The next morning, Wendy found herself sitting on a stool in the centre of the bookshop. She watched as all twenty of the children filed into the shop, wrapped in numerous layers to protect them against the bitter cold. They shrugged out of their coats and tugged on their mismatched gloves before taking a seat on the floor in front of her.
'Good afternoon,' said Wendy, addressing the twenty eager faces looking up at her. She felt a fluttering sensation in her stomach as she spoke and her hands trembled so much that she almost spilled the cup of tea that Mrs Heavey handed to her. 'My name's Wendy and,' she swallowed nervously, 'I'm going to be your story-teller.'
Her words were met with silence and their attention was suddenly diverted by the tray of biscuits and glasses of milk that Mrs Heavey passed round the room. Once each had been given a glass of milk and a biscuit – or, in some cases, two – Wendy spoke again, clearing her throat loudly.
'So...what kind of story would you all like to hear?'
They glanced at her mutely and Wendy felt her cheeks grow hot.
'Well, would you like to hear a fairy-tale?'
The boys wrinkled their noses in disgust and Wendy smiled.
'Perhaps, a lovely, romantic story?' she asked mischievously.
'Bleh, no!' they cried in response, shaking their heads.
'A scary story!' one boy exclaimed eagerly, spraying crumbs over the floor.
'No – not a scary one,' countered one of the girls as she nibbled on a biscuit. 'Tell us one about princes and princesses!'
'Tell us one about dragons!'
'An adventure!'
'Oh, yes! Adventure!'
'Well...can it be a scary adventure?'
Wendy felt her nerves dissipate as the children erupted into excited chatter. The sound reminded her uncannily of a group of children she had once met a very long time ago.
'Adventure, it is then,' she conceded with an indulgent smile. 'And I think I have just the one in mind.'
For several hours, Wendy had their complete and undivided attention as she told them of the island of Neverland, describing Skull Rock in minute detail to appease Henry's demands for a scary tale. Isla, who had requested a princess story, squealed in delight at Wendy's depiction of Mermaid Lagoon.
'Mermaids are much better than princesses,' she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
'Are there any dragons in Neverland, Wendy?' asked one of the boys named Gordon as he stared at her hopefully.
'No dragons, unfortunately, but there is a creature far more dangerous and terrifying than any dragon,' she said in a low voice. 'An enormous crocodile with pointed teeth and beady yellow eyes, who swims in constant search of his enemy. A most vile man who we have yet to meet. The only thing that stops this dangerous predator from devouring every, single creature on the island is the tick-tock, tick-tock sound that signals the crocodile's approach, giving his victims time to flee.'
Gordon seemed thoroughly satisfied with the alternative reptilian and Wendy continued to describe the vicious creature.
Before long, the carers returned to take the children back to the orphanage and Wendy could not help but smile at the despondent groans of the children for it indicated that they had enjoyed her story as much as she had enjoyed telling it.
'Will we hear another story about Neverland next time, Wendy?' asked Henry as he wrapped his scarf around his head like a pirate bandana. 'I want to hear more about the Jolly Roger! And the pirates!'
'Of course,' replied Wendy with a smile as she helped Isla into her coat. 'We've only just begun!'
'What about the crocodile? Is there more about him?'
'Naturally.'
'Does he have a name?' asked Gordon eagerly.
'Not that I have heard...But, perhaps, you could think of one for him?'
Gordon's mouth split into a huge smile.
She watched on fondly as they left in single file, waving cheerily as they departed.
'You did brilliantly, Wendy!' exclaimed Mrs Heavey, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'You've made them so happy...And they don't have much to rejoice over, poor little darlings.'
'Thank you so much for giving me this position, Mrs Heavey,' said Wendy, turning to the old woman and clasping her hand. 'It means so much.'
Wendy glowed as she left the bookshop. Attending Mr Herd's dinner party, which was due to take place in a fortnight's time, was a small price to pay in exchange for two days a week of story-telling and freedom from her daily routine of cleaning, mending and cooking. So lost in her musings and happy reflections, Wendy did not look when turning the corner of the busy street and collided with the person in front.
