Summary: The last time Alice Kingsley visited wonderland she left with a little more then what she came with. Seven years later she has avoided Wonderland in an effort to keep her son safe from those who would harm him. However, when Charlie Kingsley is kidnapped by a man claiming to be his father Alice has no choice but to return and fight or risk loosing the one thing in her life she holds dear.

Note: The Title is a line from the Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll

One and Two and Through and Through

The First

The park was crowded, filled to the brim with bodies set to enjoy the spring air on a bright Sunday afternoon. The air was filled with the ecstatic screams of children racing through the greenery at breakneck speed. Interspersed throughout the packs of roving youngsters women with parasols and prams congregated in small groups, like hens clucking and chuckling about menial things no one else could take an interest in. Young girls sat in trios and quartets, making daisy chains, playing with one another and taking turns being the bride and bridesmaids, ignorant that the immature and annoying boys around them would soon replace their pretend games and false interests. The boys, for their part, were just as oblivious. Little men with grass stained trousers and cheery smiles chased one another around the small hills and fountain, ignoring the city that surrounded the small green space. Like the women and young girls they were in smaller groups, connected through age, interests, school and money. The sun shone down on their games, warming them enough that they might remove their jackets and leave them in wrinkled heaps that would surely earn them a lecture that night before bed. A group of them raced around the stone fountain, nearly toppling a young woman holding a pale blue parasol tightly in her hands as she scanned the area casually, only half paying attention to the older man strolling along the path at her side.

Had the young boys been older they might not have been so eager to rush past. Less then twenty eight the young woman had skin as pale as a Japanese lily, a head of thick golden ringlets that was tied back for the most part but for a few curls that had escaped their constraints to frame her strong jaw line. Unknown to those around her ,if loose the long curls would have fallen to her waist in a cascade of light but for the sake of civility (something she abhorred) and propriety (a concept she had never fully understood) she tried her best to adhere to tradition and not embarrass her companion. So, in reverence to social norms, her long hair was secured tightly with a stunning golden hair pin with a beautifully sculpted turquoise rabbit upon its end. The rest of her dress as just as eccentric. While she wore the traditional dress of a woman of her station she neglected the corset and stockings all together. The empire style of her gown suited her well and the soft blue colour of the dress emphasized the paleness of her flawless skin. In contrast, over this traditional dress was a petticoat made of the finest Chinese silks. The Golden threads that embroidered the arms and back, twisted into imaginary designs, telling a secret story that only their bearer of the coat could fully understand.

Set upon her perfect elfin face were her defining features, eyes so dark and wise that with one look a man felt as though he could fall into their depths and drown within them. Her dark eyes drew attention away from her pale lips, which were pressed into a displeased line. The expression smeared her perfect beauty as she scanned the hills and small groupings within the park. Her sharp eyes eager and searching. As she and her companion walked by, a group of nearby ladies began to whisper. She ignored them; they had been whispering for years.

"My dear would you not consider it?" Lord Ascot asked gently, congenially holding her hand upon his.

The dark eyes of Alice Kingsley fixed upon him with an unwavering stare. An intense stare for any person let alone a woman, who in all other ways, seemed to more closely resemble a china doll then a human being.

"Hector I have already made up my mind on the matter," she answered cooly, "I will not submit him to their ridicule and cruelty. It was horrible when was a child and I am sure it is worse now."

He sighed at his spot next to her and patted her hand gently with the fondness of a father for a favoured daughter. It was obvious to anyone who knew them that their relationship was a deeply paternal one, despite the rumours that followed them through England. Hector, or rather Lord Ascot, had known her since she was a babe in swaddling and had loved her as a daughter ever since. Charles had been his best friend and the day Alice had declared her distaste to marrying his son, Hamish, and her desire to join him in business she had been his apprentice as well as protégé. It also helped that refusing Hamish' hand showed a great deal more foresight and logic then he had had the presence of mind to use when asking for the hand of Lady Ascot. Now, Alice was one of the most accomplished woman in England, a key figure (albeit a silent one) in his own company and independently wealthy beyond her wildest dreams. However, it had never been Alice's ability to provide for herself that had worried him, rather her interactions with other human beings.

For as long as he had known Charles the man had been a precarious balance of pure insanity and pure genius. His charming manners and handsome face opened many doors for him but his erratic disposition and crazy notions closed them as well. Alice was very much the same except her traits proved to be even more polar. Her beauty was perfect and flawless, her singular determination and flights of fantasy were more pronounced then her father had ever displayed. Those qualities which were so marketable in their profession also prevented her from making a happy match in terms of matrimony. She got by as a single woman without a husband to support her but mostly the taunts were subdued because he was at her side so consistently. Most of their contacts in their international exploits considered him to be an indulgent father, fostering his daughter's brilliance to overshadow his son's lack thereof. He hated to admit it but there was truth to the notion. No one of that acquaintance cared about Alice's personal life, it was beyond their interest, however the London set was quite different and poor Alice was often the object of ridicule and scorn both openly and behind closed doors, most notably from his own family.

Hamish was his son and only child but he was also stubborn, stuffy, frightened of his own shadow and more haughty then any daughter could be. The boy had taken his own worst traits and combined them with the disposition of the Lady Ascot to create one of singularly most annoying people Hector had ever met. He had no allusions of Hamish nor the empty headed and opinionated hen the man had eventually married. Both were more concerned with preening and attending balls where they might be seen to consider where the money that kept the estate running came from and who had produced it. Hamish's childish behaviour coupled with the boy's mother and his wife over indulging his every whim had dismissed him from Hector's radar long ago. With his own son so out of his mind he concentrated on his 'adopted daughter". Alice was everything he would ever have wanted in a daughter and it saddened him sometimes that they would never be related by marriage and that the only way he could secure her future and fortune was to leave control of the company to her, a notion that would send his wife to her own grave. Still, her welfare was paramount and that being clear between them the welfare of her son was just as important.

