Shades of Neverland (12 page)

In light of such gladsome tidings, I hope I am not amiss in including another bit of news from London’s society pages. Perhaps now that you have found your own joy, it will give you the closure you so desperately need.

I remain as always, you loving brother.

Griffin.

Despite the fire, Peter shivered. His stomach churned unpleasantly and he could not seem to find his breath. In the corner of his eye, he noticed that D.W. had returned but remained prudently in the doorway. With growing dread he picked up the two newspaper clipping that had accompanied Griffin’s tidings. Willing his eyes to focus, he scanned the first one. It was a recent account of his engagement to Lily published in the London Herald.
Damn!
It had never occurred to him this bit of folly would be noteworthy enough to become news back home.

Cursing under his breath he hastily examined the other paper. It was another engagement notice. This one however, announced the upcoming nuptials of one James Christopher
Whitby
III to one Wendy Moira Angela Darling.

The words, in black and white print, seemed to have no initial effect on him. In a stupor, he stood with the intent of finding more scotch. Peter had taken a mere handful of steps before his heart pitched sharply against his chest and he doubled over uttering a hollow groan.

“Let me help you, lad.”

Peter heard D.W. coming to his assistance, felt the good man reach out to support his arm but found himself impervious to his host’s kindness. Through clenched teeth, he spoke. “I’m all right!”

“But, my lad, you’re in pain.”

He shook out of the man’s fatherly grasp. “It isn’t that kind of pain,” Peter replied darkly. His strength failed him and he sunk to his knees, while the two announcements mingled in his brain. Scanning the clippings for confirmation, he marked that Wendy’s notice was exactly one week after his own appeared. Was the timing a coincidence? He didn’t dare think otherwise – that his notice would have in any way influenced Wendy’s decision.
Impossible!

And yet deep inside, the innocent part of Peter—that part which refused to grow up and harden into a man—pleaded with him for adherence. First a quiet whisper, growing louder and more sure, then into a deafening roar, a cacophony.

‘Tis
true
, the childish voice inside him cried,
she was driven to such measures by you Peter!
He shook his head to clear it, but the voice would not be silenced.
‘Tis
true Peter. By you…

Abruptly Peter straightened, his purpose startlingly clear before him. He laid an apologetic hand on D.W. Griffith’s arm. “I’m sorry, Sir. I must away.”

“Of course,” nodded the other sympathetically. “I dare say things will seem better tomorrow.”

“I shan’t be here on the ‘morrow.” Peter said the last over his shoulder, as he was striding toward the door.

Comprehension must have sunk in because D.W. called after him in alarm, “Just where are you going, lad?”

“Home,” Peter said surely, “To reclaim my heart.”

The following night as Peter slept in his drawing room aboard a train bound for New York, he dreamt of his return home.
Impatient, he had forsaken modern modes of travel and simply flown the distance. Up ahead was London, deep in slumber and lit by a backdrop of twinkling stars. And look, there was Wendy’s street! Although he had been away for moons and moons and moons he knew she would always keep the window open for him.

Look, up ahead—No. 14, and there, Wendy’s window; but as he came upon the house, the window was barred. Wendy had forgotten about him and another pale head was in her bed, sleeping aside her where Peter ought to have been.

His agony was exquisite as he grasped the bars, staring at the scene within. Peter realized then that he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be forever barred.

CHAPTER 13

Wendy Grows Up

Something as dark as night had come into Wendy’s life…

Though it was a glorious sun-drenched morning, and she was soaking in a hot bath, Wendy could not rid herself of the chill that crept up her spine. Distractedly she watched ripples work their way across the water’s surface like little shivers. Her recent dreams, almost always centering on the ocean or a ship, were increasing in violence and incomprehension. There were men, a most villainous-looking lot of pirates, intent on doing her harm. Without benefit of words, she felt their black intensions.

Their dreadful song still echoed in her ears.

Yo
ho,
yo
ho, the frisky plank,

You walks along it so,

Till it goes down and you goes down

To Davy Jones below!

She oft dreamt of pirates in her life, but lately there was none of the thrilling adventure and thrice the terror. Her dread of them, both asleep and awake, was suffocating. These were no ordinary dreams, but nightmares that clung to her person upon waking like a putrid sludge. Each night upon closing her eyes their malice drew closer and Wendy prayed for the return of one person who could save her from their horrible fate. But Peter remained heartlessly absent. Leaving her at their awful mercy, alone and utterly unprotected.

