The Mirror's Edge - Part One

October 19^th, 1870

Belgravia, London

Amelia Beckett was struggling to take down her family’s old mirror from above the fireplace when it slipped, struck the mantle and crashed to the floor, shattering instantly. She recoiled, heart pounding, as jagged fragments scattered across the hardwood. The violence of the sound lingered in her ears.

   “Oh, God…” she murmured, tears welling as she gazed down at her mistake.

   She had lost her grip, momentarily unnerved by the face of a young blonde she barely recognised these days. Pretty yet sombre in a corseted pale-yellow gown. Not the carefree girl she’d once been. But it was more than that. Amelia had seen shadows flitting behind her. And then, for a moment, she could have sworn her reflection looked back with a thin, malevolent smile.

   She shuddered, glancing down at the floor. There were tiny pieces of the broken mirror glinting on her boots.   

   This is a bad omen.

   “Sorry, mother,” she said under her breath. “So sorry.”

   Aunt Lucy came rushing into the drawing room, followed quickly by Nathaniel; the family’s formidable manservant for most of Amelia’s life. He and Lucy both peered at the shattered mirror, bewildered. The heavy gilt frame was intact, but the silvered glass was lost. Eventually the dark-haired manservant peered at Amelia.

   “Miss Beckett,” he lamented, “What on earth were you doing?”

   She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, like she’d been caught childishly trying to hide from her own reflection.

   “I was... trying to take the damned thing down, but it slipped. It was silly to attempt on my own, I know.”

   “If you’re intending to dismantle the house piece by piece, Miss Beckett, I should appreciate some notice.” Amelia laughed, glancing away. He added, “There’s no weakness in asking for help.” She nodded, offering an apologetic smile. But Nathaniel knew something was wrong. He always knew. “No matter. It’s only silvered glass. I’ll clear it soon enough.”

   Aunt Lucy stood for a few moments, staring at the ruin all over the floor. Shorter and more delicate than mother had been, but no less beautiful.

   “I’m relieved,” she said at last. “Isn’t that strange? It frightened us as children. Especially Nessa. She used to wake in sweats sometimes. Perhaps you did us all a kindness.”

   Amelia remained silent about the unnatural gesture she’d seen from her reflection. “Perhaps,” she echoed, but she felt like a fool.

   Her aunt noticed Amelia’s palm was bleeding. An errant shard had cut her, but she hadn’t even felt it. “Dear Lord, you poor thing…” She came to her side immediately, turning Amelia’s hand this way and that. “You were lucky. It isn’t too deep.”

   “You needn’t fuss,” Amelia told her. “It’s just a scratch.”

   Lucy tapped the tip of Amelia’s nose. “Oh, hush, girl. You’re bleeding. Let me fuss. I’ll fetch some gauze and ointment.” 

   Amelia smiled. “All right.” 

   For the next few minutes Amelia sat on the settee as her young aunt carefully treated the wound, wrapping her palm in gauze. Lucy gave the hand a final inspection, lifted it and sealed the bandage with a kiss. Amelia touched her cheek in gratitude.

   Her aunt leaned into it for a moment. “So, what’s really going on?”

   Lucy usually met a person’s gaze only when necessary, but with her nieces she was always more talkative. Amelia sensed the depth of her concern right now.

   “It’s nothing. My reach extended my grasp, that’s all.”

   “I understand it’s difficult, Amelia.” Lucy paused as Nathaniel returned to the room with a dustpan to gather the mirrored shards. “These last months with Penny have been awful. You were tired of seeing the sadness in your eyes, I imagine. But it’s not your fault. You know that don’t you?”

    Amelia looked away. “It was silly, as I said. I don’t know what possessed me. Do you suppose Doctor Weiss and his pupil are done upstairs?”

   “Still tending to the little one, I think. But they should be finished soon. Listen, sweetheart. I fear the same thing you do. We all fear it. But we must be brave and bright, no?”   

   Amelia’s gaze went to the ceiling as she pictured the two dark-suited men at Penny’s bedside, worrying about how best to break the news to the family. “I should be up there,” she muttered. “She needs me.”

   “My darling, please, let them work. It’s arduous. All this waiting. Watching her get sicker. But we should take comfort in one another. We used to laugh so easily, us girls.”

   “Things have changed, Lucy.”

   “Indeed, but you’re my niece and I love you. Reach for me. That’s all I mean.”

   Amelia craved that comfort, it was true. But it was dangerous. If she accepted too much of it, she might never stop needing it. “I’ll try,” she conceded softly.

    “We mustn’t lose ourselves in guilt,” her aunt said. “Or grief.”

   “Grief?” Amelia was appalled at the thought. She tried to soften her words for her aunt’s sake. “We mustn’t call it grief, Lucy. Grief is for the dead, isn’t it? For my mother—your sister. But Penny isn’t dead. She hasn’t given up, and neither should we.”

   “You know that’s not what I mean. I want to help you through this.”

   “I’m fine,” Amelia said, already hating how false it sounded. Shame tightened her throat a little. She turned away from her aunt’s sweetness, uncertain if she even deserved it anymore.

  “Thank you for the bandage,” she muttered. “But I should check on the little one.”

   She rose from the settee, hesitating only a moment, then hurried across the drawing room towards the staircase, eyes down.

   Lucy called out with gentle desperation, “Please don’t walk away, my darling...”

   Amelia couldn’t bear it. She was already gripped by an ill notion. Don’t let the broken mirror be a dark omen for Penny. Oh, Lord, please don’t.   

*

The two men were talking in hushed tones outside Penny’s room on the second floor. Dr Weiss, the older of the two, smiled at her. “Ah, Miss Amelia. We didn’t mean to concern you, but we needed to be thorough.”

   “The prognosis?” she asked bluntly.

   “Miss Penelope Grace Beckett has a rare malady that we can’t identify. We know it’s a wasting disease, rather like consumption. But your sister has no coughing, nausea or fever. However, she is possessed by a terrible fatigue that is leaving her increasingly pallid and lifeless.”

   More empty words. Amelia grimaced. “We were told this exact thing by different doctors two weeks ago. And two weeks before that.”

   “Indeed. We are at the limits of our medical insight here, I’m afraid.”

   A hot, twisted sensation was pressing in Amelia’s gut. “She’s dying, isn’t she?”

   “We believe so, yes. We fear she has little time left at all. Weeks, at best. Days more likely.”

   Tears sprang to her eyes, hearing it out loud at last. The doctor’s young pupil remained silent, smiling almost apologetically. Amelia took a deep, measured breath. “So, what’s to be done?  There must be a course of action.”

   “We recommend that your sister be transferred immediately to The London Hospital in Whitechapel. We attend there. So do many of the best physicians in the country. Some to Queen Victoria herself.”

  Amelia was not impressed. She recoiled at the suggestion. “Has it really come to this?”

   Dr Weiss frowned. “If you heed our recommendation, we can send a special medical carriage early this evening. You can follow with your coachman shortly thereafter. She’ll have access to a plethora of medicines, and the constancy of professional supervision. The decision is yours, Miss Beckett.” He pulled his watch and chain from the pocket of his waist coat, flipped it open, and sighed. “Either way, we mustn’t tarry. The wards need us.”

   Amelia knew that Penny would despise this course of action. But doing something, however futile, felt easier than standing still inside the terror. I can’t just sit back and watch her die. I refuse.

   “Prepare the medical carriage,” she told him. “This family owes you a great debt, gentlemen.”

   “No, your grandfather taught many of us at Oxford. Your father taught many of our sons. The debt is ours, Miss Beckett.”

  Dr Weiss and his pupil nodded their goodbyes and made their way downstairs. Amelia stood alone outside her sister’s door.

   Since mother’s death she knew how frightening the real world could be. She had tempered herself for losing someone else too, and yet it felt no less cataclysmic. Like the world itself was ending.

*

Amelia paused in the doorway, taking in the sight. Penny lay turned away, half-buried in a fortress of stuffed animals. Greeting cards and vases of flowers crowded the girl’s dresser, like a court assembled for a sentence rather than recovery. Amelia softened her voice and tried to slip into their old game. “Bonjour, mon amour. Tu m’as manqué.” Hello, my love. I missed you.   

   Penny didn’t answer in French. She clutched her pillow tighter, eyes pink and swollen but determined not to cry again.

   Amelia circled the bed, trying to sound light. “You know, mother would say you’re the only ten-year-old in London who prefers Rousseau to sweets.”

   That earned a faint smile. “I like Hugo even better,” Penny muttered. “And Dumas. They make me think of her.”

   Amelia took a seat in the armchair beside the bed. “You know what I loved? When she would read us the romances. An honourable world, she said. A brighter world. All that wonderful chivalry. Lancelot, Guinevere, Arthur. Only when father was out, of course.”

   Penny nodded, her voice small. “She called me her little Parisienne. Remember?”

   “I remember. And we called her Notre-Dame du Coeur de Rubis.” Amelia smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Penny’s forehead. “Our Lady of the Ruby Heart.” 

   For a moment, the room was quiet. The faint scent of honeysuckle.

   “We’ll go to Paris one day,” she promised softly. “When you’re well, after the war. We’ll see everything together.”

   Penny’s lips trembled, but she managed a nod. “I’d like that. If I’m able.” Her usual impish delight had long since vanished. “I’m sorry, Ammy,” she said shakily. “The doctors scared me quite a bit today. I don’t mean to be silly. I just don’t feel like a Parisienne right now.”

   Amelia frowned, pressing a hand to Penny’s cheek. The gesture made the little one smile again despite her private torment.

   “You needn’t apologise for anything. You’re the bravest girl in all of London.”

   Penny’s eyes were so haunted, her skin so grey and sallow, that Amelia sometimes had trouble holding her gaze for too long. Like a spectre in a lavish bed. An echo of the girl she’d been a mere eight months ago.

   “The doctors are giving up on me, aren’t they?  I can tell. Sending me off to hospital, for the end.”

    “I’m not giving up. Not for a second. Do you hear me, Penelope Grace Beckett?”

   Tears in Penny’s eyes again.

   “I don’t think I can be brave anymore, Miss Meely.”  Amelia closed her eyes at the term of endearment. “Bravery requires so much effort, and I’m so tired.”

   “I understand.”

