Alice hadn't exactly intended to end up back at Houndsditch Home, but somehow she wound up there anyway.
The weather was pleasant, and a warm breeze washed over her as she lightly pushed the gate open and slowed to a stop in front of the door. She wasn't really sure what to do now that Bumby was… gone.
Gone. She relished the thought, it was delicious – he was gone, there was no doubting that, and he wasn't going to be back to hurt anyone else, least of all her. A small smile spread across her face, and she couldn't help letting out a giggle that swam through the air like a fish exploring the sea. Of course, she wasn't exactly sure what she was going to do now that he was gone – what about the orphanage? What about the children? She couldn't just let them go - but why not? They were no business of hers. Then again, that was exactly the kind of reasoning that led her into such a mess in the first place. After a few minutes of deliberating, she had finally made up her mind. No, she was to help the children. She never exactly thought herself the caring kind, and she didn't have a degree like the one Bumby had, but what difference did that make? She would try to help them. Show them that remembering is not wrong. As for those that were too far gone to be saved… well, she'd just have to help them as best as she can.
Over time, Alice became the sole owner of Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth. She was quite good at it, too, even if she did have to enlist the help of the older ones in things such as cooking and cleaning. They never minded, though, partly because Alice would always tell stories while they were going on – stories painting an intricate picture of her beloved Wonderland for them.
As she grew older, she occasionally had periods where her eyes would glaze over and she would hold onto her chair for dear life. Things seemed to haunt her, but whenever they did, a cat would leap up onto the windowsill (the children had always noticed the cat, but told each other to leave it alone, for Alice never minded) and Alice would quickly come to her senses. Sometimes the children asked her why she was never married. Alice always gave them a thin smile. She wouldn't answer them fully, of course, wouldn't taint their dreams with tales of her childhood, the demise of her family, and her own grim stroll along the path of insanity. She would just tell them that there wasn't a man out there in London for her – and they would laugh, and drift off, and talk about how they were glad, anyway, because Alice was theirs.
One day, she'd descend back into Wonderland in her dreams, and take tea in the Vale of Tears. It was most enjoyable, and once she'd finished her tea she'd turn to Cheshire and say "It's been enjoyable, certainly, but what about my responsibilities?" He would grin smugly at her and say "You've carried enough responsibility for one lifetime." She would consider this, then smile and refill her teacup.
Somewhere, miles away, Alice Liddell passed away in her sleep.