Beware the Little White Rabbit Page 6

  Her mother had closed her eyes and sighed. “I will hear no more about it today, Alice. I must concentrate on who is here and to whom Katharine should be introduced. It’s her coming out year.”

  As if Alice needed to be reminded.

  Her mother walked on, catching up to Katharine. Her older sister wore a brand-new walking dress and carried a parasol over one shoulder. Alice didn’t know what her mother was so worried about. Pretty, sophisticated Katharine would have no trouble filling her dance card for the Assembly Ball.

  The Pavilion loomed in front of them. Alice could practically smell the domesticity. Mother and Katharine entered, with Alice coming in a distant third.

  She stepped across the threshold and wondered if she was in the wrong place.

  A steam engine filled up much of the space at the front of the hall. Alice guessed it wasn’t half the reported size of the Corliss, but the sight of it filled her heart with glee. The machine was tended by a woman in a gray dress. Alice went to it as if drawn by a magnet.

  “What is this?” she blurted, without anything in the way of a proper introduction.

  “This is a Baxter steam engine,” the woman replied with great pride. “It runs every loom and spinner in the pavilion. I’m Emma. Emma Allison.”

  Alice was sure she wore a ridiculous expression, but couldn’t help herself. “Alice Purcell.” She was so distracted by the engine she didn’t even gasp at the idea of a woman steam engineer. “It’s beautiful.”

  Emma laughed. “You really think so? Most girls aren’t interested in machines.”

  “I’m not most girls.”

  “That’s obvious. Let me show you how it works.” Before Emma could utter a word, Alice’s mother appeared at her side as if conjured from the very air.

  “Alice, come see the lovely embroidery and corset exhibits.” Her mother’s pleasant tone didn’t fool Alice. The muscles along her jaw were laced corset tight, and Alice could almost hear her mother’s molars grinding against one another.

  Alice held back her sigh. “Thank you, Emma.” She turned to follow her mother, but Emma grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip.

  “Beware the white rabbit.”

  Alice’s eyes grew round and wide. “What did you say?”

  “The white rabbit. No matter what he says, don’t follow.” There was panic in Emma’s voice. She gave Alice one last squeeze, and then released her.

  Alice shook her slightly sore hand and followed her mother. She looked back, but Emma had turned away. Her expression gave away nothing of her strange words.

  The next half hour was excruciating, full of weaving, cooking, tea services, and dinner dishes. While her mother and Katharine were cooing over place settings, Alice searched for anything remotely interesting. A display of clockworks caught her attention. Emma’s strange words floated back to her. Away from the moment, Alice giggled – what harm could a white rabbit be?

  “You’re late.”

  Alice looked for the speaker. The voice was small, like a child’s.

  “I said, you’re late. Over here.”

  Her gaze skimmed across the display. There, among the inventions, sat a bit of white fur. A stuffed rabbit. A stuffed white rabbit.

  Don’t be silly. It’s just a toy.

  It winked at her.

  Alice let out a squeak of surprise. She leaned in to get another look. It didn’t move. Of course it didn’t. She turned her attention to a brass carriage clock, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of white-furred activity. When she looked, the rabbit was still there, sitting in exactly the same place.

  Not exactly the same. Its right paw was raised in a waving gesture. Had it been like that before? She glanced over her shoulder, but no one else was looking. They were all too busy to see her step into the exhibit, past the velvet rope meant to keep people at a distance.

  The rabbit was pretty and well-made, and with a key sticking out of its back. It was a clockwork. She felt ridiculous. Someone had wound the rabbit, and she had witnessed its last movements before the spring wound down. She grabbed the key, gave it several turns, and then set it on the ground. The rabbit moved, its nose twitching and its paws waving, hopping up-and-down at regular intervals. That solved the mystery.

  The rabbit turned its head and looked at her.

  “You’re late.”

  The mouth moved, and the words were clear as day. It looked less like a toy and more like a real rabbit, except that, of course, real rabbits didn’t speak.

  “I’m late? For what?” Alice couldn’t help but reply.

