Author's Note: Thanks so much for those of you who have reviewed. I'm a little under the weather today, but I still wanted to post the next chapter. >sniff sniff > So here it is. And please continue to review, because they keep me writing!
Chapter 3: Dinner at Aunt Millicent's
Wendy sat solemnly at the edge of her bed, carelessly twisting a lock of her honey-brown hair around her finger. With a deep sigh, she looked around the small room. It was only the third day, and she already detested it. Her new room was much too plain. The walls were a sickly yellow, and there was no painted sky on the ceiling as there was in the nursery. On the far wall, thin white curtains hung over a square window—one that couldn't compare to the tall, stained-glass window in the nursery. Scattered toys were replaced by a lady's simple furnishings—a bed, vanity, and wardrobe closet (where Wendy made sure she securely hid the acorn that was Peter's "kiss" amongst the foldings of her clothes).
On the two nights Wendy had spent in her new room, all her brothers (except John) had snuck in, pleading that she tell them a story. The first night, she agreed, and told them their favorite—Cinderella. But the second night, she sadly refused, deciding that it was no longer her place to tell such stories to them anymore. She also worried that their sneaking in might become an unruly habit. That night, the boys had walked sullenly out of her room, utterly disappointed.
Wendy was supposed to be getting ready for dinner at Aunt Millicent's house tonight. It was something the Darlings did once a month, for Aunt Millicent insisted that she did not get to see the family often enough. This was far from the truth, however. Aunt Millicent loved to drop by unexpectedly over the weekends, sometimes with Slightly, her own adopted Lost Boy, to "catch up" on things. Wendy could tell Mrs. Darling did not like it, but, as a real grown-up should, her mother always bared it with a warm smile.
None of the children, including Wendy, ever looked forward to dinner at Aunt Millicent's. Her constant nagging and watchful eye were just too much for them. On these nights, there was always a "Do I have to go?" or a "I think I'm ill, may I stay home with Nana?" coming out of one or more of the boys' mouths. In fact, a perfect example of this was unfolding right outside of Wendy's open door.
The Twins had been sitting in front of Wendy's room in the hallway, playing with blocks, and Mrs. Darling just happened to by passing by.
"Boys," Mrs. Darling said gently when she spotted the two. She bent down to pick up the blocks. "You know you're supposed to be getting ready to go to Aunt Millicent's."
"But Mother," the Twins chimed in unison, "must we go to dinner?"
"I don't think you want to sleep on empty tummies, now do you?" Mrs. Darling replied with a smile, stroking one of the Twins' cheeks.
"That's fine!" one Twin squeaked.
"Perfectly fine!" the other added.
Just then, Mr. Darling came storming down the hall in a rage.
"Mary!" he roared, shaking a golden hand watch at Mrs. Darling. "For god's sake, I send my watch to the shop, pay them to repair it, and what do they do with it? Absolutely nothing! It's still broken!"
"Now, now, George," Mrs. Darling responded calmly, taking the watch in her hand while skillfully trying to hold the blocks in her arms. "Did you not check it when you went to pick it up?"
"That's not the point!" Mr. Darling exclaimed. "The point is that I paid the shop to fix it, and they didn't!"
"Mother, Mother," the Twins whined, tugging on either side of Mrs. Darling's silky blue dress. "We don't want to go to dinner."
"You must," Mrs. Darling answered, turning her stare from the steaming Mr. Darling down to the Twins. "Aunt Millicent wants to see you, and don't you want to see your cousin Slightly?"
"It's worthless!" Mr. Darling snarled, snatching the watch back from Mrs. Darling.
Finally, Nana came walking down the hall to help. Gently, she bit onto the tails of the Twins' shirts and pulled them away from their mother.
"Thank you, Nana," Mrs. Darling said with relief as the dog led both boys into the nursery to get ready. "Now, George," she said, turning back to her husband. "Give me the watch. I'll bring it back to the shop when I'm in town tomorrow."
