Alice I Have Been: A Novel (4 page)

“Any suggestions? I’ve the entire afternoon to be at your disposal.”

“Can we go rowing?” I asked. “It’s awfully hot!”

“No, I promised Mr. Duckworth we wouldn’t go again until he could join us, as he’s heard me talk so much about our fun times,” Mr. Dodgson said. “You wouldn’t want me to break that promise, would you?”

“Oh, no!” I shook my head so vigorously that the ends of my hair tickled my ears. I did like Mr. Duckworth, who had a splendid singing voice; we had recently met him at tea in Mr. Dodgson’s rooms, where he sang bits from an Italian opera for us. To be honest, I was surprised to meet him there, even if he was another fellow at college. I wasn’t accustomed to seeing Mr. Dodgson with other adults, except on the rare occasions Mamma invited him to parties at the Deanery. “No, we mustn’t break a promise to him!”

“I did tell Mrs. Liddell that I was taking the girls out for a botany expedition,” Pricks said.

“Ah, b-b-botany. A fine excuse for an outing. Especially when accompanied by a mathematics professor.”

Pricks laughed and took Mr. Dodgson’s arm, which he offered to her after first stifling a small sigh, I noticed. I don’t believe, though, that Pricks did.

“Would you like to go to the Meadow, my ladies?” he called over his shoulder.

“Oh, yes!” I jumped up and down, and I’m afraid I did shout, causing more than a few students, heads together in earnest discussion, to look my way. Mr. Dodgson only laughed, even while Ina and Pricks stiffened. “Might we roll down a hill?”

“I’m not sure what that has to do with botany, Alice,” Mr. Dodgson said. “D-d-do enlighten me.”

“Well.” Frowning, I tried not to step on grasshoppers as I walked, as I knew from experience they made a mess when squished. “We would be rolling on grass, which is a plant. We could study the grass after, to see if it got flat or not. That would be scientific.”

Ina laughed at me, and I resisted the urge to poke her with my parasol, but only because we were still in the Quad and Mamma might be watching from the window.

Mr. Dodgson did not laugh. He released Pricks’s arm—she did not appear to like
that
, as she let out a sigh she didn’t bother to stifle—and clasped his gloved hands behind his back. I wondered why he always wore gloves, inside and out, even when it was hot; I had to, of course, because I was a girl. Men, however, did not have so many requirements, so it made no sense to me.

Mr. Dodgson nodded slowly, giving my answer thoughtful consideration, which was one reason why I liked him so. He was the only adult who ever did.

“That is an interesting answer. I do wonder if the weight of a little girl would be enough, but then we must consider the f-force of the roll itself, as a factor.”

“Exactly!” I was excited now, and pleased with myself for coming up with such a brilliant experiment; I couldn’t prevent myself from skipping a step or two, to Ina’s great annoyance.

“Then again, there’s another factor we must consider. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Bugs,” crowed Edith happily. She loved bugs of all types and longed to have an ant farm in the nursery. Phoebe wouldn’t hear of it, though, despite my many attempts to explain to her that ants did not have wings.

“No, not bugs.”

“The wind?” Ina asked, in spite of herself; I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at her.

We had crossed the hot, treeless Quad, passing the great fountain in the middle with its bronze statue of Mercury, and were now under the towering stone arch that marked the entrance. Turning left, we proceeded down the narrow, noisy street of St. Aldate ’s, with all its lovely shops. I did hope we would stop to buy sweets; I patted the tuppence in my pocket, just in case.

“No, the wind would not be a factor.” Mr. Dodgson raised his voice in an effort to be heard over the clatter of carts and horses on cobblestones, the clang of bells on shop doors, the steady hum of conversation tickling my ears.

“The rain from yesterday?” I asked.

“No, not the rain—although, yes, I suppose on another day that could be a mi-mitigating factor. Not today, though; the sun is too bright.”

“Then what? What is the other factor?” Despite my belief that lessons should never interfere with play, I was curious. So curious, in fact, that I didn’t even notice we’d passed the sweet shop until we were two doors past, when a lady carrying a basket containing a large fish bumped into me. She apologized with a curtsy—the fish merely stared sadly up at the sky—and hurried away.

