Learning As We Go – Part 3

Chapter 10

"I'm so sorry," Primrose apologized for the third time. "My father is so over protective and embarrassing."

"Stop apologizing," Bobby said. "He doesn't want you with someone who's going to take advantage. My family go on and on about not getting involved too early and watching out for gold diggers. It gets rather painful after a while."

"I don't want to talk about our families," Primrose said.

"Neither do I," Bobby replied with relief. He pulled her close by her hand and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

They walked to the side of a hill overlooking the reservoir and sat on the grass. The sun was breaking through the clouds and the morning dew had dried.

"I'm glad you can come down this weekend. It should be fun," Bobby said.

"I'm not just an amusement, am I?" Primrose asked seriously.

"Am I?" Bobby asked her in return. "Not too dull always talking about plants and gardens?"

"I like plants and gardens and…you," Primrose said the last bit quietly. She looked down in embarrassment.

"I like you, too," Bobby said. He turned her face gently towards him and kissed her.

"I thought they'd never give us a second to ourselves," Bobby said as they parted.

"That was nice," Primrose said with flushed cheeks.

"Very," Bobby agreed before he kissed her again.

They walked back to the house holding hands.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to meet my parents when they were here," he said when they were in the door. "Sybil is pregnant and was sick every morning. Hans had a performance to do. He came to the airport for my licensing. The rest of the time he was practicing for some concert to do with the Austrian embassy. I didn't pay attention to what it was all about. He's always performing. He plays the violin."

"They sound like interesting parents," Primrose commented.

"I should head to the train. I'll meet you tomorrow at six if can you take the three o'clock express."

"I'd go with you today if I didn't have my class tomorrow morning," Primrose replied.

"Bobby, one moment," Mrs. Carpenter said. She had overheard their conversation. She was a fan of opera and always read the entertainment section of the newspaper. There had been quite a write up about a visiting violinist from Vienna at the beginning of summer. There had been a concert with dignitaries from all over Europe and North America in attendance. "May I inquire who your father is?"

"He's really my guardian's husband, but I consider him my father," Bobby replied. "His name is Hans Meyer."

"Wasn't he here a few weeks ago to play for the King and Queen?" Mrs. Carpenter inquired.

"Probably," Bobby replied completely unimpressed. "He plays with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra most of the time."

Mrs. Carpenter quickly retrieved the latest album she had purchased. She handed it to Bobby. "Is he on here?"

"That's him right there," Bobby said pointing to Hans standing in front of the orchestra playing a solo on the album jacket. "I better get to the train. I'm supposed to help out tonight with games and bedtime, if the lot of them ever stop talking long enough to play any games that is. It's the Nanny's night off and Dr. Branson is on the late shift at the hospital."

"What's the matter Mummy?" Primrose asked once the cab had left with Bobby in it. Her mother still had the recording in her hand and was sitting staring into space.

"You didn't say who his father was before," Mrs. Carpenter replied still in shock.

"Bobby said he taught him to fly and how to fence when he was younger. He only said he misses his parents sometimes living so far away."

"I don't think he's just a gardener," Mrs. Carpenter said finally getting up to put the recording back in its place.

"Bobby likes to garden. He's going to college to learn more about it. I like to garden too. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing dear, nothing at all," Mrs. Carpenter replied with a slight smile.

-0-

Two weeks before the end of the girls' program, Mark stomped into Astrid's study, plopped himself on a chair, crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip. It was after class and the girls had free time until dinner.

"Do you have something to tell me?" Astrid inquired. She didn't look up from the paperwork she was going through.

"Girls have germs," Mark replied sourly.

"Everyone in the world has germs," Astrid pointed out.

Mark bounced his feet up and down.

"Emily has more germs than most," he said.

"Can you tell my what brought you to that conclusion?"

"We were playing tag in the garden and she kissed me," Mark replied. "Girls and kissing and stuff are disgusting."

"Kisses wash off as do germs," Astrid said levelly.

"I suppose," Mark replied. "Can I go to visit Kevin? He asked if I would come and visit him over the summer."

Astrid put her pen down and motioned for Mark to come and stand beside her.

"Before I telephone Kevin's mother to make arrangements, can you promise you will be on your very best behavior?" Astrid asked him. "No worms in glasses at the dinner table or deliberately burning the toast to make a cloud of smoke in the house?"

"I haven't done that in ages," Mark said jiggling up and down a bit.

"I'm waiting for your promise," Astrid reiterated.

"I promise to be good. I could take my new bird book and we can look at the birds with my field glasses."

"Yes, you could. Kevin is a nice boy. I'm sure you'll have fun," Astrid said. "I'll call now and see if his mother is available to discuss a visit."

Mark nodded and went back to sit on the chair while Astrid made the call.

-0-

"Bradley, no," Bobby grumbled with an exaggerated gesture.

"Yes. Dropping Mark off at Kevin Reynolds' is twenty minutes out of your way," Bradley insisted.

"I promised Prim a date with no little kids," Bobby said resentfully.

"Your date can start once you have Mark dropped off at his friend's. One of us has to take him. You do it and have the car for the rest of the day or I do it and you have to wait until I get back. I'll bloody well take my time and you'll have to wait two hours or more for your date."

"Oh for Christ's sake," Bobby answered. "Fine. I'll take Mark to his friend's place."

"Make sure you're back by five. Astrid and I are going out."

"And leaving us here with a dozen little girls to entertain?" Bobby asked still in a foul mood.

"Nanny and two of the teachers are here to keep an eye on them," Bradley replied. "We're trusting you to mind your manners with Primrose."

"How would I possibly get up to anything with Primrose?" Bobby retorted. "You know damn well the girls will be on us the moment we set foot in the door."

"It isn't my fault you're popular with the girls," Bradley replied with a grin.

"Oh, piss off," Bobby said before he went to see if Mark was ready to go.

-0-

Mark was jumping up and down in excitement a short while later. Bobby and Primrose had a picnic along with extra drinks for their outing, Bobby had called the week before to reserve a plane and Mark's bag was loaded in the boot. Bobby had a note with directions to the Reynolds' home. They were finally ready to go.

"I'm going to watch for the house through my spyglass and be the first one to see it," Mark announced from the back seat. Sybil had picked out the car shortly after the war. Russell had officially picked out the car but by the time Sybil had vetoed his first two choices, she had really picked it out. It was a powerful machine with a convertible top. At the time they had to accommodate two children so they had chosen a car with four seats.

"You'll make yourself sick looking through that glass," Bobby warned him.

"How will I ever be a great explorer if I don't learn how to spot things?" Mark replied.

It was about a forty-minute drive to the Reynolds'. Mark was playing with his spyglass for the first ten minutes or so and chattering up a storm. Primrose was quiet watching the trees roll by and putting her hands in the air from time to time to catch the breeze with her palms.

"Ouch," Primrose said suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked.

"A bee has stung me," Primrose said.

"I'd better stop." Bobby pulled off to the side and looked at the sting on Primrose's hand. "I don't see a stinger," he said looking at her hand closely.

"It really hurts," Primrose said. "I'll put one of the cold drinks on it. That should take the pain out."

"May I have a soda?" Mark asked when Bobby opened the hamper.

