‘Golly, well done,’ she told the housekeeper, now sweating and red-faced from her exertions. ‘Thank you so much. Though Peter really ought to have been packing his own cases.’
She turned to her nephew to find he was upside down, engaged in fishing a lost tennis ball out from under his bed.
‘Peter, apologise to Mrs Hawley for dashing off earlier when you ought to have been helping.’
The boy apologised, his voice muffled.
‘And you’re not taking that ball. Or your tennis racket. Your school doesn’t play tennis in the winter terms. Mrs Hawley has packed your rugby gear instead.’
‘I hate rugby,’ Peter mumbled, turning himself upright.
‘Only because you’ve barely played it.’ She seized the tennis ball before he could stuff it into his blazer pocket. ‘Look, I expect Mr MacGregor is a rugby man. It’s a long journey into Devon. Maybe you can talk to him about it on the way?’
‘I don’t know about that, but his car is smashing,’ Peter burst out, his face lighting up. ‘Do you think he’ll let me drive it one day?’
Mrs Hawley gave a shriek. ‘You? Drive a car?’ She shook her head. ‘You’d never reach the pedals, Master Peter. Especially not in a big beast like that.’
‘I might,’ he told her, looking sullen again.
‘Peter, would you give me a hand taking these cases down to the car?’ Selina asked diplomatically, picking up a bag of plimsolls and rugby boots. ‘I expect Mrs Hawley can ask Mr Underhill to carry the trunk downstairs for us. But then you must say your goodbyes to your sisters. We’ll be leaving within the hour. You won’t be back until Christmas, remember.’
Dutifully, Peter took a case in each hand. But his smile had faded at this reminder, the sparkle gone from his eyes. ‘Must I go away to boarding school, Aunt Selly?’ he pleaded, not for the first time. ‘Must I really?’
Selina bit her lip, overwhelmed by guilt at his forlorn expression. She hated parting him from his family like this but was unsure what to do.
This was what Bella had wanted for her son, after all, for Peter to get a good education at a fee-paying school and then gain a place at university, just like his father Sebastian. She was only following her late sister’s instructions in sending him away. But it broke her heart to hear that despairing note in his voice.
‘Oh, Peter,’ she groaned. ‘I know you’re going to miss everyone madly. But you’ll make so many new friends at school. You’ll have forgotten all about us by this time next week, I promise.’
Deep down, however, Selina suspected the poor boy would be homesick for a good while longer than that. Peter was a sensitive soul, and she was fiercely glad that he’d been just a child during the war and couldn’t be drafted to fight. Being forced to kill or be killed, and to witness the atrocities of war, would have destroyed the sweet, loving child she sensed behind her nephew’s boyish bravado.
Boarding school, however, was a rite of passage for young men of his class, and one she could not in all conscience deny him. Not when her late sister had so particularly stressed her wishes for Peter’s future.
There was much sobbing and hugging when the time came for the siblings to part. Jemima’s lip trembled, and a tear rolled down her cheek as she embraced her older brother on the steps to Thornton Hall. ‘Have a good time at school,’ she told him, her voice shaking. ‘You … You must write to us. If you don’t, I’ll be ever so cross. And we shall write too, every day.’
‘You’ll make me look ridiculous if you do that,’ Peter muttered, but hugged her back. ‘One letter a week is enough.’He bent to kiss his baby sister on the cheek. ‘Jemmy will look after you while I’m gone, Faith. Be a good girl, won’t you?’
Faith clung to him, sobbing her heart out, wordless.
Pulling on her gloves, Selina stood watching this touching farewell with an unhappy heart. She wished again that it wasn’t necessary. But what could she do?
Thankfully, Mrs Hawley swept Faith into her arms, drying the little girl’s tears and saying comfortably, ‘There, there … Master Peter will be back with us come Christmastime. And we’ll have fun and games until then. You can help me with cooking, and Jemima will take lessons with Mr Harrington. Besides, you’ve letters to learn, young miss, if you want to write a letter to Master Peter yourself.’
Faith looked much happier at this suggestion. ‘Yes, yes!’
‘We really should go,’ William MacGregor told Selina discreetly, opening the passenger door for her. ‘We need to get to Devon and back, and I’d much rather not be driving home in the dark. Not over the moors.’
‘Come along, Peter,’ Selina told her nephew, and guided him gently to the car. Behind her, the groundsman came out with the heavy school trunk. ‘Yes please, in the boot, Mr Underhill. That’s very good of you.’ Turning to the two girls, she told them, ‘Be good for Mrs Hawley,’ and gave them both a quick hug. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back this evening.’
Once they had driven away, Peter waving forlornly out of the back window to his sisters, the boy’s mood improved. He spent the first hour of their drive exclaiming over the ‘spiffing’ interior of the Wolseley, which he declared to be his ‘favourite car in all the world’. He found a secret cubbyhole beside his seat where he could hide his sweets,and later peered over William’s shoulder, asking curiously about the instruments on the dashboard, and how the Super Six engine worked. Selina was relieved that he seemed more cheerful now he was finally on his way to school. Maybe, she thought warily, everything would be fine. But then she caught a sad, wistful look in the boy’s eyes as he glanced out at the rolling, sunlit moors, and guessed that he was merely putting on a brave face.
Peter’s private school was not as grand as she’d expected, but William assured her it had a solid academic reputation and was worth its hefty fees. There were boys playing rugby on the school fields as they pulled up the long drive, and the few teachers they saw in the entrance courtyard seemed friendly enough, touching their tasselled caps to her before hurrying on.
Meeting the headmaster in his study, they shook hands and sat to wait while he spoke with Peter about joining the school and asked a few questions about his previous schooling. Mr Beeton was a smiling, rotund little man with an unfortunate moustache. But his friendliness seemed genuine enough. ‘Trust me, your nephew will soon be perfectly at home here,’ he told her, with such an air of authority and confidence that her fears were put to rest.
Finally, the time came for them to say goodbye.
Peter was pale and tight-lipped, but gave an abrupt nod, refusing to hug her. ‘I’ll write next week and let you know how I’m getting along, Aunt Selly,’ he muttered, adding with stilted formality, ‘Thank you for driving me here, Mr MacGregor.’