'Oh! I'm so sorry. Do forgive me,' apologised Wendy as she took a step back. 'I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you al –?'
Her mouth dropped as her eyes flickered upwards to meet those of the stranger. They were almond-shaped and dark in colour, but revealed no sign of recognition even as Wendy gaped at her.
'Sorry,' replied the stranger in a foreign, almost guttural tone, before hurrying past her without a backwards glance.
Shock rooted her to the spot. Although oblivious to the obstruction she had created in the middle of the pavement, Wendy did not fail to note the details of the girl who had darted past her. Her hair was long and dark, almost black, and tied at the nape of her neck with a simple band. Her complexion was dark and smooth. Her dress was plain yet not so unusual as to attract attention from passers-by. But it differed enormously from that which she had worn in Neverland.
Even without her pigtails and stripes of paint across her cheeks, Tiger Lily was not completely unrecognisable.
Wendy arrived home at the same time as her brothers, who were keen to hear how she had fared.
'Did you tell them about Neverland, Wendy?' asked John in a hushed voice as they entered the house. They were cautious of mentioning Neverland too loudly lest their mother or father overhear, which would, undoubtedly, result in a replication of the argument that had taken place several weeks ago at breakfast.
'I did,' she replied as she opened the door. 'They wanted to know all about the pirates, the mermaids and the crocodile.'
'Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...' Michael imitated the sound of the noisy reptile. Wendy was suddenly reminded that she had yet to tell her brothers about Peter's visit as well as the strange happenings in their very own town.
'There's something I need to tell you both...' she began in a whisper. 'Quite a lot, actually, I had a visit from –'
Wendy fell silent as Nana bounded along the hall and butted her head against their ankles, which was her way of reminding the children to take off their shoes before entering the house.
'What is it, Wendy?' asked John.
'Not now,' she whispered in response as she slipped her feet out of her shoes.
'John? Michael? Is that you?' called Mrs Darling from the living room.
'I'm here, too, Mother,' called Wendy.
Wendy's fingers scrabbled under her chin as she untied the ribbon that fixed her hat to her head.
'How did you get on? Come here and tell me all about it!'
The trio exchanged a look before the boys were chased by Nana into their bedrooms to change out of their school-wear.
'I'll be there in a moment,' replied Wendy distractedly as she shrugged out of her jacket and placed it on the peg.
Her forehead felt warm beneath her palm despite the icy gale outside. It was not surprising that Tiger Lily did not remember her. Peter's expression on the night he had visited her had shown her how much she had changed. If he hardly recognised her, there was little chance that Tiger Lily would.
'What were they like? The children, I mean. Were they well-behaved?' asked her mother eagerly as Wendy entered the living room. Her mother gestured towards the opposite armchair, which Wendy wearily lowered herself in to. She spied the neat arrangement of the tea things and knew that her mother had been waiting impatiently to catechise her daughter about her day.
The thunderous sound of footsteps signalled her brothers' return to the playroom to take up their swords and Wendy gazed wistfully at the ceiling.
'They were lovely,' replied Wendy. She flashed a smile at her mother and reluctantly took the proffered cup of tea.
Mrs Darling proceeded to bombard her with questions, but Wendy could not focus on anything except the image of the Indian princess against the backdrop of Edwardian England.
'Are you sure you're alright, sweetheart? You look like you've just seen a ghost.'
'I'm perfectly well,' replied Wendy, who was unable to keep the terseness from her voice. 'Just tired.'
'Mr Herd expressed his delight that we shall be attending his dinner party!' announced Mr Darling at dinner that evening, with a significant glance at his daughter. 'His son is also looking forward to meeting you all.'
John and Michael exchanged a brief look of disgust while Mr Darling continued to throw pointed looks in Wendy's direction. Wendy was exhausted from her mother's gentle yet tenacious probing and the last thing she wished for was to listen to her father's panegyric on the virtues of Mr Herd Jnr.
'I've told Mr Herd all about you, of course,' said Mr Darling with a proud smile as he placed his napkin on his lap. 'I told him how good you are with children and your...orphan, story-telling business,' he said vaguely, gesturing with his fork. 'Not to mention how helpful you've been to your mother around the house...Quite a proficiency for cooking,' he continued through a mouthful of roast beef, 'and a pretty face – to top it all!'