"Be careful you don't spill it all over," Bobby said handing Mark an open bottle of pop.

They set off again. They were about ten minutes from their destination when Mark who had been quiet since their stop suddenly spoke up.

"I don't feel very well," Mark complained.

"We're almost there," Bobby replied.

"I think you had best stop," Primrose said glancing back at Mark.

Mark didn't make it out of the car before he hung his head over the side and vomited down the side. There were chunks of vomit stuck all over the back wheel well and the running board.

"Lovely," Bobby said. He dug around looking for their bottle of water for Mark to wash his mouth out. It was of no use as Mark got sick again. Mark started to whimper.

"It's just a little motion sickness. You'll be all right," Primrose tried to comfort him. She reached over the seat to smooth his hair back.

"I want to go home," Mark whined.

"We're a lot closer to Kevin's than home," Bobby said calmly. "I guess a spyglass and a bottle of pop aren't the best things for a long trip." He got Mark out of the car trying not to get any of the vomit on himself. Mark rinsed out his mouth and used Bobby's handkerchief to wipe his face. Mark was really starting to snivel. Primrose got out of the car when she saw Bobby didn't know what to do.

"It's all right Mark. Everyone gets motion sick from time to time. We'll get you to your friend's and you can have a lie down. After a little rest you'll feel right as rain." She patted his back and rubbed little circles on it.

"OK," Mark replied in a whiney voice.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Bobby said.

They got back in the car and started off. Primrose took off her scarf and wrapped it around her hand. Her fingers were looking red and puffy. The acrid odor of the vomit stuck to the side of the car was making Bobby gag. He pushed on the throttle harder. They were at the Reynolds in five minutes, He didn't want to give Mark a chance to vomit again.

"I'm awfully sorry to deliver Mark in this condition," Bobby said to Mrs. Reynolds. "He has been a bit car sick on the way."

"We'll just get you a lay down, shall we," she said guiding Mark inside. "A piece of dry toast should fix you right up." Kevin was hopping around a flurry of concern for his friend. Mark nodded in response. He had stopped snuffling but was still looking rather green.

"Would I be able to trouble you for some antiseptic?" Primrose asked. "A bee has stung my hand. It's quite uncomfortable."

"The housekeeper will fetch you some," Mrs. Reynolds replied.

Bobby went to fetch Mark's things from the car. He had to use his handkerchief to wipe the vomit from the strap of Mark's satchel of explorer toys. He didn't want to trouble Mrs. Reynolds for anything else. He looked around until he found a hose to rinse off the side of the car and then wash the chunks into the grass at the side of the drive. Primrose reappeared with her hand bandaged. The housekeeper retrieved Mark's bags and they were finally off.

"Poor Mark," Primrose said.

"Poor us having to smell it," Bobby replied.

"He couldn't help it," Primrose sympathized.

"Never mind. We are now on our first official date with no children or chaperone," Bobby said. "How does it feel?"

"Free and sore at the same time," she held up her hand slightly.

"We can get you some ice at the commissary at the field," Bobby said.

They were at their destination in fifteen minutes. The first stop was the commissary to get some ice for Primrose's hand, which was now looking even more swollen and giving her quite a bit of pain.

"Could I trouble you for a bag of ice for my girl friend's hand?" Bobby asked the woman behind the counter.

"Now what did you do to yourself, Dearie?" the woman asked Primrose.

"It's what a bee did to me," Primrose replied with a wince.

"You don't need ice. You need soda," the woman said. "You sit yourself down and I'll be right back. Can I bring the two of you anything else?"

"Perhaps a cup of tea?" Primrose asked Bobby. Her hand was throbbing and she wanted to rest it on the table.

"If you like," Bobby replied. He took a seat across from Primrose at a booth. The woman brought them two cups with a small pot of tea. She went off into the kitchen and came back with a bowl.

"Now you need to sit with this for a half hour or so and your hand will be right as rain," she said. She had Primrose lay her hand flat on a napkin then put a large blob of a paste made from baking soda and water on her palm.

"It's starting to feel better already," Primrose said about five minutes later.

"Not much of a date so far," Bobby said ruefully.

"These things happen," Primrose replied. "If we didn't have plans Mark would probably have gotten ill when we drove him over anyway and bee stings can happen at any time."

"Do you mind staying here while I go and see about the plane? We're a bit late for the reservation. I need to do a prefight and flight plan."

"I'll be fine here," Primrose replied.

Bobby went to the counter, paid for the tea and gave the woman a generous tip for helping Primrose before he headed to the hanger.

"Your out of luck mate," the mechanic at the hanger who ran a rental business told Bobby.

"I beg your pardon?" Bobby replied.

"I tried to call but you had already left. The last bloke who took the bird out gave her a rather rough landing this morning. I should have had her ready to go easily if it wasn't for the damage. There's nothing I can do about it. I'm going to have to wait for the part."

"What about one of the biplanes?" Bobby asked him.

"Both already out. It's a nice day everyone wants to take their sweetheart up."

"I see," Bobby replied. "Do you know if anyone else is renting today?"

"Busy day, everyone's booked solid as far as I know," the mechanic said. "You wanted the newer single engine. I'm the only one who has one I let out. After this last bloke, I'm reconsidering ever letting it out again."

"I'm thinking more and more I should have my own," Bobby said.

"There's a new single engine from America that's a nice piece if you can afford one. Cheap over there but it costs a bit to have it shipped over," the man said. He'd been renting to Bobby for two years and had talked aircraft with him more than once. "I've got a brochure in the office."

"You'd be willing to do the maintenance for me if I got one?" Bobby inquired thoughtfully.

"I'd give my eye teeth to lay my hands on a Piper," the mechanic replied with a grin. "I'd do your maintenance for you since you're a regular customer that hasn't pulled any of this nonsense." He gestured to the damaged plane. "I had to summon the constables to get the character to pay for the damages."

"It's a nice kite," Bobby commented when the man showed him the brochure for the Piper.

"Supposed to be reliable and economical. Seats two in front and two in back."

"It's what I need. Correct that to what I want at the moment. I'd be able to fly her around the Isles with no problems?"

"She'd cross the channel easily enough or hop over to Ireland," the mechanic said.

"I'll think about it. It still doesn't solve my problems for today."

"Look around. Hardly a bird left on the ground."

"Nothing to be done I guess," Bobby said with a sigh. "Can I take the brochure along with me?"

"Go ahead. The salesman will be back sniffing around soon enough."

"Did you get his card?"

"No, but I'll send him your way if your interested."

"I'd appreciate it," Bobby replied. "Cheerio." He headed back to the commissary to collect Primrose and tell her the bad news.

"It's alright Bobby," Primrose said. "I'd say my hand has put rather a damper on the day. We could have our picnic somewhere along the drive back." She was sitting with the paste starting to crumble off her hand. The swelling had gone down by well over half but her hand was still tender.

"Would you be game to try again tomorrow?"

"Let's try the day after tomorrow. Next time I'll keep my hand inside the car," she said with a slight grimace. "It's going to take a bit to stop hurting."

"Let's go make the reservation," Bobby said with a grin. Their next try would go a whole lot better, he just knew it.