   “All the tonics and medicine aren’t helping. Everything hurts so bad. I want to sleep. All the time. But each time I wonder if I’ll wake again.”

   “Oh, little one…”

   “My heart is breaking, Ammy.”

   Amelia started to weep. She couldn’t help it. It was foolish to keep pretending that everything was going to be fine. She gently squeezed Penny’s hand.

   “You and mother are my ruby heart, and half of it is gone already. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose the other.”

   “You mustn’t get too sad, you know. I don’t want you to fall behind on your studies after the funeral. You'll be a schoolteacher in six months if all goes well.” A hint of the old mischief glinted in Penny’s eyes. “Heaven help them.”

   Amelia laughed softly. “I shan’t be too strict. I’m never with you, am I? Perhaps an error in judgement.”

   Penny smiled genuinely for the first time that morning. “Well, forgive me, but it’s romance I hope for you more than anything. A dashing young clerk catching the eye of this beautiful new teacher. It writes itself.”

   Amelia smiled, thinking of Keiran. Immediately she pushed away the memory of his face.

   “You let me worry about my studies,” she said, “and any dashing young men I might encounter. But none of this talk of funerals. Agreed? Think about adventures together in Paris when you’re better.”

   Penny’s expression grew serious again. “Amelia. I’m not getting better. We both know that. I don’t want the truth to crush you when I’m gone.”

   All Amelia could do was stare into her little sister’s earnest eyes. “Je t’aime,” she told her. I love you.

   Penny reached out and took Amelia’s hand. She squeezed it desperately, despite her lack of strength. “Then let me stay here, amongst family.”

   Amelia cast her eyes down, feeling the ache in her chest.

   “My love, I want to. Believe me. With every measure of myself I want to. But we simply can’t allow that. You require constancy, and supervision.”

   “Convince them.”

   “Penelope, no. Keeping you here would be failing you, however much I want it. We must do everything in our power to get you well.”

   The little one’s eyes were adamant. “I’m no fool. There is no getting well for me. We’re past that now. The Parisienne is dying.”

   “You don’t know that!”

   “Of course I do. Sometimes I wonder if Nathaniel will cry at my funeral.”

   Amelia squeezed her eyes shut at the thought, the image too sharp to endure. Nathaniel Aldridge had been the family’s manservant for sixteen years. A former Royal Marine serving in the Crimean War, he had been there when Penny was born. The silver sailor, Amelia called him. Firm but kind. A far stronger male presence in their lives than their distant, temperamental father had ever been. He had virtually raised them both.

   “Nathaniel loves you dearly. We all do. But you mustn’t think like that.” 

   “How else should I think? Of magic and church bells and gardens full of roses in bloom?”

   “Penny...”  

   “Promise me you’ll speak to them. Please, Amelia. I’m your little sister. Fight for me. I deserve at least my own bed till the end, don’t I?”

   The little one’s gaze was filled with a frightening sobriety.

   Amelia had to look away. Chest hollow, throat raw. The words felt like the worst betrayal before she even spoke them. She steadied herself and muttered, “I promise.”

*

Amelia sat at the piano in the drawing room, considering the weight of the promise she’d made only a few hours ago. The little one was terrified, of course. Exhausted. She wanted it to be over. But Amelia couldn’t bear the thought.

   She was playing the opening movement of Beethoven’s Sonata quasi una fantasia. One of Penny’s favourites. When the house was quiet, like now, Amelia would often play it, knowing the comforting melody would reach the bedridden girl on the floor above.

    From the doorway came Aunt Lucy’s voice. “My dear, I can see you’re not in the mood, but Nathaniel says you have an unexpected visitor. A rather well-dressed young gentleman.” 

   Amelia stopped playing and turned around on the piano bench. She gave her aunt a tired, knowing smile.

   “I’m touched by your concern, Lucy. Truly. But this matchmaker nonsense must stop. I have no interest in suitors since I ruined things with Kieran. I’ve heard what the other girls in the square call me. A damaged debutante. And they’re right, I suppose. I’m hardly marriageable at this point.”

   “That’s not true and you know it,” Lucy chided. “Besides, this gentleman is not a suitor. He claims to be a journalist from Durham in the north. He says it’s a business proposition. Shall I tell Nathaniel to turn him away?”

   “A proposition regarding what?”

    Lucy smiled. “He says it concerns rabbits of all things. Journalists and rabbits! Can you imagine? I’m uncertain which should frighten me more. But his eyes are keen. Full of intellect. Perhaps a friend of Dodgson’s from Oxford?”

    Amelia felt a little shiver of dread. She turned away so that Lucy wouldn’t notice. It was the last thing she expected today. Oh, God, no more shadows, please…

   She had to be sure. “Invite him in. We’ll convene in the study. A little privacy.”

   “My brother-in-law wouldn’t have liked that, Amelia.”

   “Well, your brother-in-law isn’t here anymore, is he?  We make the rules.”

   “Shall I be there with you?” Lucy asked. “For ballast, at least?”

   Amelia smiled faintly at Lucy’s old-fashioned sense of propriety. “This is modern London, auntie. Not the regency. And we are both capable, educated women. We are the ladies of this house now.”

   Lucy stifled a smile of her own. “Fine, young lady. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

   The moment she was alone, Amelia noticed the tightness in her chest. Something was wrong. She was sure of it. Who was this journalist, and how much did he really know? She considered the mirror she’d broken a few hours prior. Perhaps she was assigning import where none existed, or perhaps it had been an omen after all.

*

She retreated to the book-lined solace of her father’s former study. The ornate mahogany desk and the plush chairs for the rare occasions when he allowed others to sit with him. She knew it might seem untoward, but she didn’t care. Amelia took the position of power in the seat behind the desk. This was her study now.

   Eventually the door opened, and a dark-haired young man in a suit poked his head through. “Miss Beckett? Your manservant said I might talk with you for a few minutes.”

   “Of course. Please, take a seat.” 

   The young man entered the room, a leather folder in his hand, and sat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. What appeared to be nerves a moment ago vanished beneath a penetrating gaze. He looked around the room, at all the books on the shelves.

   “Are they classics?” he asked.

   “Many of them. English, Latin and Greek. Part of my mother and father’s collection from their time at Magdalen College in Oxford.”

   “I speak Latin myself. My father was a Reverend. A cold, distant man by all accounts. We have that in common, it seems. I was told your family’s legal responsibilities fall largely upon your shoulders now, since your father fled. That’s quite the burden for a woman barely nineteen years of age.”

   Amelia peered at the stranger in the chair. “I don’t mean to be unsociable, sir, but please get to the point.”

   “Forgive me. Your father, Alexander Beckett, was a tutor of medieval literature at Oxford, wasn’t he?”

   “That was five years ago. A lot has changed.”

   He nodded. “A change that includes the death of your mother on university grounds? You were there with her that winter morning, weren’t you? In Fellows Garden.”

   Amelia glared at him, “I didn’t catch your name, sir.”

   “William Thomas Stead. I’m an investigative journalist for The Northern Echo in Darlington, but I’ve been in Oxford and now London for the last several weeks researching your family’s story.”

   “Our story?”

   The journalist eagerly leaned forward in his chair. “Your father was an associate of the dean of Christ Church College at Oxford. A man by the name of Henry Liddell.”

   Amelia shifted her gaze, unnerved. “I can’t say I’m familiar with that name.”

   “Really? Because my investigations suggest you were close friends with his daughter. A girl by the name of Alice Liddell. A rather famous girl by all accounts.”

   Amelia looked at him again, this time with the fiercest eyes. “What do you want, Mr Stead?”

   He reached into the folder on his lap, removed a red hardback book and slid it across the desk towards her. Amelia picked it up and flicked through it with feigned disinterest. It was a second edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

   “Are you familiar with that book?” Stead asked her.

   “Actually, I am. It caused a stir in the last five years since it was published. A modern children’s classic, some are calling it.”

   “The author, Charles Dodgson, wrote that book under the pseudonym Lewis Carroll. He was also an associate of your parents at Oxford. Apparently, you were all very close. At least, until your mother’s death. Vanessa Beckett was more than a librarian at Magdalen College, wasn’t she? She was also a respected poet and scholar. A rare thing for a woman among the collegiate, I’m told.”

   Amelia smiled humourlessly. “My mother was constantly underestimated. By both men and other women.”

  The journalist didn’t seem slighted by her rebuttal. In fact, his eyes softened with unexpected sympathy. “I’ve no doubt, Miss Beckett. A person’s gifts and societal expectations are rarely in accord. Whether male or female. People often fear change, and the courage of others. Such things can shine an unwelcome light upon their own inadequacies.”

   “A rare insight,” Amelia admitted.

   “Thank you. Your mother was gifted by all accounts. Even more so than your father. I’ve read her poems and many of her remarkable essays. I found copies passed among her friends. Beautiful studies of Milton, Pope and Coleridge.”

   Amelia shifted her attention to the window, trying to hide her surprise. She had copies too. Stead was right. Mother’s words were fascinating.

   “It’s incredibly sad that her work was never published because of her fairer sex. Nevertheless, I think someone was trying to hide your family’s connection to both Alice Liddell and Lewis Carroll. Documents falsified. Names omitted. Tell me I’m mistaken.”

   “You’re mistaken, good sir. Oxford is a big place. Not all collegiate staff know each other.”

   “But they did in this case, didn’t they?”

   “I suggest you leave, Mr Stead. My intrigue has waned. Also, my sister is gravely ill. My aunt and I must accompany her to the hospital later this evening. So, good day.”

   The journalist stared at her. His eyes flickered with the memory of a private trauma.

   “You share your mother’s brilliance, I think. And I suspect, far more. You’re not alone, Amelia. I’ve felt it too. The Fringes. That place between worlds.”

   Amelia couldn’t hide her shock. The Fringes. It was an almost perfect name.

   But Alice and I have always called it the Vale.

   Recognising the look in her eyes, he kept pressing. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? Your mother did too, I suspect. She writes almost with the insight of a soldier. Not merely a gifted poet.”

   Amelia kept her gaze steady, giving nothing away.

   “I know that place, Miss Beckett. And I recognise it in others. When I was a boy, I could sense things too. Even as my father taught me scripture daily. I even saw them in reflections sometimes. Out of the corner of my eye. I secretly wondered if something was wrong with me. If I was touched by darkness somehow.”

