by Ellen Datlow
“And he forgets things?”
“Yes.”
“And sometimes he makes up nonsense to fill the gaps in his mind.”
“Yes.” It was a relief that the doctor had said it first.
“There are times when he sees things that aren’t there?”
She nodded.
“He has mercurialism, Miss Hargreaves. He has all the signs. Trembling, drooling, slurred speech and apathy. I’ve read monographs from the States. Hatters there are affected too.”
“Will he get better?”
“I’ll write you a prescription for tonic.”
“So it’s hopeless then?”
“I’m very sorry.”
“I have payment here…” Her heart pounded and her hands shook.
“No. I wish I could do more to help.” He folded her fingers over the money in her palm. “You see, from looking at you, I think you have it too.”
* * *
By the time Alice was twelve she’d perfected felting and Theophilus allowed her near the large copper kettles.
“Stand back,” he said as he tipped the beer grounds into the sulfuric acid. “Now stir.”
He’d made her special gauntlets for the task.
“I feel like a witch casting a spell,” she giggled. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“What have I done wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I sometimes forget you’re still a girl. I’ve been a bad father. I should’ve sent you to live with my sister when your mother died. You would’ve had a better chance at a childhood. I wish you’d had all the things I robbed you of. Better parents and a nursery, not a workshop.” He was crying.
“Don’t say that.” She started to take off the gauntlets.
“Keep stirring.” He wiped his face. “I’m sorry. I got everything wrong. I just don’t know how to make it right. I can’t turn back time and I can’t magic us to a better place.”
“You and the hats are all I have. I love you and I promise that everything will be well.” Oh, for that time before childhood ends when parents know everything and the world is safe just because they’re there. “Come on, Dad, show me what comes next. I’ve been dying to learn.”
She coaxed him from his doldrums. The cones of felt were dipped into the cauldron then worked, dipped and worked. Handling them stung her skin despite the gauntlets.
“It’s marvellous.” Alice didn’t need to feign pleasure. She held up the final cone that had dried to half its size, the fabric contracted to something dense and warm.
* * *
The Knave looked cleaner than she’d ever seen him before. He’d even trimmed his beard.
“Did you get everything?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it! I knew the Colonel would come through for me!” He slapped his leg.
“Tell me.”
“I have a parcel of clothes, a leather bag and a ticket.”
“Did you open the bag?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“I said I wouldn’t.”
“You know, I believe you.”
“I don’t care whether you do or not.”
“You’re a treasure. An honest girl. You were in that window, Alice, like a star to guide me. I just needed someone to trust. And I trust you, more than anyone I’ve ever met.” He reached out to touch her face. She retreated a fraction. Just enough to stall him.
“My name is Arthur. Call me by my name.”
“Arthur.”
“Will you kiss me, Alice?”
The cell’s cold air moved through her parted lips. What was it like to desire rather than be subject to the desires of others? She was suddenly aware of the rough shirt moving over his chest with each breath and the hollow at the base of his throat.
“Can I kiss you then?”
She didn’t want to learn the mystery of what men and women did on the stone floor of a cell. From her observations that particular secret only brought death and babies. Better to remain a child.
“I want to remake myself, Alice. I can be a different man. One that would hold you above all others. Come to New York with me.”
“I can’t. My father needs me.”
“We could be anything we want. I’d make you a queen.”
Queens and pawns. Virgins and whores. Mothers and daughters. Such deficiency of imagination.
His fingers hovered over her face and ran down her neck.
“I’ll come in the early hours to collect what’s mine.”
The plan was for him to put on new clothes and walk out of the debtors’ jail entrance, as Mr Cotton would be on duty there that morning.
Alice felt like the Knave was choking her as he stroked her throat. Strange, because his touch was as light as butterfly wings. That Mr Cotton opened the door was a mercy. The man was breathless and pink, if that were possible.
“I should be taking Alice back now.”
“Not yet.”
“I’m not your servant.” Mr Cotton reached for Alice, pulling her from the Knave’s grip.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” The Knave blocked their way. He was as tall as Mr Cotton but broader. Built for fighting, for all his fine breeding. He twisted Mr Cotton’s arm, forcing him to his knees. “Give me the key. I’ll let myself out.”
“I can come do that.”
“You’re not meant to be on shift. If they see you creeping about there’ll be questions. Stick to the plan. You’re in too deep now to give me up.” He twisted harder and Mr Cotton’s face contorted.
“In my left coat pocket.”
The Knave pulled out a pair of keys.
“And these won’t be missed?”
“The governor keeps a spare set in Mrs Malfi’s desk.”
“And you’ll be there at the gates tomorrow, sharp.”
“I will.”
“Of course you will.” The Knave let him go and patted his head like he was a pet. “I’ll make good my word, either way.”
* * *
Shaping and finishing. By this point in the process Alice was in love with the hat she was making. She understood every fibre of it, coaxing the cone over the lathe turned wooden blocks that were shaped like a man’s crown. She rubbed the surface with pumice to make the nap fine.
