She spied a flickering light at the top of the front mast. In the crow's nest, some studious pirate read by lantern light. Gwen took care to move slowly and evade his attention as well. She crept toward the back of the deck, along the cabin wall. When she rounded the corner, she noticed a faint light seeping out from underneath a door on the side. The light suggested someone inside and awake. She froze, half-convinced a rummy pirate would stumble out into the night and find her. The petrifaction passed, and she moved closer to the door.
She heard music, but it played too quietly for her to tell what style. In bright, blood-red letters, an elaborate cursive script labeled the door G.M.S., which she assumed was Starkey's monogram. Gathering her courage, Gwen knocked, her nervous fist stuttering at the door.
With casual ease, Starkey called in response, “Come in.”
Chapter 10
No less apprehensive now that she was invited in, Gwen pushed the door open and then closed it behind her. Starkey, expecting one of his crew, did not look up. He sat with his feet on his desk and his attention on several parchment papers—old maps and archaic documents—while he gnawed on a lump of sourdough bread.
Candles hung on the walls, dripping wax onto their mounted holders and casting a warm light onto everything. An ancient gramophone filled the room with mellow chamber music. A massive Persian rug carpeted the floor, and Starkey sat at a noble desk, his dinner sitting beside an outdated globe and the same stained glass lamp he'd always kept on his desk at school. Too tongue-tied to say anything, Gwen stood at the entrance to his quarters, waiting for acknowledgement.
Eventually, Starkey looked up. His eyes went wide and he set his fountain pen back in its golden stand. He took his feet off his desk and straightened in his plush leather seat. “Well hello, Miss Hoffman,” he greeted her, his curiosity and surprise melding in a happy expression. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Good evening, Mr. Starkey,” she replied. “I was wondering if you might have a moment to talk.”
“Always, Gwendolyn,” he said, his cheer and demeanor as agreeable as Gwen remembered from her time in his class. “Come, have a seat.”
She walked over, the Persian rug feeling like cashmere against her cold, almost numb feet. As she sat down in a chair opposite Starkey, he offered, “Can I get you something to eat? Would you like a glass of wine?”
Seized by this spirit of hospitality, he grabbed the wine bottle and a second glass before she could object, “Mr. Starkey, you know I'm a minor.”
He cast her a questioning look, but saw she was serious. “I suppose if you were the drinking sort, you wouldn't have ended up in Neverland, hm?” Pouring half an inch of wine into the glass, he set it in front of Gwen. “Regardless, a small celebration is in order. You did some clever thinking this morning to manipulate everyone into our deal.”
The compliment struck her like an accusation. She hadn't thought of it as manipulation. She didn't manipulate her friends. She had just done what she always did in Neverland: she had spun the story to make it amenable to everyone. Peter, especially, made it a point of pride to never listen to reason or let anyone else have their way. She had learned early on that if she needed anything from Peter, she had to convince him it was his idea… Was that manipulation?
Her face must have betrayed how this thought troubled her, because Starkey told her, “You must understand I say that with the utmost respect—you did a very good thing in very clever way. A shrewd mind is one of the best virtues a soul can have.”
“Maybe for pirates.”
“And the girls who sneak out to meet with them,” Starkey added. He sat back and kept his eyes on Gwen as he remarked, “I can't imagine Peter knows you're here right now.”
“Um, no,” she answered. There were quite a few things Peter didn't know about her, she realized. Fidgeting, she put her hands on her wine glass and let her fingers run over the carved surface of the crystal.
Starkey picked up his glass. “To smart deals and victories to come,” he proposed, but Gwen didn't lift her glass for the toast. Instead, Starkey pulled back and told her, “I hope you know this puts things right between us. I have to admit, I was fairly furious with you after Twill disappeared. I appreciate you facilitating his return.”
Starkey didn't look at her as he spoke, so Gwen followed his eyes to the lush and velvety bed built into the wall of the cabin. Not even stirring under the heavy covers, Twill looked like a tiny rag doll tucked into the bed. He slept, peaceful and oblivious to the waking world. He stayed in the sound hold of sleep, despite the light, music, and conversation of the cabin. If not for Piper's song, he might never have woken up in the middle of the night and chanced to meet with Peter Pan. Gwen wondered if that was somehow another intentional precaution of his father's.
“What does his mother think of all this?” she asked.
Starkey gave a sad smile. “She died two years back now. Cancer.”
“Oh. But she must have been young…?”
“Lymphomas often develops in the twenties.”
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded, acknowledging her sympathy. “Of course, in time, I shall tell Twill that Peter Pan killed his mother. If he's not a full-blooded pirate by then, that should seal the deal.”
That, Gwen thought, is manipulative. But what right did she have to contest the parenting choices of a pirate? She imagined if the end goal for a child was a fearless, sea-faring, life of crime, different parental strategies were required than in the simple suburbs.
Gwen flicked her finger against the bowl of her wine glass and listened to
