Author's Note: Most of the changes to this chapter were cuts, so I doubt they will be noticeable, but I hope the luncheon conversation, in particular, is less boring now. It was in desperate need of a trim.
Also, I noticed that I actually did have someone estimate Peter's age within the story (as was discussed in my Author's Note for Chapter 3). In this chapter, Dr. Carew does. I had forgotten all about it. :)
I sent an email to Melissa-pasts in answer to her question about why I didn't refer to the policeman in Chapter 1 as a "bobby" (as is common in the U.K.), but I thought I would post it here, too, in case anyone else is interested. "Bobby" is a slang term for "police officer" which is commonly used now in the U.K. (like "cop" in the U.S.), and was also used in the Edwardian era when this story is set. However, elegant people of good society would be unlikely to use slang, and would instead call for the "police." Since Aunt Millicent, Wendy, and the story's narrator all speak rather formally, "bobby" would have been inappropriately colloquial.
Thanks: Thanks again to my husband and Mara Trinity Scully for their beta-reading. And thanks again, also, to those who have reviewed!
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. This fic, however, is mine. Please don't take it without my permission.
Chapter 4:
A Doctor's Visit
~
The next morning, Peter was wakened from a deep sleep by another knock at the door. Thinking that it might be Wendy again, he leapt from the bed and cried, "Come in," while wiping his eyes to help him waken more fully.
Instead of Wendy, however, the blonde maid entered with a tray, upon which various items were arrayed. "Your tea, sir," the woman said, setting the tray upon a small, intricately painted table against the wall.
"Tea?" asked Peter doubtfully, as if fearful that the unfamiliar young woman was mocking him in some way he did not understand.
"Yes, sir," Lottie replied, and then upon seeing how confused the lad seemed to be, she poured a cup of tea for him and left it upon the tray, along with the few pieces of buttered toast.
Peter nodded hesitantly, only approaching the tray after the strange woman had left. He lifted the tea cup and smelled the contents, his head jerking backward at the strong scent. Hazarding a small sip of the liquid, he started sharply at the sudden and unpleasant sensation of burning his tongue. He very nearly splashed the tea onto the floor and himself, but only his natural grace saved him from needing to explain stains to his hostesses.
For, indeed, Peter found that he was feeling much more himself this morning, though still uncertain who exactly that might be. He found that he felt more comfortable, more agile, more energetic, and more cheerful.
And something inside him said that these changes were due not to hot food or a comfortable bed, but rather Wendy's stories. He felt as if, somehow, Wendy's stories were nourishing him in some way he did not understand. He felt stronger this morning, and more sure of himself. He felt, in fact, as if this had been building within him since the evening when Wendy had first grabbed his arm in the street, that something had been growing with every story she told, and that it had somehow flowered after last night's tales.
He did not understand it, but he somehow did not find this strange feeling within him frightening. He simply wanted to hear more stories!
Unsure whether he was welcome in other parts of the house, Peter stayed in his pink and white monstrosity of a bedroom until a strange man came to the door and asked to come in to see him.
"I am Dr. Carew," explained the older man with an abbreviated bow. "Miss Millicent Tilney has called me to examine you."
"I don't need a doctor," objected Peter immediately, backing away, his instincts jangling a warning in his breast.
"My boy, it is only a precaution. A lady such as Miss Tilney cannot welcome a young man such as yourself into her fine home without knowing that he is free of disease, so that he will not endanger herself or her charge."
"I'm not sick," insisted Peter, eyeing the doctor mistrustfully.
"Come, come. Let us get this over with, shall we? It shall not be painful, I assure you. Come, sit upon the bed so that I might examine you."
Eyes narrowed with suspicion, Peter edged forward and sat upon the bed as the doctor had indicated.
The doctor performed all manner of ridiculous tests, instructing Peter to stick out his tongue and make various noises, pressing a cold thing to both his back and front and telling him to breathe deeply, requiring him to walk about the room, peering into his eyes and ears, and various other strange things.
At length, the doctor pulled away and asked him, "How long have you lived on the streets, Peter?"
Peter shrugged carelessly. "Two years, maybe. Something like that. I think that's what Old Maddie said."
Dr. Carew shook his head in disgust. "Two years? You should find yourself a job, lad."
"A job?" exclaimed Peter, offended by the older man's tone.
The doctor simply regarded him with cold blue eyes and said, "You are a fool, boy. You live in poverty because you are a fool. No man need live a life less than he likes, as long as he is willing to do what is necessary to obtain it."
Crossing his arms sternly, Dr. Carew concluded, "You are perfectly healthy, young Peter." Once more shaking his head, Dr. Carew strode arrogantly from the room, leaving Peter staring after him in mute fury.
Dr. Carew had been invited to join the ladies of the household for luncheon, and so he waited in the drawing room while Miss Tilney and Miss Darling dressed for the meal. They had, of course, been dressed quite beautifully when he arrived, but company for luncheon required a change of attire.
Peter, of course, had no appropriate clothing for such a meal, and so Aunt Millicent once more ordered that a tray be taken to his room.
