Hi, my dear readers!
And once again I can only apologize for the late update. As it seems, at the moment I need two weeks for a new chapter, but I promise that this won't last forever. Next week is still busy (but the next chapter is already checked by my dear beta-reader Cheetah) and then I've more time to write. So, the next pauses won't be so long.
For everyone who is curious about Peter's strange reaction after seeing his parents' home again, here comes now the explanation for it – and more. Peter returns to the birth he staid as a very little boy and you all (and Hook) are going to learn more about our dear boy's past (well, it will be new to those who haven't read Barrie's first stories). And there will be more – about Lunette and the professor, about Ashford – and more.
So, beware of a lot that will going on in the new chapter.
Have fun
Yours Lyhwn / Starflight
Chapter 63 – Uncovering Peter's Past
Mrs. Sophia Chapman glanced up from her book as she heard a metallic rap at the door. She rose from the sofa in the large living room with mint-colored walls and bleached hardwood floor. Her maid peeked from the kitchen, but Mrs. Chapman was already at the front door, waving her off. Opening the door, she was surprised to find a tall, handsome man in the clothes of a sea captain standing on the porch, his cap in his left hand.
"Good afternoon, Madam." He bowed toward the lady with the correct foot forward. "Excuse my unannounced visit. I hope I am not disturbing your afternoon, but I am looking into my family background, and I think you might be of some help."
The older lady was pleased to hear the courtesy of the cultivated old accent. She looked at him in surprise, noticing the long hair tied at the back of his collar. And as he shifted, the daylight caught the silver on his right hand – 'Not a hand at all but a hook!' Then she recognized him. "You are the captain of that beautiful old sailing ship they wrote about in The Times," she said. "Captain Andrews?" she asked, impressed by the old world bow he performed.
James refrained from sighing. It seemed that one article had introduced him to all of London. "That's correct, Madam, Captain James Andrews at your service." He looked carefully at the graying woman in front of him. The lace-front blouse with the high collar, coiffed hair, the pearl earbobs and proud bearing told him she was at least upper middle class, or of lesser nobility. Yet her face bore no resemblance to Peter. But she might be able to provide a clue to his history. "If you read the article, you know that I'm in London to investigate my family's roots here. One of the details I've discovered spoke of this house."
"Our house? Indeed! How interesting!" Mrs. Chapman replied.
"Yes, Madam, it was connected to my family in earlier times," James created. "Perhaps you know something about it. Did you ever hear of a young boy disappearing from this house?"
Sophia Chapman frowned. "My husband and I bought this house more than thirty years ago, but we still connect with the former owner socially. But concerning the nursery …" She glanced about thoughtfully, then murmured, "I think Cora spoke about a little boy who vanished from the nursery, but … but that was, oh, over a hundred years ago." She looked at him curiously.
A hundred years ago. He wasn't really surprised. "That might fit," he said slowly. "Could the boy have been named Peter?"
Having delved into the past, the dusty memories had come to the fore. The lady nodded in surprise. "Yes, that was the child's name. I remember the story Cora told me once long ago, the boy was still an infant when he disappeared. Years later his parents had another boy, Lucas, and they lived here in this house, just like their son Lucas did after he grew up and married. We bought the house from Lucas's daughter, Cora. She sold it when she followed her husband to his own parent's home here in London."
Kailen listened, still hidden in the captain's waterproof coat pocket (feeling rather woozy after all the shaking and bouncing in the motorcar.) Hook felt the old thrill of the hunt seizing him. "Do you know where her home is presently? And the surname of the lady you called 'Cora'?"
The woman smiled. "I don't know the family name of the lost child's parents, but Cora's married name is now Bailey. And their residence is on the other side of Kensington Gardens, 100 Bayswater Road. It's at the corner of Leinster Terrace."
"You believe the family Bailey still lives there?" Hook asked, and Kailen, too, listened closely.
"Yes, Captain. Cora was widowed, oh, five years ago or so, and her two children moved out long before that, but she still lives in the corner house. Residences in this part of London are rarely sold, but are usually handed down from parent to child. If you wish to visit, you only need to walk down this street to the Gardens. Take the Queens Gate Entrance opposite the Prince Albert Hall, walk past the Long Water and leave the Gardens through the entrance at the north. Turn left and, after a short walk down the road, you'll find the corner house."
Hook gave a shallow bow and replaced the cap. "Thank you so much for your help, Madam."
She smiled at him. "I wish you luck, Captain. And if you really plan to organize sightseeing tours on your ship, I certainly will visit, and bring my neighbors!"
"It would be my pleasure," he replied and for once really meant it. The older lady was enjoyable to talk to. "A good day to you," he said, apologized again for the disturbance and left; closing the garden gate behind him, pondering the new information. Peter Pan was no longer a mysterious flying boy with no history, but he had a past – and a family. There was a younger brother, Lucas, and a grand-niece who went by the name of Cora Bailey and was living nearby. It put him in a strange mood.
He looked at Peter who sat in the car beside Daniel, looking back and forth between the house and Hook, as if expecting to be attacked by a monster. James sighed. Whatever happened here, must have shaken the boy deeply – and Peter Pan wasn't easy to shake. Then he became aware that he had to tell the lad something he was loathe to do: He would have to tell Peter that his parents had been dead for a long time.
