Return to Langley Park
Part 1
He thumbed the pages, taking great care to not crease or tear them. The yellowing parchment felt crisp and alert in his hands. So focussed on what he had been handed, Peter hadn't noticed his knee shuddering, or his sharp, shallow breath. Coming to rest on a section of scrawled, hurried writing, his right hand swept across his temple, the nails leaving pressured imprints on his forehead, quickly disappearing into his heavily furrowed brow. Inky fingertips stained from the article he had been printing moments before Master Bennington appeared in his doorway and summoned him to hear the will being read. The letters spiked and slashed across each page, purposeful, barely legible, but he had made out his name. And the wishes of the recently deceased bestowed upon him.
