Stunned, Selina glanced at her watch. Leaving now would mean driving back across the moors in the dark, something she had never done before, and in a new car too.
‘I’d rather come tomorrow.’
‘You should make the effort to come today. Peter is not popular with his fellow pupils at the moment, let me put it like that.’
‘Good God.’ Selina swallowed. ‘In that case, I’ll come at once. Will you see that his trunk and cases are packed for when I arrive?’
‘Of course. Thank you, Miss Tiptree.’
And the line went dead.
There was snow on the high moors, but thankfully a number of cars had already passed that way, and Selina was able to steer along the tracks left by their tyres. Come nightfall, however, the road was likely to freeze over and become a skating rink. But with fuel still being strictly rationed, she had to be cautious with the number of miles she drove.
It was already dusk by the time she reached the imposing, iron-wrought gates to the school.
The headmaster must have been anxious for her to arrive. He came out onto the steps to welcome her, with Peter beside him. Mr Beeton came forward, hand outstretched. ‘I was beginning to worry … Good of you to come at such short notice, Miss Tiptree. I’ll have our porter load the boy’s trunk into the car while we talk inside.’
‘Peter? Are you all right?’ She put a hand on her nephew’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off, looking away, his face pale and stubborn.
Not knowing what to think, she followed Mr Beeton to his office, Peter trailing behind.
She was too nervous and upset to accept his offer of tea, so Mr Beeton launched straight into his explanation instead. ‘I didn’t want to say anything on the phone that would upset you. But I’m afraid Peter’s transgressions are very serious indeed. In fact, I was in half a mind to summon the police.’
Selina jumped to her feet in alarm.‘The police?’ Her horrified gaze shot to Peter’s face. ‘What on earth have you done?’
When there was no reply to this, the headmaster cleared his throat. ‘He attempted to set fire to the sports pavilion.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Her heart was hammering and she felt breathless. ‘Good God, Peter … Whatever am I to do with you?’
‘Please, Miss Tiptree, try to stay calm,’ Mr Beeton said. ‘There’s no need for you to do anything. Peter has already been punished.’
She sank back onto the seat, feeling as though she were in a nightmare. ‘P-Punished?’
‘I was given the cane,’ Peter muttered, staring at the floor.
Her sense of shock disappeared, replaced by fury. ‘But how barbarous … Youbeathim?’ she gasped. ‘Why on earth was that considered necessary, Headmaster?’
Mr Beeton raised his brows. ‘Miss Tiptree, attempted arson is not the kind of behaviour we expect of our pupils. You should be grateful we didn’t involve the authorities. Your nephew could have caused a great deal of damage to school property, and even endangered the lives of everyone here.’
Selina wrung her hands, not sure what to do. ‘Peter? Youdidn’t seriously try to burn down the sports pavilion, did you?’
She hoped he would deny it. But Peter gave a brusque nod.
‘Yes, I did,’ he agreed, still not meeting her eyes. ‘So you’d better take me home.’
She searched his face. ‘Youwantto be expelled?’
But the headmaster interrupted this line of questioning, getting to his feet. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best. Peter has been given every chance to fit in with the other pupils here, but he’s made enemies rather than friends, and more than once been involved in a brawl. Believe me, Miss Tiptree, he’s caused nothing but trouble since he came to us. He’s been caned, given detentions and lines, and been spoken to on numerous occasions. None of it has had any impact.’
Selina glared at the headmaster with cold fury. ‘If you think punishing a boy with caning and extra work, or a good talking-to, are policies that will ever prosper with a boy who’s clearly homesick and grieving for his late mother, then you are a fool, Mr Beeton, and have no business running a school.’ She took Peter’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. ‘Goodbye, Headmaster. We can see ourselves out.’
And she swept from the room, keeping Peter tight by her side.
It wasn’t until they were almost ten miles down the road that she finally found her voice. ‘Why did you try to set fire to the sports pavilion?’ she queried. ‘And please don’t tell me it was a prank gone wrong, for I won’t believe it.’
When Peter said nothing, she risked taking her eyes off the road to glance at him. That was when she realised that the boy was crying.
‘Oh, Peter!’ Hurriedly, she pulled onto the verge. ‘Come here.’ She gave him a hug, and felt him shudder into sobs. ‘Poor boy … I’ve let you down badly. None of this would have happened if I’d kept you at Thornton Hall with your sisters. But your mother was so insistent that you should get a good education. And you’ve been to boarding school before and seemed to enjoy yourself. What went wrong?’