Returning to the motorcar, he took a deep breath and watched the boy carefully, who was now looking defiantly at him. "Well, this was indeed your parents' house," James began slowly.
"I know," Peter murmured, scowling.
"Was?" Daniel asked.
The pirate nodded. "Aye. The lady who lives here now with her husband told me that our little hero's grand-niece sold the house to them thirty years ago. She also remembered that a little boy – an infant – vanished from here. A baby with the name Peter," his ever so blue eyes peered at the boy, "more than hundred years ago."
While Daniel gasped in shock, Peter bit his lips. "That … that's a long time, isn't it?" he asked.
"Aye," Hook replied softly and took another deep breath. "You know what this means?" he prompted carefully.
Peter nodded slowly. "She is dead," he whispered. "My … my mother … is dead." He quickly looked the other direction.
"Yes, as is your father – and your younger brother, Lucas," James added carefully, while sitting beside Peter. Kailen and the two fairies felt pity for the lad.
Peter grimaced. "The other baby she was singing to," he said and shook his head. He didn't know if he should be relieved or sad, so he was both. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he stared at nothing. Tink appeared from under his coat collar and softly patted the side of his head, but he ignored her.
With a sigh, Hook gave Peter a moment, then he gently touched the boy's shoulder. "Are you well?" he asked.
Peter shrugged. "I don't know," he answered after a few seconds. "I … I don't much think of my mother … I never have!" He added it quickly, which betrayed it as a lie. Hook knew that he was a hair's breadth away from learning Peter's secrets, but before he could speak, the lad straightened, looking to Daniel. "The Kensington Gardens – this way?" he asked and pointed down the street. As Daniel nodded, he continued, "Can we go there?"
While Tink gave an annoyed jingle – would this boy ever give up? – Hook was pleased. Maybe they could find the house where Peter's family had moved? Solve the rest of the riddle? Yet seeing Peter's defiant expression, he knew that he couldn't speak openly about his own purposes. "Why are we stopping at Kensington Gardens?" he asked casually.
"You tried to find out what happened to my parents, and so I want to show you where I lived after I ran away from there," Peter gave his own half-truth. "And I want to thank Queen Mab for her help with the medicine and sending her soldiers to find me when I was in that morphange," the boy explained, still loathing the word 'orphanage' enough to mangle it.
The captain knew what the boy really wanted in Kensington Gardens. Queen Mab was Niam's daughter, and he understood Peter was mulish. It was clear that the youth wanted to speak with the local fairy queen about Hook's and his men's exclusion from Neverland. Additionally, he, Hook, would have a better chance to seek out the Bailey house.
"You want to show me where you lived before Neverland?" James smiled. "That would be an honor," he said, purposely flattering the boy, for he knew some tricks of how to manipulate Peter Pan. They both knew each other so well! "Can we take some time there at the Gardens?" he asked Daniel, who smiled at them; moved by the boy's story, but also was bewildered that this young lad was in truth over a hundred years old.
"Of course. I'll drop you off at the Prince Albert Memorial and pick you up in two hours or so at the north gate. That will give me time to drive home and change for our dinner with the Darlings."
Hook nodded. "Good plan. Master Pan here can visit his old haunt and you can have the time you need."
"Very well." Daniel got out of the motorcar and addressed Peter: "I'll turn the crank and when I tell you 'now,' pull on the choke, right there." He showed the boy the handle and Peter nodded.
"Glad to help," he replied, and moments later the motor puttered to life. "Thanks, partner," Daniel said with a grin, hoping to cheer up the boy.
Peter smiled. "You're welcome, Mr. Kempton."
The reporter engaged first gear, then added, "And you can call me Daniel."
"I will, Daniel!" Peter replied and put his feet back onto the motorcar's floor, while the vehicle began to move again – taking him away from the house of his birth.
*** PP *** PP ***
The soft 'crick' was unmistakable – to Professor Hutchings' deep regret. Instantly Brynna Lunette, leaning over the bowl with the water and the crystal ball, looked up. "Did you hear that?" she asked.
" 'Ear wot?" the scholar replied, attempting to delay the inevitable, but in vain as the next 'crack' sounded from the nest made of stones and glowing coals. He bit his tongue, keeping his face neutral. He had prayed that the creature would begin to hatch later, at least as the cursed hunters slept. But he was not to have that advantage.
The watery bluish-grey eyes stared at him from an old face. Lunette had visibly aged since lunch four hours ago, and the transformation was eerie to watch. The temporarily black hair was growing increasingly whiter, and Lunette had obviously lost weight. Always slender, she was now nearly skeletal; her cheekbones prominent; her nose appeared longer. Archibald shuddered inwardly, realizing how much she resembled the pictures of the witches in the books he'd studied. Real witches. And now, with those supernatural powers, lack of empathy and the dark aura she wore about her like a cloak, he recognized he was facing one of them now.
"Is it finally hatching?" she demanded, approaching the nest where Hutchings still watched over the egg. With dread he heard how harsh her voice had become. She bent over the nest with nostrils flared, one thin finger pointing at the egg; Archibald felt something like disgust. Only the crooked nose with the wart is missing,' he thought.