   “And were you?” Amelia asked tentatively.

   “Not like you, I suspect.”

   “It’s a very lonely thing,” she admitted. “It’s rare to meet another with such sight.”

   The look of recognition in his eyes felt genuine. “Indeed. But I need to ask you a few more questions, Miss Beckett. Carroll insists he based the novel on stories he would invent for Alice Liddell on boating trips with her family, but that’s only partially true, isn’t it? You were involved somehow.”

   “Don’t make me relive all that, William. If you really know the truth of the Fringes as you call it, then you know how dark it can get. My mother died because of that darkness. My darkness. Please don’t make a mockery of my grief.”

   His expression was soft with concern, yet he wouldn’t relent.

   “I’m not trying to make a mockery of anything, Amelia. But I need to know. Carroll’s initial drawings are less proficient, but they more closely resemble the dark-haired Liddell girl.”

   Amelia glanced aside. Stead raised his voice a touch.

   “However, the illustrations by John Tenniel, the well-known ones of the blonde girl in the dress and pinafore—those aren’t imaginary, are they? Or some anonymous model. That young blonde girl in Tenniel’s illustrations is you, isn’t it?”

   She stared at the novel on the desk, then fixed the journalist with an almost tearful gaze. “Why do you crave to know? It’s a silly children’s story written by a friend of our families. A bit of nonsense. Leave it in those pages where it belongs.”

   He frowned at her attempt to dismiss the matter.

   “I think we both know it’s much more than that. These last few weeks I’ve heard rumours of a hidden group based at Oxford. A secret society disbanded five years ago, just after your mother’s death. The wives and sisters of tutors and professors, all leading double lives.”

   Despite her worry, Amelia was impressed. The man had been diligent.

  “They called themselves the Circle of the Silver Flame. Practicing occultists. Vanessa Beckett was their leader, wasn’t she?”

   Amelia almost hissed in response.

   “Occultists? Nonsense. They were academics, Mr Stead. Scholars. ‘You cannot fight something you refuse to understand.’ That was my mother’s entire philosophy. This conversation is over.”

   The journalist held his nerve. “Despite your misgivings, this group might have been something far darker than a sorority of scholars. Perhaps even a satanic cult. Tell me, Miss Beckett, what in God’s name was your mother involved in?”

    “Enough,” Amelia warned.

   “Wonderland is a proxy, isn’t it?  An author’s garbled allegory. Carrol found out about your mother’s interests and he fictionalised it.”

   Amelia clenched her fists beneath the desktop.

   “He turned it into a fairytale, but he left you out. Perhaps to protect you, or Vanessa. I’m not certain yet, but my supposition is that you and Alice Liddell found their books at some point. Occult texts. So, I must ask, did you or your mother try to open a gate of some kind? A rabbit hole?”

   Amelia shot to her feet and bellowed, “ENOUGH!”

   The journalist stood up immediately, startled by her intensity. “Forgive me, Miss Beckett. I—I sometimes push too far…”

  She laughed darkly, tears in her eyes. “How dare you?  My aunt and I are kind enough to offer you an audience in our home, and you accuse my mother of being an occultist? A satanist?  Have you lost all good Christian sense?”

   He was flustered now. Embarrassed. “Please, Miss Beckett, forgive me.”

   “I forgive nothing, Mr Stead. Perhaps we share a unique vision, but little else. Such vision has left you callous, and lost in idle fancy. I demand you leave my home. Right now.”

   “Of course. At once. Sometimes I imagine the most intricate stories where only mere coincidence is found. Perhaps I’ve seen too much. My humble apologies. I… I shan’t take up anymore of your time.” 

   Amelia snatched the book from the desk and carelessly tossed it to him. He caught it, frowning, cheeks red with chastisement. “Leave,” she hissed at him.

   He nodded, turned, and hurried from the study. Amelia stood there, trembling behind the desk.

*

After her encounter with the journalist, Amelia avoided her aunt and retreated to her bedroom. Hours passed as she reread her favourites among mother’s essays. She could think of little else. She devoured her study of Tennyson’s The Princess for the hundredth time.  Smiling, laughing, becoming tearful on occasion. All the insights she’d underlined. Like the woman’s voice was in the room with her.

   But now Amelia sat on the hardwood floor, emotionally spent. Her back to the bed as she twirled the wooden carousel beside the jewellery box.

   The carousel was a beautiful, elaborate lantern that cast moving figures of light across the walls when a lit candle was placed at its centre. Hatters, hares, and hookah-smoking caterpillars. Secretly gifted to her by John Tenniel as a thank-you a month after the novel was published. Alice was still in possession of an identical one back in Oxford. Twin lanterns, designed to delight.

   It brought Amelia little comfort now, however.

   “Forgive me, Alice,” she said, thinking of the girl’s stack of letters hidden away in her dresser. And her own heartfelt replies, written but never sent.

   Amelia sighed, gazing at the exquisite, hinged box on the floor beside the lantern. Its lid was decorated with a stylised depiction of a silver flame. The Circle’s emblem. Inside were mother’s favourite pieces of jewellery. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets. But also mementos and personal tokens. A folded page of childish clay scrawl—a smiling girl holding her mother’s hand. Amelia scribbled it when she was only four years old. Mother kept it tucked away safely since then.

   “Oh, mama,” she muttered.

  There were letters and gifts too, from other members of the Circle. Wives, sisters, and daughters.

   Amelia lifted a small frame from the box. A pressed white lily. Several women’s signatures decorated the flower’s border.

  Beneath it, an inscription. ‘For our Vanessa, modest yet mighty, leading us all with rigor. Alter idem.’

   She recognised the Latin: Another, the same. 

   A mark of shared recognition for a friend.

   Amelia recalled asking why she wrote such painful marvels when no one was willing to publish.

   We can model any number of futures, beloved. All it requires is education, imagination. The willingness to perceive differently. The collegiate resists this notion. Most institutions do, especially where the fairer sex is concerned. But still, I write. For the love of it.

   Amelia flinched at the sudden knock at her bedroom door.

   “Miss Beckett?” Nathaniel’s voice.

   She shook her head, embarrassed at her own fear, and climbed to her feet. When she opened the door Nathaniel was in his familiar dark-suited stance. Back straight, legs apart, one white-gloved hand over the other in front of him.

  “Did Lucy send you to check up on me, silver sailor?”

   The former Marine allowed himself the vaguest of smiles. “Indeed, she did. But I see you’re dressed for the hospital. The medical carriage should be arriving within the hour.” Beyond her shoulder he noticed the carousel and jewellery box on the floor. “Are you all right, Miss Beckett?”

   “I’m fine. I was reading Tennyson. ‘Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, and slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip into my bosom and be lost in me.’ It made me a little tearful.” 

   Nathaniel also enjoyed Tennyson, but right now he simply stared at her. “I should ask again, Miss Beckett… are you all right?”

   Amelia sighed, peering down at her boots. “There’s nothing all right about any of this. I can’t bear to lose someone else. Least of all Penny. Father was an abrasive ghost even before he ran away, but losing mother, and now possibly my sister. I just...”

   Her voice quivered. She looked up at him again. His expression had softened.

   “You and your sister are the heart of this family.” Amelia knew what those words carried for him. “Did the journalist say something to you? Was it about Vanessa, or your father? Little else would unnerve you so.”

   “He was hunting a story, as journalists do. Nothing of real regard.” He nodded, though she could sense his concern. Tentatively she said, “But something does trouble me.”

   “Share it,” he urged.         

   “I promised Penny I would speak to Lucy and yourself. She doesn’t want to spend her remaining days in a filthy hospital. She wants to remain here, with those who love her. And… if it were me, I’d want the same.”

   Nathaniel shook his head, horrified. “Miss Beckett, the decision is yours. I defer to your authority in all matters of estate, and Penelope is precocious indeed. But she’s a child. Abandon the little one to a fate that we might alter, God willing? Is that not tantamount to executing her ourselves?”

   Tears sprang to Amelia’s eyes, but she nodded slowly. “I had to ask. I promised I’d fight for her.”

   “Miss Beckett, you’ve been fighting every day for the last eight months, with as much dedication as any sailor or soldier I’ve ever known.”

   She peered at the handsome, dark-haired serviceman in his early-forties. His stern, kind eyes. The flecks of silver at his temples. His expression full of concern. The man who had cared for her since she was three years old. I need to tell him, now more than ever. I need to say it aloud.

   “You know, whenever Penny hurt herself or needed comfort when she was little, she ran to our mother. But whenever she needed strength or courage... she always asked for you. Not our father by blood. Just you, Nathaniel. My sister and I are very alike in that regard. Do you understand? Please tell me you do.”

   The former Marine turned his eyes away, and nodded. “I do, Amelia. Of course I do. And I’m blessed for it, my darling.” A brief silence. “I also know today has been difficult for all of us, but… I have something I’d like to give you, if I may.”

   “Of course.”

   Nathaniel unbuttoned the starched collar of his shirt and unclasped a thin silver chain he’d been wearing against his skin. A small pendant hung from it. He took a step forward so she could better see it.

   “This belonged to my late wife,” he told her in hushed tones, like they were sharing a secret. “It was intended to be passed on to our firstborn, but… of course, that wasn’t to be.”

   Amelia stood there, stunned by the gesture. “Nathaniel…”

   “It’s a St Christopher pendant. The anti-Catholic sentiment is fierce these days, but she was Irish and loved those legends. Blessing travellers. Crossing rivers with courage, and faith. Her father gifted it to her on our wedding day. I’ve worn it since she died. Now I’d like to pass it on to you. Firstborn, in every way that matters.”

   Amelia drew a breath. She was trembling now, tears in her eyes. Both gratitude and shame were running hot beneath her breast.

   “Nathaniel… I… I’m not certain I deserve this.”

   He studied her, bemused. “Of course you deserve it. You fear for your sister’s life tonight. But it’s not your fault. Penny’s illness, or your mother’s passing on that river. None of it is your fault.”

   Amelia cast her eyes away. “You don’t know that.”

   He gently touched her cheek and turned her gaze toward him again. His eyes were earnest. “I raised you, Amelia. My bright, beautiful girl. I know.”  

   There was only a moment of hesitation before Amelia gladly gave in.