Mr Darling grinned triumphantly at his wife who avoided his gaze and took a sip of water. Her husband's lack of tact was something she had no control over and could only attempt to steer the conversation in another direction.
'How was your day, boys?' she asked with a smile, turning to John and Michael.
But, before either could speak, Mr Darling launched into another monologue about a conversation he had had earlier that day with Mr Herd that he had found quite amusing. Wendy sighed gently and nodded meekly in response. Summoning every detail of her meeting with the chieftain's daughter, Wendy pushed the thought of Mr Herd's son and the ominous dinner party out of her mind.
That night, Wendy placed herself by the windowsill, searching the skies for the familiar, floating shadow of Peter Pan. Excitement bubbled in her stomach as she mulled over the curious happenings that had taken place. First, Mr Smee and, now, Tiger Lily. It was beyond her understanding.
She had hoped for the opportunity to speak to John and Michael and hear their thoughts on the matter. But her father had not permitted such privacy and had persisted in boring Wendy with the details of Mr Herd Jnr while Nana shepherded her brothers into bed. Peter would be most disheartened to learn that she had not had the chance to speak to the princess of the Picaninny Tribe, but the fact that she had appeared in the middle of London was telling. Something had happened to Neverland.
To her disappointment, however, the silhouette of Peter Pan did not appear though Wendy waited by the window until long after midnight. He had not visited her since that night several weeks prior, but his absence did nothing to alter her determination to uncover the truth of the mysterious events taking place.
Wendy awoke the next morning with a start, having surfaced from a particularly vivid dream. It had taken place in Neverland, as most of her dreams did, but this time she was aboard the Jolly Roger.
Unlike her last experience upon the ship, she had not been tied to the mast and her dream-self was free to wander about the deck. The Jolly Roger was silent and, seemingly, absent of pirates, but as she moved closer towards the captain's quarters, her ears discerned a sombre tune. There was no sound of voices nor the blood-curdling cries of horror. Just music. But, before her hand could clasp the gleaming door-knob, she awoke.
As her eyes adjusted to the morning sun, Wendy tried to recall the exact details of the dream. Like most dreams, the minute details were fuzzy and difficult to distinguish, yet one feature she recalled quite clearly was the embellished, wooden sign on the door of the captain's quarters that read 'Captain Hook'. She had given very little thought to it at the time, but she wondered who had taken Hook's place as captain of the Jolly Roger.
Although Mr Smee had been the ship's bo'sun when Hook had lived, but it did not seem likely that he had assumed the position. There were bolder and more frightening members of the crew who would have refused to accept the older, bumbling pirate as their leader.
Wendy's fantastical musings and theories were interrupted by Mr Darling's breakfast announcement that the Wiggins family would be joining them for dinner that evening.
'Such an affable girl! She's been a good friend to you, Wendy,' said Mr Darling.
'Yes, Father,' she replied tonelessly. 'Though I've seen very little of her since we finished our schooling. I'm afraid we have grown up to be quite different.'
She added another spoonful of sugar to her porridge and ignored the scowl that surfaced on her father's face. It was not the reply he had hoped for.
'Come now, she's one of your very dearest friends. I'm sure you'll soon grow very close again...once you've got your own little ones. Your mother will always be able to help you, but it will be nice to have someone your own age who you can learn from,' he continued.
John and Michael took his words as their cue to head for school and hastily gathered their school bags. Wendy gave a humourless smirk as she stirred her porridge. She found it amusing that her father dismissed her tales of Neverland as poppycock and nonsense while she felt the same way about his ideas of the future and the tales he spun for himself about the lives his children would lead.
Wendy watched John and Michael through the window as they hurried along the pavement and, despite her less than fond memories of school, she wished that she could at least go outside. She longed to take advantage of the last few days of mild winter weather, before the heavy snowfall began.
Once her father had left for work, Wendy carried her sewing into the living room and settled into the armchair by the fire while her mother went in search of the expensive cutlery for their guests who would be joining them for dinner.