He felt her glare and slowly responded; "Th' babe is beginnin' t' hatch. If they be like th' birds or serpents, it could last hours, seein' as th' shell seems t' be made of scales and -"
"I can see that," Lunette interrupted him. "A few hours, you say?" He nodded and she sighed returning to the table. "Then stay on it. I must investigate something else." She looked once again into the crystal ball and recognized the reporter who visited the manor after Christmas, wondering why this same young man was now driving the 'the brat' and Shalford through half of London. Then she watched them park on a side street somewhere west of Westminster Palace; Shalford left the vehicle for several minutes; then the captain returned and the three moved on. She frowned at their modern garb and appearances.
A noise at the door made her look up and she saw Hutchings about to leave the room. "Where are you going?" she demanded.
Archibald sighed heavily and replied sardonically, "I'm still a simple 'uman with none o' yer supernatural talents. I have to expel water from time to time, y'know!" He opened the door. It squeaked softly on its hinges. "Have no fear, madam, there's still time until th' wee one 'atches." With those words he left, sighing disgustedly as there was only one feeble torch lighting the way from the door to the stairway. The manor was turning into a true house of horrors, he ruminated, with its dungeons, witch-kitchen, armed guards and a transmuting man locked away in a room! His mood darkened.
Brynna sneered toward the door. She didn't like the rebellious tone the professor had used. As soon as the dragonling hatched and she had gotten what she needed from the little beast, she would think about a way to get rid of both: the dragon AND Hutchings. Bending over the crystal ball again she concentrated as she saw the boy and Shalford entering a park through a wide gate made of wrought iron. The young reporter waved and drove on.
Straightening, she frowned, recognizing the large gate with the royal emblem in the middle, having taken Dalton there many times when he was small. And I was much younger. This was the south entrance door to Kensington Gardens, just opposite the Royal Albert Hall. Shalford and the boy were visiting the Gardens? Odd. And without their host/driver?
For another minute or so she watched the two walking side by side, talking to each other, while heading to the Serpentine, the east part of long lake that separated Kensington Gardens from Hyde Park. There they sat on a bench.
The housekeeper smiled grimly. This was the opportunity Dalton was waiting for: Shalford and the brat were away from the ship … and alone! If Dalton and his men 'made a better fist,' they could capture the two without witnesses. The Gardens were large. Even the better weather and the school holidays weren't enough to populate the park, normally filled with playing children and their nurses (or parents).
Purpose firmly in mind, Lunette left her 'laboratory' and went up the stairs to the ground level of the manor. Walking to Dalton's study to call the viscount in London, she slowed as she heard a quiet voice coming from the room. Carefully she crept nearer and then her eyes narrowed as she recognized Archibald talking with someone on the phone.
"Yes, th' li'l salamander begins to 'atch. Tell Miss Wendy."
A deep frown appeared on Brynna's forehead. 'So, this game you're playing now, Archibald,' she thought. 'And I'd bet my last shirt that you helped that ungrateful lass to flee the manor!'
Morton Wickham approached her in the hallway. She signaled him to silence, but to come nearer and then both heard the professor say, "Ah dinna know 'ow long it'll take 'til the babe is 'atched, but I think we've a few hours left. Yes, tell Miss Wendy, Peter and the capt'n. Ye'll 'opefully come in time."
Archie was glad that he had been able to deliver the message to one of the older boys, then he placed the receiver on the skeleton phone and took a deep breath. God help the rescue party arrive in time!
The door to the study slammed open and he spun around to face Morton Wickham and the cold triumphant look on Brynna Lunette …
*** PP *** PP ***
In London, Slightly looked at the receiver in his hand after the professor's call. Wendy had told him and the others about her agreement with the scholar, that the man would call the Darlings when the dragonling was beginning to hatch – and that he would give a coded message should Wendy be away from the phone. So, the dragonling – the 'salamander' – was leaving its egg and the professor thought that it would take a few hours. That was good news, because just that moment, the cavalry was without horses – no chance to get to Surrey for now because the only available motorcar – that of Uncle George – was away from home.
"Super!" Slightly growled, hanging up the receiver. "The little blighter is hatching while Wendy is cooking with the other ladies, Peter is on a sightseeing tour with Hook and Uncle George is playing Sherlock Holmes." He turned around to Nibs and Curly, who stood at the bottom of the staircase. "What now?"
Nibs grimaced and glanced at the tall clock. "We can tell Wendy that the professor called, and -"
"And what? None of us can get to the manor any time soon. Using the tube and the railway will take too long – and there's no transport between the station and the manor. And how can we confront the rest of his hirelings and the witch? We need Hook and a few of his men, as well as Peter, to rescue the dragonling." He glared furiously at the phone.
"Well, Peter and Hook will be here for dinner, and-" "- and so will Father. Then we can drive to Surrey," the Twins suggested.
"We all drive with Father to the manor and rescue a freshly hatched dragon and an older scholar?" Michael shook his head. "Try again!"
"What's going on here, boys?" Wendy came out of the kitchen. She still wore her dress from the morning covered with a white apron. Her hair was pinned up and her cheeks were flushed from the heat at the stove. A delicious smell accompanied her.
