Bargain price

CHAPTER 24

A LICE WORKED hard to enter into the world in which she found herself and refused to see Dodgson whenever he came to the house. Pained by her refusals, he came with less and less frequency until he ceased coming altogether. The book he’d written for her was published for the public’s enjoyment under the title Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It was widely known that Alice’s fantastic stories had served as its inspiration-fodder for poking fun at her, if ever there was-but so well had she adapted to the customs and beliefs of the time, so well had she adopted the inclinations of other girls her age, that she’d befriended those who used to tease her mercilessly. And although Mrs. Liddell never discovered the cause for Alice’s tantrum that fateful afternoon at the river Cherwell, she was more than pleased with her daughter’s behavior ever since. Far from being flattered by Dodgson’s silly scribblings, it was as if they had brought home to Alice, as nothing else had been able to, just how inane all her Wonderland talk had been. She distanced herself from the book and its author, and Mrs. Liddell took this to mean that she

was finally growing up-which, indeed, she was.

Beginning in her sixteenth year, while on Sunday strolls along High Street with her mother and sisters, it was as the wardens of Charing Cross had predicted: Young men of rank paused in appreciation as Alice passed, took pains to learn who she was, invited her to parties where they did their best to impress her with their wit and knowledge of worldly affairs. They did not find Miss Liddell lacking in intelligence. Some perhaps even found her a bit too intelligent. She was a thoughtful, well-read young woman, with opinions on a variety of topics such as the responsibility that came with Britain’s military power, the nature of commerce and industry under a monarchy, how to care for the poor and neglected, the sensationalist tendencies of the Fleet Street papers, and the convolutions of the legal system as exposed by the eminent author Charles Dickens.

Many well-to-do dandies-even those uncomfortable with any woman who appeared smarter than themselves-thought it unfortunate that she’d been adopted. It meant that they could never marry her. Of course, these fellows took it for granted that Miss Liddell would have considered herself lucky to marry any one of them. But she was not easily impressed, nor prone to fall in love. The vicissitudes of her life had caused her to keep her feelings for others in check: It was dangerous to care for people; inevitably, you got hurt. She talked with young men, accepted their invitations to parties and galas, but more

because it pleased her mother than because of any affection for the men themselves.

The Reverend Dodgson published a sequel to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland entitled Through the Looking-Glass. Again, his scribblings met with popular success. Alice herself did not read the book, but not long before its publication, and against her wishes, she found herself in the same room with its author. Oxford was not a big town and she’d often seen Dodgson in the street, or crossing the college grounds, but she had taken care not to get caught in conversation with him; she would offer a word of greeting as good manners required, but that was all. Alice’s eighteenth birthday having passed, Mrs. Liddell thought it time to document for posterity the young woman her daughter had become. She wanted Alice to sit for a photographic portrait and she asked Dodgson to be the photographer.

“Mother, please. You know I don’t wish to see him,” Alice said.

“A lady might not like a man,” Mrs. Liddell said, “but she shouldn’t show it so explicitly as you do.” So Alice agreed to sit for the portrait. On the appointed day, she heard Dodgson enter the house and

begin setting up his equipment in the parlor.

Detestable man, how can you not understand what you did to me? Should I forgive? I can’t, I can’t. Must be polite. But be quick about it. Get in and get out.

Alice could not completely hide her feelings, and when Mrs. Liddell called her down, she moved with the briskness of one overburdened with appointments.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dodgson,” she said, and fell into a chair.

She slumped there, hands in her lap, head tilted toward her right shoulder as she eyed Dodgson from under her darkened brow until-as fast as he could: her behavior made him uncomfortable-he took the picture. Then she heaved herself up out of the chair.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, looking not at him but over his head as she left the room.

By Alice’s twentieth year, Mrs. Liddell was becoming anxious for her to choose a husband from among her many suitors.

“But I don’t feel anything for a single one of them,” Alice complained, shaking her head to fling out the unwanted memory of a boy left behind long ago. Don’t think of him! I mustn’t!

Then, one Saturday, the Liddell family attended an outdoor concert by a quartet at Christ Church Meadow. They were about to take their seats when a young gentleman, under the pretense of introducing himself to Dean Liddell, approached. He was Prince Leopold, Queen Victoria’s youngest son, and he

had been sent to Christ Church so that Dean Liddell might oversee his education. This was his first time meeting the family.

Mrs. Liddell became fidgety and excited as she was introduced.

“And these ladies,” said Dean Liddell, presenting his daughters, “are Edith, Lorina, and Alice. Girls, say hello to Prince Leopold.”

Alice held out her hand for the prince to kiss. He seemed reluctant to let it go.

“I’m afraid you can’t keep it, Your Highness,” she said. And when he didn’t understand: “My hand. I

may have use for it still.”

“Ah. Well, if I must return it to you, then I must, though if it ever needs safekeeping…” “I shall think of you, Your Highness.”

Prince Leopold insisted that the Liddells sit with him. He placed himself between Alice and Mrs. Liddell, and when the concert began with a Mozart medley, he leaned over and whispered in Alice’s ear, “I don’t fancy medleys. They skip lightly over so many works without delving thoroughly into any one of them.”

“There are quite a few people like that as well,” Alice whispered in return.

Mrs. Liddell, not hearing this exchange, flashed her daughter a look, which Alice was at a loss to interpret. The prince talked to her through the entire concert, discussing everything from art to politics.

He found Miss Liddell unlike other young women, who spoke of nothing but velvet draperies, wallpaper patterns, and the latest fashions, women who batted their eyelashes and expected him to swoon. Miss Liddell didn’t try to impress him-indeed, she gave the impression that she didn’t much care what he thought of her and he rather admired that. And her beauty…yes, her beauty was undeniable. All in all, he thought her a delectable puzzle of a creature.

