Chapter 2 - William

  
 Lord Bryan Ffink Pfenninger Jones was sitting in his lavishly furnished study in Belgravia, lost in thought, when his butler’s voice brought him back down to earth.

“Your nephew is here, Milord. Master William asks if you can see him.”

It was only five days before Christmas and Lord Bryan thought that probably the boy had come to wangle some money out of him, so he was tempted not to receive him. Then he reflected that William was almost seventeen. It wouldn’t be long before he came of age and then he might start wondering just why the family title and fortune had been passed on to his uncle, and not to him, when his parents died.

Lord Bryan felt pretty safe as far as that was concerned. His lawyers had made such a good job of faking all the documents that young William would have considerable difficulty proving that his inheritance had been subtracted by his uncle’s artful manoeuvres.

What Lord Bryan was more concerned about was the magnetism and charm that his nephew had inherited from his mother, who had been considered the most fascinating woman in England. William was the most popular boy at Eton where he had fortunately won a scholarship to attend, as his uncle would never have paid for the expensive fees. His classmates adored him and he was the mythical captain of the cricket team. His Lordship feared that when William’s friends, who were all sons and heirs of noble families, reached adulthood, they might rally around their old school pal. And then they could certainly become more dangerous than a legion of lawyers.

“Send him in,” he therefore told the butler.

William came in and Lord Bryan was again surprised that his nephew was surrounded by the same magical aura as his mother. It seemed, in fact, that a mysterious ray of sunshine appeared the minute William stepped through a door, drawing everyone to him.

“Hello, William! Merry Christmas,” muttered the Earl. “What brings you here? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

William’s sunny smile was almost dazzling: “Hello, uncle, I’ve come to see you because I’m worried about Betty.”

Now, if William had one failing, it was that he tended to be too trusting. Coming here to speak to his uncle about any problems that he or his sister might have, was a mistake he ought not to have made. Lord Bryan had built his empire on other people’s errors. The Earl brightened up immediately, putting on an expression of kindly interest as he went to sit beside his nephew. “Tell me, my boy. Tell me!” he growled softly.

It was a simple enough story; Betty had always been a dreamer, but now Miss Worksham had put her in the bed next to another girl, a certain Wendy Darling, who had convinced her there were spirits, elves, pirates, redskins and mermaids living on a magic island. Wendy claimed that you could only get there by flying through the air and going second to the right, and straight on till morning.

“Oh  well, young girls often believe in these kind of things,” said Lord Bryan, somewhat disappointed.

“Oh, I know that girls love fairy tales,” said William, pulling a sheaf of crumpled writing paper out of his pocket. “But the fact is that this Wendy has invited Betty for the holidays and she has promised to take her to a place called the Neverland after Christmas. They’re supposed to be flying there with a certain Peter Pan.   I’m really worried,  Uncle Bryan, ” the boy went on, “You read so many terrible stories in the papers…I’ve asked around, but nobody knows these Darlings…and as you’re Betty’s guardian….”

“What are these bits of paper?” his uncle asked, his interest aroused. It occurred to him immediately that if he could demonstrate that Betty wasn’t quite right in the head, he would be able to take her away from school and save the fees. What’s more, the child was an orphan and maybe he could put her in one of the orphanages he managed, where she could take one of his famous courses of open-air-economics.

When he found that the letter contained descriptions of the island, the story of its inhabitants and how to get there by flying through the air, plus all that other nonsense about this Peter who was supposed to come to London on the 28^th December to pick up the children, Lord Bryan – had he been Mr. Darling - would have jumped to his feet with his arms raised high and shouted “Bingo!” But Lord Bryan was an astute businessman and so he concealed his emotions. He decided he must absolutely get hold of the letter and then he would decide what to do next. He remembered that Lord Bargain, the county judge, had recently asked him for yet another favour. He hadn’t obliged him yet, because he hadn’t known what to ask in exchange. However, perhaps with this letter, he could get his friend the judge to issue an order giving him full custody of the little girl. If he had direct custody of the child, he could use her as a hostage in case William should ever become a bit too inquisitive.

“Oh,” he said, assuming a look of concern, “Give me that letter, William. I’ll find out all about these Darlings right away and let you know.”

Just at that moment, the telephone on his desk began to ring.

“Yes?” his Lordship said. William overheard an excited voice with a thick German accent on the other end of the line, saying: “It vorks, Milort! It vorks! Zi machine iss vorking wunderbar!”

“We’ll come right over!” cried Lord Bryan, leaping up from his chair. With one hand he slammed down the receiver and with the other he whipped the letter out of William’s hand.

“Mortimer! Mortimer!” Lord Bryan called his son, as he locked Betty’s letter in the drawer of his desk.

A moment later, the door opened slightly and the eel-like head of the slimy Mortimer Ffink Pfenninger Jones poked through the gap.

Mortimer slid into the room, just like the eel he resembled. He didn’t really walk. He slithered sideways. Instinctively, he never moved into the middle of a room, but he seemed rather to be drawn, in some mysterious way, to the darkest corners, as if something sucked him into the twilight zones.

The two cousins could not have been more different: William was golden-haired, cheerful and charming, while Mortimer was pallid and baleful, with shifty eyes that were half hidden under his scanty fringe of greasy black hair.

Mortimer put his head to one side and smirked at his cousin, without showing his teeth and William wondered if Mortimer actually had any teeth.

It wasn’t just a question of Mortimer’s teeth, William couldn’t help thinking to himself. The whole of him was poisonous, from his head to his toes. If a cobra bit him, it would be the cobra that died amidst atrocious sufferings. But then, William reflected further, if Mortimer ever wanted to kill somebody, he wouldn’t even need to bite them - touching them would be enough!

“Mortimer!” Lord Bryan cried excitedly. “Octopus just phoned. It seems that this time the machine really is working! We must go and see it. Get ready at once! As for you,” he said, turning to his nephew. “ Don’t worry, my dear William, I’ll take care of Betty!”

He was so pleased that, for a moment, he forgot how much he disliked his nephew. In an unusual burst of generosity he even offered him a lift to the station in his car, so that he could catch a train for Eton before nightfall.