Her brothers and cousin smiled sheepishly at her. "Well … um … the professor called," Slightly began carefully.
"Is the dragon hatching?" the girl asked instantly; eyes widening. Oh no, not today!
"Aye! He said, it would take some hours, but we will need the time to get to Surrey!" Curly pointed out.
Wendy stared at the boys and finally toward the ceiling. "Oh my dear Saint Ninian!" she invoked. Bititng her full lips she pondered her options. She and the others still thought that Mr. Darling would pick up James and Peter that afternoon and bring them to Bloomsbury. In other words, they would be here in one or two hours.
"Alright," she said slowly. "We've no time to waste. Go up and prepare for battle … uh … that means, put out the clothes you're going to wear during the rescue mission and make your weapons ready."
"And you?" John asked.
Wendy grimaced. "My fencing skirts are at school, but maybe you or Nibs can lend me a pair of trousers -"
"I got your Elven clothes and the dagger from Peter's hideout – including the necklace with the acorn," Nibs interrupted her. "I stowed everything with my clothes but forgot to tell you."
"Nibs, you're the best!" Wendy sighed happily, and pressed a quick kiss to her adopted brother's cheek, who smirked, pleased. "Come on, boys, let us get everything ready so that we can start as soon as Peter and James arrive." She gathered her skirts and ran for the stairs, but stopped when Victoria came out of the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
"Ready for what?" Vicky asked.
Wendy sighed. "I think the formal dinner has to wait – but please don't tell Mother, Aunt Millicent or Liza." She took a deep breath. "The dragonling has started to hatch."
The other girl's green-grey eyes widened. "Oh my!" She sighed. "And you and the others are going to the rescue?"
"Aye, with James and Peter," Wendy nodded. "Which means as soon as they arrive together with Father."
"You forgot something," Victoria said quietly. As they all turned to look at her, she continued, "How do you expect to get into the manor?" She saw the surprised faces as all the others realized that this was – indeed – a barrier. Then she smiled while raising her palms. "Fortunately, I'm here. I'm an Ashford and no one – not even Dalton himself – can forbid me to enter my family manor."
Laughter and cheers welcomed this announcement, while Wendy beamed at her. "My friend, you are part of the mission." She hugged her shoulders. "Welcome aboard!"
*** PP *** PP ***
Dalton Ashford's mood had hit rock bottom, even after the excellent lunch the cook at the townhouse had served. One crazy or irritating message followed the last one. The first thing that morning, Fulsom reported that the fairies had visited the orphanage and bewitched everyone, including Mr. Primely. Ashford was certain that the chaos his driver had described would be the director's ruination. Having seen Mrs. Darling's interfering 'noble heart,' she had certainly moved heaven and earth to close the horrible place – she, the 'gallant' Kempton and possibly aided by the brat himself.
The second call he got was one of his father's company's business partners, asking what was going on, because the Bank of England had contacted him to verify a pending investment. Soon after that, he received a third call, this time from a ship's parts company where he'd purchased spare parts for his father's ship company. The critical point to this call was an inquiry about money from another English bank received for this deal four times greater than the invoice total had been – and obviously the man investigating had known this. His temper rose when he learned the name of the man sniffing around: George Darling.
The fourth was the call from his lawyer, reporting that it was impossible to find out details about the adopted boys and the family's modest fortune. "It was," he'd sighed, "as if the boys dropped from the sky, bringing the jewels with them." Well, the good man had probably hit the nail on the head, but Dalton had no proof he could use against the nosy banker. Maybe there was a chance to talk the man into backing off by simply threatening to publicize the fact that his family's fortune came from stolen jewels. Maybe he could even connect the whole thing with Shalford – insinuating the 'pirate' and the corrupt banker were sealing their business with the marriage of the 'pirate' and the banker's daughter. Maybe he could -
The phone interrupted his thoughts. "What now?" he moaned and eventually lifted the receiver. Learning it was a call from the manor, he was almost relieved – until he learned the reason Brynna contacted him. "Hutchings did what?" he demanded.
"You heard me, he called the Darlings and told them the dragon was hatching. He is in cahoots with Shalford, the brat and the ungrateful minx."
"Goddamn!" Ashford snarled, slamming his fist onto the desk. "If we didn't still need him, I'd –"
"He is in a cell now," Lunette continued, almost casually. "I thought it better to lock him up."
Dalton's hand tightened around the receiver. "You know he will involve the police as soon as he is able, don't you? He'll press charges –"
"He will have no opportunity to do so, Dalton."
Of course, the viscount knew to what his former nanny was up. "Brynna! No murder! You know he would be missed at university!"
"He will go missing on his way to Egypt," the witch's voice had taken on the quality of rusty metal. "You must book passage from Plymouth to Egypt in his name. Get one of your hunters to board the train in Godalming wearing Archibald's distinctive clothes and hopefully using his accent, leaving the station to go south. He can change clothes on the train, and one of the others can pick him up one or two stations later. Archibald Hutchings is officially on his way to Egypt, there will be witnesses confirming his departure, but then he'll vanish. The end."
Dalton shuddered as he heard how she spoke about killing someone in cold blood. "You've given a lot of thought to this," he mumbled, appalled.