No sooner was the concert over and Leopold gone than Mrs. Liddell voiced what she’d been trying to communicate to Alice with her eyes.

“He’s a prince! A prince! And he’s taken a fancy to you, I’m certain!”

“We were only talking, Mother. I talked to him as I would have talked to anyone.”

But her mother’s awe and enthusiasm were difficult to ignore, and she started running into Leopold all

over town. If she strolled through the Christ Church Picture Gallery, she found him gazing intently at an oil painting by one of the old masters. If she visited the Bodleian Library, she found him thumbing through a volume of Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (which she had read in its entirety).

He’s handsome enough, I suppose. And obviously well bred.

Yes, but so were many of the men who vied for her attention. At least he didn’t stroke his mustache with impatience as she talked of the need to provide for Britain’s poor.

“A nation should be judged on how it looks after its more unfortunate children,” she explained. “If Great Britain is truly to be the greatest kingdom in the world, it is not enough to flaunt our military power and our dominance in industry. We must lead by example and be more charitable to and protective of our own.”

Prince Leopold always listened to her judiciously, weighing her arguments and reasonings with seriousness. He never agreed or disagreed with her.

Mother may be right. I could certainly do worse than marry a prince. But although Alice tried to feel something for the man, her heart remained unconvinced.

Three months after the concert at Christ Church Meadow, while taking a ride in his carriage to Boar’s Hill, Prince Leopold said, “Your father tells me that you’ll be visiting the Banbury Orphanage tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to come along, if you’ll have me. One never knows what sort of troubles might beset a young woman there.”

“If you think it best, Your Highness.”

He offered to take her in the carriage, but Alice said that she’d prefer to walk.

“You see so much more of the town when you walk-a little curiosity shop or a snatch of garden where you wouldn’t think it possible to have a garden, choked as it is by city things. In a carriage, you hurry past these treasures without noticing them.”

She didn’t take the slightest quirk of mankind for granted, but viewed it as a small miracle and cause for celebration, and the prince had begun to love her for this.

At Banbury, the orphans crowded around Alice, hugging her skirts, all shouting at once. Alice laughed,

held four conversations simultaneously and, to Leopold’s eye, set off against the soot-stained walls, the drab and loose-hanging clothes of the orphans, and the pale, bloodless faces of the wardens, she looked more radiant than he’d ever seen her. On a tour of the orphanage, a train of children following at their heels, one young boy refused to let go of Alice’s left thumb.

Alice requested a thorough accounting of the troubles facing the Banbury Orphanage. The wardens pointed out floors rotten from overflowing sewage, the sagging infirmary roof, the time-worn mattresses as thin as wafers. They showed her the pantry, empty save for sacks of dried kidney beans and uncooked rice.

“The children have had nothing but beans and rice for two weeks,” one of the women told her. “We were supposed to be getting a supply of beef ribs, but so far…nothing. This sort of thing happens rather frequently, I’m afraid.”

Prince Leopold had been silent for some time. He cleared his throat. “What of the warden responsible for ensuring that Banbury receives the food and clothes the children need?”

“The chief warden is very selective as to who gets what and how much of it, Your Highness,” the warden explained. “He says we take in too many children and that perhaps they are not so deserving. For example, that one there”-the warden pointed at the boy holding on to Alice’s thumb-“he has a real talent for thieving, though often as not what he steals is food because of how hungry he is. They all are.” She gestured at the surrounding orphans.

Alice looked at the boy clutching her thumb, suddenly reminded of Quigly Gaffer. What’s become of him and the others? Andrew, Margaret, and Francine were hardly old enough to dress themselves, never mind living on the streets without the love and support of family.

The mournful, faraway look on Alice’s face had a profound effect on the prince. “I shall talk with the queen,” he said after several moments. “I think we might establish a Commission of Inquiry into the matter and, in the meantime, arrange for an increase in food rations. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like generosity rarely met with among the living,” said the woman.

“Well, no one here shall soon discover if it’s to be met with among the dead either, if I can help it.”

The orphans blinked and said nothing, hardly believing what they had heard: Queen Victoria and Prince Leopold were going to work on their behalf! The wardens offered the prince their thanks many times over, while Alice looked on and smiled, which was all the thanks he desired.

On the walk home, they stopped to rest in the university’s botanic garden, where Alice found herself sitting on a bench with Leopold suddenly kneeling in front of her.

“No matter what you decide, Alice,” he was saying, “I want you to know that in the coming years I will be only too glad to assist you in your charitable endeavors. But I hope with all my heart that you’ll allow me to do so as your husband.”

Alice didn’t understand.

“I’m asking for your hand in marriage,” Leopold explained. “But…Your Highness, are you sure?”

“That is not exactly the answer for which I was hoping. Alice, you are a most uncommon commoner, to say the least, and I would be proud to call myself your husband. Of course, you realize that you will not

have the title of princess, nor be entitled to ownership of the royal estates?”

“Of course.” Marriage? Again, she felt the tug of a long-buried affection for one who…She would not allow herself to think of him. She had to be realistic. The marriage would please her mother. She would do it for her mother, for her family’s sake. “I accept, Leopold.”

She let herself be kissed, feeling the coolness of dusk settle in around her.

“I have already spoken with the queen and I have asked for, and received, your father’s blessing,” the prince said. “We shall host a party to announce the engagement.”

If she’d had time to think about it, Alice might have stopped herself, considering the idea too whimsical. But the words had a force of their own, and only after she said them aloud did she realize just how appropriate the idea was.

“Let’s have a masquerade.”

Yes, it felt right: a masquerade to celebrate the orphan girl’s impending marriage to Prince Leopold of

Great Britain.