After she had finished dressing, Wendy went to Peter's room to talk to him before going downstairs. He had now been given the doctor's approval, and so Aunt Millicent reluctantly gave Wendy permission to speak to the boy. Only so long, however, as the door remained open, of course.
"Peter," Wendy began, "I'm afraid Aunt Millicent has again refused ... er ... I mean ... Aunt Millicent thinks it best that you not join us at table. I'm very sorry, Peter. Honestly."
Pacing restlessly, Peter waved a hand and said, "I don't care about that. But I am starting to feel like a prisoner in this room. I never knew how much I hated pink." Peter eyed the wallpaper with loathing.
Wendy watched him as he moved, and was surprised to see that some of his old lithe grace had returned to him. Was it her imagination? He seemed stronger, more confident, more like the boy she had met so long ago, his head held just a little higher.
She thought -- and here she was certain she must be imagining things -- she thought that he might even look a bit younger this morning. His face seemed perhaps a bit more rounded, and when he walked near her Wendy found herself wondering if he were perhaps slightly shorter than when they had danced the previous evening.
Certainly he is not younger, Wendy assured herself firmly, for that is impossible. But whether he had grown younger or no, there was no denying that some bit of Peter Pan's indomitable spirit had returned to him, for there within his smile now was a smirk ... just waiting to escape.
Confused at this strange bent of her thoughts, Wendy excused herself to go down to luncheon, leaving Peter to his confinement in a world colored entirely in various shades of pink.
A short while later, Wendy listlessly pushed mutton cutlets about on her plate, remembering her aunt's constant remonstrances that she not eat more than the smallest amount, lest she appear indelicate.
Dr. Carew, however, followed no such stricture, for he fed plentifully of the meat and vegetables the cook had prepared. "Your house is quite wonderful, Miss Tilney, as is this luncheon. I am truly honored that you have made me so welcome." His voice was so ingratiatingly charming that it made Wendy's skin crawl. And there was a certain coldness to his blue eyes ... it was dreadfully familiar, and yet she could not discern why.
Aunt Millicent nearly giggled in delight. It was rare that she had a gentleman to luncheon. In fact, perhaps, this might be the first time such a thing had happened since her girlhood.
"Oh, Dr. Carew, it is my pleasure." And then, with a considering look which she would have been horrified to realize was quite obvious upon her features, Aunt Millicent suggested, "Perhaps some evening you and your wife might honor us with your presence at dinner?"
"I am afraid I have no wife, Miss Tilney. I live quite alone," responded Dr. Carew with a charming smile. Wendy did not like his smile. It seemed so ... calculating.
In fact, Wendy found that she did not like Dr. Carew himself, at least upon such short acquaintance. He wore the same clothes, the same fastidious hair style, and the same insipid facial expressions as every other gentleman to whom Aunt Millicent had ever introduced her. It was only the shrewd light in his eyes that distinguished him, and Wendy's vague sense that he was not entirely forthright.
These thoughts, of course, could not but lead her to think of Peter, for he was so very different. He was honest and open, even when he had been refusing to trust her. He spoke his mind, and when he smiled, his smile was true, rather than a polite contrivance. Peter Pan was real.
"There are so few true ladies of an appropriate age these days," Dr. Carew mused in an obvious bid at flattery. "You are a rare woman, Miss Tilney. Rare indeed!"
Aunt Millicent's hand flew to her throat as she smiled in her best attempt at flirtation. "I do my best, Dr. Carew. I wish to instruct my niece in the lessons of my own youth, that she might escape the influences of this profligate time."
"Indeed. A young lady in this day needs protection if she is to grow up properly. Heavens, one need only look at the proliferation of the infernal motor cars in London today to see how much our dear city and country are changing. There is no respect for tradition anymore."
"In fact," pointed out Aunt Millicent, doing her best to smile a coquettish smile, "we should never have met were it not for the danger of motor cars."
"Ah, yes. For the street crush had been caused by a motor car frightening the horses. I had quite forgotten."
"It was a lucky happenstance for us, I dare say," smiled Aunt Millicent. Wendy wanted to groan in embarrassment for her aunt's obvious interest in the doctor, but she instead poked her mutton cutlet with a particularly savage jab of her fork.
"I do not believe in happenstance," claimed Dr. Carew with a theatrical raising of his chin. "I do not believe in coincidence or chance, but I do believe in providence. I believe that we four people came together on that evening not by accident but by design. If that young fellow had not pulled Miss Darling from your carriage, your voices would not have risen to demand my assistance, and I should not have left my own carriage to come to her rescue."
Wendy opened her mouth to object most insistently that Peter had not pulled her from the carriage and that she had needed no high-handed rescue, but Aunt Millicent caught her eye and frowned deeply, shaking her head only the slightest amount. But Wendy received the warning message, and clenched her jaw most unbecomingly, glaring down at the food she was not supposed to eat.
Looking back toward Dr. Carew, Aunt Millicent agreed with a smile, "Yes, we would most likely never have met."
Nodding, Dr. Carew leaned forward and said intently, "Some might call it God. Some might call it Magic. But whatever it is, I do believe that some force guides our paths. And that it has guided us together, Miss Tilney."