"Of course. I've been watching the egg breaking open bit by bit, and observing Shalford and the brat. Concerning the latter, I have good news for you."
"About bloody time," the viscount murmured; feeling a stone in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his houseguest being murdered and doing nothing about it.
"The two were driving through London with that reporter – you know, the young man who was here after Christmas."
"Kempton, yes, He and my dear cousin Victoria have been 'parlaying' with Shalford," Ashford growled. At the mentioning of his rival's name, the stone in his gut about the death of Archie disappeared.
"Of course, she's Miss Darling's best friend," Brynna sneered. "The news is that Shalford and the boy are in Kensington Gardens. Moments ago, they were at the Serpentine, walking north – alone. Kempton is not with them but might be picking them up later." She paused. "This is your chance, Daniel. Get them! Get them both and bring them here. Then-"
"Do you plan on making Shalford 'vanish' like Hutchings?" Dalton questioned. "Don't get me wrong, I would rather see the bastard dead rather than alive, but after the article in The Times and now other newspapers, he's not an unknown anymore. If he vanishes, people will be suspicious, as well as his crew …" He hesitated. "I have an idea. His men must be distracted. They should have other things to worry about than the whereabouts of their captain … They're pirates, they have treasures aboard – I'm sure of it. And I'm also sure that the customs office will be very interest in illegally smuggled jewels."
"Now you're thinking," Brynna cackled. "Set the customs officials onto the ship and her crew, and those rascals will face abundant difficulties. In the meantime, you get Shalford and the boy. I don't care what you do with the captain, but bring me that boy!"
Ugh. There was it again: The knot in his gut when he thought about what she was planning. True, with the cursed creature finally beginning to hatch, his dream of curing his father and himself was now within reach. 'But the price would be … two lives. Three, if everything went as planned. Four if you considered the dragon a sentient being.' Of course, it would be satisfying to know Shalford was truly dead, but the boy … the professor … A few scruples still lingered in Dalton Ashford's battered conscience.
"You're wembling," Lunette sneered. "You can't afford your upper-class tears now – not this close to your goal. You have to finish what you started or everything will be for naught!"
"I know," Dalton whispered, "but …"
"It comes down to a very simple decision: Shalford and the boy … or your father and you." Her voice lacked any warmth. He couldn't know her master was talking to the viscount.
"You know that I want nothing more than to be free from the curse. And I certainly don't care for Shalford. But the boy -"
"- isn't human anymore – possibly never was. He's a changeling and not your concern. He's only given you trouble, so forget about him. But if it makes you feel better, he will not suffer." The voice was impatient. "So, go and get the two – and I'll brew the potion you need."
He wanted to tell her about George Darling, snooping around in his own very private business, but Brynna had already disconnected. With a snort he placed the receiver on its hooked receptacle, then sat back in his desk chair, eyeing the device. If he called the customs office now, there would be no going back. If he made the call, if he was successful in getting Shalford and the boy … he would start on a path … that would lead to the certain death … of not two but three … or four … lives.
For a long moment, he waffled between his options, then images of all the trouble he had been through danced in front of his eyes: The humiliation he endured when Wendy turned him down; how that cripple had bested him; the old bookworm going behind his back; the theft of his car. And how badly the situation had worsened.
Filled with the false courage of his resentments, he lifted the receiver again. "Customs office, London Port Authorities." While he waited, a plan formed as to what to do about the Darlings, then he heard a voice. "Is this the customs office of London Port Authorities?" he asked and as it was confirmed, he took a deep breath. "This is the Viscount Dalton Ashford – co-owner of the Ashford Companies. I am the recipient of some interesting information regarding some smuggled valuables …"
*** PP *** PP ***
Neither Peter nor Hook had a clue that the thunderclouds were gathering on the horizon. They left Daniel after he drove them to Kensington Gardens, passing the Royal Albert Hall across from the Prince Albert Memorial. The tall memorial standing on a high pedestal, surrounded by a beautifully crafted fence and marble statues, decorated with gold, was a memorial of the late queen's devotion to her husband. Hook was impressed by the style, and even more taken by the domed Hall – especially after learning it would seat 8400 people. In his time, such a large theater with its own organ had been unimaginable.
Daniel dropped them off near the Hall and Memorial by the carriage entrance to the Gardens; arranging to pick them up around six o'clock the other side of the Gardens, at the Lancaster Gate. Peter knew which gate he meant and promised to be there.
As man and boy exeunt the motorcar, the bell of Big Ben tolled about them – four o'clock. Hook took note of the bell, as he still had no pocket watch. (And if possible, he never would have one again. The ticking was still a nightmare for him.)
He and Peter passed through the large iron gate as Daniel drove off. A brief glance about and Peter oriented himself. "This way!" he said, pointing to the broad path – the West Carriage Drive. James was confident Pan wouldn't be able to forget the place he lived at as a toddler for … quite some time.
