Of course, it was absolute fun, the pleasure they had found. Peter was quite thrilled. He could not wait to surprise Wendy with a child. She so wanted to be a mother. He was smiling almost always, now. He would look to the sky and watch, as if their child might come down from the sky and into their waiting arms. It did not bother him, then that the fuzzy coat of hair which covered his face grew coarse. Ay, he was truly becoming a father, then. It was absolutely exhilarating, but the hairs grew slowly, and he reasoned it must take an awfully long time. And so, he would wait patiently with his Wendy. It is without say that they secretly took further part in their pleasures, and became quite good at it. Meanwhile, Madame would chase him with the kitchen knife, begging him to shave that awful scruff from his face. He laughed joyfully, because as fat and short as she was she made such efforts. He quite liked Madame, and even began to think of her as a second mother.
The grounds became cold, but Wendy's bed was always warm. And during the day, Peter loved to find her in the halls to pull her roughly from the crowds of suspicious girls as he drew her to a corner and lavished her in sweet kisses.
It was sad to say that the ghost did indeed return to Wisterian Halls. During the night, the girls of the dormitory were endlessly haunted by moans and banging of furniture. It was hard to think, though, that the ghost seemed in any kind of pain, as it took so much joy in its hauntings. One of the girls, knowing all too well that ghosts were not real, had told Madame Wisteria of the events.
Madame was is disbelief, and could hardly believe that her Peter, to whom she had grown so close (and now regarded as her own son), could do such a thing. She refused to check on him as she had put such faith in him. Her denial quaked when one night, she saw that there was one light in the Dormitories which was still up. Still clutching to her denial, she climbed the stairs in a huff to the South tower. She smiled, as she really thought she would open the door to see Peter drooling upon his pillow. Her smiled vanished as she saw that his bedroom door was open, swinging lazily from its hinges as it swayed in the winter winds of the open window. Her heart jumped and she nearly cried.
"Oh, god… no…" She ran down the steps so quickly she might as well have rolled. She marched through the courtyard, not feeling the cold air in her panic, towards the brightness of the window. As she neared it, she heard such sounds that and her heart, so happy to hang to denial, dropped it suddenly at her feet. She knew, now, that it was absolute, but she could not keep from peering closer. She saw Peter, red with pleasure pushing lovingly into dear Wendy. A tear did slip from her face.
Wendy had been ruined. She had been ruined. The great pinnacles of her institution were crumbled to the dust. Wendy's future crumpled with it. Consumed with guilt, she could not watch them anymore, and she took to her chamber, where she tapped a pen to paper not knowing how to proceed.
It was quite kind, if one thinks about it, that she did retreat that night. Madame could have burst into the dormitory and laid them bare for all to see, but she didn't. Madame was wise, and knew that this had to be handled… delicately. Madame's way of going about this profited Peter and Wendy one last night of passion, although they did not know it would be their last. In the morning, they both awoke, as they usually did, and Peter left through the window and across the courtyard, where he dressed quickly. This morning, he was so enraptured with his love for Wendy, that he dashed to the piano, and played a romantic rendering of Chopin for the school to hear. He of course, only played for Wendy, but who was to tell? Some girls were stricken, but most knew of the rumors and looked at Wendy with such accusing eyes. Peter did not notice, but Wendy did and the stares brought her to look into her oatmeal, quite ashamed. She did not seem to enjoy his song, and he stopped playing, mid-piece. Madame went to Wendy then, and pulled her from her breakfast, and Peter rose to try and join her.
"I dare day Peter, you should come too." Said Madame, unable to look into his confused face. They headed towards the West tower and Peter smiled at Wendy, because he had first kissed her in a room that was facing West, and he thought she would have loved the pretty correlation. Wendy did not even look to see him, as she knew most assuredly that she had been caught red-handed. In her courses they had well explained what was expected of young ladies. She knew what they were doing was wrong, but she didn't dare tell Peter because she enjoyed it so. They entered a small room with very little windows, and comforting chairs. Mrs. Darling rose from one of them to look at Wendy. Curiously, she saw that Wendy's kiss was gone. She looked at the boy and found that he wore it quite proudly.
Heart pounding, Wendy sat next to her mother. Peter was offered a seat, quite alone in the corner by the window. He wanted to sit next to Wendy, but saw that Mrs. Darling now clung to Wendy protectively. Brushing her thumb against her cheeks and offering her comforting smiles. He sat in the chair and found that it puffed out air quite rudely. In his usual mood, he would have laughed. But now, he was solidly terrified.