Chapter 11

"Why the long faces?" Bobby asked. A week had gone by with Mark at his friend's and they were all missing him. Bobby would see Primrose home the next day, spend a few days in London with Dylan and Kate then head to his new school to get settled in at the dormitory. His plans to purchase a Piper were on hold until he talked to Sybil and Hans in person during the Christmas break.

"Redmond has written. Nanny Grace has passed away," Astrid replied. "It's a hard loss."

"It won't seem like a visit to Ireland without her," Bobby said sadly.

"Where's Primrose?" Bradley asked him.

"Helping out with the older class. In other words picking up a few things for herself if she can," Bobby replied.

"She's certainly got the flower arrangements looking lovely in the main hall," Astrid said distractedly. "I don't know what to do about Nanny's funeral. She had no family."

"I'll call Redmond and see what he has arranged. We can offer to pay for the flowers."

"I want her to have a proper headstone," Astrid added.

"I'll give Redmond a call. I'm sure he feels the same way," Bradley reassured her.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on something," Bobby said.

"If it's purchasing a plane you need to talk to Sybil and Hans," Bradley said.

"I know that," Bobby replied. "I'm thinking of asking Prim to come along to Vienna at Christmas. I've met her parents. It's about time she met mine."

"You don't need to rush things," Astrid said distractedly. Her mind was still on Nanny Grace's funeral.

"We've been seeing each other for a year now. I don't consider that rushing things," Bobby replied.

Bradley and Astrid both sat back and looked at Bobby.

"There is still no rush. You have four years of college yet and she isn't finished school," Bradley said. "Primrose is a very nice girl, but she's still a girl living under her father's roof. He isn't the most liberal man in the world."

"If the two of you come along for the holidays he could hardly protest," Bobby replied.

"If I can get the time," Bradley said.

"You do realize we would be bringing Mark along," Astrid commented. "We'd have to stay in a hotel."

"You know for all the times I've complained about having to care for him while the two of you are at work, I miss the little devil. You can't help but develop an attachment to him."

"Even with a dozen children here the house seems dull without him," Astrid agreed with a faint smile. "You never know what he is going to find to get into next. He has a way of worming into your heart."

"I wasn't too happy with having him foisted on us so unceremoniously," Bradley agreed. "I've always tried not to resent his presence but it was hard at first. He can't help what his parents have done. He's a good boy underneath it all now that he's settled down."

"He is learning now that he's in a secure place," Astrid said. "I'm planning to put him in a regular class this autumn. He's just about at the grade level he should be. I rather miss not sitting on his spyglass every time I turn around."

"If we take him to Vienna no spy glass or soda pop on the trip. I'm not looking forward to a repeat performance of the car ride to the Reynolds'," Bobby commented.

"Getting back to Primrose, you and she aren't…?" Bradley asked with an arched eyebrow.

"No," Bobby replied in a disgusted tone. "If we were that would be the pot calling the kettle black. I heard you two tiptoeing back and forth at night plenty of times when you thought everyone was asleep."

"We were already engaged and Astrid wasn't a school girl," Bradley said sternly.

"We weren't engaged," Astrid reminded with pink cheeks. "Not at first."

"Soon after and we always had every intention of getting married," Bradley said with a frown. "We'd already been going out for what three years? We didn't rush into anything."

"I'm not rushing, but I do think Prim should meet my parents," Bobby said. "How would you have me arrange it with them in Austria and her in England."

"You do have a point," Astrid agreed.

"Let me check if I can get the time off," Bradley said. "I haven't taken any holidays this year. I might be able to get ten days."

"We could fly. It would be easier," Bobby said hopefully.

"I'm not promising anything," Bradley reiterated.

-0-

"Any problems?" Astrid asked Mrs. Reynolds when she dropped off the boys for the beginning of the school year.

"Once Mark's tummy troubles cleared up they were so occupied they didn't have a minute for anything besides play," Mrs. Reynolds replied.

Mark was hopping from foot to foot bursting to tell Astrid his news. Astrid leaned down and whispered in Mark's ear. He stopped dancing around.

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Reynolds," he said with a bow. "I enjoyed myself very much."

"You're most welcome. Thank you for coming," Mrs. Reynolds replied.

"Kevin you're in the same bed as last year if that suits you," Astrid said.

"Yes, Lady Astrid," Kevin replied. He headed for the stairs with his mother to help him get settled in.

"Tea in the drawing room for us," Astrid said to Mark. One of the teachers was at a small table near the door to meet any of the boys coming in. Astrid and Mark went down to the kitchen to make tea since Mr. Stokes was busy orchestrating the boys' arrival.

"We rode bicycles, and played in the garden. Mr. Reynolds took us hunting for rabbits. He let us each fire the gun one time and Kevin had a birthday party and we put up decorations and a big group of Kevin's friends came over," Mark said without taking a breath.

"Goodness you were busy," Astrid replied. "We all missed you a great deal."

"That's good. I was worried Bobby wouldn't want me to come home after I got sick on the side of the car," Mark said.

"It's all forgotten. No more spyglass when we're driving I'd say," Astrid replied. She gave Mark a hug.

Mark put the cups on the tray for her while they waited for the kettle to boil.

"I have a big decision for you to make," Astrid said. She poured the water into the pot. Mark's eyes got big with dread. "I need you to decide if you would like to stay in the room you've had for the summer or move back with the other boys."

"I don't want the other lads to get jealous," he said.

"No we wouldn't want that," Astrid agreed. They put the tea in the dumb waiter and pushed the button for it to go up. The cook was busy getting the dinner ready and wasn't paying them any mind. "We'll talk about it upstairs," Astrid said.

"Here is what you need to consider," Astrid said when they were settled with their tea. "You may move back over with a room full of boys, or you can stay where you are. It won't make you any less part of the school. If we have one more bed free in the other rooms, there is a boy who is on the waiting list who could come here for school. He's about your age and having a terrible time with school." Astrid didn't add that he would be coming in on full scholarship from the foundation. He had a severe form of dyslexia and his parents couldn't afford tutors or special education. They didn't have the education themselves to try and teach him. They were a good family who were trying and had been in contact with the foundation regularly to try and find ways to help their son.

"I like being with the others but I really like my room," Mark said thoughtfully. "OK we can help him."

"I was hoping you would say that," Astrid said. She had already made the decision but had thought it would go easier if Mark thought it was his idea. "I have another surprise for you. You'll be in a class with your friends this year."

"Really?" Mark asked in surprise. His excitement was obvious.

"Do you think you've improved enough to be in with the others?"

"I do. I won't do anything naughty unless I absolutely have to," he said making a cross over his heart with his finger.

"Why would you need to be naughty?" Astrid asked him. She was trying not to laugh.

"Sometimes you just do," Mark replied seriously. "I'm going to go up now and unpack."

Astrid presented her cheek for a kiss, which she received before Mark dashed off to unpack and play with the other boys.

-0-

The next day the new boy Matthew arrived looking lost and intimidated by the size of the house. His parents had taken time off work to come with him from Leeds. Astrid had only met them at a preliminary interview in London. His parents looked relieved that he was going to finally receive some help with his learning problems while at the same time were struggling with their pride at the thought of taking a hand out. They sat uncomfortably in the study to meet with Astrid after she sent Matthew off with the Nanny to try on uniforms and riding gear from the assortment they had of outgrown items.