Running her hands across her temples, Wendy sought to push the dreams out of her head. She ascribed them to being a newly engaged woman. It was normal to have doubts before the wedding, even of the most fatalistic kind. Both her mother and Aunt Mildred had judiciously told her so, although how her spinster Aunt would know about such things was beyond Wendy’s comprehension.

Ringing for old Liza, Wendy began to dress for the engagement dinner her future in-laws were hosting in hers and James’s honor. It was of great relief that Viscount
Withington
and Maimie were on the guest list. How Wendy had missed her dear friend these past months. Maimie’s pregnancy confinement had taken its toll on the both of them. Now that she had delivered the Viscount a healthy heir, she was again free, and the Viscount again neglectfully aloof.

Maimie had taken well to motherhood. Of course, it was easy to mother when you had someone else to bathe, feed and change your bundle of joy. Still at times Wendy couldn’t help but wonder if her friend’s glow was as much motherhood as the fact that since achieving progeny the Viscount had taken to a separate bedchamber.

Wendy was still young and inexperienced enough in the ways of the world to feel sure that her marriage would be different. Not a marriage of convenience, but one of partnership and a shared bed, no matter how many offspring were produced. To wish for a marriage based in passionate love might be overreaching—she was no longer that foolishly young—but mutual fondness and genuine caring seemed a goodly lot to achieve in such a callous world.

The
Whitby’s
lived on Park Lane, in a modern edifice of stone and glass just round the corner from
Apsley
House. They were one of those grand families that everyone generally admired but no one thought particularly much of. They were pleasant, if bland, and accepting, within certain circles. Already they had embraced Wendy as a most-beloved daughter, although the type of daughter they thought her to be remained most unclear.

As the car pulled into the pristine half-moon drive and James stood gravely by, waiting, Wendy was grateful that she had the foresight to send her family on ahead. During their last outing James had intimated he wanted to speak to her alone, although what he could possibly need to say that could not be discussed in front of their friends, Wendy could scarcely imagine.

Agreeing to a turn in the garden, they walked in silence for some moments before James got to the point of his request. “Miss Darling—”

“James, we are to be married soon. At some point you must learn to use my Christian name.” Her eyes twinkled in amusement at her betrothed’s obvious discomfort. “Wendy.”

“Right,” James drew in a deep breath before starting again with chagrin. “Miss—her—I mean, Wendy. I may not be a shrewd man, but I am not so dense as to fail to notice that I care a great deal more for you than you do for me.”

The statement, although apt, offended Wendy deeply. It was the kind of truth that, if overheard, would make others think poorly of the both of them. “Nonsense James—”

Cutting off her protestations with an upturned hand, James continued. “I am not a fool, Wendy. I realize you do not love me. And I know that you are feeling pressured as much as I to enter into a favorable match. The difference between our situations is that I genuinely feel for you and I had hoped with time you would care the same way about me.”

Hearing her private thoughts spoken so sensibly from James caused Wendy’s cheeks to burn with humiliation. Unable to form words of protest, she stared at him open mouthed. Even if she had known what to say to negate him, would she dare indulge in such bold-face lies?

Pacing away from Wendy, James directed his wistfulness at a small tree erupting with tiny pink buds. “You see, I want a proper home… and children, and laughter… I can live without love, if you can give me those things. If you can respect me and learn to care for me, I will be content. But if I am asking too much, or if you have committed your heart elsewhere, then I release you.”

Wendy started to attest that she had accepted his engagement and was therefore committed to him, when he annoyingly cut her off again. “Do not speak now and please know that I will not think ill of you, no matter what you choose. If you are ready to embrace a life with me then come to the house to celebrate. If you are not able to do as I ask… then go from this place with my blessing and my most fervent wish for a long and happy life.”

Watching James’s retreating form, Wendy took a strange pride in his resolute carriage which conveyed both sides of his firm yet gentle nature. He would make a great husband—for some lucky woman—but… was that woman to be her?

James, as usual, was the voice of all things logical. For a family and the blessings of motherhood, one could forsake passion. It was a wise, practical and very grown-up decision. Isn’t that what her own mother and Maimie—indeed most women—did?

Taking a deep breath, she knew she had mere minutes to decide the matter before her mother, or worse Aunt Mildred, came in search of her. How James had guessed at her otherwise engaged affections she could not tell, but he had released her to follow her heart. Had she not already tried that with disastrous results, she might be sorely tempted now. However the debacle of trying to catch Peter’s ship had put her in bed for weeks with heartbreak. And while Maimie would still urge her to follow a certain actor to America, she was not hearty enough to leave everything behind on a whim and the vague hope of requited love.
 

