“Is something the matter?” she asked when she came to stand beside Peter’s chair.
He shrugged. “Not really.”
Mary pondered the page she’d given him. It was blank as usual, as if he hadn't even tried. But it couldn't be because he found it too hard for she'd seen him correct one of Eliot's sums once when he hadn't thought she was paying attention.
“Is it too easy for you?”
He tapped his pencil aimlessly on the table. “I just don't see the point.”
“But...” He started to rise while Mary tried to think of something useful to say. “The more you know, the better your prospects will be later in life.”
He seemed to consider this with a soulful expression far too serious for someone so young. And then he asked, “Will it bring my parents back?”
Mary almost choked on the unexpected rush of emotion that tightened her throat. What could she possibly say when her own heart was breaking.
Peter nodded as if her silence said more than words ever could and quietly left the room.
It took a second for Mary to move, to go after the boy with the instinct to offer him comfort. “Can you please keep an eye on the children?” she asked Cassandra and Emily as she popped into the kitchen. The two friends were already putting the clean dishes away. “I have to check on Peter.”
“Everything all right?” Emily asked.
Mary wasn't entirely sure. The haunted look in his eyes concerned her. “I hope so,” she said and rushed out into the garden. But Peter wasn't there, which meant he must still be inside. Except he wasn't. She searched every room along with the attic, even though the door to the stairs was locked.
Irrational dread began to set in after almost an hour went by and he still wasn't found. Cassandra helped Mary look while Emily distracted the rest of the children with stories.
“I don't understand,” Mary said. She’d gone back outside, hoping to spot him. He had to be here somewhere, surely.
“We should check beyond the garden,” Cassandra said.
“But he knows not to leave it. All the children do.” Mary spun around, unsure of which direction to turn. Her heart was racing too fast. She'd sensed something was wrong, and she'd just stood there while he'd walked away. If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself.
“He's here,” Emily's voice calling from the house released the pressure inside Mary's chest. “Mr. Crawford found him on his way back from the village.”
Mary laughed with relief as Cassandra embraced her. “Thank God!”
Together they walked back, entering through the kitchen where Peter was sitting with a biscuit in one hand and a glass of milk in the other.
Mary frowned. The worry and dread she'd experienced transformed into anger. She moved forward, intent on demanding an explanation, but Mr. Crawford stepped into her path, blocking the way.
“I would advise against that, Miss Clemens.” He acknowledged Cassandra with a nod. “My lady.”
Bristling, Mary raised her chin. How dare he interfere? “Please step aside, sir.” Her voice was strained with emotion, her body quivering with agitation.
Mr. Crawford remained precisely where he was. Removing his attention from Mary, he addressed Cassandra, which only irked Mary all the more. Did her request not matter? “Perhaps we ought to discuss this outside.” He gestured toward the door, and to Mary’s dismay, Cassandra urged her toward it. “The lad has had a trying couple of hours,” Mr. Crawford added once they were outside and Peter was well out of earshot.
Mary snorted. “Hehas had a trying couple of hours?” Good grief, she’d been beside herself imagining the worst and here he now was, drinking milk and eating biscuits after enjoying a pleasant little walk.
“I don’t think railing at him will help at the moment,” Mr. Crawford continued. He was still speaking to Cassandra and ignoring Mary completely. Perhaps if she stomped on his foot he’d take notice? “Indeed, I fear it will only push him away even more, which I believe is the opposite of what you hope to achieve.”
“Yes,” Cassandra said. She sounded pensive. “The most important thing is that he is safe. We can have a word with him later. In an unruffled fashion,” she directed a firm look at Mary. “He’s more likely to offer an explanation for his behavior if he doesn’t feel cornered.”
“Cassandra,” Mary tried. “Don’t you think we should—”
“I know he frightened you,” Cassandra said. “I feared for his safety too, but Mr. Crawford is right. Confronting Peter in anger will likely make matters worse. We need to calm ourselves and steady our minds before we speak with him.” She turned to Mr. Crawford. “Did you find the supplies you were seeking?”
Stunned by the sudden change in conversation, Mary retreated a step.
“Yes. I’m expecting a delivery of oak planking and slate tiles later today. In the meantime, I’ll start preparing the areas I plan to work on this afternoon and…”