“No one has stopped to consider the effect of grass stains upon white—what is it? Cotton? Linen?” Stopping, he bent down and fingered the hem of Ina’s dress; she stiffened, and I saw her shoulders tremble slightly.

“It is muslin,” Pricks said with a patient smile. “Gentlemen never can tell the difference.”

“Which is only as it should be. At any rate, grass stains plus little girls’ white dresses equal a very—agitated—mother.”

“True,” I had to admit with a sigh. “Very true. Mamma did ask me, particularly, not to get dirty. And I did just get dirty this morning.”

“As I’m sure you’ll get dirty tomorrow. However, I do not wish to hasten the inevitable. So we shall not roll down the hill. Not today, at any rate,” Mr. Dodgson said with a sad smile; all his smiles were just a little sad around the edges, as if he knew happiness never could last very long. Whenever he smiled, I wanted to pat his hand or lean my head against his shoulder to cheer him up.

“But perhaps someday?” I slid my hand in his and was grateful for his sympathetic squeeze.

“Perhaps.” There was a sudden commotion; the lady with the fish dropped it in the middle of the street with a cry, and Edith ran toward it, eager to aid in its capture. I would have followed, but just as I started to go—right behind Ina and Pricks, who called out, “Edith, it’s not proper to play with someone’s dinner!”—Mr. Dodgson bent down and caught my elbow.

“But cheer up, my Alice. I do have a lovely surprise for you.”

I stopped, my heart racing, both at the excitement of the fish, now flopping weakly in a gutter while a raggedy man poked at it with a stick, and at the tempting words Mr. Dodgson had uttered. His hand still caressed my elbow and I felt, at that moment, that I would go anywhere, do anything he asked, as long as it remained only the two of us, no one else allowed.

“Is it a secret just for me?” I whispered, unable to look in his eyes for fear I was wrong.

“Just for you,” he whispered back. So I found that I
could
look in his eyes, his kind, loving eyes that picked me, out of three identically dressed little girls, and saw only me, despite all my many failings as recited daily by Pricks and Ina and Mamma. My heart was glad, so glad; it wanted to leap out of my chest and tell him so, but it had to content itself with my words.

“Oh, that sounds
so
nice! What is it? When will I know?”

“Soon. I’ll send you a note soon, when the perfect day presents itself.”

“But how will you know it’s perfect?”

“It shall say to me, ‘Mr. Do-Do-Dodgson, I command you to go fetch Alice, because this day belongs to her, it cannot belong to another, and the three of us—you, Alice, and myself—must spend it together, in order to remember it always.’”

“How can a day spend itself?” My head spun with the notion of Mr. Dodgson talking to the day; would he be addressing the sun, the clouds, the air itself? Just what did a day look like? Did it have a very deep voice? Or a merry voice, like the laughing tinkle of the little clock on Mamma’s desk, the one with the ballerinas that spun around in a circle?

“Days are very mysterious things, of course. Sometimes they fly by, and other times they seem to last forever, yet they are all exactly twenty-four hours. There’s quite a lot we don’t know about them.”

I did so want to know how a day spent itself, but I decided to leave it for another—day. Then I laughed, thinking I had made a pun, although I wasn’t exactly sure; when Mr. Dodgson inquired as to why I was laughing, I shook my head, not wanting to explain.

He didn’t appear to mind; he smiled and stood up straight, still holding my hand, as we waited for Pricks and Ina to retrieve Edith.

“Oh, did she get anything on her dress?” I studied her anxiously; with Mamma’s request weighing upon my conscience, I felt somehow responsible for the spotlessness of the entire party.

“Not a thing, thank heavens!” Pricks studied the bottom of her own skirt, which was now damp and muddy. “Oh, these streets! Mud and water and horses and fish and who knows what else!”

“Then let us hasten to the Meadow, where the fresh air will dry your skirt, Edith can chase butterflies and not fish, Alice can look at the hill but not roll down it, and Ina can sit prettily under a tree and look thoughtful.”

Edith clapped her hands; Ina blushed and smiled; Pricks pulled her glove up high over her wrist and touched the false knot of hair sticking out from her bonnet.

I tugged on Mr. Dodgson’s jacket. “What
will you
do?”