  “For the ball, of course.” The rabbit made an annoyed clicking sound. “As if you didn’t know.”

  “I’m not late for anything, and the last place I need to go is a ball.” She looked around again. Her mother and Katharine were yards away, talking to a woman. Likely someone with a daughter or niece coming out this year, to be sure. Or maybe she had a son who needed a wife.

  “We really need to be going.” The rabbit’s tone was insistent.

  As nice as you please, the clockwork rabbit hopped away. Before she knew what she was doing, she followed. He stopped in front of a grandfather clock and pointed to the long, thin door on the front.

  “What’s this silliness? We can’t go in there.” Alice realized she was talking to a toy and scolded herself.

  “Of course not, if you don’t have a key.” He tilted his head, his button eyes reflecting the light. “You do have the key, don’t you?”

  “Of course I don’t.” She opened her reticule and showed the inside to the rabbit. “See?”

  “What good are you if you don’t have the key?” The rabbit made the annoyed sound again. “Are you sure it’s not in your pocket?”

  “I don’t know what you’re blathering about.” Alice had had quite enough. “But, just so you’ll be quiet…” She jammed her hands into the pockets of her walking dress. “See? I told you…” The fingers of her right hand brushed against something at the very bottom of her pocket. It was a brass skeleton key, shiny, with a long barrel. The top was sculpted like a brass gear, the teeth biting into the pads of her fingers.

  She turned to the rabbit. He gave an impatient hop and waved her on, then stood still. The spring must have wound down.

  She took a step, then stopped. Emma’s warning rang in her ears. She had sounded so dire. How had she known about the rabbit? And yet, here it was, trying to get her to go through a door in a grandfather clock. What did she have to lose except a few more boring minutes with her mother and sister?

  She picked up the rabbit and wound it again.

  “Thank you. Now, can we please be on our way? The Watchmaker will be cross if we’re much longer.”

  Alice set the rabbit down and slipped the key into the lock on the grandfather clock’s door. It turned easily and the door popped open. She peered inside, expecting to see the chains and weights normal to such a device. The carpeted hallway was an utter shock. The rabbit hopped inside, his winding key turning. He waved her on in a way that said she should hurry.

  Alice paused, her hand on the clock, her foot raised to step over. Emma had warned her, and here she was, following. She would only be a few minutes. Just a quick look around. Not enough time to get into any kind of trouble.

  “Oh, my goodness, this clock is much bigger on the inside.” Alice had wondered if it wasn’t some kind of optical illusion. But her feet stepped on thick, soft carpet of deep blue. The walls of the corridor were lighter blue, with plaster trim in white. It was like being inside one of her mother’s Wedgewood teacups. The deep quiet made Alice shiver.

  “All right, I’ve seen it. Now I need to go.”

  She turned to leave, but the door had shut and locked. She patted her pockets, but the key wasn’t there. Had she taken it out before she stepped through, or was it still in the lock of the grandfather clock? She couldn’t remember.

  “How am I supposed to get back?”

  “You can’t go back, only forwar
d,” the rabbit said. He hopped up and down like a child who needed the lavatory.

  Alice huffed. “A fine mess this is.”

  “Come along.” The rabbit hopped away, leaving Alice no choice but to follow. The hall was long and lined with doors.

  “There must be hundreds. Where do they all go?” She tried to open a few, but they were locked. The hall connected to another, and then another. The rabbit made so many turns Alice was dizzy.

  Finally the hallway came to an end. The rabbit stopped in front of a pair of double doors. Polished oak, carved with all manner of gears and springs, interspersed with leaves and flowers. They intermingled on the door as if it were a natural thing that flowers and gears grew in every garden. She pressed her ear against it and heard the barest strains of music.

  “Are you going to open it, or not?”

  Alice had nearly forgotten the white rabbit. He sat beside her feet, nose twitching, gears turning. It had been a while since she had wound him. How much longer until he would need to be wound again? Perhaps she wouldn’t, if he was going to keep being so cheeky.

  “Just a minute. I don’t go around opening doors willy-nilly.”