"Mr. and Mrs. McGrath, you're to be congratulated pursuing help for your son to the point of diagnosis," Bradley said. He was by his wife's side to meet with the parents since this was their first student from a working class family. "Despite the public health system there are few parents who take the time to understand why their child is doing poorly at school. It's often put down to an excuse of the child not liking school."

"We want our Matt to have more school than we did," Mr. McGrath said. "The school he was at was all about the strap and beating the lessons into him."

"Matthew is a gentle soul," his mother said. "He spent most of his time in his room crying."

"In two years I have yet to administer the strap, Mr. and Mrs. McGrath," Astrid replied.

"There is discipline here but not excessive," Bradley added. "We don't let the children run wild. We did have one boy last year who went for an unexpected swim in the pond."

"May I ask what he did to deserve that?" Mrs. McGrath asked in concern.

"As I remember he spat on the floor, disobeyed our Nanny and kicked me in the shins within a matter of a few minutes," Bradley replied.

"I'd have boxed his ears for him," Mr. McGrath said sternly.

"A dunk in an ice cold pond worked wonders," Bradley replied seriously.

"As I mentioned in our interview, there are no guarantees," Astrid reiterated. "The program is designed so that we learn from the children as much as they learn from us. A technique that works for one may fail completely with the next. A great deal of what we do here is building confidence while working on problem solving and facing issues head on."

"I'm worried Matthew won't fit in," Mrs. McGrath said.

"It may be an issue," Astrid replied with a nod. "Nanny has taken him to try on riding attire and uniforms. We have quite a pile of outgrown things from the last two years of boys as you can well imagine. Exchanging clothing is quite common here as this is a boarding school and boys do grow. The foundation will provide whatever else your son needs. I am hoping for the best. There are no students at the school who don't have learning issues. There will be a period of adjustment as there is with every new boy."

"We'd like to be able to contribute something," Mr. McGrath said.

"Understanding and family support are the greatest contributions you can make," Astrid replied.

"Here's Matthew back now," Bradley said. He opened the door to Nanny's knock. Matthew came in wearing his new attire. Nanny had managed to outfit him head to foot from the stores they kept in one of the old servant rooms. The only outward sign that he wasn't from a wealthy home was his dreadful haircut. "That will be changed when they all go to the barber in six weeks," Astrid couldn't help thinking to herself.

"My goodness, aren't you a smart looking boy?" Mrs. McGrath said.

"I guess," Matthew replied looking down. He was looking uncomfortable.

"It's time to say your goodbyes and then explore the grounds with the other boys," Bradley told him. "We'll have one of the boys come and take you around. There are a great many things to do and learn here not just reading and writing."

Matthew nodded and leaned against his father. The tears were starting to form in his eyes.

"None of that now," Mr. McGrath said. "We'll be down to see you and Lady Astrid here says you can come home on weekend if someone comes to get you."

"Will you come soon?" Matthew asked woefully.

"I'll come to fetch you in six weeks and then again for Christmas," his mother replied. "The time will be gone before you know it."

Matthew's parents said their goodbyes while Bradley went to call one of the boys to take Matthew around. He spotted one of the boys from the previous year running down the stairs in a set of play clothes.

"Derek where are you off to?" Bradley asked him.

"We're pulling carrots and beets in the garden for cook, Dr. Branson. Mark is showing us how," Derek replied excitedly.

"We have a new boy, Matthew. Come and take him to get changed into his older clothes and help him find his way around."

"All right, Dr. Branson," Derek replied. He was trying not to run indoors but failing miserably.

"Slow down, Derek," Bradley said. He introduced Matthew to Derek. Matthew's parents were tarrying at the door.

"Come on you've got to get changed quick," Derek told Matthew. "We're digging vegetables and then we're going to collect worms for fishing later."

Matthew didn't say anything. He nodded and followed Derek to the stairs.

"I've never dug in a garden before," Derek was telling him as they climbed the stairs. "It's really fun and there are all sorts of bugs to squash."

"We have caterpillars at home," Matthew said shyly as he followed Derek. "They make a pop when you squash them."

"They're all just little boys," Astrid said to Matthew's parents as a way to shuffle them out the door.

"He's going to be just fine, Mother," Mr. McGrath said to his wife as they left. "Just fine indeed."

-0-

That night at dinner the boys sat around the table with new boys sitting next to old. The teachers and nanny lived in a section of the old servants quarters that had been modernized and took their meals separate from the students. Astrid and Bradley had the boys in the formal dining room unless they had guests. Part of the boys' learning was the table manners and dining room etiquette they had both been raised with. The whole experience was a new one for Matthew as well as some of the other boys. The boys stood behind their chairs until Lady Astrid was seated and then Dr. Branson. They quickly took their seats. Matthew reached for a slice of bread and was stopped by a quick headshake by Mark who was sitting directly across. Derek was on one side of Matthew and Kevin on the other.

Grace was said. The butler and two maids served dinner. Astrid and Bradley kept an eye on the boys to determine the level of table manners. They had both been raised in a strict environment when it came to dining etiquette and believed in correcting behavior right away. Matthew wasn't doing too badly being coached by three boys from last year. There were a few boys who didn't want to eat what was on their plates, which was nothing new.

"Who can tell my it's important to eat vegetables?" Astrid asked the group.

"Vegetables provide vitamins that help you grow," one of the boys said.

"Another reason," Bradley asked.

"You should eat everything because it might be rude to the host if you don't clean your plate," another boy answered.

"Very good. You never know whom you are dining with. No matter how lowly the table or if it is with the highest dignitaries we always want to show courtesy to our hosts," Astrid said. "I'm sure you can all think of another reason."

"Doctors think there might be a connection between learning and diet but they don't know for sure," another boy said. "Dr. Branson told us that last year."

"I'm surprised you remembered," Bradley said.

"Vegetables taste good if you try all different ones," one of the boys contributed.

"One more reason?" Bradley asked.

"Everyone should eat their vegetables because I worked hard this summer to grow them," Mark said.

"An excellent reason," Astrid said with a smile. "We don't want Mark's work to go to waste."

"If you don't like something?" Bradley asked the group.

"Put it in your mouth and swallow it anyway," Derek said with a smile. He forked a piece of boiled beet into his mouth and swallowed it to prove his point.

"Can we have a story about eating something you don't like, Dr. Branson?" Mark asked.

"As soon as all the dinner plates are clean," Bradley said. All of the returning boys cleaned their dinner plates and prodded the new boys to eat everything. Bradley usually told humorous stories about his childhood and the boys loved hearing about all of his siblings and their adventures.

"My mother is Scottish," Bradley began as soon as the dinner plates were cleared. The plates of trifle were being served. "When I was a little boy my brother wanted to play bagpipes. He asked and asked for a set, but my parents didn't want to listen to him learn to play." The boys smiled and wiggled on their seats. "One year for Christmas my uncle and grandfather bought him bagpipes and sure enough we had so much noise when he was learning my mother made him practice in the stable." There were hands over mouths trying to stop from laughing. "When we celebrated Robbie Burns my brother would pipe the haggis in. My brothers and sister and I would hold our breath and swallow the haggis because we didn't really like it but Grandpapa and Uncle did. One day we went to visit and my mother decided to take revenge on my grandfather for buying my brother bagpipes. We all got up at five in the morning and went over to his flat. We snuck into the sitting room very quietly. My brother piped the house awake at exactly five thirty. Grandpapa jumped out of bed, grabbed his ceremonial sword and ran down the stairs in his nightshirt and a cap that had a large red pompom on it, yelling, "Who dares to attack the home of the MacClare's." He was sure an entire Scottish regiment had launched an attack on his flat."