“I’ll tell stories, I suppose. Don’t I always?”

I nodded, happy. Yes, he did tell stories; intricate stories about us, about Oxford, about the people we knew, the places we saw every day, but somehow he managed to arrange them all into faraway places, lands we’d never seen before yet recognized all the same.

“Isn’t that a sweet family?” I heard a lady say as we crossed St. Aldate’s—Pricks raising her skirts with much exaggeration as she stepped over piles of fresh horse manure, as the dairy wagon had just passed—to get to the wide, tree-lined Broad Walk, which bordered the Meadow.

The lady was obviously not from Oxford; everyone here knew that we were the three Liddell girls. I laughed, even as Pricks gave a sudden start. She raised her chin, surprising me by looking very soft and almost pretty, with glistening eyes, a smile not quite so sudden and terrible; not all her teeth were showing. I wondered why she didn’t correct the lady; I supposed it was one of those instinctive manners she was always going on about.

Ina almost said something; I could see her struggle as her face reddened, her mouth opened, and she looked at Pricks and Mr. Dodgson, as if seeking their permission. However, Pricks chose that moment to stumble and lean more heavily upon Mr. Dodgson’s arm. I held my breath; she certainly was bigger than he, even without her swaying skirt, and I feared he might topple over. By some miracle he didn’t; he grimaced a bit, but held on bravely.

Ina’s eyes narrowed. I could see her storing this picture away, as she sometimes did; I knew my sister hoarded information the way squirrels hoarded nuts. Not useful information, either, such as why Phoebe always dipped her food into tea before she ate it (she said she had soft teeth and didn’t want to lose them before she got too old to catch a husband).

No, Ina was more interested in quiet things, looks and sighs and passing touches. The way a man sat on a sofa next to a lady; the distance between them; the silence. She could find meaning in such things, and she sometimes talked about them with me, but mainly—as I never could understand what they meant, and didn’t feel like trying very hard to learn—she stored them away. For some future use that I could not help but fear, as little as I understood it.

So we passed our afternoon companionably, doing precisely what Mr. Dodgson had predicted. Sheltered by the tall chestnut trees, Ina posed on a low stone bench, patted her curls a lot, and looked dreamy; Edith tried to catch every insect she saw; Pricks fanned her skirts out in a very energetic attempt to dry that one damp splotch. I looked longingly at a pretty slope, just the right height, with no dangerous tree roots sticking out; the grass was so very green and tempting, but somehow, I remembered my promise to Mamma. So I contented myself with picking buttercups for her, although I still ended up losing one glove and soiling the other.

Mr. Dodgson reclined on the grass—gentlemen did not mind stains as much as ladies; this was another important piece of information I now possessed—and told stories. Some silly tales, I soon forgot what they were; they were the same as all the other stories he told, long and winding and full of talking animals and people behaving strangely, although somehow recognizably. I felt I might know whom he was talking about really—the lecturing fish certainly sounded familiar, the way he droned on and on about heaven and the narrow path that leads to it—but in the end, I had to give up. It was too warm to think. I was too drowsy.

He did make me sit up straight, once, with just a look, a sudden, intense look, almost as if he were afraid I might disappear and he wanted to remember me. When I felt myself blush, wondering why I felt so strangely, he blinked, and I relaxed. With a smile, he put a finger to his lips, and I knew he was referring to our secret; my insides bubbled over with happiness, making me giggle out loud.

Immediately, however, I stopped. Ina’s face pinched up; her small mouth set itself in a tight, disapproving line. Her eyes grew cold and still. They reminded me of Mr. Dodgson’s camera lens, unblinking, unemotional.

Those eyes remembered, recorded
everything
, including things like secrets; including things like sympathetic hearts that were, as yet, barely noticeable even to those who possessed them.

Chapter 2
•  •  •

I
WAITED AND WAITED FOR THE PERFECT DAY. I WORRIED I
wouldn’t recognize it when it appeared. So I was anxious, always on guard, and wore on Pricks’s nerves even more than usual.