  The rabbit gave her a look of deep irony, which Alice ignored.

  “I’ve told you, you’re expected.” An envelope appeared in the rabbit’s paws. It must have been a magic trick, sleight-of-hand, though Alice had no idea where he had been hiding it. She took the envelope. Her name was written on it, in swirly, elegant writing. She lifted the flap and pulled out the invitation inside.

  You are cordially invited

  to the Watchmaker’s ball

  held every 6th Saturday

  at the Ballroom-in-the-clock.

  Please be prompt.

  “This invitation makes no sense,” Alice exclaimed. “There are no sixth Saturdays. And how can I be prompt when there is no time written here?”

  “You’re nearly late.” The rabbit tapped his foot impatiently. “Open the door.”

  Alice eyed the rabbit suspiciously. “How do you know I’m nearly late? You don’t even have a watch.”

  “What a very silly thing to ask a rabbit made of clockwork.”

  Alice jammed a hand on her hip. “That makes no sense, either. Besides, I’m not dressed for a ball.” She indicated her dusty but neat walking dress.

  “Go inside,” the rabbit insisted.

  Alice sighed. There was no more use arguing. “All right, then.” She pulled the door open.

  The music swelled as a gorgeous ballroom was revealed. She had never seen the one at the Academy of Music, where the Assembly Ball was held, but she couldn’t imagine it would compare to this. A long room with an impossibly high ceiling. Three walls covered in gilt-framed mirrors, making it look as if there were a thousand people inside. There were probably only about a hundred, if Alice had to guess, all dancing. The fourth wall was dominated by an enormous clock face, the numbers and hands made of polished brass.

  Alice’s heart flipped. Women in gowns of every color, like dancing flowers, being led by men in embroidered waistcoats with tailed coats. Their jewelry glittered like fire in the lights of the crystal chandeliers.

  “I can’t go in there,” she whispered to the rabbit.

  “Why ever not?” the rabbit asked with a sniff.

  “I look like a ragamuffin.”

  “I beg to differ. I think you look fantastic.”

  A tall man stood before her. He wore a bronze-colored tuxedo of the oddest material Alice had ever seen. It almost looked as if the fabric were made of metal. His chestnut hair shone in the light from the chandeliers, and his smile was open and charming.

  “Thank you, sir, but I doubt…” Her voice trailed off as she looked down at herself. Her walking dress was gone, replaced by a ruffled and fitted gown the same color as the man’s suit. She blushed at the gown’s neckline. If my corset were pulled any tighter, I’d fall right out.

  “But…how?”

  “You’ve been invited to the Watchmaker’s ball,” the man said. “Everything is always taken care of for invited guests.”

  The rabbit, still sitting by her feet, wore a black-and-white tuxedo, a white bow tie beneath his chin. He winked at her, waved, and then scampered off, leaving her alone with the man.

  Alice had no experience with formal balls, but had watched her sister practice often enough. She attempted a slightly clumsy curtsy. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening, Miss Purcell. Welcome. I am the Watchmaker.” He returned her curtsy with a polite, jingly bow. When he stood, Alice saw the source of the jingling. A huge brass ring of keys hung on the front of his jacket, attached to a watch chain. He held his hand out to Alice.

  “Would you care to dance?”

  “I…I, uh…” She stuttered. “Shouldn’t I have a dance card?”

  The Watchmaker laughed. “Why would you need a card for dancing? Which one would you prefer? The Ace of Spades? Or the Queen of Hearts?”

  Alice giggled at his silly answer. The Watchmaker bent his arm, offering his elbow. Alice, nervous, slipped her arm in his. He led her to the center of the dance floor, where the other couples moved apart to give them space. He spun her around so that she was facing him, and took her by the waist. She realized she had no idea what dance was coming next. Over the shoulder of the Watchmaker, Alice had a good view of the musicians. They sat on a dais along the wall in front of the clockface.

  They were clockwork. But not clever clockwork, like the White Rabbit. These were simple machines with metal limbs. Tuxedos hung limply from their frames. Above their bodies were clear glass bowls turned upside down. Inside were the clockworks that made them run, gears turning as the metal musicians prepared to play. The music started.