As her head rested against the armchair, Wendy felt her eyelids grow heavy and the ripped shirt she had been sewing slipped from her fingers. She had not gone to bed until long after midnight, owing to her desire to watch for Peter, and a wave of tiredness swept over her.
Closing her eyes, she let her mind conjure up the image of the door from her dream. With a control that her dream-self did not have, her hand reached towards the handle. She held her breath as she twisted the glowing, golden doorknob and entered his chambers.
And there he was.
Not dead.
But very much alive.
He wore a wine-coloured tail-coat, which did not quite conceal the hook that glinted in the wavering light of the candle. His black hair tumbled over his chest like the dripping candle wax and his eyes were pale like two chips of glittering ice. She had seen them flash red before. Not now. Now they were cold and baleful, but not without a mischievous glint as he looked up at her.
The corners of his moustache lifted as his lips curled into a sly smirk. Her eyes followed the strip of hair that began below his bottom lip and trailed down towards the curve of his chin, culminating in a neatly trimmed beard.
He sat behind a dark wood piano, but his playing ceased as he looked at her.
'Wendy Darling.'
'Captain Hook.'
'Wendy.'
'But, you're dead. I saw you when...'
'Wendy. Wendy. Wendy!'
Mrs Darling's fingers snapped before her daughter's face.
'Wake up, Wendy. That's quite enough napping, dear.'
'What time is it?'
'Midday!'
'Why didn't you wake me? I shouldn't have slept for so long.'
'I thought you could do with a rest. You've been looking a bit peaky lately. But you need to help me get dinner organised for the Wiggins' arrival!'
'I forgot about that,' muttered Wendy as she rose from her chair.
'We must get to work! Chop, chop!'
And so they chopped and they diced; they cleaned and they dusted; they set the table and lit candles until they were both exhausted by the time Mr Darling and the boys returned home.
Wendy stirred the enormous pot of soup as the rest of the family hurried upstairs to change and it was during this moment of solitude that she let the subject of her dream return to the forefront of her mind. It was absurd. He was dead. She, among numerous others, had seen him sink into the depths of the sea, closely pursued by the crocodile.
They had not felt any remorse or sorrow. They had cheered. One might even say that they were responsible.
He was an evil man, who had done dreadful things, but that was not to say that he had deserved to die.
'Wendy, are you alright?' asked Mrs Darling as she entered the kitchen, fastening an earring.
'Hmm...Yes, I – I,' she replied vaguely as she placed her hand on the counter to steady herself. 'I just...I think my corset is too tight...'
Mrs Darling hurried towards her daughter and deftly loosened the strings. But, in spite of her efforts, Wendy could not shake off the crushing feeling that gripped her torso and robbed her of breath.
After so many years, she knew it was absurd that she should feel guilt for the death of the man who had caused her nothing but harm, yet she could not dismiss the gut-wrenching feeling of guilt. Wendy's fingers continued to scrabble at the lacing on the back of her dress as if they could free her from the culpability that she felt.
'Mother, I'm not feeling very well –'
The doorbell sounded and Mr Darling hurried downstairs with a loud yelp, adjusting his bow-tie with one hand and smoothing his hair with the other.
'They're here! They're here! Oh, goodness. John! Be a good lad and put Nana outside.'
'But, why?'
'Just do it, John!'
'Really, there's no need to do that, my love...' said Mrs Darling gently. 'The Wiggins have met Nana before. She'll be no trouble.'
'Oh, all right, all right,' he muttered. 'Quick, let them in! They'll catch their death of cold!'
'Good evening, Mrs Wiggins! My goodness, I can't believe how far along you are!' exclaimed Mrs Darling. She embraced the young girl, taking care not to press against her swollen stomach.
Margaret Wiggins was a bonnie, red-haired girl with a kind face and green eyes. The lilac dress she wore flared at the waist, but it did little to conceal the vastness of her stomach.
John and Michael stared in alarm at the size of the bump that projected from her, otherwise, tiny frame and Wendy bit her lip to avoid chuckling at the horror that marked their faces.