The boys all smiled and giggled at the story.

"Trifle isn't haggis," Astrid reminded the boys with a smile. "Eat up and don't lick your fingers."

Chapter 12

Bobby got off the underground in London carrying his bag. His term was finished and he was on Christmas break. He had decided to go in to London and see Dylan and Kate and their little one before he headed home to Hadley Hall. Primrose's father had given consent for her to accompany them to Vienna as long as Bradley and Astrid were along. They had all planned to stay at a hotel but Sybil had written they would borrow some collapsible beds. He and Mark would stay down in the sitting room at night, Astrid and Bradley would have the guest room and Primrose would have a temporary bedroom in the client room of the studio. Sybil wasn't due until January and Thomas' crib could be in their room for the few days. It would be a tight fit, but nicer to be with family than in a hotel Christmas morning.

Bobby walked the few blocks to the house and used his key to let himself in. He could hear muffled voices coming from the client room of Sybil of London. It was a sure sign Colleen and her assistant were busy with a client. The door was always open when there were no clients in. He would wait to check with her to see if the sweater Camilla had promised him had arrived with the last shipment from Ireland. Bobby noticed the drawing room was decorated for the holidays as he headed upstairs to drop his bag in his room. He looked around upstairs and finally located Kate with her little boy in the library on the main floor. She was pregnant again but only in the first few months. She was sitting at the desk going through a pile of correspondence while the baby played with a stack of blocks on the floor.

"How is college going?" Kate asked him.

"Rather dull actually," Bobby replied. "I already know everything they've gone over so far."

"You should have quite a pile of knowledge after all the years you've spent tagging behind the gardeners at Hadley Hall," Kate said.

"There was a bit on newer drainage techniques that I hadn't heard of before but that was about it," Bobby replied. "Never mind. Eventually I'll get on to something new. What have you planned for the holidays?"

"Dylan has a few days. We'll get over to Dublin. I'll stay on and go to my parents with my sister for a few," Kate said. "Bobby, have you talked to Bradley or Astrid in the last few days?"

"No. I was home two weeks ago. We firmed up the plans for Vienna then. We aren't leaving for five days yet. I thought I'd spend tonight and perhaps tomorrow with you and Dylan. The boys will be going on break tomorrow, I think. What's the matter?"

"Astrid's in a state. I've just come back from Horsham," Kate said. "Mark's father arrived unannounced and took him away."

"What?" Bobby exclaimed in surprise. "After all this time? He's become like their own child."

"I know. She's devastated. He showed up one afternoon while Bradley was at work. Informed Astrid he and his wife are in London to close up their house. They're moving to Geneva. He wouldn't discuss any of Mark's needs with her or his progress. He had Mark sit in the car while the nanny packed his things. There wasn't time for a proper goodbye with Astrid, let alone anything with Bradley."

"Poor little nipper," Bobby said. "The father's actions aren't really surprising though with all the things they've pulled. We were planning on taking him to Vienna. He was excited and asking me questions left and right. He's been playing Sybil's old learn to speak German records ever since they told him he'd be going."

"How could they treat the poor little thing like that? He's been ripped out of the only home he's known for over the last year."

"How's Bradley taking all this?"

"He's furious on the one hand and worried about Astrid on the other. She's missing Mark terribly. He was a big part of her life."

"He was a big part of all our lives," Bobby replied. "He was a lot more than just a student. I'll be home soon enough. Maybe I'll take the late train back tonight."

"A day or two won't make that much difference," Kate said. "Just try and get Astrid and Bradley's mind off things while you're in Vienna."

-0-

Mark snuck out the back door, ran through the small garden and took the lid off the dustbin where it was waiting to be collected by the trash collectors in the back lane. He moved the smelly, rotting garbage on the top of the can with a stick until he spotted the strap of his satchel. He caught the strap with his stick and pulled his satchel out of the can. It was covered with rotted vegetable and coffee grounds. He set it on the ground and opened the cover to check if the contents were all there.

"Blast," he exclaimed. He pushed the dustbin over as carefully as he could so as not to make a sound and searched in the contents until he found his compass, field glasses, spyglass and the other items from his collection. He'd added a pair of old opera glasses and a military medal from a trunk he had found when he'd gone exploring in a room in the house that had been his Grandmother's before he was born. He finally found all his things put them on top of the satchel and hid them under a bush in the garden.

He would come back for his things and wash them up later when his parents had company. They always had company. He hadn't had one meal with them yet in the week since he'd been at the house. He'd been playing with his things yesterday afternoon. He hadn't been able to bring his helmet or his sword with him. His father had spotted the items, declared them foolish nonsense and had the driver leave them on the step at the front of Hadley Hall. Mark had been watching the guests arrive with his field glasses from the top of the stairs. His father had spotted him and looked through the satchel.

"Useless trash not suited for a vagrant," he had declared. "Dispose of this rubbish," he'd said handing Mark's satchel to Mrs. Blackworth. Mark had started to cry and his father had told him to stop acting like a child.

"I am a child," Mark had screamed back. His mother had frowned at him then turned back to her guests. His father ignored him and headed back down. "Probably to brag about my older brothers," Mark had thought to himself. Mrs. Blackworth had taken the satchel under her arm, given Mark a snide look and headed off to toss his things in the trash. Mark had gone to his room and cried himself to sleep on his bed. His bag had everything he loved in it. Bradley had said his things were worn because they had been used to explore. Mark could remember the day he got the satchel clearly. He and Bradley had built a tent behind the sofa in the drawing room. Bradley had pulled the compass out of the satchel as though it were a great treasure.

"What do I want that old thing for?" Mark had asked him.

"Every mark on it is from a different place from where it has been," Bradley said. "Look at the scuff there. Maybe it got that on safari in Africa and those scratches on the cover, could it be from an encounter with a shark? Maybe it's been to the bush in Australia and been in a fight with a crocodile. If it could talk it would have a story to tell."

"Wow," Mark had exclaimed. The items all had marks and scuffs from their adventures. He was sure his spyglass had belonged to a pirate. Bradley had read him a story that night in the pretend tent about an explorer. It had been exciting and just maybe some of his things had belonged to an explorer like the one in the story.

He'd been good since he'd been home with his parents but it wasn't doing any good. They still talked about his older brothers like they were some sort of princes and Mrs. Blackworth was still as mean as ever. She was supposed to move to Geneva with them next week. Right now he had to get back into the house and have breakfast so no one would suspect anything. He hadn't even had a chance to kiss Lady Astrid goodbye. His father had made him sit in the car. He'd forced himself not to cry. He tried not to think of the look on Lady Astrid's face as they had driven away. If they wanted to take away his things and take him from his school without even letting him say goodbye to Bradley or Bobby they would find out exactly how naughty he could be.