Walking purposefully, Hook enjoyed the idyllic surroundings. The large old trees, the wide meadows bordered by low beautiful fences, the blooming flowers … an oasis after traversing the busy city. He knew the Gardens were old, laid out at the beginning of the 17th century when a smaller palace had been to the west. He would have been amazed by Kensington Palace now because it had expanded to three times its original size. James recognized a new phenomenon as he walked as well. With his Neverland-trained perception, he could now see the formerly un-seeable. Over half of the new flowers were fairies, or had them curled up inside. There, in that tree trunk, was that a fairy-sized door? And the curved root system of a large old oak, a fairy circle, and another inside a group of mushrooms. And the many narrow criss-crossing paths in the grass … the notch in a tree you couldn't quite focus your eyes on. He breathed deeply, watching the boy.
They met visitors – young couples, nurses with small children (a few nurses with prams), older women or older men. Most were clad in fine clothes – the ladies with their wide-brimmed hats and the elegant coats or the gentlemen with the first lighter trousers and straw hats. The holiday and sunshine had brought them out of doors.
The path took a long curve to the east and crossed another rather wider path to the left, where Peter stopped. Looking down the lane, he sighed quietly. James, too, looked in the same direction, then back at the boy. "What's the matter?" he asked, curious. The buds of the true flowers were about to open now because of the first spring weather. It was the Flower Walk – but of course Peter Pan had given it another name.
"That's the Baby Walk," he replied. "It's where I found the first boys who fell out of their prams, when I was still living here and too young to do much. I tried to keep them warm until the next day, using the fairy houses. Often their nurses came back to pick them up, but sometimes the babies were just," he shrugged, "forgotten, so I took them with me. After I left the Gardens to live in Neverland with Tink, I sometimes returned to help those babies who still got lost and took them to Neverland, too."
"The Lost Boys," Hook murmured. 'How fitting!' They truly would have been completely lost without Peter's help.
"Aye, the Lost Boys. Most of them came to Neverland from here, but not all. Slightly was already older when I found him. He had fallen into the river that flows through London and I pulled him out. Other boys were smaller, and had been forgotten in the Gardens. So I took them with me to keep them safe."
James Hook was visibly surprised, for Peter had not kidnapped the boys, nor lured them to join his oversized playground like he had the three Darling children, but he had saved those little ones who would have died without him. "You really are the Pan," he whispered, watching him with awe. "The fairies chose the name well."
Peter chewed shortly at his lips. "The director of the morphamage was angry when I told him my name is Peter Pan. He asked me who would be so crazy to give me the name of … of a god?" He looked up at the buccaneer (who had grimaced at Pan's mangled pronunciation.)
Hook recognized the teaching opportunity. "Pan was the god of nature in ancient Greece, but also of the shepherds."
"Shepherds?" Peter frowned. "Boys and girls who look after the sheep, right?" As Hook nodded, Peter's eyebrow rose. "But we don't have sheep in Neverland."
The captain chuckled while he considered the name. "Sheep are quite helpless left to themselves. They need a keeper who will look out for them and protect them – just like you do for the boys. Also, in the church, people are often compared to sheep or lambs, because God watches over them like a shepherd."
Peter listened, nodding. "I can see that. I remember Wendy telling the boys a story about a Good Shepherd."
Hook tilted his head. "Interesting," he murmured, considering some of the deeper meanings. "Your given name is Peter …that name comes from Petros – a leader of the friends of God's son. The name means a stone cut from a larger stone, petra." He paused, thinking, then continued: "Before Jesus died, He passed His mission on to those cut from that larger rock, telling them His rock is the revelation that His church should be built on." He peered at the boy's face. "And you're a kind of petros or little rock, too – for your friends, the fairies, the other Little People … for all of Neverland, because the island depends on you." He watched the concentration on Peter's face, as he bit his lower lip again – uneasy, almost uncomfortable. James knew that Peter could be very vain, but other times he was almost shy. Like now.
Looking again toward Peter's so-called 'Baby-Walk' he asked quietly, "What happened to the infants you couldn't find or keep warm?"
"They died," the Prince of Neverland replied sadly. "And … and I buried them … with the spade I once found. That was the one I used as a paddle for my nest-boat to travel between the Gardens and Bird's Island, my home." He pulled the sleeve Hook's new coat. "Come on, I'll show you."
He led them to a bridge unknown to Hook. He'd visited the Gardens long ago, but then they were smaller, wilder. This was a cultivated park. He remembered there being more trees. And the bridge with many arches hadn't been here when he and his father had visited the 'old' Kensington Palace. Of course, he couldn't have known the Serpentine Bridge that separated the Gardens from Hyde Park, built in 1826.
James looked around. The water came from the north on the left, and flowed in an easy curve to the east. He assumed that this long lake had once been the River Westbourne. He was right; it had been dammed fifteen years after his abrupt departure from England. The bridge was now a rendezvous point for its visitors. Behind him to the left, he could make out a white building modeled like a Greek temple, to his right many boats were rowed up along the shore. Peter moved toward them and Hook followed.
The boy chose a vacant bench and they sat, the captain to his left – pure luck for Kailen who was in Hook's left coat pocket. There was another meeting site on the other side of the water – a boathouse where many people sat on chairs along the water or watched the young men preparing the boats. But Peter's was looking at a smaller island in the middle of the recreational lake – Bird's Island.