Only then did Mr. Darling seem to calm down. After giving his wife a peck on the cheek, he handed her the watch and exchanged it for the blocks in her arms.
"I'll bring these back to the nursery," Mr. Darling told his wife in a much calmer voice.
"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Darling replied. "And do finish getting ready."
In a moment, they both dispersed from the hallway.
Much could be said about the couple. When it got out that the Darlings had adopted five children to add to their three, jaws dropped. Though they were a fairly respectable couple in society, many people initially could not see the pair's reasoning behind such an action. Nonetheless, it was quite a pleasant surprise when they discovered how well the Darling family seemed to get along.
Mr. Darling himself had since been promoted in his job to branch manager. Even though he still hadn't overcome his nervousness around the "important people," he managed to become acquainted with the right ones in order to get a higher position in the bank. He looked like the perfect middle-class businessman—always dressed in a suit, his black hair stylishly slicked back, and wearing the shiniest pair of black shoes ever seen. The money he brought home was enough to allow his large family to live comfortably enough, and he was very proud of this. He sent Wendy to the local girls' school in Bloomsbury, and the boys, likewise, to the local boys' school. He wished, however, that he could save up enough money to eventually send John, at least, to the distinguished London Boys' Academy, where all the wealthy fathers sent their aspiring sons. It was apparent that he hadn't quite learned to keep his temper under complete control yet, but his other half was his perfect balance.
Mrs. Darling was just what her husband needed. She was beautiful, comforting, mild, and intelligent. She was the only person to ever soften Mr. Darling's heart, and her children absolutely adored her. Mrs. Darling's friends admired her grace and often wondered how she could keep ground in a household such as hers. Even while keeping up with her eight children, she was able to look her best. She wore elegant, flowing dresses, and her chestnut-brown hair was always pulled into a twist, with a strand never out of place. There never appeared to be a hint of exhaustion in her face, which hadn't a single wrinkle of stress, and in her deep brown eyes, never with a light of tiredness. Wendy hoped she could be like Mrs. Darling when she grew up.
By the time the Darling family was clamoring out of the house, the chilly night had fallen to rain. Mr. Darling quickly got the carriage ready, and soon, they were off to Aunt Millicent's house.
Peter was in his tree house, lying tranquilly in his cot while playing a familiar tune on his pipes. Tinkerbell watched him lazily from a tiny bed in her birdcage, until she eventually fell asleep to his melodic music. By this time, Peter also felt sleep coming on, so he set his pipes down and rolled over in bed to rest.
Just before he gave in to the heaviness in his eyelids, however, Tinkerbell's glowing light suddenly reflected off something on the wooden table next to him. It caught his eye, and he sat up in bed, wondering what it was. At first, he could not see what it could be, but after brushing aside a cup and a few of his carvings, he spotted it.
There it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right hand corner of the table: Wendy's "kiss."
He picked up the small, dented thimble and rolled it around his fingers.
"Wendy," Peter whispered softly to himself, his lips discreetly shaping the sound of the name. He thoughtfully inspected the thimble. "I think now would be a good time for a visit. It must be weeks since I last saw her."
Weeks, indeed. Months, even truer. And a year, most accurate. But Peter could never be fully blamed for thinking it had not been so long ago since his last visit. Neverland was an island so greatly enriched with adventure that time could be lost too easily in its exotic jungles, crystal waters, and mystifying caves. Especially for a young boy.
Peter continued staring at Tinkerbell in speculation for a minute longer while calculating his decision.
"I'll be back even before she wakes up," he convinced himself. Once more, he looked from the thimble resting between his thumb and index finger to Tinkerbell sleeping peacefully in her birdcage. Then, with no further delay, he turned to the door for departure.
And it was as simple as that. Peter flew off into the starry night, tightly clutching Wendy's "kiss" in his hand. As he rode the humid Neverland wind higher into the sky, he could not see the mermaids' shadowy heads pop up from the glimmering surface of the lagoon, watching him drift away. And he did not see Tigerlily suddenly stop in her tracks in the middle of a ritual dance as she spotted him flying over the Indian territory. Peter's heart was set on paying Wendy a visit, but he was unaware that this night was the last time he would see Tinkerbell, or any of the island's inhabitants, for a long time to come.
