Chapter Five
It was a strangely silent group that flew back to the nursery that night. Though the soft sounds and whispers of London had returned, the voices of the children had not. If Wendy had believed Peter's return to be a dream before, she was certain of it now. The idea of Neverland gone, simply vanished away, was so impossible, so unthinkable, it was too alarming to fathom.
It's my fault, Wendy thought desperately, replaying the balcony scene in her mind again and again. My fault.
Beside her, Peter glanced behind him a fifth time and then a sixth. Beneath his startled exterior lay a bewildered confusion, so intense in it's magnitude that Wendy was forced to look away. Guilt, instant and strong, descended upon her unbidden. It tugged on her heart and harried her conscience, but though she tried, the words would not come. How could she confess such a thing? Moreover, how could she fix it?
There was no answer she knew, and she trembled suddenly, a cool wind gusting past them. It fluttered the curtains of the nursery window, faint shadows against the glass.
The boys entered first, slowly, in a trance-like fashion that frightened her more then any outbursts or crying could. Peter followed, his quick step unusually lagging. They landed noiselessly, on the bed and on the floor, each unaware of their surroundings or position. Wendy came last, settling softly onto the window seat, her face troubled. The eyes of all met, and a single sentence seemed to form, unspoken, and hover before them.
Where has it gone?
The blank faces did not answer, but the clock did, chiming it's hour beneath them. The spell had returned, settling upon them like a cloak as it encased the silence. Even Tinkerbell, her bright aura dimmed, flew nervously round Peter's still frame, her emotions unusually subdued. After the initial shock, after the idea of there being no adventure tonight had sunk in, the only though they'd had was for home; of the safety of the nursery, of Nana, of Mother and Father asleep close by. They'd meant to puzzle it out when they arrived, try to understand it, but no one knew how to begin.
Peter had simply followed them, bewildered by it all, not entirely aware it seemed, of what this meant for him. For now Wendy saw what she had not seen before, as she realized this went far beyond her own mistakes. It meant something larger then that, something more. Neverland was Peter, and Peter was Neverland. But now...
She stopped, and pushed the thoughts back as far as they would go, unable to carry through. Michael sent her a pleading look, his eyes begging her to explain, to make sense of it all as he knew she must be able. She shook her head avoiding his gaze, and his eyes dropped listlessly to the floor, his small shoulders curving forward. The silence stretched out, dragging on. It would seem that that night, begun so strangely, would end in the way it had started; with a deep, enchanted stillness that closed heavy lids, and brought distant, hazy dreams the children would not remember. As their slow, rhythmic breathing filled the room, the stillness ebbed away, it's task complete.
Don't worry, it seemed to whisper as it slipped back to whence it came. Sleep.
It knew where it's power lay- in the dreamy minds of children not quite grown up, just as it knew it could not touch the figure on the floor, nor could it enchant those bright eyes to close. No, those would stayed open, first curious and then wondering, as they watched the midnight moon, and then at last the rising sun.
And sometime, during those wavering twilight hours, a soft voice was heard to say; "We'll get back Tink. I promise."
"Children! It's breakfast time!" The voice blew cheerily into the room, and filtered slowly through three sleepy minds in various stages of awakening. John woke first, and struggled awkwardly to his feet, wondering as he pushed his glasses on when he'd left his bed to curl up on Wendy's floor.
"Children?" The voice called again. It was Aunt Louise John realized, and not his mother as he'd first thought. There was an expectant pause and then;"Good gracious, where have they got too?"
He quickly padded over to Michael, who lay asleep on the bed with one arm thrown wide. After several nudges and a bit of prodding, the tousled boy was eventually awoken. Michael rubbed his eyes tiredly, and then glanced at Wendy, who was sitting up on the window seat wide-eyed and alert. She gave him an anxious look, sparking his memory.
"Peter." They said together, the previous night rushing back all at once. Each cast a wild glance round the room, but the green clad boy was nowhere to be found.
"Where has he gone to, do you think?" John asked nervously.
"What if he's disappeared!" Michael cried, much distressed. "What if he can't live without Neverland! Or Hook got him! Or the Indians came an-"
"Michael," Wendy said soothingly, "it will be alright. I'm sure Peter's only gone to...to explore. London's very big, you know. He'll want to see everything." She had no idea of course, but it would be so like Peter to do so. She hoped fervently it was true.
Michael considered this, and calmed visibly. Then his face puckered, and he coughed, pinching his nose together with forefinger and thumb. " Phew. What is that horrid smell?" They turned toward the door, and were all momentarily distracted by the odd, rich scent wafting down the hall. There was a faint banging and a clattering of cutlery downstairs.