Mr Wiggins entered behind his wife and shook Mr Darling's hand and gave him a genial pat on the back. Though Margaret Wiggins was the same age as Wendy, Arthur Wiggins was closer in age to Mr Darling. He, too, was red-haired with a thick moustache and a rounded figure.
Once they were seated, Wendy carried through seven bowls of broth, which their guests received with great appreciation.
'This looks marvellous, Wendy,' declared Mr Wiggins. 'Did you make it yourself? Tastes splendid!'
Wendy smiled and sat at her own seat between Margaret and her mother.
'Mrs Wiggins, you look absolutely radiant! How long have you got to go?' asked Mrs Darling.
Their guest beamed and clasped her hand against her protruding belly.
'Not long, I hope! The doctor says it'll be any day now! Oh, I am so excited,' she said.
'And where are the boys tonight?' asked Mr Darling.
'The twins are both at home with my mother,' she replied, blowing gently on her spoonful of soup. Wendy was fascinated by her old school-friend. She could not quite reconcile the memory she had of young Margaret, to whom she had once spoken of fairies and magic, with the mature, grown-up woman beside her.
'How ever will you manage with three of them?' asked Mrs Darling, reaching for her wine glass.
'Elizabeth, our nanny, is such a dear,' she explained, tilting her head to one side. Wendy did not miss the doubtful expression that crossed her face as she glanced towards the kitchen door, which stood slightly ajar. Through the thin gap, she could see Nana in her nurse's cap, eating her own dinner. Many of the neighbours found it most unusual that the Darlings kept a Newfoundland as a servant, but their fondness for the family precluded any cruel remarks. 'She's always around to give me an extra set of hands and my mother is only round the corner...And Arthur, of course, when he's back from Hull.'
She glanced tenderly at her husband. The portly man was ten years her senior, but Wendy could detect nothing but love and affection in the looks that they shared. Wendy felt a strange twinge as she watched their exchanges; the quirk of his lips when his wife glanced at him and the pink blush that spread across Margaret's cheeks when he winked at her.
At that moment, Wendy felt more curious than ever about how it would be to have somebody look at her with such affection and tenderness. He was not the most handsome of gentlemen, but his smile was warm and genuine. He was the kind of person that one would instantly take to and Wendy blushed as his kindly smile turned to her.
'Ah, yes, how is business, Arthur?' asked Mr Darling, straightening his bow-tie with an air of self-importance.
'Booming,' he responded with a jovial laugh.
'You're in the fishing industry, am I right, Mr Wiggins?' asked Mrs Darling politely. 'Do you catch many fish?'
'Not quite, Mary,' answered Mr Darling. 'Mr Wiggins is quite a step above your average trawlerman. Women,' he murmured in a conspiratorial tone with a shake of his head. 'They can't quite keep up with affairs of business...Not quite got the head for it, I'm afraid.'
Wendy's eyes widened in disbelief. When he was nervous or in company of those he deemed superior to his own, her father assumed a pompous and haughty air, which did nothing to boost his popularity with his guests or his family. She cast a glance at her mother's impassive expression and wondered how she could conceal her feelings on Mr Darling's behaviour. Though his rudeness was the result of insecurity and nerves, Wendy felt that that was a very poor excuse.
'Time for the main course!' exclaimed Wendy as she hastily carried their empty soup bowls to the kitchen and returned with plates of roast cod and asparagus with parsley sauce.
'I do hope you're not too sick of fish, Mr Wiggins,' said Wendy with a smile as she placed the plate in front of him.
'Not at all! Not at all! What have we got here? Ah, cod! Excellent!'
'What's a "trawlerman"?' piped Michael.
'A trawlerman is the name given to a man who works on a trawler, which is a type of fishing boat,' replied Mr Wiggins. 'These boats use what's called a "trawl-net" to catch fish. Certain fish, like cod and haddock, look for food at the bottom of the ocean and so we use these special nets to catch them.'
'So what is it your job entails, Mr Wiggins, if you don't mind my asking? Forgive my ignorance, I know very little about the fishing industry,' said Mrs Darling with a simper.
Mrs Darling, on the other hand, was adept at charming all those she met. It was not her beauty that charmed them, though her loveliness was not inconsiderable, but her manner of speaking and soft looks, which made her so agreeable.