   She threw her arms around him. He was rigid at first, uncertain, but he quickly relaxed and embraced her there in the doorway. He held her, rocking her gently. He even kissed the top of her head. Then he stepped back, smiled, and carefully clasped the St Christopher pendant around her neck. She couldn’t help but hug him again.

   “Thank you, Nathaniel.”

   “Be brave now, Miss Beckett,” he whispered in her ear. “Much to do.”

*

The London Hospital was far from what Amelia had been hoping for. Truth be told, she had never set foot in a hospital. A physician was always brought directly to her bedside on those rare occasions she was ill as a child. Now she realised with cold sobriety how fortunate she had been. This place was deeply unsettling.

   Night had fallen early in the October gloom, and the feeble gaslight from the wall-lamps was barely enough to see in certain places. Amelia wondered how the staff were expected to operate in such conditions. She saw dripping ceilings and water-damaged walls. Nurses with lanterns moving about the hallways like phantoms, carrying their own light. But worst of all, there was a terrible stench everywhere. Though mingled with the scent of chlorine-scrubbed floors it couldn’t be masked, and she was under no illusions about its provenance.

   It was the stench of death.

   In the hallway outside the ward, Amelia touched the St Christopher pendant Nathaniel had given her. It felt new against her skin, but comforting.

   At last she took Aunt Lucy aside and told her, "We cannot leave her here. This is insanity. Sickness fills every inch of this place. The smell alone..."

   All Lucy could do was frown. "These are some of the best physicians in the country. This is our only option, and Penny's best chance at recovery."

   "This?  This is our only option?  To leave her surrounded by all this death? Nathaniel has seen cleaner battlefields, I’m certain."  

   Lucy tried in vain to soothe Amelia's fears. "If she stays at home with us, she'll certainly die. You know that. We must try to reach for the light, even in darkness. At least here she has a chance."

   Amelia couldn’t hide her tears. "The walls themselves are weeping, Lucy."

   Her aunt was tearful now too, but she nodded. "Damage from the rainfall. The storm the other night. The matron said parts of the hospital are off-limits due to flooding. The east wing, the basements. Bart’s and St Thomas fare little better right now I’m told."  

   Amelia stood there, utterly shaken by the state of the sprawling hospital. "If this wretched sepulchre entertains some of London's best medical professionals, then God help Penny. God help us all."

   “Amelia, please…”

   But she was already striding back into the gas-lit ward, towards Penny’s bed. Nathaniel sat in an armchair, holding Penny’s hand. Amelia touched his shoulder and he looked up at her. Ever the stoic, Amelia could still see the torment behind his eyes. He sighed and tried to smile.

   “I’ll give you girls some time alone.”  He lifted Penny’s hand and kissed it. “Always,” he told her.

   The grey girl in the bed smiled weakly at that, but Amelia could see she was terrified. Amelia took Nathaniel’s place beside the hospital bed. She tried to take her sister’s hand, but she pulled it away. Penny’s gaze became brittle and fierce.

   “You lied to me,” she said. “You promised you’d talk to them.”

   Amelia frowned, pinned by her accusing eyes.

   “I did talk to them. As promised. But it’s not their decision to make. It’s mine, unfortunately. I’m legally responsible for you now. And I will not abandon you to inaction. Please try to understand.”

   Penny whispered, “I’m scared, Ammy. I’m really scared. This place feels malevolent. Like a night-terror.”

   Amelia didn’t know what to tell the precocious ten-year-old.

   “It’s an illusion, my darling. Merely the lack of sun. The short autumn days. Morning light will stream through these windows tomorrow and fill these wards. All will be well. Just you wait.”

   Penny didn’t believe it for a moment.

   “Stop lying to me! These wards are full of sickness. You can smell it too. And I’m tired of waiting. Don’t leave me here in the dark.”  Penny gripped Amelia’s wrist. “Please, Ammy. Please. Take me home! I’m begging you!”

   Penny’s terror cleaved straight through her, and still Amelia held the line. She wanted to say yes, take her home, undo the whole world. But wanting was not the same as saving.

   “Listen to me, Penelope. There are a variety of medicines and tonics available here. Far more than at home. And constant supervision. Dr Weiss is here somewhere. He promised to attend you.”

   “I want my family, not doctors.”

    Amelia hesitated at the look in her sister’s eyes. “I shall visit you every morning and every evening until you’re better. You know I will. I’ll seek favour from the Lord in my prayers. But if I don’t do everything in my power to get you well... I could never forgive myself.”

   Tears spilled down Penny’s sallow cheeks as she lay there in the bed. Her tiny voice sounded almost hopeful.

   “Do you really think there’s a chance, Miss Meely? That I could get better? That we might visit Paris together after the war?”

  Amelia reached forward and pressed a hand to her sister’s cheek. She tried to smile, to kindle whatever flicker of hope remained in the little one’s breast.

   “Avec la foi tout est possible.”

   With faith all is possible.

   Penny tried to smile at those words. Finally, she turned aside. Amelia knew it was only an act of mercy. A gesture that would allow her to leave with a minimum of agony. It was devastating; that one so young would ever need to be so gracious.

   Amelia said nothing more, got up from the bedside and hurried out into the hallway. Nathaniel had gone ahead to prepare the horses and coach for the journey home, but Aunt Lucy was waiting dutifully with tears in her eyes.

   As they silently walked the hospital’s corridors towards the main entrance, Amelia could tell that Lucy wanted to say something, anything, but had no idea how to be of any real comfort. It was then that Amelia felt it.

   A strange heaviness descending.

   As though the air around them was beginning to cloy. At first, she wanted to believe it was simply her imagination. But the sensation was becoming increasingly heavier. And darker. She remembered this feeling.

   A wraith is near. A Knave of Claret. Oh, Lord…

   Amelia slowed to a stop in the dim, gas-lit corridor. Ahead of them the floor was slicked with water from the storm. A single nurse with a mop and bucket was doing her best to clear a safe passage. Strange shapes were flitting about in the dark reflections on the water. Instantly, Amelia recalled the unnatural smile of her reflection before the mirror had slipped this morning.  

   Aunt Lucy realized Amelia had stopped. She turned with a questioning expression.

   “Something’s wrong,” Amelia said, trying to hide the dread in her voice.

   “My dear, I understand this is difficult, but…”

   Amelia shook her head. “You don’t understand. I’ve felt this before. Alice and I, we’ve both felt this…”

   Lucy frowned. “Your friend from Oxford? The girl from Mr Dodgson’s children’s book?  What does she have to do with our current family matters?”

   Then the nurse mopping the floor turned toward Amelia—a face momentarily twisted in distort. The darkest of smiles. The woman spoke in a strange, low voice. Almost a growl.

   “Twelve hours, Amelia. Twelve. Make use of my master’s grace. He could take her now if he wanted, but he’s curious. This notion of sisterhood, and shame.”

   Lucy gasped. Amelia took a step backward, stunned. “Excuse me?”

   But the nurse’s face was normal again. Pretty, even. “What?” she said, confused, unaware that she had spoken. Amelia grasped it immediately. Something had spoken through her. A Knave.

   Breaking the mirror had been an omen after all.

   “He’s coming for her…” Amelia whispered, the words barely her own.

   Even Lucy was afraid now. “Who’s coming...?”

    “The Watchmaker. Oh, Penny…”      

   Amelia spun round, snatched up the skirts of her lavish dress and broke into a desperate run back down the corridor towards her sister’s ward. She could hear her aunt calling after her, but didn’t slow. She would have kicked off her heeled boots for the speed if she could, but they were laced tightly up her calves—proper, constraining, absurd. She prayed as she ran, the words tumbling through her mind.

   Our Father who art in heaven…

   She passed a nurse carrying a lantern. The woman recoiled at Amelia’s haste. Then she burst back into the ward, and stopped.

   Penny was convulsing on the bed. Two nurses clung to her, fighting to keep her tearing herself free as she screamed. Above the child, something dark shifted. A distortion in the air, restless and intent, tormenting her like a living shadow.  A shadow no one else could see.

   “Dear Lord…” Amelia breathed.

   She broke from her paralysis and ran for her sister, screaming Penny’s name. Arms seized her from behind, locking around her waist. Dr Weiss, pleading with her to calm, to stop. But Amelia fought him, clawing forward, shrieking at the nurses, tears streaming unchecked. Above the bed, the shadow-wraith lunged repeatedly at the girl. Penny screamed her throat raw. Amelia could hear own blood thundering in her ears—and then the sound fell away. They wouldn’t let her reach her sister.

   Everything slowed to a nightmarish crawl. Like the worst of all dreams.

*

The mood in the drawing room was anything but sanguine. Nathaniel was pacing around in front of the crackling fireplace. Aunt Lucy sat perched on the edge of the settee, gripping a steaming cup of tea like her life depended on it. Amelia was cross-legged and barefoot in the armchair, clad only in her chemise—the expensive dress, corset and boots discarded on the hardwood.

   As she sat there, she gripped the St Christopher pendant around her neck like a talisman in her fist, staring at the dancing flames in the hearth. Nathaniel had never seen her in such a state of near-undress as an adult, but he hadn’t batted an eyelid when she began sloughing off the ridiculous pageantry she’d been wearing.

   “You saw something?” he asked again, pacing the length of the room. “What? What did you see?”

   “I told you. A wraith. Like a spirit made from shadow. Over the bed.”

   Aunt Lucy’s eyes were almost manic with disbelief. “I heard it, Nathaniel. The nurse in the hallway. Like she spoke with the voice of some foul spirit…”

   “Surely we’re all distraught,” he muttered. “Imagining things in our grief.”

   “No,” Amelia told him. “We didn’t imagine it.”

  “Perhaps the child’s brain is bleeding. It might explain her convulsions.”

   Amelia shook her head. “It’s the wraith. It came as a harbinger. Please believe me, Nathaniel.”  

   Lucy turned, her tone accusatory. “You knew something was wrong. Even before the nurse uttered those sinister words in the hallway. But how? Explain yourself.”

   “It was a feeling.”

   “A feeling?  You mean those same feelings my sister used to have when we were young? Dreams, intimations? Visions? We know you have a gift, Amelia. We’ve always known. But you need to tell us what’s going on. No more secrets.”