“Alice, if you cannot sit quietly for five minutes, I will bind you to your chair with—with—butcher’s string!” She looked around the schoolroom for some. Naturally, all she found were books and slates and papers, the huge globe that sat on a half bookshelf, a stuffed owl looming in a low, sloping corner. She scarcely bothered to look on her own desk, with its neat stacks of blotters in every kind of fabric, her favorite pen lying next to the inkwell, a sheaf of ruled paper full of lists written out in her neat, uninspiring hand.

“No, you won’t,” I explained, shaking my head once more; how could someone responsible for teaching me everything I was supposed to learn in order to be an educated lady be so very stupid at times? “You’d have to go all the way down to the kitchen to ask Cook for some, and meanwhile I’d escape. It wouldn’t be difficult. I could climb out the window and shimmy down the drainpipe.”

“I shan’t resort to physical force, however tempted.” With a sigh, Pricks turned to the blackboard. “But do try to act like Ina. She’s behaving beautifully.”

Ina simpered, adjusting her hands into another graceful pose, placing her left hand flat on her desk, folding the right one upon it, with a slight fluttering of her fingertips.

I wouldn’t do that; I wouldn’t act so sickeningly fake. I did try to sit quietly, though, for I truly did not want to be a nuisance to Pricks. She had not been feeling well lately; she was pale (as pale as someone with a nut-brown complexion could be), her hair was dull, and she had even stopped putting creams and lotions on her warts.

Ina, too, was acting strangely; noisy sighs and reclining poses, quick starts whenever there was a knock on the door.

And while I had believed myself to be ignorant of the feminine mind, a reason for their ridiculous behavior presented itself to me without much effort. Mr. Dodgson was the culprit. He had not been around as much as usual. Even more surprisingly, I thought I knew why.

Mr. Ruskin had alluded to it.

Papa said that Mr. Ruskin was a genius. Papa did not say this about many people, although many people said it about him. Papa and his friend Mr. Scott were always writing a book; the same book, a book with no end, apparently, like some of Mr. Dodgson’s stories. Only this book was supposed to translate words from one language to another, from Greek to English. A lexicon, they called it, and even though I thought the entire enterprise rather boring and not a little useless—personally, I had never had reason to wonder what the Greek word for, say, hippopotamus, was—others did not. They always spoke about it, and Papa, in hushed tones—while calling him a genius.

Knowing that Papa never used this word carelessly, I had to admit that if he believed Mr. Ruskin to be a genius, then he must be.

Only I thought Mr. Ruskin was a bore. He wasn’t part of Oxford, not truly. He only popped in from London every few weeks to lecture and give art lessons. Mamma made sure he came round to the Deanery when he did, so that we girls could have lessons, too, and while I did love to draw, I did not enjoy doing so in the company of Mr. Ruskin.

It wasn’t that I thought he didn’t like me; I was quite sure that he did. He did not like me in the same way as Mr. Dodgson, though, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on the difference between them. Mr. Ruskin admired me; he tended to look at me a lot, and smile down his long aquiline nose at me, and pat me or touch part of my dress whenever he had a chance. Still, unlike Mr. Dodgson, he never seemed very interested in anything I had to say.

He
would never allow me to roll down a hill. He would never ask me about my thoughts, either, for he did not seem to believe I possessed any. Whenever I chanced to talk during our lessons, he always put down his pencil or chalk, sighed, and muttered, “The Medicis would have been easier to work for.”

He did like to talk, just not with us girls. Mamma was his chief friend, at least whenever she was around; I did get the impression he wasn’t so loyal when she was not. For Mr. Ruskin loved to talk about other people, the people of Oxford; who was on the outs with whom, who was writing love letters to a certain shopkeeper’s young daughter, which son of a clergyman was rumored to have spent his entire allowance on wine and women—

Which mathematics lecturer was supposed to be paying court to the governess of the Dean’s daughters?

“That’s what they’re saying, my dear,” I heard him giggle to Mamma one afternoon while they were in the parlor, taking tea. I was on my way downstairs to the kitchen to see if Cook had any scraps to spare for my kitten, Dinah. Edith and I had dressed her up for a tea party, but so far, she wasn’t cooperating. We decided it might be because kittens aren’t partial to biscuits, and so I was on my way to procure some scraps for her, preferably fish bones.

