Alice I Have Been: A Novel (19 page)

When I arrived home, I quickly ran up to my room. I changed my clothes, washed my hands, tried to rid myself of any trace of him and his sick, wayward thoughts, his intent.

Then I sat at my dressing table, staring into the looking glass for a very long time. My eyes grew red, raw with the strain of searching my face; searching for the goodness I prayed that Leo would still find there.

I sat there until day turned into night, and then night turned back into day. Yet try as I might, I could no longer see it.

Chapter 12
•  •  •

Y
OU LOOK LOVELY—THAT ROSE TULLE OVER THE TARLATAN IS
perfection! Oh, I do wish I was going!” Covering her face with her handkerchief, Edith coughed fitfully and then fell back against her pillows, her hair a tangled mess of curls. Her face was nearly as red as her hair.

“Yes, you’d be a perfect vision, with all that coughing! I know it’s unfair, and Aubrey will be vexed, but you know what Dr. Acland said. You’re to stay in bed for a week, at least.”

“It’s so unlucky! And for once I thought I’d be the belle of the ball instead of you! Papa was going to announce the engagement tonight.” Edith smiled weakly, and turned her head to sigh over the beautiful blue taffeta gown hanging in the cupboard.

“I’m never the belle of the ball when you’re present, so I relish the chance tonight. May I borrow your diamond star clip for my hair?”

“Yes, of course—it’ll look wonderful with your diamond earrings!”

I smiled my thanks and rummaged around in her jewel case until I found the clip; dancing over to the looking glass above the mantel, I pinned it in my hair, just above my left ear. “Is this right, do you think?” I turned.

“It’s perfect. Oh dear!” And Edith was off on another coughing fit again.

“Poor darling! I’ll ring for the nurse—Dr. Acland said we weren’t to get too close, in case it’s measles. I do wish I could give you a kiss, though, before I fly. I’m rather excited for tonight—silly, but I am! How many Commemoration Balls have I attended?”

“None like tonight,” Edith managed to choke out, between coughs. Finally they subsided, and she fell back against her pillows once more. “Do you think the Prince will propose, then?”

“I really don’t know, but perhaps he—might.” I was too superstitious to say more, even if I could not stop myself from smiling in anticipation. We had made so many plans in these last few days, as his time at Oxford drew to an end; some were quite unattainable (I doubted, for instance, that the Queen would countenance Leo’s idea of moving to America in order to organize the recently emancipated slaves into helping the British recapture the colonies), but others more down to earth. I knew he had also spoken to Papa. Yet there remained the matter of obtaining the Queen’s permission, and I had not been able to ask if he had written her.

Still, I sensed it, my future; it was close, so close I could wrap my arms around it; wrap my arms around
him
. Perhaps, tonight, he would simply waltz me out of Oxford, right under everyone’s noses.

Giggling, I began to waltz around Edith’s room, holding my skirts up, showing off my new silk dancing slippers. Edith giggled, too—as best she could—but when she began to cough again, I stopped.

“Oh, I’m making you much worse! I’ll finish my toilette in my own room. You rest now, darling, and I’ll save you a program and tell you all the gossip in the morning.”

“Oh, I do wish I could go!” She couldn’t help but shed a tear, even as she beamed at me from the depths of her pillows, looking like a dyspeptic angel in her white nightgown. “Keep Aubrey company! And I can’t wait to congratulate you in the morning!”

“Good night!” I blew her a kiss, then hurried out of her room, shutting the door softly behind me. Downstairs, outside the front door, I could hear Bultitude stomping his feet and grumbling; the carriage must have arrived. Where on earth was Sophie? She was supposed to have brought down my gloves and wrap ten minutes ago. I headed back to my room to retrieve them myself; I did hope she had remembered to dress in her good black silk, and pack her needle and thread in case I needed repairs later.

“Alice!” Mamma was gliding down the hall, handsome in her new ruby red silk gown, the bustle a cascade of white satin ruffles dotted with black velvet bows.

“Yes, Mamma?”

“I need to talk with you before we leave.”

“About what, Mamma?”

“This business with Prince Leopold. Your father spoke to me about it this evening.”

“He did?” Perhaps Leo had heard from the Queen, then? I couldn’t hide my hope; I couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop myself from beaming, even as I blinked away a surprising tear of joy.

Mamma, however, pretended not to notice, as she merely sniffed before continuing. “Yes. He’s a fool, your father. He’s blinded by his affection for the Prince. But he does not view the situation with clear eyes.”