   Amelia said nothing, thinking of that fateful morning on the river. Eventually, she forced herself to hold Aunt Lucy’s gaze, wondering how much the woman knew about her sister’s extra-curricular activities.

   “Who is the Watchmaker? Tell us. Right now.”

  “No one,” said Amelia. “Just a fiction Alice and I invented years ago. A Gothic horror, like something from Walpole, or Poe.”

   Without warning, Aunt Lucy dashed the tea from her cup onto the floor. She rose from the settee and fixed Amelia with a wild, tearful glare.

   “I know what it feels like to be lied to, young lady!  Nessa was always lying. To protect me, she said. From those same visions. Well, I don’t need protection! I am thirty-four years old. You are barely nineteen. You and Penny are both my responsibility!  Tell me the truth!” 

   Amelia stood up instantly, speechless at her aunt’s outburst. It was so unlike her. Nathaniel strode to Lucy’s side and gently grasped her wrist in an almost intimate gesture.

   “I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, Miss Everett. But each of us is shocked and worried for Penny. We mustn’t turn on one another.”

   Lucy immediately pulled her wrist from Nathaniel’s grasp.

   The former Marine stepped back and quickly looked aside. “My apologies.”    

   Lucy stared at Amelia, her eyes full of grief and mistrust. “Did you invite something into this house? Something dark? Or was that your mother’s doing? Is that why Penny is suffering so terribly right now?”

   “You don’t understand,” Amelia began, but was cut off by her aunt’s rising anguish.

   “I don’t understand? How dare you! I’m not a fool, my dear. Vanessa always had an interest in spirits. She was gifted too. I didn’t share that gift. But I paid attention. I knew it was dangerous work.”

   Amelia frowned. “What do you mean, dangerous work?”

   Aunt Lucy shook her head, eyes glazing as she considered whether to even speak. Eventually she sighed.

   “They used to come to the house in Oxford sometimes. In the early hours. Your mother’s friends. Poets, scholars. All of them female. Nessa said they were building a place where women didn’t need permission to think.”

   “You knew about the Circle?”

   Lucy turned her head away, embarrassed.

   “I knew enough, I suppose. But Nessa was discreet. She hid it from your father because of his temper. They seemed lovely, but I saw their books. Frightening texts on witchcraft, ceremonial magic. I started to worry that perhaps they were occultists, leading my sister astray.”

   “They weren’t,” Amelia assured her. “I feared the same thing for a long time. But they were honourable, and brave.”

   Lucy’s eyes widened with sudden realisation. “Is that why the journalist was here at the house today? Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?”

   Amelia nodded.

   “Dear Lord, Amelia. What is happening to us? This can’t be real, can it? The rabbit hole? A world of madness and dreams?”

   Amelia watched the woman’s face crumple in disbelief.

   “It’s real, Lucy. Alice and I, we had a connection. She wasn’t gifted in quite the same way, but she was fierce. She could share my dreaming sometimes.”

   “Truly?”

   “Yes. She sensed things, intuited them. I begged her to keep me out of it when she revealed certain details to Mr Dodgson. Things about my life and our friendship. Things he alluded to in his children’s book. He and Alice were very close.”

    Aunt Lucy frowned with distaste. “But the journalist earlier today… did you tell him any of these things about Vanessa? Or the Circle?”

   “I told him nothing.”

   “Well, what would bring him to our doorstep, so brazen? What happened between you and Alice as children? I deserve to know.”

   Amelia throat tightened. She nodded, struggling to control the torrent she’d kept locked inside for the last nine years.

   “Another world, Lucy. Madness and dreaming, like in the book. But real. Terrifyingly real.”

   “A waking dream?” she asked.

   “A waking nightmare.”

   Lucy shook her head, eyes wide, like her entire world was falling. “And eventually you came to believe Vanessa and the Circle were to blame for those events?”

   “Yes. Alice and I... we went seeking answers after Dodgson’s book was published. We were unsettled by its success, I suppose. Angry. Looking for someone to blame. Anyone.”

   Lucy listened, eyes narrow, cupping a fist and pressing it to her lips.

   “I adored mother, but I wanted answers. When I learned of the Circle’s existence, I was livid. I began hunting through her things. It wasn’t long before Alice and I found a collection of mother’s books in the library basement at Magdalen College. Occult texts hidden in a leather trunk. It seemed to confirm all our worst suspicions. There was a grimoire. Liber De Venenis. The Book of Poisons. It was full of dark things, Lucy. I swear, it felt practically alive.”

   “My God...” her aunt whispered.

   “I was raging, confused. So I confronted her, blaming her for all of it. The dreams, the visions. Things seen in the corner of my eye. But she said I was too young to understand.”  

   Amelia shook her head, glancing over at Nathaniel. His expression was unreadable, but he listened intently.

   “She said the grimoire was compiled in the Middle Ages by those who’d battled this thing before. The Circle were studying it, trying to protect this family. The day before she died, she told me something. I should’ve believed her, but I didn’t.” Amelia pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the ache. “Alice and I were not the first. Mother said she also walked the Vale as a girl.”

   Lucy gasped, like she finally understood something.

   “That dreadful mirror! Nessa had night-terrors about it. Dear Lord… that’s why she formed the Circle? Her fascination with mythology and magic? She was trying to stop you from living the same fate?”

   Amelia nodded silently.

   “You kept all this from me? From Nathaniel? Why?”

   Amelia diverted her gaze, trying her best to not begin sobbing like a child.

   “I was ashamed, of course! I saw my mother die on that frozen river! I couldn’t save her. I doubted her. It was only when I found her journals that I realised how valiant she was. How loving. I felt so responsible. Wouldn’t you?”

   Lucy was speechless. Eventually, “Beloved, please listen. What happened on the ice was an accident! You can’t keep blaming yourself for that.” Lucy fixed her with a strange look. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

   Amelia took a breath, but she could still feel the horror in the pit of her stomach.

   “Father certainly didn’t think so.”

   Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

   Amelia took another slow, shaking breath.

   “After we returned to London, he demanded I tell him everything I knew. The Circle, the book—all of it. Then he slapped me. He said mother was an abomination. That God executed her for her sins, because of me. That I was the one who inspired her to sorcery. Because I’m… different. He said I should’ve died that day too.”

   “Dear Lord,” Lucy murmured. “I had no idea…”

   Amelia closed her eyes. Chest heavy, stomach tight.

   “I wasn’t truly his child, he said, but the devil’s. A daughter of darkness. I begged him to stay for you and Penny’s sakes, but he wouldn’t. To this day I don’t understand how he could be so cruel.”

   In a matter of seconds Aunt Lucy’s expression transformed from grief into empathy, then sheer sorrow. She hurried forward and took Amelia’s face in her hands.

   “Listen to me, Amelia Marie Beckett. You’re no daughter of darkness. You’re beautiful and brave. A child of light. Forgive my outburst, my darling girl.”

   Aunt Lucy embraced her in the firelight of the drawing room. She wanted to melt into the woman’s arms. To be held in perfect safety, like with mother when she was little.

   But she hadn’t spoken the full truth to Lucy or Nathaniel. Not at all.

   Amelia remained silent, fearing it was too much for her sweet aunt to contend with right now.

   “The way you carry things,” Lucy whispered in her ear, “It terrifies me. It’s as though no one else should touch those burdens. Even when they’re breaking you.”

   Amelia could only pull away from her, shaken by the truth of it. Eventually she peered resolutely at Nathaniel. His expression gave nothing away about the confession he’d just heard.

   “Oxford,” she said bluntly. “I need to get back to Oxford. It’s the only chance we have to undo all this. Prepare the coach, the horses. If we’re lucky, we might be able to catch the next GWR Express from Paddington Station.”

   Aunt Lucy stepped close again, turning Amelia’s face back toward her. “My dear, have you lost your mind? We are all exhausted. Let your body rest.”

   Again, Amelia met Nathaniel’s eyes, trying to appeal to his inherent problem-solving nature.

   “We’ve already wasted enough time. Time Penny clearly doesn’t have. I was a fool to think this was a natural malady. I’m certain now that he marked her.”

   Aunt Lucy turned Amelia’s face a second time. “This is madness, Amelia.”

   “But you heard the nurse in the hallway. We’ve already wasted two hours. Penny has ten left. It will take Nathaniel and I another three to get to Oxford. And still three more to get back. So, I want you returned to the hospital, tonight. Our family name alone ensures your place at her bedside regardless of the hour. We were fools to leave her unattended, restrained or not.”

   Aunt Lucy was shaken by the resolve in Amelia’s expression. “Those occult texts you spoke of. That’s what you’ll go searching for, isn’t it?”

   Amelia took hold of her aunt’s shoulders. “Lucy, listen to me. In the Book of Poisons there was talk of a banishing ritual. A way to cast out this entity, but it’s a ritual that can’t be performed alone. I was too afraid to bring that book into our home after mother died. It should still be in Magdalen’s basement among her things. I need that book. It’s our only hope.”

   “No, Amelia…”

   “If the Watchmaker is seeking Penny’s light, then I’ll need help. If I’m lucky, I can have her back here in London by midnight.”

   “Alice?” she heard Nathaniel ask from across the room. “You’re talking about Alice Liddell?”

   Amelia turned to the former Marine and nodded. “Alice was there when this began. Frankly, I don’t know if she’ll help me. I’m not even certain I deserve it. I pushed her away after mother died. I told myself it was necessary. She wrote me many letters, but… I never sent the replies.”

   “I see,” Nathaniel said gravely. “So this is a long shot?”

   “Absolutely. But she’s the only one who can help me undo it. I pray I can convince her on the little one’s behalf. I’m going to bring Penny back, or I’m going to die trying. God as my witness.”

   Tears in Aunt Lucy’s eyes now. “Amelia, no. Please, no. If what you say about our family’s history with this entity is true, then this is an incredibly dangerous course of action!”

  “What’s the alternative? Let Penny die? I’ll not allow that.” Amelia turned her gaze to the serviceman again. “We need to think like sailors, Nathaniel. In ten hours the Watchmaker will claim Penny. She'll perish. I can feel it in my bones. If this were a battlefield in Crimea, would you really allow us to stand around wasting time? Help me fight for her.”

   Nathaniel gazed at her. A fierce look, a mix of fear and admiration. Then he said, “Get dressed. Gather our things. I’ll prepare the horses. We need to catch that train.”