  It was a waltz. The Watchmaker began the dance, his feet moving in time with the music. More couples joined them almost immediately, filling the spaces and turning the room once more into a bouquet of spinning fabric. Alice laughed, and the Watchmaker held her tighter.

  “New partner! Move down!”

  She couldn’t tell where the call had come from, but the effect was immediate. Everyone released his or her partner, spun around, and grasped hands with another. They didn’t even miss a step. Alice’s mouth fell open.

  “How do they know where to go?”

  The Watchmaker, who had abandoned her in the middle of the floor for a blond woman in a fluffy pink dress, called over his shoulder, “How does a music box know what to play?”

  Without even trying to figure out what he meant, she turned toward her next partner. A tall man with chestnut hair, in a coat of deep green appeared. He bowed, a wide smile on his face, and held out his hand. They twirled across the floor, Alice’s heart racing, and he didn’t say a word. She changed partners three more times, each time at the command of the strange call. She laughed out loud as she was tossed from one well-appointed partner to the next, wondering what her prim-and-proper sister would think of such silliness.

  Finally the song ended. Alice was out of breath, her throat dry. The Watchmaker appeared at her side once more.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Alice?”

  Alice nodded. “I never thought I would enjoy a ball, but this is so exciting.”

  “I’m glad you think so, but you must be thirsty. Allow me to get you something to drink.”

  Alice found a cushioned seat along the wall and fell onto it. The musicians played a Virginia Reel, and every dancer fell into place. Just watching them spin and twirl made her want to dance again.

  The Watchmaker returned with a small, crystal glass. It was filled with a red liquid. Attached to the handle was a small tag.

  “I hope this will satisfy your thirst, my dear.”

  Alice took the glass and brought it to her nose. She took a small sniff. It didn’t smell like wine, which she had tried once but hadn’t liked. It had a fruity smell – and something else she couldn’t place. She looked at the tag.

  Drink Me.

  What else wou
ld she do with it? She took a sip. Delicious. Abandoning her manners, she gulped the rest down.

  “Thank you.” She handed the glass back. “What was that?”

  The Watchmaker smiled. “My own special blend. Are you ready to dance?”

  Alice stood, perhaps a bit too fast. She wobbled, and the Watchmaker steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

  “My dear, are you all right?”

  Alice giggled. “That punch had a bit more kick than I thought.” Her vision wavered, then righted itself. “I feel very curious.”

  “Oh, dear.” The Watchmaker sounded concerned. “That must be the potion. It has that effect on some.”

  “The what?” The room tilted, everything blurring around the edges.

  “My special potion. Everyone here has drunk it.” The Watchmaker’s tone was infuriatingly matter-of-fact, tinged with amusement. “It’s how they never stop dancing.”

  “What does that mean?” Had he drugged her? “What is happening to me?”

  The song ended and immediately a new one began. This time it was a light, jaunty polka. The Watchmaker took her hand and pulled her onto the floor. The room had stopped spinning, but her arms tingled and felt strange.

  “Wait,” she pleaded. “Wait, please, I don’t know if I can dance.”

  The Watchmaker waved away her plea. “Of course you can. Soon you will be able to dance forever.” Before she could protest further, he had pulled her into the polka. She whirled at a fantastic pace, the music seeming to speed up as they danced. She moved so fast she didn’t have time to think. Her arms still tingled and suddenly felt heavy though the muscles did not ache. The song ended, and Alice took the chance to get away.

  “Excuse me. I need to…powder my nose.”

  She had no idea if there was a powder room; she just ran out of the ballroom and into the hall. The muffled quiet made every sound she made as loud as the midnight bell in a churchyard. She lifted an arm and bent her fingers. The skin was intact, her slender fingers the same as always, the nails slightly ragged. Whatever the Watchmaker had given her, its effects were happening beneath the skin. She held her hand near her ear and flexed her fingers again. This time she heard it. A mechanical sound, like pulleys and gears turning.