“I see.” My eyes were dry now. I met my mother’s gaze directly. “And you do?”

“Yes, I do. Despite what you believe, I do.”

“What I believe? I’ll tell you—I believe that you cannot view the situation with anything but jaded eyes, Mamma. I believe that you cannot look at me without seeing—without seeing what you want to see, which is that I’m not good enough for a prince. Confess it, Mamma. Confess that you think that Leo is too good for me.” My voice was rising, the back of my neck was bristling, just like an animal engaged in mortal combat, but I did not care. Finally, I would make my mother look at me, talk to me, treat me as an equal—even if it was by challenging her to speak a truth I did not want to hear.

Her dark eyes glittered, even as her eyebrows shot up in their triangular way, and I think she admired me, in spite of herself; she knew so few true adversaries. Still, she shook her head dis-missively. “I know the world in a way which you do not. I know the Queen. I know there might—there will be inquiries. But instead of accusing me of thinking less of you, have you ever thought that I might be protecting you? Protecting your heart from getting hurt? I once thought you the most practical of my daughters, Alice, but now I wonder. You seem so desperate lately. So reckless.”

Why was it, whenever I tried to shape my own destiny, I was considered to be acting recklessly? Was that the fate of the unmarried woman? I had to believe it was so. “Well, then, I
am
desperate! And if that makes me reckless, so be it! I’m desperately in love, I’m desperate to get away from here—I’m twenty-four, Mamma! Twenty-four! I should be married, I should have a home of my own, but I’ve been kept out of sight, put up on a shelf. And Leo found me there, and rescued me! I know something about the world, too—give me some credit, at least. I’ve taken measures to protect myself.” I thought of Mr. Ruskin, that last horrible day in his drawing room, and I shuddered.

“Alice.” My mother’s face softened; her eyes shone with what I could almost believe was understanding. I remembered that long-ago winter before Albert came, when she had asked for me, and only me, to keep her company; I had seen that same expression in her eyes then. Although never since. “Alice, I do wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to have your own family, your own home like Ina, like Edith will soon. I merely wish that you and Leopold—tell me this, Alice. Do you truly think
he’ll
keep quiet? Do you truly think he’ll stand by and not say a word, while you plan to marry another man, particularly a prince?” Her mouth twisted up, as if she couldn’t bear to even think of him, and I knew she was referring to Mr. Dodgson now.

“I think he’ll want me to be happy,” I answered defiantly, speaking what was in my heart, for it was what I truly wished for him.

“You do?” Mamma raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for.”

The words stung, like a slap across my face—had she called me ugly, I wouldn’t have minded, but I realized I had long set a great store in the fact that Mamma thought me sensible—but I would not let her see my pain. “I’ll join you in the carriage in a moment, Mamma. I must find Sophie first.” Without meeting her gaze, I brushed past her and headed to my room.

Before I reached the door, I heard her say, once, “Alice.” It was not a command; it was more like a prayer. A mother’s prayer? I wondered. I could not know, for I had never once heard my mother ask God for anything. I ignored her and entered my room, shutting the door behind me.

I found Sophie sitting like an obedient child at my dressing table; I told her to hand me my wrap and gloves, and to try, for pity’s sake, not to crush my nosegay on the drive to the ball. Then I ran to the mirror for one more look—had I ever stared at myself more than I had this evening? Holding my reflection in my gaze, I forced myself to shake off the effects of Mamma’s words; I slowed my breathing down, felt my cheeks lose some of their heat, blinked my eyes so the tears would not fall. I tried to recapture the giddy joy I had felt in Edith’s room; but I knew I would not recover it except in Leo’s arms.

Suddenly I could wait for him no longer; I ran from the room, Sophie struggling behind, and flew down the stairs, scarcely bothering to wrap my shoulders in my cloak. Joining Rhoda, Aubrey Harcourt—looking very pale and morose without Edith—and my parents in the carriage, I leaned forward as we rumbled away, as if I could will the horses to fly. Mercifully, the journey was short. In no time we drew up to the entrance of the new Corn Exchange behind the Town Hall, where the Oxford Commemoration Ball of 1876 was being held.

I had to fight off the urge—truly, it pulsed through me like a fever—to run out of the carriage, calling Leo’s name.

Instead, I demurely walked down the steps, the folds of my dress gathered in my clenched hands, and followed my parents into the building, waiting to be announced, one more time, as “Miss Alice Liddell, daughter of the Dean and Mrs. Liddell.”

