozart quartet. My heart, however, remained heavy, and the back of my head burned with the heat of Mamma’s accusing glare. I knew who she would blame for this latest reminder of all that business, as Mr. Ruskin so carelessly called it.
Was there no escape from my past? As long as I remained here, I knew there was none. But I could not escape Oxford on my own. I needed someone to spirit me away; I had a notion of myself, tucked into a trunk or valise, being carried out the gate of Tom Quad, hidden from eyes, those prying eyes.
Leo’s hands were too slender, I feared. Too slender, too unaccustomed to the burden of carrying someone else.
Particularly someone so burdened herself.
THAT NIGHT, AS I undressed for bed, there was a knock on my door.
“It’s only me,” Edith’s voice called softly.
“Come in!” I smiled, relieved; Edith’s presence was so restful, so assured. Surely she could calm my jumbled nerves, for I had not been able to shake off the unease Mr. Ruskin had left behind after he took his leave with another arch reminder of our “lovely tea” on the morrow. “Sophie, you may go,” I told my maid, who curtsied and gathered up my fallen finery—bustle with its network of tapes, corset, petticoats, drawers, silk stockings, satin dress. She staggered under the load, as she was a mousy little thing with a forever frazzled look about her. Wrapping myself in my dressing gown, I opened the door to let her out, and Edith in.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Edith’s hair was a bright electric cloud released from its pins and clips. She plopped down in the middle of my four-poster bed, jostling the rose brocade curtains. “Did you have a nice time tonight?”
“Yes.” I sat down at my dressing table and started to remove the pins from my own hair, dropping them with a clatter in a little scalloped china dish. Then I began to brush it out, although it didn’t take long; even though my hair was not as thick as Edith’s, and still pin straight, I never tired of the heavy weight of it down my back.
I looked at my sister in the reflection of the gold-framed mirror. “Why do you ask?”
“I was merely curious.”
“You mean concerned, don’t you?”
“Alice, you’re getting to be extremely suspicious in your old age.” Her eyes grew big and bright, her mouth strangely set, as if she were holding a handful of pebbles in it.
“I’ve always been extremely suspicious. And you’ve always been a terrible liar. Mamma sent you in here, didn’t she?”
My sister swung her white legs over the edge of my bed and sighed. “You’re too sharp for me, Alice. You take after Mamma that way.”
“Much to my regret.” I placed my hairbrush down on my dressing table and joined my sister on my bed. Grabbing her hand, I pulled her down with me, so that we were both staring up at the canopy above. “What is her concern this time? Did I spill my punch? Tear my dress? Betray the location of the family vault?” I knew what my mother’s concerns were, naturally, but I simply wanted to make Edith laugh.
She didn’t disappoint. “Alice!” Edith giggled, musically, joyfully; she sounded like a little girl again, which was what I had wanted. And so I had to giggle, too; her laugh was so infectious.
“Isn’t this nice?” I asked with a melancholy sigh, when we had tired ourselves out.
“Yes, very.” Edith leaned her head upon my shoulder with a contented smile.
“As if we were little girls again, up in the nursery with Phoebe, dear Phoebe. She’s so old now. However does she keep up with Violet?”
“I don’t believe she does. Violet has the run of the place. She’s quite the little tyrant.”
“True. I am loath to say it, but I almost wish Pricks was here. She’d straighten her out in no time.”
“She asked about you the other day, you know,” Edith said, after a moment.
“How could she?” I twisted my head around to stare at my sister; we were so close, I could count the faint freckles on her nose—ghost freckles, I called them, for they were almost translucent, hardly noticeable to the casual eye.
“I went down to the hotel, to visit. Pricks enjoys seeing us—well, seeing me, and Rhoda.”
“An innkeeper’s wife. How fitting.”
“She always speaks well of you, Alice.”
“As well she may, now that she’s done her damage.” I rolled over, my arms crossed against my chest. “She’s a ridiculous figure, and it’s a wonder she ever snagged a husband at her age, the way she positively threw herself at—well, at those who had better taste.”
Edith did not comment; she simply waited for me to roll back over and take her hand, so she could give me a comforting squeeze.
“You haven’t told me what your mission is,” I said with a sigh, finally steeling myself to hear it. Mamma rarely spoke to me directly these days; indeed, she hadn’t in years. It was as if she couldn’t trust herself not to speak what was truly in her heart. Or perhaps she couldn’t trust me not to do the same.
“I’m not going to carry it out,” Edith declared, happy and proud in her little act of defiance. I had to smile, turning my face toward hers, breathing in the summer smell of rosewater that always lingered in her hair.
“She wanted you to tell me to be less attentive to Prince Leopold, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you to, unless you feel the need for secrecy yourself. Oh, Alice, you seem so happy with him! I don’t care that Mamma had her eye on him for me—I wouldn’t want him, anyway, for I am—am fond—of another. Truly, I see your happiness, the light in your eye, the smile, and I’m so glad, for I haven’t seen that in you in such a long time!”
I wrapped my arms about my sister, tears springing to my eyes; they dampened the shoulder of her pink lisle nightgown, but she didn’t appear to mind. She was so dear! So unselfish with her love! She was the only person in my life who still treated me as I was before the breach. For that was how I viewed my life; it was as if the first part had been spent in a land of pure contentment, a land of gingerbread houses and spun-sugar clouds and lemon-drop sun. But one day a giant quake tore the very earth away from my feet, and cast me up on the shore of a darker, foreign place.