*

Amelia could hear the echo of Penny’s plaintive cries, paralysed by the terror in her little sister’s voice. A sudden scream pierced through the blackness all around, and Amelia was jolted awake. The repetitive chugging of the moving train filled her ears. She realised she was lying across the seats, her legs tucked up, her head resting on Nathaniel’s thigh. He had been gently stroking her hair, to soothe her. Amelia sat up, embarrassed.

   “Forgive me,” she muttered after a while.

   “Nothing to forgive, Miss Beckett. You fell asleep in my lap countless times as a child. I often carried you to bed, in an effort not to wake you. I thought it best you gather your strength before we arrive.”

   Amelia allowed herself to soften a little, noting the care in the Marine’s eyes. Part of her had wanted to travel to Oxford alone, but she knew Nathaniel Aldridge would never allow such a dangerous situation. Truth be told, she was terrified and needed his fortifying presence.

   “May I ask you something, Miss Beckett?” Amelia frowned silently. “It’s something I’m struggling to comprehend.”

   Amelia shifted her gaze to her hands. “Ask.”

   “Lucy and I have always sensed your gift. It’s been no secret in that house. But Mr Dodgson’s novel. Wonderland, that world of whimsy and imagination. It actually happened, in large part? It was real?”

   “Not entirely as described,” she admitted. “But yes. A shared experience when we were Penny’s age. It wasn’t our intention, believe me. We were terrified. But this entity is powerful. Influencing us since we were born, I suspect. I’m sorry I hid it from you.”

   Nathaniel inhaled, trying to process it. “He pulled you and Alice through a gate within yourselves, into a kind of waking dream? A darker world entire? And Vanessa too, many years before?”

   “Yes. Exactly that. The Circle were intent on stopping him, but they failed.”

   He nodded, satisfied with her explanation. “If that world scarred you,” he said softly, “I’m at least glad it didn’t keep you.”

   The silver sailor was no fool. Amelia smiled faintly, touched by the depth of his insight.

   “I want to thank you again for the pendant, Lieutenant Aldridge. My own father would never have done something so thoughtful.”

   Nathaniel smiled. “You only call me Lieutenant when you expect something impossible, or daring.”

   “Then rank shall be in frequent use tonight, I’m afraid.”

   The night-time darkness continued to rush past beyond the carriage windows.

   Eventually he said, “Forgive my impropriety, Amelia, but your father was not the wisest of men. A quiet tyrant of sorts. I haven’t his intellectual prowess, but I watched people die in the war. Enemies and friends. Officers and infantry. They never saw their beloved ones again. It was real darkness, not the moral outrage of your father. So, I’m under no illusions about what really matters, or who. It seems your mother was under no such illusions either.”

   The guarded warmth of his words comforted her. “Thank you.”

   He patted her knee. “Let’s get the bags down. We’ll be arriving shortly.”

*

The family coach and horses had been left in the care of the livery stables at Paddington Station. Amelia and Nathaniel had to hail a hansom cab upon arriving in Oxford. It was only a short fifteen-minute journey before the carriage came to a stop in front the wrought-iron gate of a beautiful house decorated with white stone and mock-Tudor gables. Amelia could already see gaslight shining through the stained-glass roses in the front door.

   Someone was still awake at this late hour.

   Nathaniel offered to accompany her inside, but Amelia forbade it. She told him to wait and pay the coachman for his patience.

   She alighted the cab, stepping down onto the pavement near the gated path that led toward the house. The coldness of the night air hit her again.

   She hadn’t seen Alice face to face in five years. The girl had written extensively in the beginning. Amelia penned replies to each letter, but never had the courage to send them. So, Alice’s worried pleas became increasingly rare, until she finally gave up a year ago. Amelia was now unsure in what state she might find her childhood friend.

   As she walked up the pathway, she attempted to fortify herself. The front door was already open.

   Alice Liddell was waiting, dressed in a white nightgown. Amelia was momentarily struck by how much older the girl looked. She was eighteen now, but Amelia still recognised the same wan, dark-haired soul with piercing eyes. A gaze that could peer right through you.

   “It's been a while,” Alice said, as Amelia reached the door. “I’ve missed you terribly, you know.”

   Amelia tried a disarming smile. “I’ve missed you too.” 

   “Did you have to choose such a dramatic hour for a reconciliation, Miss Beckett?”

   Amelia allowed herself an embarrassed laugh. She forced herself to hold Alice’s formidable gaze. “I’m so sorry I didn’t write back. But the memory of all this was too much. You sensed I was coming?”

   Alice shrugged, her expression already softening.

   “My dreams these last two nights have been darker than usual. When I heard the carriage approaching just now, I knew it was you.” Amelia nodded silently. “Things haven’t been the best this last year, Miss Beckett. These last five, in fact.”  

    “I wondered,” Amelia said carefully, “if you hadn’t moved back into the Deanery at Christ Church. I’m sure Ina and Edith miss having you there.”

   “I did for a while. But my sisters are fine. I see them all the time. We travel together. I draw and paint for them. The situation here with my grandmother isn’t permanent. But I’ve been at odds with my family over several things. The book’s success has put a great deal of strain on all of us.”

   Amelia nodded, wondering if a measure of childish gall might soften the iciness between them.

   “So, Miss Liddell, are you going to invite me in, or shall I spill my woes here on this frozen step?”

   Alice watched her for a moment, then smiled slightly at her boldness. Amelia could already feel a touch of the old connection. “Fine, Miss Beckett. Come in. But be quiet. My grandmother is asleep. If we wake her, she’ll have us both for the noose.”

    Alice led her up the stairwell to the very top of the house. A dim, gas-lit attic room decorated with paintings and sketches. Many of them were beautiful. Portraits, landscapes. But some were darker. Things from various night-terrors. A wooden lantern sat glowing on the dresser, amidst a litter of art supplies. It was a twin of the carousel Amelia had back in London.

   There was a stuffed animal on the perfectly made bed. A white rabbit in a checked waistcoat, a silver chain and pocket watch dangling from its lapel. Amelia couldn’t help but turn away.

   “You keep something like that in here, after all we’ve been through?”

   “Why not?” Alice asked, peering at her.    

   “I thought such a thing would insult you after all the chatter the book received.” Alice merely raised an eyebrow. “Did Mr Dodgson give it to you, as a gift?”

   “Actually, it's a gift for Ina. She fawns over him these days. Calls him a genius. He asked me to present it when I next see her. The pocket watch first belonged to his father, apparently.”

   Amelia shook her head. “I told you to keep your distance, Alice. Men like Dodgson, and our fathers—for all their wit and education, they are egotists. They care only about themselves in the end. Esteem, and order. Not parity, and certainly not the fairer sex.”

   Her friend smiled bitterly. “Thank you for your concern.”

   “Do you know why I’m here?”

   “You broke the mirror?” Amelia eyes widened at the girl’s prescience. Alice shook her head. “Oh, come now. What else would have you rushing back to Oxford? The answer is obvious. Bold, brave Amelia Beckett is afraid of a returning darkness, and needs Miss Liddell’s help again. Things never change, it seems.”

   Amelia forced the words out. “It’s not like that.”

   “It’s exactly like that.” Alice paused, looking away. “While you’ve been cavorting around London as the elegant mistress of your family’s considerable estate, I’ve had to spend the last several months seeing doctors. I’ve been diagnosed with a paranoid disorder. Can you imagine? The burden of fame, they said. Takes its toll on one so young. How right they are.”

   “I’m sorry. Does your family know?”

   “I’ve told only Ina. I shan’t worry the rest of them.”

   Amelia nodded. “Families can be exhausting. I’ve been suffering too. The grief of my mother’s death seems endless. I wish we talked, you know. I wish I’d had the courage to write you back.”

   Alice chuckled. “Amelia, listen to me. I should have been with you that morning on the river. I’m ashamed that I wasn’t. But we were still children. I couldn’t even fathom what your mother and her friends might be involved in. I had no idea of the true benevolence of the Circle. To me it seemed terrible and satanic. The reason for all our troubles.”

   Softly, Amelia said, “To me also.”

   “I begged your forgiveness, didn’t I? All I wanted was to soften your grief a little. But you wouldn’t let me. In fact, you did everything you could to punish me. It nearly broke me, that quiet anger.”

   Amelia peered at the attic floor, absently tugging at the drape of her gown. She said nothing of the shame beneath the anger. “The mirror isn’t the only reason I’m here,” she said. “Penny is in the hospital.”

   There was a look of genuine fear in Alice’s expression. “What?”

   “She’s dying. For the last eight months she’s been getting worse. The doctors call it a wasting disease, but I think she’s been marked.”

   Alice closed her eyes. “Dear Lord…”

   “Earlier this evening we took her to the hospital in Whitechapel, but something came for her. A wraith. I saw it. Right above her bed. Now Penny is delirious, writhing and shrieking like a banshee. The doctors had to sedate her, for fear she’d break her back.”

    Alice shook her head, her expression more haunted than ever. “So, it’s happening again. I always feared he would come back for one of us. But I thought it would be you or I. Not her.”

   “Alice, we need the grimoire. My mother’s book. If we can avoid the college porters somehow, even at this late hour, then Penny might stand a chance.”

   Alice peered at her, almost guiltily, but said nothing.

   “Oh, Miss Liddell… what did you do?”

   “It’s not at Magdalen anymore.”

   Amelia took a careful breath. “Tell me you didn’t destroy it.”

   “Of course not! But… I think it called to me.” She looked at the mahogany closet beneath the attic eaves.

   Amelia shook her head in disbelief. “Dear God, woman… how long have you had it in this room with you?”

   “Almost a year. I wanted to read it again, to better understand everything we experienced in the Vale. But in the end, I was too afraid to open it. Still, it comforts me to keep it close.”

   “It comforts you?”

   Alice narrowed her eyes. “I pleaded in those letters, Amelia. I begged, but you didn’t care. You turned your back on your closest friend. So, I’m sorry if comfort has been in short supply this last year.”

   Amelia’s breath caught. She looked away. She hadn’t been expecting forgiveness, of course. Only that the accusation would hurt less than it did.

   “Don’t worry, Miss Beckett. I wasn’t foolish enough to touch it directly. I used gloves. It’s safe in an old Gladstone bag.”