She’d experimented with beeswax and resin in different parts to produce her own concoction to waterproof the hat, stiffening it with gum Arabic.
Alice ironed and steamed the hat while still on the block, attaching the brim. Then came another round of brushing until her arm ached and the surface was a smooth gloss. Finally she stitched in the lining and the leather headband and trimmed the whole thing with ribbon.
“My first top hat.”
Theophilus turned it around in his hands, flipping it over to inspect its innards.
“Truly marvellous. You’re fourteen and you’ve already finished your apprenticeship. Where shall we send it? Selby and Sons?”
“No.”
“No?”
“It’s for you.”
* * *
Alice hadn’t dared to go out. She prowled around the room, unable to settle to the basket of gloves. Her father was asleep in his chair, his feet shuffling as if wandering through his dream.
On impulse she went to check the door was locked and that the Knave’s things were where she’d hidden them. She’d put them all at the bottom of the carpet bag under the bed. She’d bitten her nails to the quick, lying awake and thinking of how she could take it all and leave the Knave to rot. Her father would be cleared and there’d be enough to set up somewhere on their own. But if she repaid the debt all at once, now, wouldn’t there be questions? And the man was coming here and he’d be furious that they’d cheated him.
Trust was a fragile cord. Fear was stronger.
She riffled through the rags in the bag. A strangled sound caught in her throat. Everything was gone.
“Father.” She shook Theophilus awake. He opene
d his eyes. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“Oh, God, he’ll kill us. Tell me what you’ve done with it.”
She slapped his face. He started at her, touching the spot where the red mark rose on his cheek as if the pain had surprised him. Alice put her head on his knee.
“I’m so sorry. Daddy, what are we going to do?”
“Hush, daughter. I’ll fix it. I can fix everything. I’ll fix you in mercury. I’ll fix you in silver nitrate. I’ll fix you with words. You’ll be safe. You’ll be little Alice, forever.”
“I’m not little anymore.”
“I know. But if we can be two people, why not three? Or four even?”
She twisted away from him, covering the despair on her face with her hands.
“You don’t believe me, do you? I tried to tell Mr Cotton last night, when he came back on his own but he didn’t either.”
“Mr Cotton? On his own.”
“Yes, he came back on his own, after you left.”
Mr Cotton. The sneaky bastard. He’d run all the way back after he’d left her in the cell, taken everything and then hid it, then came back for her. No wonder he was so puffed out and flushed.
Alice ran along the corridor to the main stairs. She nearly tripped but Johnny O’Hare caught her.
“You look an awful colour, girl. Are you ill?”
“Johnny, have you seen Mr Cotton?”
“He was here earlier.”
Mr Bartholomew was turnkey at the main gate when she arrived. He tipped his cap at her.
“Has Mr Cotton left?”
“He’s gone, love, for good.”
“Gone?”
“Cleared out. Quit. Funny man. Said he had an aunt in Newcastle he never knew about who died and left him a bundle. He told the Duchess to shove her job and keep the week owing him and not to ever bother him as he was going right away and not leaving a forwarding address. I said I’d have his wages if he didn’t want them but I got short shrift. You know the Duchess, hasn’t got a funny bone in her…”
He stepped out too late to catch Alice as she fainted dead away.
* * *
Alice protested that she was well enough to walk back to the room alone. She’d been an honest fool in a world of thieves and liars. She should’ve cut a deal with Mr Cotton and spirited her own father out in place of the Knave. They could have gone to America.
Now the Knave would come in the dark hours of the morning and cut her throat and then her father’s and that would be the end of the Hargreaves.
There was only one option left, provided she could find him in time. She’d have to comb her hair and wash her face first though.
* * *
Selby and Sons had a new factory, its sign newly painted in black and with gold lettering. The yard was full of men loading crates onto carts. She was relieved to see a fine carriage on the cobbles.
“Where’s Mr Selby?” Alice asked the foreman.
“The master’s inside.” He pulled a pencil from behind his ear, wet the tip with his tongue and ticked something off on the piece of paper he was clutching. “That way, love.”
Alice stood in the doorway, gawping. She’d never seen a factory before. All she’d known was the small house that was a workshop more than a home. This was too much to take in all at once. There were so many people—at machines, at benches, rushing to and fro. How did they think above all the noise? There were clatters and bangs, the hiss of steam and the occasional call for more ribbon.
“Watch it.”
A clerk in an ill-fitting suit barged into her, his arms full of files.
“Where’s Mr Selby?”
“Main office, up there.” Then he was gone.
A plain wrought-iron staircase led up to a series of offices where the managers could look down on those on the shop floor. From this vantage point Alice could see that there were areas where men were blocking, another where women attached brims to finished crowns. Once done they handed the hat up the line; the woman next to her sewed in the lining, the next attached the band. It was a nightmare. There wasn’t a single person able to coax a topper from a pelt from start to finish. And all these hats were silk.
Mr Selby had told the truth. Alice and Theophilus’ time was over. Here was the future. The horror of the moment. She’d never forget it. At least her father would never see this.