I knew it was ridiculous; no childhood could be that uncomplicated, and I knew my memories couldn’t be trusted, for wasn’t that what everyone said? Yet forever, I viewed my life as divided into two different parts, or lands; before and after.
“I’m so very glad you’re here,” I told Edith, speaking what was in my heart, for once. “Now!” I brushed away the tears on both of our cheeks and sat up, fluffing a pillow—shooing away the tiny white feathers that escaped from it—and leaning up against the headboard. “Tell me who has won your heart, for I know you’re not simply fond of this gentleman. Fondness has no place in your vocabulary.”
Edith dimpled, rolling over so that her head was propped up on her slender hand. “Do you remember my childhood dream of living in a house as grand as Nuneham Courtney?”
“Yes, but—Edith! You don’t mean to say you’re in love with Aubrey Harcourt?”
Edith blushed, but her green eyes, as bright as stars, confirmed my guess.
“Oh, how wonderful! He’s a kind young man, and of course, all that property, including Nuneham Courtney! Mamma will positively swoon! Do you love him, truly?”
“Yes,” Edith said, twisting a strand of hair about the fourth finger of her left hand, until it resembled a wedding band. “He’s no prince, of course—I leave the truly spectacular match up to you—but he is fond of me, I think. Ever so fond. And I of him.”
“Then I shall think fondly of him, too. Although I can’t bear the notion of giving you up.” I reached toward her, grabbing her hand as if I could grab on to my childhood, as well. How quickly we all had grown, after all.
“You won’t have to, not for ages, not until the summer, at earliest. I’ll be the one who will have to part with you, I fear. Fear, and hope, both?” She smiled at me, joining me at the top of the bed, nestling under my arm.
I didn’t answer. There was both fear and hope within my heart, true. They did not mix well together, I discovered, placing a hand upon my breast, trying to quiet the tumult within.
“I don’t know,” I finally whispered to my sister, voicing the fear, hoping that by hearing it out loud, it might not feel so real. “There are many obstacles in the way, I’m afraid.”
Edith nodded, forced to agree; she was a sweet little optimist, my sister, but no fool. She understood instantly what I meant.
“Did Mamma mention anything about being photographed?” I asked.
“Yes. By Mr. Dodgson, you mean?”
I nodded, unable to look my sister in the eyes.
“It was an odd request, was it not? By the Prince?” Edith’s voice was very gentle, very careful.
I nodded again.
“I would think, then, that no gossip—no talk, I mean—has reached his ears. I believe that is why Mamma has decided to arrange for a sitting; she seems to view this as an opportunity.”
“An opportunity to humiliate me in front of the Prince?” I couldn’t help it; I flew off the bed and paced around my room, tying and untying the sash of my dressing gown, not knowing I was doing so until I found my hand wrapped tightly in a knot of silk.
“An opportunity to show that there is no basis to—to what some may have said, in the past.” Edith remained on the bed, her legs dangling over the side, watching me.
“And what some are still saying.” I remembered Mr. Ruskin, and his summons.
“Which is all the more reason to do this, Alice. The Prince truly loves you—I can see it!”
“The only reason Mamma is consenting is because of you—you’re the one she desires to see happy. Not me.”
“That’s not true, Alice.”
“Yes, it is. The Prince is not intended for me; if she’s eager to show the gossips that the Liddells are not afraid to associate with Mr. Dodgson, it’s not to restore my reputation—I’m too far gone for that. It’s to clear the family name for you.”
“But don’t you see that the result will be the same? One less obstacle, as you say?”
“No, I don’t. Because I don’t know what will happen—how we can possibly return to that—to him—to—oh, I don’t know. I don’t know!” I threw myself back upon the bed; my head somehow found itself resting on Edith’s lap, as she smoothed my tangled hair. Eventually my breathing slowed, my limbs grew heavy, and, yawning, I began to feel the lateness of the hour.
“Alice, Alice. I know it’s been terribly difficult for you, but I believe good times are just ahead. You’re strong—so strong! So much stronger than I am.”
I looked up at her sweet, worried face. “You’re just as strong. We’re both our mother’s daughters, for better and for worse.”
“I do believe she wants you to be happy, Alice. I truly believe so.”
“I know you do.”
“As do I. I pray, very hard, every night, for your happiness,” she whispered, before gently kissing me on the cheek and pushing me off her lap. Then she ran out the door, back to her own room.
“May we be happy,” I murmured, not quite understanding what I was saying, only that the phrase seemed familiar to me. A ghost missive from the land of childhood, I mused drowsily, getting up to blow out the candle on my dressing table. I stopped there and gazed at my reflection in the mirror, looking for some trace of the child I’d been—before.
I still wore my hair in a fringe; I still had a rather decided chin. But other than that, I could see no trace of the triumphant girl in the pale, somber-eyed maiden that stared back at me. What did Leo see in that maiden, then, that enchanted him so? What goodness, what innocence, did he find? I could not recognize it; I saw myself only as others did, as my mother did. Should I pray that he see me that way, too, so that he could absolve me with his love? Or should I pray that somehow I could miraculously shed the past and become who he believed me to be?
“May we be happy,” I repeated, frowning at myself; I blew the candle out. Climbing back under the down quilts of my bed, I wondered if Sophie would have the sense to bring up a bed warmer, as the nights were growing colder. “May we all deserve happiness,” I murmured into my pillow.
Then, with startling clarity—and a cold, sick dread that spread over my limbs—I remembered when I had heard those words, after all; I remembered who had spoken them to me.
I knew no copper bed warmer would give me comfort tonight.