Aunt Millicent, it must be regretfully admitted, tittered. Wendy dearly wished to put her head down into her hands and groan her dismay, perhaps even bang her forehead upon the table to relieve some of this horrid pent-up frustration, but she instead simply cut off the tiniest possible piece of carrot and put it into her mouth. Aunt Millicent had taught her well to contain her emotions. Wendy would not endanger Peter's welcome here by her own behavior, if she could possibly help it.
As Dr. Carew and Aunt Millicent continued their disgusting flirtation, Wendy turned her eyes to the doorway, beyond which was the stairway, though she could not see it. How she longed to be upstairs with Peter, instead of at this wretched dining table.
She wondered about Dr. Carew's theory of fate, or providence, or magic, thought about the possibility of some force pulling people together. Perhaps that was why she had seen Peter on the street that evening. Perhaps she was meant to find him again. She liked the thought, and smiled a secret smile.
Wendy thought fondly of their conversation the previous evening, how excited he had been to hear her stories of their past together, how sweetly they had danced, how earnest he had looked when he said he thought he must have lied about feeling love. Wendy blushed softly at her thoughts.
If Wendy had been paying attention, she might have noticed that the man across the table bore a striking resemblance to one in her stories. As it was, however, she ignored him as only yet another foppish fellow, and barely even saw him at all.
"I must admit," frowned the dashingly handsome Dr. Carew as he shook his dark head slightly, "that I do find it disturbing that Miss Darling has befriended the very ruffian who attacked her!"
"Oh, yes," agreed Aunt Millicent eagerly, "so do I. The poor are horrid! Robbers and thieves, idlers, cheats, and impostors."
"He might be an unhealthy influence on such an impressionable young lady, not to mention a physical danger," Dr. Carew warned with a suave solicitousness, ignoring the fact that the young lady in question sat across the table, lost in thought with a soft smile on her face.
"I have worried the same thing," admitted Aunt Millicent readily.
"He seems healthy upon first examination, but some diseases do not make themselves clear until they are so far advanced as to be terribly contagious and deadly."
Aunt Millicent gasped in horror, her hand once more rising to her throat.
"Oh, yes," Dr. Carew continued, feeding Aunt Millicent's fear. "The poor carry so many diseases, Miss Tilney. Cholera, influenza, consumption, typhoid..."
Aunt Millicent went quite pale and repeated fearfully, "Typhoid! And with Wendy in such frail health!"
Nodding sagely, Dr. Carew advised, "If Miss Darling's health is delicate, I would urge you not to keep this young man in your home. In any case, he appears to be sixteen years at least! Quite old enough to go to the workhouse and make a productive contribution to society."
None of the three people sitting at the dining table, most especially not the young lady quite lost in her own pleasant thoughts, noticed a quiet gasp from outside the dining room. None of them saw the curious young man who sat listening upon the stairs, or his outraged expression upon hearing the word "workhouse".
"The poor are poor," philosophized Dr. Carew with an utter lack of mercy or compassion, "because they are prone to laziness. The workhouse is surely the best place for him, Miss Tilney. Of that there is little doubt."
At length, Wendy was pulled from her daydreams by the two older people rising from their chairs. Aunt Millicent gave Wendy a stern look that seemed to indicate she would be severely reprimanded for her impolite woolgathering during luncheon, and the three retired to the drawing room.
Aunt Millicent gestured to the settee and asked Dr. Carew, "Shall we sit and talk a while?"
But Dr. Carew replied, "I'm afraid I have an appointment with another patient this afternoon. Could you tell me the time?"
Glancing at the ornate clock on the mantle, which was rather garishly decorated with gold cherubs and fruits, Aunt Millicent exclaimed, "Oh, my! It has gone 2! I had no idea we had talked so long!"
With a courtly smile, Dr. Carew responded, "The conversation was so enjoyable that the time passed far more quickly than I realized. I fear I must leave to see my next patient. But I do thank you for your warm hospitality, Miss Tilney." He turned and bowed to Wendy, adding, "Miss Darling."
Lottie, always anticipating her mistress's needs and desires, appeared to show the doctor to the door. He paused, of course, at the table in the entryway to take up the small bundle that had been left there for him, lest he be offended at being paid directly like a common tradesman. A doctor, after all, was a gentleman. Unlike a good-for-nothing such as Peter Pan.
With a slyly calculating glance back toward the drawing room, and another up the stairs, Dr. Carew stepped out into sunlight and into his waiting carriage.
"I wonder that he does not carry a pocket watch," mused Aunt Millicent curiously as she watched at the window until he had gone.
After receiving a brief lecture on the rudeness of inattention when company called, Wendy went up the stairs to the guest room, only to find the door open and the room empty. Harry's clothes lay upon the bed, and Peter's own patched clothes -- though now clean, with thanks to Lottie -- were gone.
With a cry of distress, Wendy ran downstairs to the front door and opened it wide, desperately searching the busy afternoon street for any sign of Peter's tousled head. But he was nowhere to be seen.
Peter was gone.