The Vault

9.

Almost two weeks had passed since that fateful afternoon, yet no word had been spoken between Alice and her father.

Alice had been renting a cosy little room in the village inn. Usually when she travelled, she had been stayed in the most fancy and upmarket hotels the place could offer, but she rather enjoyed the quaint feeling the village inn had.

However, she could not shake her reputation or nobility, and the landlords of the inn treated her almost as if she was royalty since she arrived.

A cute old couple owned the place; the husband was an ageing old sea-dog that had reluctantly decided to set up shop at the insistence of his wife, who herself was a friendly but iron-willed woman.

They had both took a shining towards the eloquent Alice when she arrived there; cold and shivering at the door, with a deep cut scarring her pretty face.

In her haste, she had forgotten to pick up a coat, and the long walk into the village centre had left her frozen. So, she was very grateful when the polite old couple welcomed her into the warmth of their pub, sitting her directly by the roaring fire and conjuring up a soup as quickly as they could.

And by that fire she had spent most of her recent nights, listening intently to the tales various travellers and drinkers would recant of far-off lands or drunken adventure. Although she happily neglected to patronise anyone with her status or wealth, as every night she politely refused the offers of drink from the lustfully wide eyed punters.

It wasn't the fact that she did not want to get drunk, it was more the fact that this homely little place could only offer up a few select ales, which after one sheepish sip, she had decided tasted foul.

Lying back in her rather mediocre bed, she looked up at the ceiling and traced the squares that decorated it. She could get used to this travelling life, she thought, before reminding herself what her father would say if he saw her cooped up in this little hovel.

For the majority of the last two weeks, she hadn't given much thought to Abraham, in fact, she was quite content to wait and see how long it would be before he came hunting for her.

It was only the visits from Mildred that would remind her. She had visited most afternoons and spent nearly the entire time bringing up how much Abraham must be suffering alone in that house, or how he may not be able to find her, and finally, that the two of them should reconcile.

And it was with reluctance that Alice lay there, observing the pattern of that ceiling, that she finally accepted her friend was right.

Sitting up-right, Alice grabbed her purse from the bedside table. Judging its weight, she concluded that she would be forced to go home soon anyway, as the coins she had stormed off with had begun to dwindle.

While the old couple that owned the inn often offered their hospitality at a cut-price cost, or even for nothing, she was way too dignified to accept their charity, and she accepted that it was time to go home... well after one more week or so anyway.

Lying back in bed she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

After tying a little red ribbon to the wicker basket, Mildred stood back and examined her work. It was not much, but the little basket of fruit, candles, chocolate and a few freshly picked flowers, was the best she could do.

She felt terrible about the recent events at Templeton Manor, and couldn't help but feel to blame, particularly after Abraham's angry tirade at her.

So after careful preparation, and the use of pretty much all her saved money, she crafted this gift to apologise.

Grabbing the basket, she left home and made her way towards the long dirt path through the woods.