They sat there and watched the swans, ducks and coots feeding near the shores, while tomtits, merls and sparrows flew back and forth. The birds of the summer – mostly swallows – had not yet reached England. Then a few crows landed on the island, their croaking easily heard. Immediately, Peter straightened and looked about for a certain bird, but he knew his friend was gone. The crow he searched for could not have lived as long as he had.
"Is that Bird's Island?"
Hook's question brought Peter back to his present. "Aye," Peter nodded. For a moment he hesitated, but like a dam breaking, old memories poured out. "When … when I ran away and flew to the Gardens, I landed nearby. I tried to explore everything, but the fairies were afraid of me, so I stayed the night in a tree. I was very cold. Next day I sneezed hard and … well … fell into the water." He grimaced, loathe to admit he'd ever been so clumsy. "I managed to reach this island. I couldn't swim then but … I made it and Solomon Caw took me in."
That name again. "You mentioned him yesterday. He told you that there were no second chances," James said slowly.
While Tink, hidden in the boy's collar, listened carefully – where was this conversation going? – Peter sighed. "Aye, he said so – and I'm still not sure if he was right or just gloomy. Maybe both." He pointed straight ahead. "I stayed there for …" he hesitated, " … for a long time, and I learned a lot. The birds fed me, the ducks tried to teach me how to swim and Solomon talked with me. We became friends. But I couldn't reach the Gardens. During the day I watched the other children playing on the shore, but it was like looking into another world. I wanted to reach the Gardens, so one day I decided to do something about it. The birds built me a nest – a large one that floated – and I used the rest of my nightgown as a sail." He smiled at the memory. Hook was confused. Usually the boy's power of recollection was practically nil, and now he remembered his experiences as a baby? Every time James thought he had solved the riddle of Peter Pan, new ones appeared.
"So you sailed to the Gardens," he said, connecting this boat with his story of using a spade as a 'paddle.'
Peter nodded. "Yes – right under the bridge and along the water, then my boat landed, somewhere up there," he gestured towards the north along this side of the Serpentine. "There I met the fairies again. They heard about me from the birds, and I made friends with them. They gave me food and I played on my pipes for their feasts." His right hand went to the little instrument he had fastened on his belt beneath the waistcoat. "Not the one you know. I got that one from Niam after I came to Neverland. No, Mab gave me one with three long pipes. I had a great time then. During the day I watched the other children playing, at night I played their games, piped to the fairies or hung out with the birds." He smiled now, but something in his eyes remained sad. And soon Hook knew why.
"But I watched the children and their mothers, just like those over there." He pointed to a few boys and girls no older than five or six, and a few younger women, in their oversized hats and the flowing coats, sitting on the grass and cuddling the young ones. "I knew I wanted to return to my own mother."
"Yes," James murmured. "Every child needs love, security. Even we grownups wish for those moments sometimes."
The youth expelled a snort, then took a deep breath. "Aye, wishes – sometimes having them come true can be … bad." He grimaced. "Mab had granted me my heart's wish, but the wish I told her was too small in her eyes, so I made a deal with her to get two smaller wishes. One of them was to be able to fly again – just like when I flew away from … from my nursery. She granted me that wish – permanently. Then I flew home." He bit his lower lip and looked back the way they came. "I found my mother asleep next to my cradle. She …" he moistened his lips, "she was so pretty – and she whispered my name in her sleep. I wanted to stay but … but I had to say goodbye to my friends in the Gardens. So I played on my pipe for her and flew back to the Gardens. I wanted to come back forever the next evening."
He fell silent and Hook watched him expectantly. He guessed what happened. "You didn't fly home the next evening," he eventually prompted.
Peter shook his head. "I had to say goodbye to … to so many friends. And the fairies gave me many goodbye parties. And there was … another goodbye and another one and …" the youth gulped, "when I was finally done saying goodbye, I flew home, but … I found that window barred. And my mother was singing to another baby. She couldn't hear me calling. I tried to reach through the bars to knock at the window, but I couldn't reach it. I… was still small and my arms therefore too short, so I called again, but… she didn't listen." He chewed on his lips and looked away, but Hook had seen the tears in the youth's eyes. "She had forgotten about me."
He looked up and away, remembering the night he fought with the boy among the sails. 'She was leaving you, Pan … why should she stay? What have you to offer? You are incomplete! She would rather grow up than stay with you!' "What I said …" he began, feeling suddenly cold, "what I said to you during that fight …" 'The window is shut. I'm afraid the window is barred … she can't hear you, she can't see you … she's forgotten all about you!' The boy had begged him to stop, but he drove the verbal knife deeper. 'What is this I see? There is another in your place …'
Peter nodded next to him, taking a shuddering breath. " '… another in your place'…" Swallowing the lump in his throat down, he glanced back at the man with regret written on his brow.
"That's how I brought you down: You'd already been through this with your own mother." As Peter only looked away, Hook bowed his head. The pain he'd given the boy at that time was intentional; he'd thought it necessary even if he hadn't known what kind of agony he inflicted on the youth then. And now he felt deep remorse.
Impulsively, he pulled the boy into his arms. "I'm sorry," he said quietly as the crowded fairies quickly moved to the other side of Peter's collar. "I hurt you in an old wound."
"We were enemies then."
"It's bad form to fight that way," the captain murmured.