“It’s nonsense, of course,” Mamma harrumphed. I heard the clink of china, as she must have placed her teacup in its saucer impatiently. Stopping outside the door, I tiptoed back a few steps and flattened myself against the wall, very carefully, so my petticoats didn’t rustle and give me away. It was nearly impossible to be an effective eavesdropper when one had to wear so very many clothes. Still, I persisted.

“Why nonsense? To the observer, it appears perfectly logical. He does spend a lot of time with her.” Mr. Ruskin’s voice was thin and high. It always sounded odd to me, coming from one with such an awful quantity of hair growing all over his head, even down the sides of his face; his eyebrows were so bushy they looked like caterpillars.

“He spends time with the children—they’re the ones he comes to see. It’s only natural that Miss Prickett accompany them on outings. I wouldn’t allow it otherwise.”

“Well, the sentiment is that he spends time with Miss Prickett, and the children are incidental.”

“Nonsense,” Mamma huffed. “More tea?”

“Yes, please.”

There was a silence, during which my mind began to wander back up to the nursery. Had Edith been able to keep Dinah in her little dress? I did hope she wouldn’t tear it with her claws; I had borrowed it from one of Ina’s dolls.

Then Mamma spoke again.

“He is rather a nuisance, though. That man. Dodgson.”

“Of course. Everyone says so.”

“Always photographing them—the girls. Always taking them on outings, picnics, boating—it’s as if he doesn’t have any other friends. Does he?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Mr. Ruskin sniffed.

“What is his background? Only the son of a clergyman. No family to speak of. I continue to allow it because the girls are so young, and they do seem to enjoy his company and I’m sure it’s a help to Miss Prickett. Otherwise they’d grow sick of one another. The photographs he takes are charming, I must say. The girls never seem to tire of posing—it’s the only time I’ve ever seen Alice able to sit still.”

The tips of my ears burned at the sound of my own name. I almost giggled but clamped my hand over my mouth just in time.

“I barely know the man,” Mr. Ruskin said, sounding bored. “I don’t imagine you’ll be having many mathematics lecturers around when the girls are older?”

Mamma laughed. “Of course not! My daughters will not marry college professors. I have higher hopes than that!”

“Of course you do. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t—they’re pearls. And as such, should only be auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

Now I was very confused. Only slaves were auctioned, and they had been outlawed long ago; Pricks had taught us this, when we were doing history.

“Oh, Mr. Ruskin. I do wish you wouldn’t put it that way. It’s vulgar.” Mamma’s voice grew icy, as only she could make it; on the surface she sounded more polite than ever, but it was quite like some of her smiles. You knew it was only for show.

I heard more china clinking, silver tinkling. The mantel clock chimed softly, and I was just about to leave for the kitchen when Mr. Ruskin spoke.

“So you’re not concerned that people are talking about Dodgson and your governess?”

“It’s nonsense,” Mamma said again; I did wonder why she couldn’t think of another word to say, as usually she had quite a lot at her disposal. “Particularly as he hasn’t been around much as of late.”

“That’s because he heard, I’m sure, what people were saying.”

“Then obviously it’s not true, or else he’d make his intentions known. So there—I told you it was nonsense.” I could hear the triumph in Mamma’s voice; she did so love to be right.

“I never said it was true. I simply said it was what people were saying—although perception is reality, of course.”

“I suppose so. It’s such a bore. It’s so difficult to find good servants, especially governesses and nurses. I imagined that this one would be different. It’s not as if she’s a beauty.”

“No,” Mr. Ruskin said, laughing. And while I would never, ever have confessed this to anyone, not even the Archbishop of Canterbury, I felt bad for Pricks just then. She couldn’t help her warts, or the rough color of her complexion. However, she could help the silly way she acted around Mr. Dodgson, and I thought that perhaps I’d tell her so. Obviously, she needed my help in the matter. She had no idea people like Mr. Ruskin were talking about her.

On the whole, it appeared to me that Mr. Dodgson was acting sensibly by staying away, even if it meant that I missed him, too. I knew he didn’t care for Pricks; anyone with sense could see that. Yet Pricks couldn’t, and it puzzled me, since she did seem to know quite a lot about other things; boring things, certainly, but no one could say she wasn’t educated.