   Amelia was horrified. But she couldn’t speak on that now. Time was short. Penny needs me to keep moving...

  “Dear one, perhaps I don’t deserve it, but I need to make a terrible demand of you. Pack a bag and return with me to London immediately. I can’t do this on my own. The wraith I saw; it spoke to me as a Knave. It said Penny had twelve hours before he comes for her. But that was five and a half hours ago. You know this thing’s obsession with time.”

   Alice stood there, seething.

   “Six and a half hours left?” she asked at last. Amelia nodded. “Poor, sweet angel.”

    Silence in the attic. Then Alice erupted with rage. She lunged towards her desk. Amelia flinched at the speed of her movement. The brunette snatched up a pair of scissors and stalked back toward the bed. She calmly slashed open the throat of the waist-coated rabbit on the bedsheets, and tore out its woollen entrails.

   Amelia’s heart raced as she witnessed the mutilation. Alice turned, her dark eyes wet with tears.

   “You do not have a monopoly on suffering, Miss Beckett. That thing was in both our heads, remember? You have no idea what I’ve been through since then, but I will not allow Penny to be snatched away by that monster...”

   Amelia stood transfixed at the sudden violence.

   She tried to measure her next words very carefully. “You’ll return with me to London? Nathaniel is waiting in a hansom outside. Please, every hour is precious. We’ll lose another three just getting back.”

   Alice snatched the silver chain of the pocket-watch and snipped it from the mutilated rabbit’s lapel. Amelia, though unnerved, said nothing. Alice calmed eventually.

   The brunette’s hand trembled as she finally set the scissors down. For a moment she wouldn’t meet Amelia’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s been a very difficult time...”

   Amelia stared. “It’s all right.”

   “Miss Beckett, you ask a great deal of me. So suddenly, after years of distance and quiet hostility.”

   Amelia only nodded in admission.

   Her friend’s eyes glittered with tears in the gaslight of the attic.

    “Don’t I deserve some honesty, Amelia?”

   “Always.”

   “After the funeral your father gave you the option to keep the house, didn’t he? To stay here in Oxford with Lucy and Nathaniel, and me. But you chose London. The contempt of a man who abandoned you less than a month later. Isn’t that so?”

   “Dear one, I swear, I never meant for any of this. I just wanted to protect what was left of my family.”

   Alice peered at her with a wounded look. “We wandered the Vale together, Amelia. As one. I risked my life for you. I thought I was your family too.”

   “You are, beloved. I haven’t forgotten. Alter idem.”

   Alice cast her eyes downward, hearing the Circle’s motto. A legacy they had both inherited whether they liked it or not.

   “We are not the same,” she said sadly. But then her voice softened even further. “I’ll need half an hour to dress myself. To pack a bag and leave a letter for my grandmother. I’ll not turn my back on Penny to punish you. We’ve both suffered, but I’m not so cruel.”

   Amelia squeezed her eyes shut. Cruel was the last thing she ever wanted to be.

*

On the train ride back to London, Nathaniel took the next compartment along to give the two of them some time alone. Amelia was touched by his awareness. But despite Amelia’s best efforts, Alice became increasingly withdrawn as the journey progressed.

   She sat on the opposite bench, dressed in boots, a dark winter coat and scarf, pretending to read the novel in her lap, occasionally glancing through the windows at the passing night. The Gladstone bag containing the Book of Poisons sat on the carriage floor beside her. Amelia was a little unnerved by how close she kept it.

   “At least tell me what you’re reading, dear one.”

   At last, Alice’s withdrawal began to soften. She lifted the novel so Amelia could see its cover. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus.

   Amelia shook her head and chuckled. “You haven’t changed a jot. Could you not read something less encouraging to our present circumstances?”

   Alice shrugged, a faint gleam in her expression. “Oh, I think I still fascinate you somewhat. Admit it.”

   Amelia smiled, despite herself. “Perhaps, somewhat.”

   “I considered bringing my grandmother’s bible instead, but that would’ve felt a tad disingenuous. Besides, these days I find myself intrigued by a woman’s take on men and monsters. I remember you reading it in ’64. But I think you preferred The Castle of Ontranto, if I’m not mistaken.”

   Amelia nodded, surprised she even remembered. “Shelly is bold, and canny. Mother loved it. But I find it unsettling, and far too real. It’s a tragedy. I’ve had my fill of monsters and tragedy.”

   “Haven’t we all,” Alice muttered, returning to her feigned reading.

   “Dear one...” Amelia began, but Alice halted her with a sudden glare.

   “Stop calling me that! I love you, Miss Beckett, and I’ve missed you terribly. But it’s clear to me that my actual well-being is utterly incidental to you. I sent you thirteen letters. Thirteen! Not even a single reply. So, please, let’s not pretend the old rapport.”

   Amelia winced at the girl’s brittle tone. She had imagined this reckoning often enough. It always ended the same way, with Alice believing the worst and Amelia unable to contradict it properly.

   “I’m not pretending,” she said. “And I know how it must look. But you were never incidental to me. Not once.” The words tasted inadequate even as she spoke them.

   Alice’s glare softened, but remained. “Look, you have what you want. I’ll do my best to help you bring Penny back. I promise. Now, please, let me read my monsters in peace.”

   “I never intended to leave you feeling so bereft,” Amelia said, her voice unsteady. “I was grieving. Afraid—and I handled it badly.”

   The brunette’s next words were soft yet surgical. “I was always sensitive to that grief. But after the things you and I went through together, afraid is no excuse.” Amelia was stunned into silence. She felt the truth of it settle. Heavy, undeniable.

*

The smell of death and damp assailed them when they finally entered the gas-lit darkness of The London Hospital. They hurried through the archways and corridors to Penny’s ward and found Aunt Lucy at her bedside as promised. Her head lowered, hands clasped in prayer. Petitions to heaven on her little niece’s behalf.

   Amelia gently touched Lucy’s shoulder.

   “Forgive me, auntie. But you recall my good friend, Alice Pleasance Liddell, don’t you? We came here directly from Paddington Station.”

   Lucy was teary-eyed but forced a smile. “Of course, Miss Liddell. Thank you for coming. It’s lovely to see you again. You’re a grown woman now. How time flies.”

   Alice smiled in a way that surprised Amelia. Genuine and full of warmth. “Anything for the little one, auntie.”

   “You are our last hope, it seems.”

   Alice stepped forward and kindly touched the woman’s arm. “You and Nessa were always so kind to me when I was young. That warmth has stayed with me.” Amelia watched as Alice turned her attention to Penny. “She remains sedated?”

   Lucy sighed. “She’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last hour. Some moments more lucid than others. I convinced them to remove the restraints but she’s still very afraid.” Lucy turned to Amelia and added, “She keeps talking about a shadow, above her bed.”

   Penny’s tiny, haunted voice startled the three of them. “It’s not a shadow…” Immediately they all turned to the grey ten-year-old in the hospital bed.

   “I can feel it waiting,” Penny told them, her voice trembling. Even weaker than earlier. “It’s so hungry, Ammy. But something starves it on purpose, to drive it mad. Like a wild dog on a chain. Please don’t let it take me…”

   Amelia quickly stepped forward and took her little sister’s hand. “Of course not. That’s why my friend from Oxford is here. Remember, the one I told you about? The magical girl from Wonderland?”   

   For the first time in eight months Penny’s eyes lit up with something resembling genuine awe. She grinned in disbelief, but it made Amelia’s heart ache. “It’s a trick! A delightful trick! She told me you were friends. I thought she was being sweet and silly with me. But is it true? Are you really the real Alice?”

   Alice smiled sweetly at Penny’s disbelief. “Well, your sister is more special than you realise. She’s part of the story too. But yes, I’m the real Alice. We met several times, you and I. But you were very young. In the care of your mother, aunt, and manservant. You’ve forgotten me, I fear.”

   Penny’s eyes glistened with tears. She kept grinning. “I knew you? We met?”

   “Indeed.”

   “Did you really find a rabbit hole to a secret world? A world full of magic?”

   Alice smiled again, leaned in closer and touched Penny’s cheek ever so gently. “We did. Both of us. Amelia and I. We had many adventures together. Tea parties with hatters and hares, kings and queens.”

   Penny almost squealed in delight, “And the Cheshire Cat!”

   Amelia watched as Alice nodded sagely. “We mustn’t forget the cat.”

   Penny frowned. “But your hair is black. Not blonde like in the drawings. In fact, the girl in those drawings looks more like Amelia than you.”

   Alice winked. “You’re a very bright girl. Your sister posed for the artist when we were little. A man named John Tenniel. It was a secret though.” She pressed her finger to her lips. “Tell no one.”

   Penny giggled and asked, “But if you and my sister had those adventures together, then why isn’t she in the story too?”

   Alice glanced at Amelia, a flash of sadness in her eyes. “Well, you see, your sister is very wise. Unlike myself. She thought it best to protect her anonymity. Her privacy. In doing so she hoped to keep her family safe from some of the darker things we encountered. Things that were not put into the story.”

   The light in the little one’s eyes dimmed. The smile faded. “But it didn’t work, did it?”

   Amelia spoke this time. “I’m afraid not.”

   Penny frowned. “That’s why I’m ill? Because something followed you from Wonderland? The hungry shadow I saw earlier? Above my bed?”

  Amelia nodded. “Yes. In a manner of speaking.”  

   Penny closed her eyes for a few moments, letting out a long tremulous sigh. When she opened her eyes again all hope in them was gone.

   “I was dreaming of ruby light just now. I heard mother’s voice. I felt her heart.” Then Penny added, “Is Nathaniel with you?”

   Amelia smiled in an attempt to restore a measure of the girl’s spirit. “He’s outside with the horses and coach. He sends his love.”

   “Tell him I love him too.”

   “I will.”

   “Like a father. Tell him I love him like a father.”

   Amelia swallowed. “This is not goodbye, Penelope Grace Beckett. Do you hear me? You shall have years to bask in Nathaniel’s care.”

   Penny smiled at Amelia like she was the childish one. “But I can feel it waiting, Miss Meely. I'm getting weaker by the hour. I don’t mean to scare you, but the end has never felt closer.”

   Alice stole a glance at Amelia, then took the little one’s hand and squeezed it gently.