Madame first took her place, as authority did, behind a desk, but in seeing Peter's terrified face, she sat next to him and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Mrs. Darling, now truly concerned, began.
"What is the nature of this meeting?" She asked, shuffling through her suspicions, hoping to draw only the least malignant one. Madame, instead, spoke directly to Wendy and Peter.
"You have been caught." She told them. "In affairs…" She looked at Peter to see if he understood. Wendy certainly did, and she began to cry softly. Peter did not.
"Peter," She said. "Wendy is to be married. A young lady is uh… a delicate flower. You have plucked the flower, Peter."
"Oh…" He said sadly. He looked to Wendy and she looked so terribly ashamed, indeed as a flower who had been plucked. Mrs. Darling clamped her hand to her mouth to snuff the shriek she wished to shriek.
"You've ruined my Wendy…" She looked at him, eyes turning red. Wendy covered her face in shame, mumbling to her mother how sorry she was.
"No… I… I haven't ruined her… Wendy…" He stood and tried to reach for her now, but Madame held his hand back.
"You have, Peter. I am ruined." Wendy sniffled
"Wendy, I did not mean it, please forgive me…" Peter begged, crying now, too, for he could feel her growing distant.
"I'm sorry, Peter." She blubbered.
"I have concluded…" Madame began. "To send Wendy home, for at least a month. To see… well…" She said if it were all understood. Mrs. Darling nodded.
"We shall… tell her father that she is ill." Her mother looked to Wendy and asked in a whisper. "Have you bled?" Wendy replied in a very soft voice.
"Not yet…"
"I didn't hurt her, I swear!" Peter said misunderstanding the nature of the question. Mrs. Darling shot him the most dreadful glance.
"You have, boy. Wendy cannot marry, now!" She said, crying at last. Madame scoffed at this.
"I daresay she can." She offered. Peter listened carefully, for he was sure they were going to realize that Wendy was his wife now, and that she could certainly not be married. Madame rose. "I have worked in this field for a long time." She began. "This is not the first, and I dare say it will not be the last. Wendy was my responsibility, and I have failed her. What I can offer you, is to give her the greatest match possible. Considering…" Madame nodded to Wendy and to her stomach.
"Could her husband not tell, that she's had…" Mrs. Darling exclaimed.
"Ha!" Mocked Madame. "Poppycock. We all know that whole red sheets on the marriage bed idea is a load of… crumpets…." Madame said carefully, for she had nearly said something unladylike. "Anyhow, men hardly know what's going on down there anyways." She mumbled. But thought again of her late husband, and knew that it was not the case.
"Peter…" Said Madame. "Maybe it's time to go back to your room, then?" She cooed.
"No… no!" He cried. "Wendy! No, don't leave me, please!" Madame pulled his body towards the door and effectively had to push him through it. She led him through the halls and he cried with such passion you would have thought he had been stabbed. Curious, that a young man would feel so deeply for a girl, Madame thought. But she was suddenly reminded of her dear husband again, and she concluded it was not all that unusual. She felt such sympathy for him then that she felt quite terrible escorting him to his room, and with regret, locked the door.
She unlocked it at dinner time, when Wendy had packed and left. Peter, who had not even tried the door, had not realized it was locked. He did not want to leave his room. He thought the other girls were awful, and with Wendy gone the school offered no warmth save for that of Madame Wisteria. Shuffling his feet down the stairs quite sorrowfully, he made his way to the dinning room. In seeing it was occupied by all those silly girls, he thought instead of playing the piano. He did not know what to play, as he had always had an aversion to melancholy music. Now, he begged to play one. No matter, he would play his own. Peter began to play, to his audience's chagrin, something as terrible and broken as he felt.
"Ugh, the notes are too close together…" One girl criticized.
"Why must he play those awful chords together, they're completely unsuited…" Another moaned. No one was brought to tears by his cacophony save for Peter. Poor, broken-hearted Peter, and Madame, who now saw (and heard) how deeply he had truly felt for Wendy. She thought… She wished… that she could reunite them, but she had promised Mrs. Darling a good match for Wendy and seeing as it had been her mistake to not keep close watch of him, felt honor bound to that promise. The only way that Peter could ever be rejoiced with Wendy, sadly, was that is Wendy really was with child. But then, it would be to her family's discretion if they ever let him near her again. In feeling so deeply for Peter, Madame Wisteria had decided.
The next day, Peter did not appear until the afternoon, dragging his slippered feet down the hallways drearily. This was all fine and good, since Madame had a lot of legalities to sort through, and she hated legalities. Peter had been chewing the same bit of toast for almost five minutes when Madame snapped him out of his melancholy daze. He turned to her, eyes red and swollen, and jam smeared all over his left cheek. Pathetic, she thought.