"There you are," Mrs. Blackworth said when she spotted Mark in the hall. "Your breakfast is in the morning room. Don't make any noise. You're mother is still sleeping."

"I'd like porridge, Mrs. Blackworth," Mark said. He'd thrown up two times in a row when he had soft boiled eggs and gotten a bad rash. Dr. Branson had said it was most likely an allergy and he shouldn't eat eggs unless they were well cooked since he didn't get sick when he ate hard boiled eggs.

"You'll have what I made you," Mrs. Blackworth snapped back.

Mark went into the morning room. Sure enough the table was set with a soft-boiled egg as it had been every morning since he'd been home. Every morning they had exactly the same exchange. Mark ate the toast that was on a side plate and left the egg. There wasn't any jam or marmalade set out. He drank a cup of tea with a lot of milk in it. He thought about what he would do while he ate. Lady Astrid and the teachers at the school were always talking about how you needed to think and find a way around problems. His problem right now was being at a place where he didn't want to be. Mother and Father didn't seem to want him there. Neither of them were interested in hugs, or playing games or bedtime stories. He hated Mrs. Blackworth as much as ever maybe more. He finished his breakfast then went to wash his hands. He smiled to himself. He wasn't going to leave any evidence of where he had been until he was completely ready.

-0-

Astrid's pale face and dark circles under her eyes were evidence of the sleepless nights she had been having. She had let herself love Mark and now she was kicking herself. She missed him so much and now the boys were all being picked up from school for the Christmas break. She turned away from the window in her study when Mr. Stokes announced Mrs. McGrath was there to pick up her son Matthew for the holidays. Astrid wanted to speak to her about having Matthew practice his reading, writing and some simple math activities over the break.

If only every set of parents were as involved and willing to do what it took to help their child, Astrid thought as she waited for Mrs. McGrath to be shown in. She had been concerned when Matthew first arrived about the class differences but he had fit in well with the other boys and had become fast friends with the others in his age group. The boys' common issues were a great equalizer within the confines of their small school.

"Mrs. McGrath, before Matthew comes down would you mind if I make a small suggestion?" Astrid asked once she had greeted Matthew's mother.

"What would that be, Lady Astrid?" Mrs. McGrath inquired worriedly.

"Would you be able to purchase an inexpensive camera for Matthew for Christmas? He doesn't have one and photography is a big part of confidence building on outings for the boys. I loaned him mine for our last few outings but it would make things easier if he had his own."

"I think we could managed that," Mrs. McGrath replied with a smile. The school and foundation were supplying so much she was finding it all a trifle overwhelming. Twenty minutes later Astrid had gone over Matthew's Christmas assignments with him and his mother, and sent them off to the train. Matthew was walking with his mother happily chatting away while she looked at a card he had made for her while they walked.

"He wasn't your little boy," Astrid said aloud as she turned away from the window. "He's theirs and they've taken him to live with them in Geneva." No matter how many times she said it, it didn't make it hurt any less.

-0-

Mark watched from the shadows near the top of the stairs for Mrs. Blackworth to go out for her morning shopping. The house had been sold and things were being systematically packed or discarded room by room. No one noticed if things were missing. He had his satchel safely hidden in the back of his closet. He had washed it and his things and put them there when no one was paying attention. He'd had a great deal of time to himself in the last two days. The entire time he'd been at home he'd had a great deal of time on his own except when he parents wanted him to sit quietly when they took a notion they wanted his presence or Mrs. Blackworth took the time to annoy him.

First his father collected his hat and coat and went out the front door. It wasn't long and his mother went out wearing her fur coat and a hat with black feathers on it that bounced like the cock's tail in the chicken pen by the stables at school. Mark had been at his post almost an hour when he spotted Mrs. Blackworth heading for the front door with her shopping basket over her arm. It was time to put his plans into action the second the door clicked shut behind her. He raced down the stairs to the laundry room. He couldn't reach the shelf, so he got the stool and stood on the second rung. Once he was high enough he had no problems unlatching the cupboard and retrieving the items he wanted. He knew exactly what each product did. The maid at school had told him not to fiddle with the bluing bottle last summer while Lady Astrid was busy with the girl's class and Bobby had gone out. Of course he had and had a blue thumb for the next six days. He'd asked a mountain of questions about everything to do with the laundry. Mark set the things he wanted on a lower shelf then pushed the stool to the side.

His first stop was the electric washing machine. He opened the box of soap flakes and dumped it all in. He tossed the empty box to the side, then ran the hot water hose from the sink into the machine to fill it up. He made sure the machine was plugged in then turned it on the first setting which should be agitate if it was the same as the one at Hadley Hall. He went to the kitchen and retrieved the soap flakes from the wash up area and added them to the machine for good measure.

"I must have got it right," he said out loud. There was already a good eight inches of foam on the top of the water and it was just about to start cascading down the sides. Mark took the rest of his bottles and headed off. His first stop was the front hall closet. He got a saw he'd found in the back shed from the back of the closet. No one noticed things if you hid things in plain sight. He went to Mrs. Blackworth's room and started working on the leg of her bed. He had one leg almost through when he started on the next.

"Lucky for me you don't sleep on a metal bed," he said. He left the saw under her bed then went into her washroom. He took her jar of hand cream and smeared a good size handful on the floor beside the bed then put the bedside rug back in place over the top. He put the pot back and got busy pouring bottles of liquid from this one to the next. He picked up her perfume bottle. It had solid glass sides.

"Why not," he thought. He took the perfume bottle to the window and poured it outside. He'd learned before if he poured perfume in the sink it made a tell tale stench. He filled the perfume bottle back up with laundry bluing then put the atomizer back on the top. He gave it a few squirts into the drain to make sure the blue liquid was coming through. His final thing was to pour just enough liquid lye onto her hairbrush hopefully she wouldn't notice before she brushed her hair.

His next stop was his mother's vanity where he did a repeat performance with her perfume bottle. She always wore a sleeping mask. He carefully coated the inside of the mask with a layer of stove blacking. The gardeners at school had told him what it was. They had let him black the stoves that were used to keep the greenhouses warm in winter.

Mark's look through his father's chest of drawers the day before had revealed where he kept a collection of jack knives. Mark got the one he thought he'd like for his own collection then went to the cupboard and carefully cut the shoelaces off of every pair of shoes. He made sure to leave the laces lying on top so it didn't look like they had been cut. He made a last stop in his parent's bathroom where he switched his father's tube of hair cream for a tube of glue. He would have liked to do more but if they were true to their regular schedules he only had about ten minutes before the housekeeper would be back. He ran back down the hall to his room and hid the packets under the bed. He got on his sweater and coat, put on his satchel that was loaded with his supplies and ran down the stairs. He was almost to the front door when he ran back to the kitchen. The suds from the agitator were part way across the room. He grabbed the toaster and took it to the breadbox. He stuffed one side full of bread then quickly stuffed the other side full. He glanced at the clock. He had to hurry. He moved the dial to the highest heat setting and plugged the toaster in on the counter.