"Oh, come in, come in!" cried Aunt Millicent, welcoming the Darling family into her old Victorian house. "You poor things. It's just pouring rain outside!"
The family gathered in the foyer and removed their soaked coats, shaking off the cold that had tinged their cheeks. Aunt Millicent made herself the proper hostess by discarding the wet jackets into a nearby closet, and just as she was doing so, a bouncy young boy came trotting down the stairs.
"Good evening, everyone," he announced, happily greeting the Darlings.
"Good evening, Slightly," Mrs. Darling said as the boy joined the family in the crowded foyer.
Loud chatter from Wendy's brothers soon followed. They all greeted their cousin excitedly, hoping to avoid confrontation with Aunt Millicent.
Now Slightly was quite the energetic youth. Of course, as a son of Aunt Millicent, he had been engrained with the most righteous mannerisms any stately young gentleman was expected to know. But the boy had not yet reached the age of adolescence, and when it came down to it (minus the nifty clothing and fine grooming), he had not changed a bit since his time in Neverland. He was still the smug and talkative fellow Peter and the Lost Boys had learned to know, and never once did he lose his sense of character, even when his beloved mother tried keeping him in check.
"Wendy, dear," Aunt Millicent said, resting a hand on her niece's shoulder. "How does it feel to be thirteen?"
"Oh, it's lovely," Wendy replied, hiding the lie with a polite smile. She stood uneasily as her aunt looked her over.
Aunt Millicent had the most piercing gray eyes and pursed scarlet lips. Her curly hair was as fiercely red as her temper was towards "uncivilized" people, and her strictly Edwardian style of dress, complete with tapestry-like material and gaudy beads, caricaturized the culture of society. Looking at her relationship with Wendy, it was clear that she desperately wanted a daughter of her own.
It was not long after everyone had settled themselves around the dining table that Aunt Millicent brought up the subject Wendy was dreading would come.
"I think it would be necessary to begin lessons with Wendy soon," Aunt Millicent directed Mr. and Mrs. Darling over her cup of cider. "She is now thirteen, after all."
"Yes, of course," Mr. Darling responded briskly. "I think that is a good idea, don't you, Mary?"
He turned to his wife, who was sitting passively across from him.
"Why yes," Mrs. Darling agreed, looking compassionately at her daughter down the table. "When do you suppose she starts?"
"Perhaps next weekend," Aunt Millicent answered without hesitation. "Now, I guess I'll have to work around her schedule, since school is soon to start up again. How does one hour every Saturday and Wednesday sound? It would fit in perfectly with my agenda."
"Saturdays and Wednesdays would be just fine," Mr. Darling said before taking a bite into a piece of broccoli.
"Now, I wanted to begin by getting her a corset," Aunt Millicent explained, getting up from her seat at the head table.
The boys, who had otherwise been distracted by their own conversation at the table, heard Aunt Millicent and began giggling.
Wendy watched as her aunt went to a nearby drawer and came back with a paper. She handed it to Mrs. Darling, who looked it over for a moment before giving it to Wendy.
Wendy read it unenthusiastically:
W.B. corsets—made of the best and strongest materials. The new loop lacer is a vast improvement on the old brass eyelets which often corrode and soil the undergarments, and so thin is the lacing as to be hardly perceptible on the finest silk gown. Will give any lady the perfect S shape.
Wendy did not understand half of the statement in the advertisement, but did not make the effort to raise any question.
"How does it sound to you, Wendy?" Aunt Millicent asked from across the table.
Wendy faltered before answering, "Very fashionable."
"Good," Aunt Millicent said, apparently satisfied. "We'll go into town next Saturday to find one that will suit you."
Wendy forlornly sat back in her chair as Mrs. Darling gave her a sympathetic smile.