"I suppose we'll have to go see." John said gravely, for he had an idea of what it would be, and was rather hoping his guess was wrong.
"We should all get dressed-" Wendy began, as John turned to leave. Michael however, had caught her hand, and was looking at her with large, worried eyes, his mind drawn back to the previous subject.
"He'll be alright, won't he Wendy? He'll come back, and we'll sort everything out and maybe he can even stay a bit until..." He paused and rushed on. "Won't that be alright? For him to stay?" A glint of excitement flickered in his eyes.
"I...I don't know." Wendy replied, suddenly nervous as she tried to imagine Peter in her daily life and failed terribly. "I suppose he'll have to until...until..."
Michael nodded. "Until...you know. That bit's fixed."
They nodded at each other, and somehow this eased things a little, made them feel as though perhaps things would be alright.
"We'd best go downstairs now, I think we've kept them waiting long enough." Wendy reasoned, quickly sliding a housecoat over her shoulders. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone downstairs dressed like this. Perhaps when she was little, and didn't know any better. Michael seemed oblivious to the improperness of looking so rumpled, but instead ran some fingers through his short curls, standing them on end.
"Oh, don't! You look dreadful," Wendy laughed. He grinned, and they hurried to the dining room.
John was already seated, looking very much the part of a martyr set to speak his last words. Before him, on a white china plate, sat a magnificent mass of a quivering, lumpy, yellow colored something.
Aunt Louise, pot and spoon in hand, beamed at them as they entered.
"They join us at last! Have a seat now Michael, next to John if you don't mind. Wendy, right here." She busily spooned equal amounts of the substance onto each new plate, unaware John was turning a faint green.
Mr. Darling, a spoonful halfway to his mouth, smiled at them weakly. "Your aunt decided to make breakfast for us this morning. Very kind of her, isn't it?" His words quite clearly said and you will thank her for it, and eat it as best you can.
They thanked her in unison, but she waved it away, laughing. "Now, now, no need for that." Her curls were dusted with flour, and she wore a speckled white apron over yet another, very becoming red dress. Together, with the spoon in her hand and the look on her face, she looked every bit the common housewife, and nothing like a lady. And Wendy, to her surprise, found she liked it.
"Is this... cake?" Michael asked cautiously, poking at his portion with squinted eyes.
"Fiddlesticks, it's an egg pudding soufflé. Quite the fashion in Paris you know."
"Do they all smell like this? In Paris, I mean?" John asked disdainfully, indicating the Parisians would be mad to eat it if it did.
"Why certainly! Don't you know about Paris, my boy? Now that's a heavenly place, if I ever saw one. And the people! Always sniffing and smelling about. They've got sharp noses you see, for they make the worlds best perfumes. I bought myself a bottle once. It was dreadfully expensive, but worth every pence. I smelled of summer rain for two weeks."
Michael, just on the verge of swallowing his first attempt, was about to ask how one bottled summer rain when three things happened all at once. Nana barked, Wendy dropped her spoon, and John choked on the mouthful he'd only just taken. Peter was hovering in the doorway, smiling brightly. They watched, frozen, as he swooped down over the table, plucked a grape from the fruit bowl and then settled himself in the chair next to Wendy's.
"Hello sleepyheads." He said, grinning. Tink zoomed up beside him, scattering pixie dust all over the silverware and Michael's pudding. The children stared. Then slowly, cautiously, they turned to look at their parents.
It was the first time they would witness Peter's strange power, for though Mr. Darling had certainly felt a draft, and Mrs. Darling had the distinct impression something had brushed past her hair, they gave no sign of noticing the new addition to the table. Or rather they did, but in a peculiar way that was limited only to passing glances and faint smiles directed towards him. As if they sensed something was there, though they were unsure of what.
What the children missed, however, were the eyes of their aunt. For she had gone quite still at Peter's entrance, and now, as she gazed about the room, they landed on him with a curious sort of wonder. Not quite seeing, but feeling, as the atmosphere around him changed to one of fervor.
"Is something the matter?" asked Mrs. Darling worriedly, aware only that her children were staring at the empty seat with rather odd expressions.
"The matter?" John asked, turning quickly to face her. "No no, nothings the matter. Why would anything be the matter?"
"I only thought-"
"We're fine mother, really." Wendy said hastily. Michael nodded violently, and as if to prove his point, took a monstrous bite of the dreaded pudding without thinking. His expression changed from revulsion to one of utter surprise.
"Why, it's... good!" He said when he'd finished, his voice filled with disbelief. Both older siblings sent him startled glances, as though he'd just declared to take up tap-dancing.
"What?" John gasped, still struggling to finish his own.