He was out the front door and half way down the block when he spotted the housekeeper stopped chatting to another woman down the street. He ran back to the house, around the side and into the back yard. He was still running when he made it to the back lane and headed the way he wanted. He stopped long enough when he got to the end of the lane to carefully peek between some bushes on the corner to see where Mrs. Blackworth was. She was still talking. He crouched down and crept along the hedge until he was sure he was out of sight. He started to run again. He'd worked out where he was going last night. All he had to do was count the streets.

Chapter 13

The bell of the fire brigade was drawing nearer. Mrs. Blackworth and her friend were craning their necks to see where it was coming from. Another two of her gossip circle appeared on the steps in front of the houses they worked at.

"What kind of fool sets their house on fire?" Mrs. Blackworth commented waspishly.

The women turned as the brigade truck went by. It was right then Mrs. Blackworth realized there was smoke billowing from the house where she worked. One of the front windows was ajar and it was rolling out.

"The house!" she exclaimed and took off running down the street. The brigade had already knocked the door down and was inside.

"Let me pass," she snapped at the man baring her way. "My pass book is inside." She had pilfered almost everything from the attics while the family was away and pawned it. She had disposed of a fair bit of extra silver and the grandmother's things as well. She had a tidy sum in her account.

"Is there anyone inside," the brigade member asked ignoring her demand.

"No, oh, Master Mark is home," she remembered. "He'll be the one who set the fire." She pushed the man to try and get past but he wasn't budging.

"No emergency here," a member of the brigade called out as he walked out of the house carrying a still smoldering toaster. Suds were stuck all over his legs.

"There's someone inside," the man on the street called over. "How old?" he asked turning back to Mrs. Blackworth.

"I don't know, nine or ten maybe," she replied.

"Description?" the brigade member asked.

Her only reply was a shrug.

"We're looking for a boy," he called over his shoulder.

A few minutes later four men came back out of the house. They were covered with suds.

"No boy in 'ere," one of the men said. "Unless 'e's 'iding under all them suds."

"Suds!" Mrs. Blackworth exclaimed. She pushed the brigade member aside and ran in to see the suds starting to emerge from the kitchen. There was a clunking sound coming from the laundry room. She made her way through the waist deep suds and switched off the washer.

"I'm going to kill the little bastard," she swore under her breath.

Her friends had followed her into the house to see what was going on. One of them had already run back to her own house to telephone the wider gossip circle and tell them what was going on.

"This is a fine how do you do," one of the cronies said. "You didn't leave the boy here on his own, did you?"

"What if I did? He can take care of himself," Mrs. Blackworth snapped.

The constable came to the door of the kitchen and called her to answer some questions.

"Isn't this the same boy who put in a prank call about Russian parachutists a few years back?" the policeman inquired after a few minutes.

"That's him, the little whelp," Mrs. Blackworth almost spat out. She'd barely had to do any work in the last year and a half until she'd found out the Mr. and Mrs. were coming to London. Now the little brat was home making up for lost time.

"Has he run off before?" the constable inquired.

"Fairly regularly. He always comes back," Mrs. Blackworth replied. "When he does I'm going to tan his backside," she was thinking.

"Have his parents call when they get in," the constable said. He gave Mrs. Blackworth his contact information at the station house.

Mrs. Blackworth had the back door open and was attempting to sweep the suds out the door when she heard the front door open.

"Why is the door damaged?" Mr. Wright, Mark's father demanded the second Mrs. Blackworth stepped into the hall. There were suds stuck all over her dress.

"Master Mark set the toaster alight, Sir. The fire brigade thought the house was on fire and broke down the door."

"Where is my son now?" he demanded.

"I don't know, Sir."

"You are left in charge of one young boy for a few hours and you don't know where he is? Can't you even do the laundry correctly? Clean up this mess and locate him immediately."

"Constable Moore from the station wanted you to contact him, Sir," Mrs. Blackworth said. "I don't know how you expect me to locate Master Mark. I don't know where he is."

"Get this mess cleared away and don't give me your insolence. I have half a mind to sack you right now, but someone has to clean up this mess."

Mrs. Blackworth turned to go back to the kitchen. She turned back.

"I don't fancy sweeping suds your little brat decided to leave for me for the rest of the day," she retorted angrily. "Neither do I fancy learning to speak German or French or whatever it is they speak in Geneva. I quit."

She took off her apron wadded it in a ball and threw it at Mr. Wright.

"I'll be off the premises in ten minutes," she said. She stomped off through the billowing suds in the kitchen towards the back stairs.

"I won't give you a reference," Mr. Wright yelled at the top of his lungs.

"I don't care," Mrs. Blackworth yelled back.

Mark's father was just ringing off with the police constable when his wife came in the door.

"The housekeeper just quit," he said in disgust.

"She can't quit," Mrs. Wright said indignantly. "We have a soiree to attend tonight. I've a terrible headache. I'm going to go lie down."

"Mark is missing."

"Take care of it darling," she said as she breezed up the stairs.

-0-

"Gods the place is quiet," Bradley commented over dinner. "Good thing we're leaving for Vienna the day after tomorrow."

"I'll phone some friends and have Prim come down a day early," Bobby said. "We'll have a party and put some seasonal cheer in the place."

"We don't have a tree up," Astrid pointed out.

"There's garland," Bobby said nonchalantly. "What does it take to play a few records and have some drinks. Cook can put together a few nibbles. Bradley can entertain everyone on the piano. It's a wonder he isn't the musician the way he sings instead of Garret."

"I have to work a good twelve hours tomorrow maybe longer," Bradley reminded him.

"So you start celebrating the minute you get home. When did you turn into such an old man?"

"We are acting old and gloomy," Astrid agreed. "All right a party tomorrow it is. It will get our minds off other things."

"Now you're talking," Bobby replied with a grin.

They were in the drawing room later that evening planning the party. Bobby was on the telephone in the hall calling the list of friends to invite. Astrid ordered the food and drinks with the butler and cook. Bradley was going through the stack of records selecting which ones they wanted to play at the party. They had a Perry Como Christmas recording on the turntable. The Christmas music was setting the mood and the house was finally starting to feel like the holidays. Bobby had just rung off after talking to Primrose for a good twenty minutes about the party when there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Bobby called from the hall. Mr. Stokes headed back down the stairs that he had climbed half way up.

Two plain-clothes police detectives showed Bobby their identification when he opened the door.

"Is Mark Wright here?" they asked.

"No, why, what's happened?" Bobby asked in alarm. "He hasn't been here since his father picked him up over a week ago."

"He's missing and presumed runaway. We're checking any location he might be," the detective said.

"You had best come in and talk to Lady Astrid and Dr. Branson," Bobby said. "They know him better than anyone."

"Mark is a bright boy," Astrid said to the detectives a few minutes later. "If he doesn't want to be found you'll have a devil of a time finding him."

"And you've no idea where he might go, Lady Astrid?" the detective inquired again.

"Other than here, I can't think of anywhere," Bradley said. "He wouldn't go to Kevin Reynolds'. They live miles out in the middle of nowhere."

"He hates that house in London," Bobby said thoughtfully. The detectives looked at him with a frown.

"What Mr. Sinclair means is that Mark has issues," Bradley said. "Mark has learning issues that are compounded by behavioural problems that stem from his feelings of frustration and isolation. He can be very naughty and quite devious when he wants to be."