He let go of her hand and watched as she strolled across the grass gracefully, earning glares from the ladies as she showed no caution or concern for her dress, shoes, coat or any of the niceties that most women seemed to value. He followed at a slow pace, observing mother and child with a touched expression.

He watched as he lowered herself joyfully under a large tree, quite isolated from where the rest of London seemed to be loitering, to sit next to the small form of a boy no more then six. Her long arms wrapped around him and her face buried itself in his fire coloured curls. She whispered something into the child's ear that had the young boy turn his face towards her, a large smile upon his generous mouth. It was her mouth of course, perhaps one of a few features she had lent his appearance. He had always pitied the poor child that. He was illegitimate of course, but his life would have been a great deal easier had he taken his appearance from his mother's side. A young boy with golden waves and smouldering eyes would have made a great impression among his counterparts at the private schools regardless of the particulars of his birth, then a child with a mass of riotous ginger curls and eyes so green that they took on a yellow tinge in the right light. He observed the boy fondly. Alice had done what she could with his appearance, she kept the curls cut short to his head, she slathered the poor child's pale skin with any ointment she could to keep it from turning bright red with painful burns. Still nothing could draw attention from the child's appearance and he was the focal point of many an argument or sharp barb.

For most business men the name Charles Kingsley was still held in some esteem and so she had gifted her son with that name hoping that at least part of the revere would carry over. It had not but she had tried and that was something.

It was strange to see the child in this setting, not sitting beneath a tree reading and writing but rather in the heart of London. After some sort of altercation Alice had refused to tell him about she had spent the next few years assisting in their international affairs hands on. She had been to the Orient, the Americas and all over Europe. She had seen the dark continent of Africa and had seen the golden world of the Caribbean. She was the most well travelled person he had known and through it all she had taken her son. Nine months after her hurried voyage she had given birth and he had not even been aware she was expecting.

The child was born in India, his mother assisted by other women in beautiful robes and coffee coloured skin. His first breath was of golden air, rich with spices and intrigue. The child's birth foreshadowed the first few years of his life. Over the last five years he had been raised in various cultures and his demeanour spoke of a person who had seen more then most and had experienced the world far beyond the confined of a classroom or writing desk. When he had first met Charlie he was in his mother's arms, wrapped head to toe in thick furs that matched those of his mother and staring out at the harbour with a look of indifference. Hector could imagine that after the splendours in which he had been brought up the dull appearance of London seemed drab to him.

"Come on my love, show me what you've done," he could hear Alice wheedling the boy as he climbed up the heel, relying more heavily on his cane then he had in years.

Charlie seemed amused by his mother, favouring her with an indulgent smile before placing his small leather bound book into her hands.

"Oh how wonderful!" Alice gushed happily before sensing his presence and looking up, "Here Hector, come see how wonderful these are."

Grinning at the small family he reached out with his free hand and took the leather book. His wife had railed against the idea of giving a child such an expensive plaything and had raged against Alice's indulgence of the boy when she had seen the child with the book a few weeks ago. He had merely scoffed at such a silly notion. The child was not at all spoiled and used the book to his advantage. Looking at the cream coloured pages he was pleased to see rather pretty ink drawings. They were still done in a child's hand and clearly emphasized themes the young boy would be interested in but beneath their clumsiness he fancied he saw the hand of a young master. After all, boys a great deal younger the Charlie had caused much more of a fuss.

"Mama, why is the sky blue, why not green, or the colour of goldfish in the water?" he asked softly, eyes wide with excitement.

"Because my love, if the sky was not blue then how would I ever tell the different between the sky and your eyes. I might confuse them and then one day you would simply disappear, float away and I might never find you," Alice smiled back sweetly, "And to lose you would surely break my heart."

"Mama when we go home can we play chess," he asked eagerly, "Uncle Hector was teaching me last week."

"Of course my love," she replied with a smile, before looking up at him, "If Uncle Hector has the time."

The boy smiled and tucked himself tightly under her arm, his head leaning against her side rather tiredly. Alice seemed to notice at that moment that he was totally alone.

"Where are your friends and ?" she asked, "Today was supposed to be a play date for you."

The young boy turned his eyes to his lap, worrying his small hands. As he looked it became clear that the he was a great deal paler then Alice herself. While she took one a peaches and cream glow he was almost white. It did suit him, as if he were merely an apparition of a little boy rather then a real child. Hector squatted down to listen to his soft voice.

"They're not my friend." he replied softly, "They don't like me. They won't let me play with them no matter what Mrs. Brennan says. They say I look silly, like a circus clown and they call me names."

He watched as Alice's face took on a stone cold glare.

"What did they call you?" she asked seriously.

Charlie turned his face to her dress to hide his eyes. His mother was not deterred. While she did not pull him from her she did turn him to face her, her own face a mask of impartiality but underneath Hector could see the outrage.

"They called me Bastard Mummy, and say that I am a freak" he stated as seriously as he could despite his muffled words, "And say that I was so strange that my father left us and soon you'll leave me to and put me in a prison where the crazy children go."

He exhaled heavily and straightened up, watching as Alice wrapping her now sobbing son into her arms and lifted him effortlessly. The boy clung to her as if she were a lifeline, her body was his shield. The pitiable state of the child was obvious, and they walked side by side across the green park that no longer seemed as happy as it did only moments before. The other children did not even glance as they moved passed and Hector felt that old familiar pain for the young boy, with a careful hand he tucked the small notebook into his jacket pocket and followed mother and son out of the part towards their London home.