"It's the pixie dust!" Wendy whispered suddenly. Peter laughed and Tink looked annoyed. She hated accidentally helping anyone. Only now Peter was whispering something in her ear. She pouted, then grudgingly sprinkled some on the plates of the others.
They rushed it down as fast as they could, and breathlessly asked to be excused.
"Well, I suppose." Mr. Darling said doubtfully, absently wondering what the devil they were so excited about.
"Thank you Father, and thank you Aunt Louise." They blurted out, before eagerly running back upstairs. Peter, unnoticed, tipped his cap and bowed before flitting out the door behind them.
"You're welcome," Aunt Louise said smiling, addressing no one in particular.
"Where did you go Peter?" Michael asked eagerly.
"They can't see you," John interrupted excitedly. "It means you can go anywhere with us!"
"Not anywhere-" Wendy began anxiously.
"I was looking for a way to go back," Peter said blithely. "Sometimes, when I fly over certain places, if feels as though I could."
"You mean...there are other ways of getting to Neverland?"
Peter cocked his head. "I don't know. I never tried it."
"What sorts of places?" asked John.
"Those big gardens you have-"
"Kensington Gardens!" Michael cried.
"The one spot, with the fountain. Tink said she felt a glimmer there." He explained, then paused as he tilted his head again, curious. "I've been there before, I think."
"Before?" John asked. "Before what?"
"I don't know." Peter said again. "I don't remember."
"Before Neverland." Michael said in a hushed tone, his eyes wide as saucers. They let that one sink in, the room suddenly quiet. It was a new idea, Peter's history, one Wendy tucked away, privately resolving to think about later.
"Let's go then! To the gardens!" John said abruptly, looking as he did when he picked up a mystery novel and was eager to solve it.
"We can look for the glimmers!" Michael added delightedly.
And that was that. They got dressed in a record amount of time, and were having one more rushed conference in the hall when Mrs. Darling ascended the stairs, an odd little smile playing on her lips.
"Wendy?" She called. Three anxious heads popped up, and then shuffled around, trying to hide Peter from her view before they remembered she couldn't see him. A fact, it seemed, that would take some getting used to.
"Yes?" Wendy answered, a little unsteadily.
"There's a visitor for you in the parlor."
"A-a visitor...for me?" Wendy asked, astonished. Only esteemed guests were directed to the parlor.
"Yes, dear." Her mother said smiling. " You should fix your hair a bit perhaps, would you like to me to-"
"That's alright, Mother, if you don't mind." Wendy said quickly, smoothing her dress down a little. She was feeling distinctly nervous, for a reason she could not understand.
"Very well then, come along." Mrs. Darling said.
Wendy looked back at three curious faces, and whispered wait for me, before picking up her skirts and hurrying down after her mother. She tried desperately to guess who would wish to visit her at such an hour, in the parlor no less, but could think of no one. Mrs. Darling paused before the wooden doors, one slim hand resting on the curved handle.
"Now Wendy," she began. "I know this is very new for you, but you mustn't be worried about it. Your father and I are just outside the door. If ever you should like us to come in, or feel ill at ease, simply ring the little bell on the side table. This is a serious matter, but still only the beginning and to be taken lightly, if you understand my meaning. We trust you will make the right decisions." She smiled again. " Marion has brought some tea in for you."
Wendy had been listening to all of this with a rather bewildered expression, too speechless to ask any questions.
"Alright then," Mrs. Darling said, giving her daughters hand a soft squeeze. "Good luck, and remember what I told you."
Wendy stepped slowly into the room, still bewildered, only to meet the dark eyes of Jack Taylor. He was sitting on the sofa, but rose when she entered, bowing politely. He smiled at her, his eyes tipping up at the corners.
"Good morning Wend-Miss Darling," He said, promptly correcting himself. He ran a quick hand through his curls, looking anxious.
"Good morning," Wendy answered faintly, forgetting the obligatory Mr. Taylor.
"I was wondering if you would like...if you would be interested in going for a stroll with me in the park- chaperoned of course." He added quickly.
"I..." Wendy began. Her hand fluttered to her throat, but found no necklace to fiddle with.
"If you are not in the humor for a stroll, please don't accept on my account," He said hastily, sensing her hesitance. "It's really alright, I could come back-"
"I...I would love too." Wendy said, then inhaled a quick breath, uncertain where the answer had come from.
"You would?" He asked, sounding elated.
"Yes." Wendy half-whispered.
"Wonderful." He said smiling, then offered her his arm. "My Lady?"
She took it, wondering what she'd gotten herself into, and what on earth had possessed her do it.
What had her mother said? We trust you will make the right decisions.
Wendy sighed.
Oh, dear.
A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. Comments always welcome ;)