"You couldn't know about it," Peter mumbled, glad to be held for a few moments; one arm snaked around the man's waist. "But … it really, really hurt. I was back at the window of my nursery and -" the rest of his words were muffled as he buried his face in Hook's coat. How strange that the same man whose taunting had hurt so then was now providing a sense of … safety?
Tink peered out from Peter's collar at the man. Hook could see the alarm on her pretty features, and he knew why. She was afraid that those memories would make Peter desire a true family. But that wasn't all. Hook now saw through the trick the fairies had once played on the youth: a selfish trick that robbed the boy of his home and mother. "Keeping him occupied with your goodbyes until it was too late for him to return is more than bad form," he murmured, glaring at Tink. "And your kin called this 'friendship'?" he challenged.
The star fairy sighed, making a face. This … this … pirate had uncovered their secret. She replied to his accusation, and Hook rolled his eyes. "I know it wasn't you personally."
"Tink took me with her when I got too big to hide here," Peter's voice interrupted the quarrel. "There were so many changes to the gardens and more and more buildings, paths and the like, I couldn't stay. So … Tink took me to Neverland."
"And cut you off from the Mainland and a normal life forever," Hook growled. He rubbed the boy's arm comfortingly. Tink made a declaration that made the man roll his eyes. "I know his parents were certainly old and grey by that time. His own younger brother was already a father, but did you pesky interferers ever think that Peter might want to belong to a real family?"
"I never wanted to grow up," Peter declared and looked at him, eyes damp. But the words lacked his usual enthusiasm.
"Aye, I know," James replied. He'd noticed the past tense. "But deep down, you always yearned for your mother, for your parents. I'd wager all my new clothes that you still do," he added.
"They're dead," Peter said flatly. "There are no second chances – Solomon was right."
"Yes, they are dead," James nodded. "But I told you yesterday evening that second chances do exist. You got one but were tricked into letting it pass. When that second, third or fourth chance comes along, you have to grab hold of it with your fists. If not, it will slip through your fingers. That's what happened when you flew back to the Gardens to say goodbye instead of remaining at home. You made a mistake, aye, but: A mistake you learn from is a good mistake; it was not for naught."
Tinker Bell spread her wings to fly at Hook to shut him up. She knew if the man continued like this, Peter certainly would follow through with his threat and stay here. It was Aurora, who caught her by her ankle. The rose fairy strongly shook her head and whispered in her own bell-like language very, very quietly, "Don't. I know you fear Peter will stay, but it's his decision. If you try to persuade him not to listen to Hook, it would be a betrayal. I just heard we are guilty of keeping a little child away from its parents. If he should decide to stay with the man he has come to trust and love, then you must let him. Are you his friend or not?" Tink only nodded unhappily. The rose fairy cupped Tink's face in her hands. "Then don't think of yourself but of him."
Peter had barely heard what Aurora whispered to Tink. His thoughts were circling around what Hook had said. "I don't know if it was really a mistake, for I did end up in Neverland," he finally murmured. "But … but so many things have changed and …" He glanced up at Hook again. "And I really don't know what I want anymore."
Hook took a deep breath. "Someone once told me that life is something like a book with chapters. It sounds to me like you've reached the end of a chapter, and the beginning of the next one." He smiled crookedly. "Believe me, my boy, everyone stands at this crossroad sooner or later." He tapped the boy under his chin, then pulled him close; his eyes returning to the little island in the middle of the long lake; shuddering at the thought that a tiny baby stayed there for 'a very long time,' fed by birds …
TBC…
Well, for once no cliffhanger, but after all what happened in this chapter I think a 'cliffy' isn't necessarily. And for all who wonder about Peter's past when he was an infant / toddler: I tried to stay close to the books Barrie wrote about Peter's first years (decades) he lived in Kensington Gardens.
P. J. Hogan used Peter's traumata about his mother locking him out and singing to a new baby in Peter's place as he staged the epic battle between Peter and Hook among the riggings, and I had to refer to it. I hope, you liked it despite the sad background. And more will come soon.
A few of you may wonder why I 'made' Peter that old – that his grandniece already sold the house in Glouchester Road thirty years ago after her marriage. Well, Barrie mentions in "Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens" that he roamed the Garden's paths before he tried to go home, as the poet Percy Bhysee Shelly 'was still young'. Shelly married 1811 after he still attended Eton and had a liaison with another woman he met 1814 – a young woman who became two years later his wife after his first wife took her own life by drowning herself in Kensington Gardens' Serpentine. You ask, why I tell you this? Well, Mary Shelly was the author of 'Frankenstein'! Percy Shelly already died in 1822 by an accident in Italy. If you considerate this all, Peter must have been at Kensington Gardens when said poet was 'still young', also around 1810 / 1811. And it was a 'certain time after he came to the Gardens'. So, our little hero is at 1909 about 100 years old. An 'awful long time'.
I hope that you also liked the rest of the chapter and I would be very, very happy to get some more feedback, so please press the "review"-button and tell me what you think about everything.
In the next chapter, Peter will realize how much fun boys his age or older can have even without being in Neverland. Furthermore he meets Queen Mab again, and the talk is even for him not easy.
Now I wish you all a hopefully nice rest of the weekend,
Love
Yours Lywhn / Starflight