'I oversee the goings-on at the docks and the factories. St Andrew's Dock is where I'm stationed,' he explained kindly, turning back to Mrs Darling.
'Ah, the home of Hull's massive fishing fleet!' interjected Mr Darling.
Mr Wiggins nodded and shot him a brief smile.
'Yes, quite...There's the Queen's Dock as well, also known as "The Old Dock", which is quite an interesting place. You see some curious sights there.'
'Oh, do tell!'
'Why, a few weeks ago, I spotted a most peculiar-looking vessel! Not a trawler, but a merchant vessel with two square-rigged masts. It flew a black flag –'
'A black flag?' questioned Mrs Darling. 'Is that quite unusual?'
'Two centuries ago, the only ships that flew a black flag belonged to...well...pirates.'
'Pirates!' yelped John and Michael.
'Oh, goodness!' cried Mrs Darling.
Mr Darling turned a shocking shade of scarlet and choked on his cod.
Wendy's mouth fell open in shock and urged Mr Wiggins for more details.
'I confess I was quite alarmed when I saw the brig make port,' he continued. 'To think...pirates, here! In England!'
'What did you do?' asked John eagerly, who knocked the sauce boat over with his elbow as he leaned closer.
'Oh, John!' cried Mr Darling. 'Do watch where you put your –'
'It was an accident,' he insisted, dabbing at the puddle of sauce with his napkin.
'I'll clean it up in a moment, Father,' said Wendy breathlessly, before turning to Mr Wiggins. 'So, what did you do, Mr Wiggins?'
'Well, I informed the foreman, who scoffed and clapped me on the shoulder. He told me that they're merchants from abroad...In the spice trade, I believe, he said. They're apparently quite eccentric fellows, hence the flag, but not at all dangerous or evil.'
'Did you get a chance to meet any of them?' she asked keenly. 'Or at least glimpse one of them?'
'Wendy, dear, could you please go to the kitchen and fetch a towel?' asked Mr Darling through gritted teeth. 'There's sauce dripping all over the floor!'
'In a moment, Father,' she replied crisply.
'Now, Wendy.'
'George, please,' hushed Mrs Darling. 'Mr Wiggins is telling us a story. Do not interrupt.'
Wendy was grateful for her mother's input, but her eyes were fixed on Mr Wiggins, who took advantage of their quarrel to finish chewing the last morsel of fish.
'I did, indeed,' he said as he swallowed thickly. He patted his mouth with his napkin while Wendy waited with bated breath for him to continue. 'They looked very...odd. "Eccentric" was the word the foreman used...hm, indeed. One of them was a rather old chap with a striped shirt of blue and white, suspenders and a very strange, misshapen red hat.'
Wendy's heart skipped a beat.
'And the others?'
He shook his head and Wendy felt her stomach heave with disappointment.
'The ship was too far away for me to see much of what was happening on deck. But I did run into the captain...a bearded fellow with long, dark hair...He looked quite piratey, going by how they're described in stories. Yet he was remarkably well-spoken. I was quite surprised, given the appearance of his crew. He said he was a native Englishman, but had spent most of his life at sea, trading abroad.'
'Did he tell you his name?' asked John, whose elbow was now resting completely in the pool of sauce.
'Come now, you have harassed Mr Wiggins enough,' snapped Mr Darling. 'I do apologise for my children, sir. I'm afraid my daughter is to blame for filling their heads with nonsense about pirates and flying ships and ticking crocodiles. My wife and I have tried very hard to reinforce the fact that these things are not real, but it just doesn't seem to take root in their heads.'
Mr Wiggins gave him a frosty smile before turning back to John.
'Why, yes, I'm sure he told me...Quite an unusual surname, I'm quite certain that it is not his original, family name...'
'What was it?' asked Wendy.
'Wendy,' snarled her father. 'That's quite sufficient.'
'If I am not mistaken, he called himself Hook,' replied Mr Wiggins.
'Hook?' asked Michael in disbelief.
'Yes, that was it,' said Mr Wiggins. 'Captain Hook.'