The outer office doors were open. Alice could hear heavy metallic thuds. Men worked at typewriters or else wrote in ledgers. A man paced up and down, stopping to inspect the work and then cuff some unfortunate on the back of his head.
Alice approached him because he looked in charge. He was bald and gently rounded.
“I need to see Mr Selby.”
“Junior or senior?”
She hesitated.
“Come on, girl, I don’t have all day.” His sharpness belied his looks.
“Neither do I. It’s urgent.” That earned her a hard stare.
“And you are?”
“Alice Hargreaves. I’m here about a position. And who are you?” She was scared that if she was meek he’d send her away.
“Mr Richard Flowers, the master’s personal secretary. What position might that be?”
“It’s personal. Mr Selby offered it to me himself.”
“That’ll be the young Mr Selby then,” he smirked. It was contagious, as the men around her sniggered gently. She found it hard to keep her head from bowing with the weight of their collective gaze. She might as well be back at The Lion and Unicorn.
“You’d better come with me.”
She wanted to shove this paper despot out of the way but she followed at his heel like a beaten dog. The inner office was different. Luxurious. There was an outer annexe with a secretary’s desk. The furniture was heavy walnut and there was a clock that marked the hour with a melodic chime as they entered. Four o’clock. Time for tea.
Alice could hear shouting. Whoever was in there was to be pitied for they were getting a pasting. She heard a rich bellow full of displeasure, catching words like “You’re a wastrel and an idiot, boy.”
Mr Flowers knocked and went in when summoned. Alice could see the profile of the two men in there. A red-faced Mr Selby sat, head hung, and his father stood over him, a lion of a man with a white mane of hair. That would be Selby senior then. She couldn’t hear what Mr Flowers said but they both turned to look at her.
Mr Selby junior opened his mouth to speak but he was silenced by another round of shouting.
“How many women are you keeping? That’s it. You’re disowned…”
Mr Flowers closed the door behind him.
“I’m afraid that position is no longer available, Miss Hargreaves. That’s all. Goodbye.”
That was it then. There was nothing left. Just the taste of humiliation. She’d go back to her father and wait for the Knave. There was one thing though. Scant recompense but she’d enjoyed seeing someone wipe the smug smile from Mr Selby’s face.
Alice started to giggle.
* * *
There was no need to rush back. The Stockport streets were as they’d always been, but the world had shifted sideways. The faces of the street urchins were sculptured and lean, unlike the fat cherubs of popular paintings. The mill workers were so worn out that Alice could barely see their features. And it was funny. All the ruin and desperation was a joke. She laughed out loud, not caring who stared.
She passed Mr Bartholomew at the gate with a cheery wave. Would it be him to find her sticky corpse or Johnny O’Hare?
Alice had decided. While she waited for the Knave she would hold her father’s hand and tell him about the trip they’d planned but never taken. She’d wring out every detail for him. How they’d caught the train to Llandudno and walked along the promenade with ices. Why not embellish further? Her mother and Edith, Lorina and Harry were there too and they’d stayed in a house looking out across the water. She’d tell him just how happy they’d been.
When she opened
the door there was a pool of mercury on the floor. It didn’t bother her in the slightest.
“Alice, look at me.”
Theophilus’ eyes were clear and bright. Mercury dripped from him like he’d been doused in it.
“I have to explain before I get too muddled. The longer I’m here, away from the other side of the mercury, the harder it is to keep things in order.”
“Daddy, it’s over.”
“I told you I can fix this. I found the way because I followed Dinah through.”
He held up Dinah. It was Dinah, marked by her torn ear, but as tiny as when Theophilus had first brought her home. All fluff and bones and mewling. Theophilus flicked a globule of mercury from her before she could lick it off.
“Dinah and I have been going to and fro. I wanted to make sure it’s safe for you. Dinah’s more affected. She’s permanently changed. She’s young again. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s small or because she’s a cat. I’m a different man when I’m there. I’m better too. Let me show you.”
He upended the jar, spilling out what remained of the quicksilver, which ran to join the rest. He reached into it. It had gone soft, like gauze. A mist that he could push through. His arm disappeared up to his elbow, then his shoulder. He rummaged around, pulling out a fistful of white hair in his hand. Whoever it was attached to swung its head and then a twisted horn appeared, followed by a nose and silky ears. The dazzling creature tossed its head and trotted from the pool into the room. It stood, white shadowed with grey along its flanks. Its sensitive nostrils quivered. Its eyes were dark liquid.
“It is real? Is it a real unicorn?”
The unicorn reared up on its hind legs, threatening to trample Alice. Theophilus stepped in front of it, holding up his arms in supplication.
“Don’t be distressed. You’ll feel yourself again soon, I promise. I’m sorry, my daughter doesn’t mean to give offence, she’s never seen anything like you before.”
The unicorn shook out its mane. Theophilus reached up and patted its neck.
“He’s even more remarkable on the other side. He walks upright on two legs and wears buckled shoes, doublet and a hose. And he’s a most eloquent speaker.” The unicorn nudged him. “I’ll let you get back to the lion. Thank you for coming, my friend.”