My head grew muddled with it all; the silly ways adults acted with one another, never saying what they meant, trusting in sighs and glances and distance to speak for them instead. How dangerous that was! How easy it must be to misinterpret a sigh or a look. I was quite sure I’d never get it right when it came my time to grow up. Fortunately, that was a long way off. Unlike Ina, I was in no hurry to learn that particular, peculiar language.

Mamma and Mr. Ruskin then moved on to other subjects, subjects that held no interest for me. So I tiptoed down the hall toward the kitchen, where I did get a lovely little fish bone for Dinah, who ate it, even while giving me reproachful looks for putting her in the dress.

Meanwhile, I stored away all I had heard about Mr. Dodgson and Pricks. Until, trying not to fidget in the schoolroom, I observed Pricks jump at every sound, Ina flutter her eyelashes and sigh mournfully. With a shake of my head, I decided it was time to clear things up, for the very air was stifling, heavy with wishes unfulfilled—questions unasked.

I alone had the answers. I did not want to keep such impressive knowledge to myself.

“Mr. Dodgson hasn’t been round much lately,” I began. I kept my eyes trained on the blackboard, upon which Pricks had written some sums.

Pricks dropped her chalk and bent to retrieve it; I observed her lips tremble, ever so slightly, before she twisted them up into a scowl.

“I fail to see what that has to do with our lessons, Alice,” she said firmly.

Ina, sitting next to me, had stiffened; slowly she turned her head to face me, her large gray eyes not blinking, so that she resembled nothing more than an owl with long curls.

“It’s simply—I thought perhaps you’d like to know why he hasn’t,” I explained to Pricks, remembering what Mamma and Mr. Ruskin had said about her, and feeling myself soften just a bit; I honestly wanted to help her. “I thought it might make you feel better, because you’re awfully jumpy lately. You haven’t even been putting creams on your wa—on your skin.”

Pricks yanked her left hand behind her back and covered her chin with her right hand—a reflex, to hide the offending warts. She glared at me. “Continue.”

“Well,” I said, kicking my legs, wriggling my toes so that my heels hung over the ends of my shoes; for once neither Pricks nor Ina told me not to. “I heard—someone—say that Mr. Dodgson was supposed to be paying court to you.”

Pricks ducked her head, yet not before I saw how soft the light was in her brown eyes, how blurred her normally blunt features grew. Ina saw, too; she froze, staring straight ahead, her eyes unblinking, her face white.

“The thing is, though,” I continued, anxious to clear up the situation, “he’s not really, and that’s why he’s been staying away. Because of you, Pricks.”

Ina gasped—then started to laugh uncontrollably. She held her hands against her ribs, as if in pain, and came perilously close to knocking over her inkwell. Pricks, however, did not laugh. Simply, startlingly, she sat down upon the floor where she had stood; it was as if her legs had been pulled out from under her. Encircled by enormous quantities of gray muslin, she continued to sink down into them until her crinoline popped up in front, revealing her petticoats. I couldn’t help but notice some of them had fraying, yellowing edges where the lace was worn. She didn’t bother to push the crinoline down, she didn’t seem to care what I noticed; she appeared unable to move at all, except for her mouth, which kept opening and closing, though no sound came out.

“Don’t laugh,” I told Ina, genuinely shocked; she was the one who always went on and on about good manners, and here she was laughing at poor ugly Pricks. “It’s not Pricks’s fault she’s no beau—well, that she has warts,” I continued, remembering what Mamma had said. “Which is why Mr. Dodgson hasn’t come around. He doesn’t want people to talk about him and Pricks, because it’s nonsense.”

“You wicked girl!” Suddenly Pricks was standing over me; her eyes were red, her mouth wide and ugly, and she couldn’t control her hands. They trembled, even as she grabbed the pointer from the blackboard and raised it over me. Ina stopped laughing then; she gasped and tugged on my arm, as if to pull me away.

I was frozen, my heart caught in fear; I couldn’t breathe, even though every nerve was beseeching me to run. My skin actually tingled with the desire. But I didn’t; I couldn’t. For I could not imagine that Pricks—that anyone—would actually strike me.