"Peter… I was hoping we could talk." She motioned to the hallway. Sensing a chance to clear his name, wiped his cheek of jam onto his sleeve and stood quite tiredly.
They walked back into the small room to the West and his awful heart gave a jolt of hope that maybe, Wendy would be there. He could see her now, smiling and gay, shouting gleefully that it was all a misunderstanding. But as he turned the corner he could see no one but an old man at the desk wearing small glasses and a big scowl. Madame offered him a seat across the desk, and Madame sat next to him. The old man looked at Peter over his glasses and then to Madame.
"This is the youth in question?" He asked.
"Yes." She said. Peter did not care what was happening. Upon discovering that Wendy was not here he had fallen back into his glassy eyed daze. They spoke for a while, quite adult like until they addressed him.
"Peter do you know your natural mother?" The man asked. He looked at Madame and pointed questioningly, for he had no clue what a natural mother was. A bit amused, the man's scowl twitched.
"Answer is no, then?" He asked. Peter nodded. The man went on to scribble something.
"Your last name, then?" He asked. Peter shrugged. "They call you just Peter, then?"
"Peter Pan." He said. The man smiled, and Madame looked at him curiously as she did not know he called himself this.
"Interesting name… Pan," Said the man. "God of Springtime?" Now the scowl broke and a chuckle burst from the man. Peter could almost see the boy who used to be the man.
"This woman wishes to adopt you, she has recounted to me the circumstance of your meeting and we agree that this would suit you well for your future, Mr. Pan." He explained. "Do you concede to being adopted by Madame Wisteria." He did not really know what adopted meant, but he could guess.
"She is to be my real mother, then?" Peter asked.
"Yes," She said. "You will gain sisters, and an inheritance. The whole of Wisterian Halls will belong to you one day."
"And of course, I will gain you." He said, offering her a smile, for he really did like her. Her heart melted to him.
"Yes, and I will gain you." She replied, quite touched.
"Birthday?" Asked the man. Peter shrugged again.
"I don't quite remember being born, you see." Another chuckle from the man.
"Ah, Peter you really are something…" He said sliding his glasses back up his nose. "Do you know… approximately, how old you are?"
"How… how old do I look?" Peter said, dreading the answer. The man blew a raspberry and gazed upwards in thought, then knitted his brows at Peter.
"I would say… sixteen, at the most?" Guessed the man. Peter was completely floored. He was sure there was a time when 10 seemed an awfully large number.
"Sixteen?!" He gasped, collapsing in his chair. The man laughed at him.
"Well that awful scraggle on your chin might add a few years. If you shave it off, maybe you can gain them back!" He laughed, now wholly charmed by Peter.
There was a long silence as a large pile of papers was shuffled from one side of the desk to the other, and Madame Wisteria scribbled on each.
"Last bit." Said the man. "Will you take the name Wisteria? You may choose to keep your old one. Peter Wisteria…?" Peter scowled and shook his head.
"Peter Pan." He said, and then remembered his manners. "Please."
"Peter…" Said Madame. "It might prove difficult to have you inherit the grounds, if you do not take the name…" He looked at her blankly and she knew that it was of no consequence whether he inherited the grounds or not. More legalities, she thought, remorsefully.
"Do you not think," Asked Peter, "Wendy Wisteria to be a silly name? I much prefer Wendy Pan, myself." He said, grinning as he thought of his Wendy. Madame hid her face and sighed.
"Peter…"
The old man chuckled.
"You wish to marry, Peter?" He asked, plucked.
"You see, I though I already was." He said. "But I shan't give up." He said in feigned bravery, for he really did feel crushed and beaten. He could even pretend that he had a chance. It lifted his spirit some.
"How about Wisteria for a middle name?" Asked the man. "Peter Wisteria Pan, Wendy will not inherit that."
Peter laughed and recalled how dreadfully long Wendy's name already was, Wendy Moira Angela Darling. That's what came of having a mother, he thought.
"I've never had a middle name, I'd like to have one." He said. The man scribbled something conclusively and began stamping the documents with a large mallet. Peter would have liked to give it a try, for it did look like fun.
"Done, and done." He said, shuffling the papers together. "Congratulations on your new son, Madame." He said, extending his hand towards her. She shook it gallantly and her eyes overflowed with tears.
"Peter…" He said, extending his hand to him. He shook it, and felt quite adult in doing so.
That night he begged Madame to shave his face for him.