“
YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS,
I believe many young ladies are staring at you, hoping against hope that you will sign their program for even one turn about the floor.”

“Are they? I have no idea, for I cannot look at anyone but you.”

“You will tire of that someday, you know,” I teased, not believing my own words. “You will look back upon the days when you could have danced with any number of young ladies with longing, and possibly regret.”

“I believe you’re talking of yourself, after all! Now, ’fess up, Alice: You want to dance with one of those hopping young undergraduates—see that pack of them, over in the corner, the ones who look as if they’ve borrowed their fathers’ waistcoats?—instead of poor me. You’re the one who fears regrets, not I!”

“Oh dear, you’ve found me out! I can’t hide anything from you!”

Laughing, Leo spun me about—not quite in step with the orchestra—until I grew dizzy, but I didn’t mind. Looking up into his smiling face—finally he was filling out, so that his cheekbones weren’t so prominent—I surrendered myself to his sure, confident embrace as he guided me across the crowded dance floor. It was such a relief to have him steer me about so; tonight, I didn’t want to think, I didn’t want to worry. I wanted only to laugh, and smile, and dance, and, yes—perhaps even flirt. But most of all, I wanted to love, and be loved.

And in his arms, feeling the burning imprint of his hand upon my waist even through the hard shell of my corset, I found not only the joy I had sought earlier but the realization, without a doubt, that I was.

The Corn Exchange—normally a huge, drafty place with soaring ceilings, broad exposed beams, sawdust-covered wood floors—had been transformed. Tonight the floors had been scrubbed and polished to a sheen with beeswax; the cavernous walls were hung with velvet maroon drapes, great gilded brackets holding dripping candelabras, and bouquets of flowers tucked into swaths of lace and cord. A very welcome addition was an enormous stack of ice blocks near the back, which did help cool the room from the heat of the candles and the warmth of the dancers.

While my gown was, naturally, one of the most elegant, there was no shortage of finery on display. The young ladies wore gowns of the lightest material—whispery muslin, delicate lace, rustling tarlatan, gauzy tulle—in colors of the gayest spring, bustles lower this season, more trailing than bunched; the men were elegantly slim in their close-fitting black trousers, skimming dress coats to match, showing broad expanses of white shirtfront studded with diamonds or gold. Naturally, everyone wore white kid gloves.

The ballroom was a feast for the senses: a rainbow of colors swirling, merging, parting; the beguiling music of the orchestra, the low, mellow instruments keeping time while the melody swirled about courtesy of the violins; the honey-sweet aroma of burning beeswax combined with the hothouse fragrance of a thousand flowers all mixed together. And hovering above it all was the rise and fall of ballroom conversation; teasing, taunting, laughing, occasional serious undertones of earnest lovemaking.

“I do love balls.” I sighed, content to be simply one fair maiden among many tonight.

“That is the least profound idea I have ever heard come from your delectable mouth, and I love you for it.” Leo laughed indulgently, even paternally—and I allowed him to do so with a bashful, very maidenlike smile.

“Am I too serious for you at times? Would you prefer it if I only chatted about gloves and bows and parasols instead of books and art and ideas?”

“Not at all! I’ve spent far too much time in the company of such perfect ladies—”

“So I’m not a perfect lady?” Arching my back, I pulled slightly away, feigning outrage with a pout.

“No, no—oh dear!” He began to laugh, helplessly, his slim shoulders shaking with mirth. “This is one of those conversations which I will never survive. Suffice it to say you’re perfect in every way, and I don’t want you to change one whit. There—am I forgiven?”

“I suppose so.” I tried very hard not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. He looked so appealingly confused, like a small boy; still, when he gazed at me with that sparkle in his eye, I knew I was his equal in every way, and that he admired me for it.

The music came to an end with a violin flourish; the dancers applauded, and Leo bowed while I curtsied. Somehow we had ended up in the center of the ballroom, all eyes upon us, and I decided that, after all, I did not want to be one among many. I wanted to be the sole prize upon the arm of Prince Leopold, admired, studied, envied. Holding my chin high and proud, feeling my cheeks blaze, knowing my eyes sparkled, I rejoiced that I was the talk of the ball. I had known notoriety, of course, but this was different; this was intoxicating, and I’m afraid I rather encouraged it by laughing just a little louder than usual, touching Leo’s arm, as he led me off the dance floor, just a little more often than necessary. Tonight, I did not care who saw me.