“And those Old City folks, they’re nothing but shiftless drunkards and murderers, your father is right about that,” Dinah had said as she brushed out Elizabeth’s hair. “No need to worry yourself about them.”
This had seemed very hard-hearted to Elizabeth, but all the adults in her life said it so it must be true.
A little orange butterfly flew into Elizabeth’s secret nook and landed on her knee. It flapped its wings at her for a moment, as if giving her a friendly greeting, and then flew away.
A red rose petal floated down from the bush and landed on her knee in the exact place that the butterfly had landed.
I wish that rose was a butterfly, too, a beautiful red butterfly with wings like rubies.
And of course because she wished it, it was so.
The petal seemed to swell, then split, and a moment later there was a lovely butterfly with wings the size of Elizabeth’s palm waving its antennae at her.
Elizabeth wasn’t surprised by this. Her wishes tended to come true, though she needed to really mean them. If she said idly that she wished for ice cream then ice cream would not appear just because she said it.
Her wishes also came true more often when she dreamed under the roses, though she did not know why this should be. Perhaps because Mama tended them and put her love into them, instead of the gardeners who always seemed to be having their elevenses even when it wasn’t the proper time.
She carefully picked up the butterfly from her knee and let it rest on the flat of her hand. It showed no inclination to fly away.
“But butterflies must fly away,” Elizabeth said. “They aren’t for keeping.”
Unless their wings are broken.
She looked all around, startled. That was not her own voice she’d heard. It was someone else’s.
Someone terrible, she thought. Who would break the wings of a butterfly?
A jealous Caterpillar who can never fly, the voice said.
“Are you the jealous Caterpillar?” Elizabeth asked.
She wasn’t certain where the voice was coming from, but it was definitely not inside her head, as she first thought. That was a comfort, because she was old enough to know that only mad people heard voices that were not their own.
Me? The voice was richly amused by this question. Elizabeth heard the laughter in that single syllable. Oh no, not me, never me. I am jealous of nothing and no one for I am the one who keeps all the stories and stories are more valuable than rubies. All the knowledge of the world is in stories.
“So who is this Caterpillar who breaks butterflies, then?” Elizabeth said.
She thought the voice sounded like a know-all and since Elizabeth had an older sister she didn’t need to associate with any more know-alls. Still, if he told her a story it might make the time pass until the carriage came around to take them to the Giving Day ceremonies.
He was very naughty. Very, very naughty indeed, but Alice made him pay for his sins.
“Alice?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes widening and her heart leaping at the sound of the name. “Do you know Alice?”
Perhaps now she could discover the identity of this troublesome Alice, this spectre who left her mother’s eyes haunted and her father’s face white.
Of course I know Alice. Once she was the Rabbit’s Alice. The voice had gone all singsong croony. Pretty little Alice with a pretty axe murderer at her side. Pretty Alice who cut the Caterpillar’s throat and made it all fall down.
“But who is Alice?” Elizabeth asked impatiently. And why does no one want me to know?
Alice swam in a river of tears and waded through streets that ran with blood and found a cottage covered in roses. Alice walked the forest at night and danced with the goblin and took the queen’s crown.
“No, I don’t want riddles. If you’re not going to tell me properly then I don’t want to talk to you at all,” Elizabeth said impatiently, and crawled out from under the roses.
The butterfly in her palm flew away and landed on an open flower. Its wings were the same red velvet as the rose, matched so closely that you wouldn’t know it was a butterfly at all except for the antennae waving in the breeze.
She dusted the grass and flower petals from her blue dress, feeling that the day was not going at all according to her plan. Everyone was supposed to love her new dress and instead she’d had to drag a compliment from her parents. This annoying voice had come to intrude on her dreaming time under the roses and instead of telling her what she wanted to know it only left more questions in its wake.
And always, always, there was Alice.
“Who is Alice?” she asked, though she didn’t expect an answer. She just wanted a chance to show the strange voice that he hadn’t distracted her.
Why, Alice is your sister, of course.
* * *
Elizabeth was squashed up against the door of the carriage because her nieces Polly and Edith had demanded she ride with them and Margaret and Daniel instead of in her parents’ carriage.
Normally she would have been well pleased to play with them instead of straining to listen to her parents’ murmured conversation, but she wanted to think quietly about what the voice had told her and it was impossible to think with Polly squealing because Edith kept tickling her.
“Edith, stop that this instant,” Margaret said, frowning at her younger daughter.
Edith obligingly folded her hands in her lap, but everyone in the carriage knew that as soon as Margaret’s attention turned to something else she would start in on Polly again. Polly was astoundingly ticklish—if you even brushed her cheek with your fingers she would start giggling uncontrollably.
“What’s the matter, Elizabeth?” Margaret asked, turning her frown on her sister. “Are you feeling poorly? You’re not usually this quiet.”
“Yes, I thought some cat had come to steal your tongue away in the night,” Daniel said, and winked at her.
Elizabeth dredged up a half smile for him, because she really did like her brother-in-law very much. “I think perhaps I am just a little tired. I didn’t sleep very much last night, thinking about today. I was so excited.”
Of course this excuse was patently ridiculous. Elizabeth was an exceptionally good sleeper. She could fall asleep in any circumstance, in any position and surrounded by any kind of cacophony. Even if she was overly excited about Giving Day she still would have slept straight through the night and woken up refreshed.
Margaret, however, accepted this reason without considering it for a moment. Daniel gave Elizabeth a sideways glance that told her he wasn’t certain she was telling the truth, but was too polite to say so.
Her sister’s carriage joined the line of vehicles inching toward the Great Square. Of course they would have to leave the carriage behind and walk part of the way, though their higher status would allow them to park closer to the ceremonies.