"He was doing so well," Astrid said worriedly. "He hasn't been naughty other than to leave his things lying around or not pick up his room in over six months."

"You think this is one of his pranks?" the detective asked.

"It's possible, if he made a mess in the house as you claim right before he disappeared," Bradley replied.

"Exactly what did he do?" Astrid asked. The one man consulted his notes.

"Set a toaster on fire with almost a loaf of bread pushed inside it and filled the house with soap suds," he read. "The fire brigade demolished the door," he added trying to hide a grin.

"It was preplanned," Astrid stated giving Bradley a knowing look. "A toaster is one of his standard tricks when he's upset, although soap suds is a new one."

"If he turns up, let us know," the detective said.

"We'll alert the staff and have a look around the property when it's light," Bobby said. "If he's here there are a hundred and one places he could be hiding. Mark knows the grounds well."

"It's winter," Astrid said in alarm. "Mark could be cold and hurt."

"This is Mark we're talking about," Bradley reminded her. He covered her hand with his. "You know how resourceful he is. He'll have some plan and put everyone on their ears. He might already be back at his home in London."

"You don't think Mark is in London anymore than I do," Astrid said to Bradley once they had shown the detectives out and closed the door firmly behind them.

"No, I don't," Bradley replied. "When Mark is upset where does he go?"

"Vegetable garden," Bobby replied. "My old tree fort, green house to look for bugs on the tomatoes or the hayloft."

"It's too cold out for either the vegetable garden or tree fort," Bradley said. "If he's here, he's at one of the other two."

"I'll get the torches," Bobby replied.

"Astrid stay in the house incase there is a call," Bradley instructed.

An hour later both men were back in the house.

"He's not here," Bradley said despondently. "Where the devil could he be?"

"I hate to say this, but Mark could be home in bed in London," Astrid replied. "His parents don't have to notify us. The police may if they find him but they probably won't. We may have to chalk it up to the last we ever hear of him."

Bradley put his arm around Astrid and held her close.

"We'll make inquiries," he said. She nodded against him. She leaned on him as they headed upstairs. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that Mark had gotten himself into a pickle and needed their help.

-0-

Mark crawled out from between the bags in the unclaimed baggage area at Horham station. The staff at the station had all gone home for the night and turned off the main lights. There was a faint glow coming from a street lamp outside. He'd asked a lady at the station in London to purchase a ticket for him to Horsham and she'd bought one to Horham instead. He'd got on the right train for the ticket and wound up in the wrong place. It was going to take a lot longer to get home to Hadley Hall than he thought it would. He opened one of the large suitcases in the unclaimed baggage and felt around in the low light. There was a man's suit jacket. He put it on over his clothes against the cold then sat down inside the suitcase. It was a little warmer. He'd gotten cold hiding in the baggage pile on the chilly floor. No one had paid any attention to a boy traveling on his own. Lots of boys were traveling home from school for the holidays. It wasn't an odd occurrence.

He wasn't quite sure where Horham was. He opened his satchel and pulled out an apple. He'd loaded up for his trip from the larder at the house. He got out his coin purse and carefully counted his money. It hadn't been hard to figure out where his father kept his key for his desk. He'd helped himself to a large pile of coins since they were easier to count and he'd put his passport in his satchel as well and a few bills just incase. He thought he had enough left for the trip to Horsham if he got it right tomorrow when the station opened again. He'd have to be careful if the police were looking for him.

"I'm on an adventure," he said quietly to himself. He waited a bit until he'd warmed up before he got up to look around. There was a large map on the wall with a star where he was. He got out his notebook and pencil from his satchel. He drew a picture on the page with three stars and connected them with two lines.

"Back to London and then to Horsham," he said. Mark looked around and spotted a brochure that looked like a train schedule. He took it back to the suitcase where he had his temporary bed set up. There wasn't very good light in the station so he put his things in his satchel and went for another look around to see if he could find a torch. He had to duck behind a desk in the office when he heard a security guard come by and rattle the lock on the door. He waited a few minutes then found a torch and a wind up clock on one of the desks. He collected the pair and went back to the suitcase. He took a bit of time to push the cases around and make himself a fort with his bed case shielded from the windows and anyone entering the station.

"All adventurers need a torch. I'll have to get one when I get home," he thought while he got out his glasses and went to work on the train schedule. An hour later the clock in the station struck twelve. Mark put the schedule and his notebook in his satchel, set the alarm clock for five and switched off the torch.

"I'm going home," he said with determination before he fell asleep.

-0-

The detective at the station in London regarded Mr. and Mrs. Wright as they sat across his desk from him. It had been almost noon before they showed up the morning after their son had gone missing. Mrs. Wright had a smattering of what he had thought at first were moles on the side of her face and neck. She was wearing a hat with netting to cover whatever it was on closer inspection looked like dots of blue paint and there was an odd black smudge across forehead and the bottom of her eyes. Her husband's hair was sticking up at an odd angle after he had taken his hat off.

The detective drummed his fingers on the file that was almost two inches thick on the desk in front of him.

"Have you had any word from your son, Mr. Wright?" he asked.

"Not a thing," Mr. Wright replied. "He's gone back to that school. Those people must know something. I'm sure of it."

"Your son is not at Hadley Hall and quite frankly Mr. Wright they were considerably more helpful than you were. Did you know your son has a habit of setting toasters on fire when he is upset?"

"How would I know something like that?" Mr. Wright retorted.

"It seems to me something most parents would know if their son did it on a regular basis. I would say you would notice the smoke in the house," the detective said sternly.

"I still think those people know something," Mr. Wright insisted.

"Other than to supply us with a list of Mark's friends and their telephone numbers, I would say not," the detective replied calmly. "Your son is not at Hadley Hall."

"Then where is he?" Mrs. Wright demanded.

"Did you check his room before you came out?" the detective inquired.

"Well, no, I hadn't time," Mrs. Wright said arrogantly.

"It's eleven in the morning and your son has been missing almost twenty four hours and you didn't have time?" the detective asked raising his eyebrows. "I have here a file on your son." He tapped the file on his desk. "He habitually plays tricks and pranks and has caused no end of trouble. He's been quiet the last year and a half. There is a warning on file if this happened again you would be held criminally negligent."

"Now see here," Mr. Wright blustered.

"No you see. I have more important things to do such as solving murders and break ins than looking for one naughty boy who's parents don't appear to be all that much interested in his whereabouts or behaviour. We've made inquiries and we haven't found your son. I suggest you take a look around yourselves. He may be hiding under his bed."

"I'll summon my lawyers," Mr. Wright said.

"One more peep out of you in the next forty-eight hours and I'll put this court order into effect," the detective said shaking his finger at Mark's parents. "If your son hasn't turned up by then. We'll ask around again. I suggest you get off your high horses and do some asking yourselves."

"I'm going to the beauticians," Mrs. Wright said standing up suddenly. "Arthur you can take care of things."

"I'll see you out," the detective said ushering the pair of them out the door. He had to bite his cheek to stop from laughing when Mr. Wright's hair wouldn't bend enough for him to get his hat back on.

"Trouble with your hat?" the detective asked Mr. Wright.

"Humpf," was all Mr. Wright replied before he stormed out the door.