   “Listen to me, Penny. Amelia and I intend to banish this wraith you spoke of. With our powerful magic. We were like sisters once. Of one mind. And we are not about to let our youngest vanish into the night. We shall fight for you. Make no mistake.”

   There was a faint glimmer in Penny’s eyes now. “You’ll banish the shadow I saw? With magic from Wonderland?”

   Alice grinned. “Magic from Wonderland. The brightest, shiniest magic.”

   Penny turned her gaze to Amelia and tried to smile. “Then I am your first pupil, Miss Beckett.” The energy faded from her voice. “Though I fear I might not last the term.”

   Amelia felt a tightening in her chest at Penny’s attempt at brightness. She remained silent.

   Alice noticed. She told the girl in the bed, “We haven’t a moment to waste, Penny. We shall see you very soon. Fear not.”

  Amelia watched as Aunt Lucy peered at Alice and silently mouthed a thank you.

*

It had begun to rain, and Amelia feared another storm might be on its way later that night. On the journey home to Belgravia the coach swayed and rattled as Nathaniel put the horses through their paces. They were running out of time. They said very little to one another. Eventually, without a word, Alice took Amelia’s hand and held it silently in her lap for the rest of the journey. The brunette kept her head turned, peering from the coach window. In Amelia’s eyes, tears welled but didn’t spill.

   When they got to the house they wasted little time.

   Alice was already on her knees in the cluttered basement, sorting through the contents of Vanessa Beckett’s scholastic life. Books, journals, essays, and poetry. Much of it was already spread before her amidst a semicircle of lighted candles. The gilt frame of the mirror that Amelia had shattered earlier in the day was propped upright on the floor in front of Alice with stacks of books on either side. Nathaniel was genuinely worried as he held aloft a small iron lamp in one hand, gripping Amelia’s palm with the other.

   “Perhaps this is not a good idea after all.” He watched Alice preparing on her knees in the candlelight. “We are talking about literal occultism, are we not? You intend to read from a book of spells? Conjuration of some sort, in front of that broken mirror? I don’t think I can condone any of this in good conscience.”

   Amelia squeezed his hand. “Banishment, Nathaniel. If possible. Containment, if all else fails. Not conjuration. We’re doing this only for Penelope.”

   “A brave thing indeed, but you are declaring war on forces we can barely comprehend. It’s madness.”

    Amelia was undeterred. “It’s the only madness available. We’ve already lost nine hours since that wraith made those pronouncements to Lucy and I. Only three hours left. I’m exhausted, but we mustn’t waste a moment more. We make our stand. Right here, right now.”

   Perhaps it was the light from the lamp in his hand, but his eyes glistened. “Amelia, what if you make this worse somehow? What if I lose both my—”

   He stopped himself from finishing the sentence.

   Amelia couldn’t bear it. She rushed forward and embraced him. He pulled her in a little closer.

   Trying her best not to weep, she told him, “Now you listen to me, my silver sailor. If we do nothing and Penny dies, we will never forgive ourselves. Neither one of us. But I’ll admit this is dangerous. If Alice or I begin to asphyxiate, I need you to employ manual resuscitation procedures immediately.”

   “Asphyxiate?” Nathaniel almost recoiled, but quickly composed himself.

   “The grimoire warns of it. This is unfamiliar territory. We must be prepared for anything.”

   “I see...”

   “Only the participants can stay in the ritual space. If you sense something has gone wrong, you march in here and bring us back. Agreed?”

   Nathaniel frowned. “How will I know, if I’m not in the room?”

   “Just listen. Keep your senses keen. You might hear things, but hold your nerve. I really don’t know what to expect.”

   “So,” he muttered eventually. “I’m correct. You’re going to war.”

   “Yes, and we need our Lieutenant.”

   Nathaniel’s entire demeanour took on an almost terrifying seriousness. His gaze became icy, his posture straightened. A feral intensity he had never shown to her before. Immediately she knew he was no longer trying to talk her out of this.

   He fixed her with a stare, then quoted a line from Tennyson. A poet they both appreciated. “When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made.’”

   She smiled faintly, held his gaze, and completed the verse: “Honour the charge they made. Honour the light brigade.”

   They were silent as they both considered the awful weight of those lines.

  “I’m with you, ma fille,” Nathaniel said softly. “But I can’t lose you both. So, please, make it count.”

   Then he turned away and strode up the basement staircase. The door slammed behind him.

   Amelia closed her eyes. An immense heaviness pressed her chest.

   “He fears for us. And he cherishes you and Penny as his own.”

   Amelia opened her eyes and gazed down at Alice, still on her knees before the broken mirror and the flickering candles. “I’m blessed in that regard.”

   “He never remarried?”

   Amelia sighed. “It’s complicated.”

   Alice peered with those dark, piercing eyes. “Aunt Lucy, I imagine? Something unrequited? Or something private between them? I recall the way he used to look at her.”

   Amelia joined Alice on the floor, on the other side of the mirror’s frame.

   She began sorting through a stack of books without answering her friend’s question, struck by the absurdity of their current situation. She shook her head and chuckled.

   “We used to pretend at all this, before the book. Tea parties with hatters and hares. Then it all came true. Now look at us.”

   “Indeed,” Alice said plainly. “Considerably worse costumes.”

   Amelia smiled at the girl’s acidity. “Well, you spent a year alone with that dreadful tome. At least tell me you learned something useful.”

   “I did,” Alice muttered. “We should’ve burned it. But you didn’t answer my question.”

   Amelia smiled again despite her sadness, recalling how they used to be. So eager to grasp the nuances of the adult world around them. She peered through the empty gilt frame at the brunette.

   “These are delicate matters, Alice. Nathaniel’s wife died whilst he was serving in Crimea. A stillbirth. He doesn’t talk about it.”

   Alice frowned. “Dear Lord. Forgive me.”

   “He has always cared for Lucy. She adores him too, I think. But grief torments them both in different ways. Keeps them apart.”

   Alice nodded. “I understand.”

   “So, she remains unmarried, and he remains a widower. No fairy-tale ending.”

   “Such a lonely life. To deny one’s heart like that.”

    “Well,” Amelia said, perhaps too bitterly, “Losing a sister, a wife, a mother… it haunts you in many ways. Believe me.”

   For a few moments Alice said nothing, then, “Enough idle chatter, Miss Beckett. Let’s prepare for the mirroring.” 

   She angrily reached into the Gladstone bag at her side and gasped a moment later. She had touched the grimoire without gloves. Liber de Venenis. The Book of Poisons.

   “Oh, No...” Alice murmured, immediately realising her mistake.

   “Don’t open it!”

   Alice inhaled sharply at her own thoughtlessness. Slowly, she removed the leather-bound book from the Gladstone bag. It was as if a single touch had locked it to her grip. Even in the flickering candlelight, Amelia saw that the girl’s fingers were stained with wet ink.

   “It’s bleeding, Amelia. Oh, Christ in heaven…”

   “Listen to me,” Amelia said gravely, “Do not open it.” Rising terror in Alice’s expression. “Just pass it to me. Carefully.”

   They hadn’t even begun reciting the banishment ritual. Something was profoundly wrong. Tendrils of ink were crawling up Alice’s fingers and across the back of her hand. Like the words in the book’s pages were living and malign.

   “Amelia,” Alice whispered. “What is this...?” She remained transfixed as the wet ink spread through her skin, slowly blackening her entire hand.

   This had never happened before.

   Amelia reached out toward the empty frame propped between them. “Alice Pleasance Liddell, listen to me. Pass me the book. NOW.”

   Amelia’s authoritative tone shocked Alice into action. She quickly reached through the frame and handed over the black book. A momentary plunge of nausea as Amelia grasped it. She almost wanted to retch, but it quickly passed.

   Alice let out a huge gasp. Her head fell forward, face hidden by long dark hair. Amelia’s grip on the book was far tighter than intended. As though some force had indeed locked her to its pages. She struggled to control the overwhelming dread rising all around her.

   “Alice…?” she asked tentatively.

   There was no response. The girl remained on her knees in the flickering candlelight. Head fallen forward, face hidden, like an image from a night-terror. Then, Alice’s voice at last. But her cadence was strange, her timbre deeper. Almost masculine.

   “How doth…the little crocodile…improve his shining tale?”

   Amelia looked down at the book. With all the will she could muster, she forced herself to drop the leather-bound tome. It thudded on the cold basement floor. When she peered again through the empty gilt frame at Alice, the girl was staring right at her. Her eyes were black and pitiless in the candlelight, as though the ink from the book had swallowed her vision entirely.

   Amelia grasped what this meant, but she wasn’t about to show the extent of her terror. She prayed that Alice was still in there, somewhere.

   “So,” she asked brazenly, “You overpower children and young girls, is that right? Because they haven’t the physical prowess of men? What manner of coward are you?”

   Alice spoke again in that strange masculine timbre. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Amelia Beckett. But I see your terrible shame. I feel it.”

   “No,” Amelia muttered. “Don’t...”

   Beyond the empty mirror, the black-eyed Alice tilted her head. “Shame. Even sweeter than fear.”

   “You don’t frighten me anymore, Watchmaker.”

   Alice smiled like a curved blade at the preposterousness of the lie. “Give me time, little one. And you’ll call me king by the end. Bright as bounty. And blood.”

  “I shall never call you king,” Amelia declared. “Instead I’ll learn your true name, and bind you with it.”

   It grinned at her, black saliva in its teeth. “My true name... is virgin birth.”

   Amelia drew a breath, unsettled. “Who are you, really? What are you?”

   “You know what I am. Dodgson, Milton, Alighieri. All men. All appetite.”

   “You’re a liar. A coward.”

   “She is still sinking, Amelia,” it told her.

   “Please, stop.”

   “Why didn’t you go to her?”

  Amelia’s voice trembled. “I... I tried.”

   “Not fiercely enough.”

   “But... the ice...”

   Alice cocked her head at the excuse, eyes dark and pitiless. “You let her drown. The frigid depths... they fill her lungs even now. Let’s discuss it face to face.”

   Alice plunged through the mirror’s frame with inhuman speed, striking Amelia like a bolt of malefic lightning. Instantly she was hurled into a spinning, tumbling storm.

(TO BE CONTINUED...)