No, when in came to impetuousness, Wendy was weak. But she was loyal and true and when she loved, she loved with her whole heart. It occurred to her then that her fault was not a lack of bravery to act, but that she loved so in the first place. It was such a delightfully mature thought that when something deep inside of her rebelled obstinately at the folly of her logic, Wendy refused to pay any heed.

Noise, the rustling of skirts coming down the garden walk caused her to steel herself. But instead of Aunt Mildred’s severe glare, it was her dearest friend’s compassionate face that came presently into view.

“There you are dearest.” Maimie said, her delight at encountering her friend lighting up her pretty features. “Your Aunt Mildred is in quite rare form. From the way she’s carrying on to the
Whitbys
you’d think she was to marry James instead of you.”

Wendy had never been as happy in her whole life to see her sympathetic, true friend. When Maimie had rounded the bend, the relief that coursed through Wendy’s body had been instantaneous and all-encompassing. Not only would she have a few more minutes to make the most important decision of her life, but she now had near her the one person whose very presence was a comfort to her soul. Although Maimie had made her thoughts and feelings on Peter Neverland quite clear, she’d said very little of late about Wendy’s intended.

“Maimie,” Wendy began uncertainly, “You do
like
James, do you not?”

“Of course.” Maimie’s smile was genuine, without malice or mockery.

“And have you always liked him or… have you learned to like him, since we… I mean, since I…”

…settled for him?”

Bristling at having the truth spoken so bluntly for the second time in the same hour, she protested, “I have not settled!”

“You have—and it’s fine, Dearest. I liked James before all that. Just so happens that I liked someone else for you better.”

“Why?” Wendy looked down at the gray, pebble-strewn path, afraid if she met Maimie’s astute gaze the girl would read her too clearly. “I mean, why Peter?”

“Because you’re in love with him. You have been, from the moment you laid eyes on him, and I am convinced you always shall be.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve never been in love myself, but I’ve seen it. On stage and in real life. When you have a marriage such as mine, it is impossible not to recognize the genuine thing when it crosses your path. The kind of love that makes one do the most foolish and nonsensical things—like chasing ships and crossing oceans. The kind of love that makes one’s heart take wing to defy the laws of nature and man.” Maimie paused and Wendy made the mistake of looking up into her friend’s impassioned face. “The kind of love you hold for Peter.”

“But,” Wendy argued, “if that love, no matter how strong, is completely one sided, is it not in fact, something else altogether? Something unhealthy?”

Maimie dismissed her reasoning with a small huff. “Until you hear Peter’s feeling from his own mouth, I would not deign to make such presumptions. There’s still time to follow him to—”

“No.” Shaking her head back and forth, Wendy tried to dispel the odious memory of her frantic behavior on the jetty as Peter’s ship had sailed away. Never before or hence had she felt so helpless or alone. With James she had certainly never experienced the relentless myriad of unsettling emotions that every encounter or thought of Peter seemed to produce. In fact, with James she felt quite the opposite, secure and stable—no amazing highs but more importantly no devastating lows.

Suddenly, Wendy realized her choice was already made. “No,” she repeated, “My family and my life are here. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be reasonably content with James. And above all, I have you. Will you help me?”

 
Despite the tears shining like jewels in her eyes, Maimie nodded. “Anything, Dearest.”

“Help me to pretend that Peter never existed and that James is my first choice.”

“If that’s truly what you want—”

“It is.”

“Then yes.” The girl linked her arm through Wendy’s in a display of sisterly camaraderie.
 
“We shall both delude ourselves to be madly in love, together.”

As they walked toward the
Whitby
house arm in arm, Wendy couldn’t help feeling she had navigated a fork in the road and, after committing to a direction, had once again chosen the safe, sensible path.

No, she was not strong like Maimie but Wendy could be strong in her own way. She would embrace that which life had offered to her, companionship and mutual caring. And above all friendship. And despite today signifying the end of her girlhood dreams, Wendy was strong enough to accept her life-to-be as Mrs. James Christopher
Whitby
III with a measure of gladness.

Shoulders back, head high, Wendy resolutely followed the winding path that would lead her out of the garden of temptations into her chosen life. As she walked she smiled in earnest, feeling for the first time like a woman in control of her own destiny.

 
A fortnight after leaving Hollywood behind, Peter stood on the deck of the mighty sea vessel the Lusitania, contemplating the darkness. Since the debacle in the dining room the first night aboard ship of trying to make polite conversation amidst his total distraction, Peter had shunned the other passengers, preferring instead to take his meals in his rooms.