Hello, my dear readers,

A little bit later than thought, but it's still Sunday for the most of you when the new installment comes. I hope, you're going to enjoy it.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 4 – Back in London

Dalton, Vicky and Wendy arrived midday in Bloomsbury, London. George and Mary Darling greeted Victoria and Dalton enthusiastically after they embraced their daughter. Aunt Millicent, George Darling's elder sister, was there, too, and was the restrained, mildly haughty and serious lady she demanded Wendy become. The boys tried to be on their best behavior, but it was clear that they all were eager to speak with their sister. After the initial clamour of greetings, the two girls bade each other farewell until evening and the Ashfords left. Finally Wendy was alone with the largest part of her family.

The car was barely away from the curb when the boys embraced her warmly. There were many hellos and jokes, with much hugging, a few kisses on the cheek and declarations of 'Look how you've grown', 'you look better', 'Tootles, have you lost some weight?' and 'sister, dear, you're a young lady.' Liza Morris, the maid, was glad that Wendy was back, because the two understood had become fast friends. Nana, who had been shut away in the back garden, was barking up a storm, and when Wendy went outside to give her a proper greeting, John and Slightly brought Wendy's bags into her room on the first level.

For a few hours the family enjoyed their reunion undisturbed. Mr. Darling smiled in private relief, watching her grace, and hearing her mature replies to the boys. He was certain that the threat of her being whisked away again to that mystical island was nearly over … hopefully …

*** PP *** PP ***

"Just look. They… they're so… so BIG!" Runner, one of the new Lost Boys – with strawberry hair, blue eyes and an everlasting grin on his ten-year-old freckled-face – stood by the hideout, staring with eyes large as saucers. "I thought we called it Dragon Valley 'cuz of the volcano spitting fire!"

Peter and the others had chosen the next morning to watch the dragons from hiding. The Dragon Valley ran north and south in Neverland, a depression at the feet of the mountains, not far from the Ancient Forest. Only one rise separated the arms of the deep wood with its own secrets to the caves that the dragons visited on certain years to raise their young until they were able to fly. The valley was protected against the strong winds, high rocks and caves in the mountains offered shelter and the wide grassy floor had plenty of room for them to spread their wings. Trees grew at the opening of the valley and along the mountain ridge, which made this place very comfortable for the large creatures.

Peter grinned as he watched the dragons cavorting; their scales shimmered from light-brown-gold to emerald-green. An adult male dragon was an amazing sight. Small thorny plates grew around the elongated skull with an extended snout and flaring nostrils, and two long horns grew out at the top and back end of the skull. Scales covered the brow ridges, emphasized their threatening appearance. Four thick strong legs with razor-sharp claws; muscled, elegant body with dorsal fins; a long tail ending in a sharp spear point or spikes – an additional natural weapon; bodies approximately nine to twelve metres long; a standing height of four or five metres; agile as a cat, quick as an antelope and ears like a bat. But it was the eyes that took the biscuit, gold, green, silver, even blue. Even eagles' were not as acute, for they could discern the gleam of a diamond or gold piece from miles away. Their wingspreads were impressively broad, and their glistening wings always matched the colours on their bodies.

But those dangerous creatures had another side. They diligently cared for their young, even when grown, remaining in family groups. They loved music and poetry, stories, enjoyed a black sense of humour, collected assorted treasures according to taste, and had a weakness for riddles. And that thing about human virgins? Well, that's another subject.

They had returned to Neverland, and, of course, Peter wanted to visit them, unable to fear them like so many others in Neverland (some of the fairies remained at home, the other half daring to boast that there was no reason to fear the dragons). He took the boys with him and watched the dragons from a safe distance. He'd taught them how to behave around their intimidating visitors. They knew that dragons were not overgrown lizards with wings and bad breath. No, they were intelligent creatures with a tendency to vanity.

Peter rubbed his dirt-smeared handsome face and thought how Wendy would react to the presence of dragons. He laughed to himself, thinking she would call the babies 'sweet' – that meant, when they were just hatched – but the adult dragons, well! He was eager to see her reaction when he brought her back to Neverland after this… Feaster? whatever that was. He was determined to accomplish this, and this not just because of Hook's mockery. If he paid attention to everything that old codfish wrangled about, he'd never do anything he wanted. But for once the pirate was right: Wendy had been away for an awfully long time, and he, Peter, who would never admit it, longed to see her again.

His mind was turned away, as Jumper – a boy perhaps ten, with brown curls and an irrepressible eagerness for adventure – elbowed him. "Over there!" he whispered, pointing. Peter looked, and laughed. The dragons were still busy with making their old caves comfortable again. That meant, they tossed everything out of the hollows what they didn't need anymore. A large rock landed on the tail of another dragon, and, of course, a quarrel ensued. They growled and hissed, showed their teeth and claws, spit fire and used bad language, which they could just about understand, and made them blush. And, as both were females, it brought to mind a pair of housewives arguing over the garden fence.

The largest of them, with his exceptionally brilliant red scales, stopped the fussing with a snarl and a firm word to both in their own guttural language, indicating first to the right and then to the left cave, sending the two off. The two stared at him, turned around and walked off; heads up as if offended at the interruption, their quarrel forgotten.

Peter could almost picture the male giving a shrug. 'Women!' Tink whispered in his ear and he rolled his eyes. "I know, Tink. I know that he's … what was his name?" He glanced at her.

Tink's sighed, shaking her tuft of golden hair. Fairy-dust fell from her shimmering wings. She shook a tiny finger at him, switched her feather weight from one bare leg to the other and stared at him with one raised eye-brow, and replied scoffingly.

"Oh, come on, Tink. I know so many names, how am I to remember them all? I only know the biggest one there is the leader, and his name has something to do with fire." She sighed and whispered the name in his ear.

"Of course … Ayden! I knew that!" he cried cheerfully, remembering. His outburst, however, was heard by the visitors, and a dozen scaled heads turned around; golden eyes fixed on the children's hiding place.

"Oops!" Runner murmured.

Now that they were listening, the dragons even heard those quiet words and Anala, the leader's mate, turned their direction.

Peter groaned – "Darn!" – straightened, murmured "Stay here!" to his friends, and shot into the air. Instantly a low warning growl was to hear, and Ayden cocked his large head. One could almost see him raising an eyebrow. With practiced control, he glanced the little human being flying towards him and his group, and unfurled his wings slightly – a gesture that clearly meant: Come no closer. But, of course, the boy ignored it.

"Welcome, Master Ayden!" Peter cried, stretched to his full boyish height on eye level with the red dragon, only "spitting distance" away. "I hope you and your family are well? And you too, Ma'am?" he addressed Anala. Oh yes, Peter knew polite language, and how to behave, after all he had been taught the etiquette at the fairy queen's court when he was very little. He just wasn't in the mood most of the time, that was all.

A spark of recognition glowed in the eyes of the dragon. He folded his wings back to his body – a signal for the others to relax – and extended his neck toward the boy. "Boy!" he growled. His voice was deep and rich, as if a large iron bell could talk, accompanied by a hiss and a full grumble in his broad chest like a lion's growl, which gave his words a strange accent. "You are still too small."

Peter laughed. "I am a boy – and will never grow up," he answered cheerfully and sat down cross-legged in mid-air. The scaled face of the dragon seemed to show a hint of amusement. This child did not run screaming, but greeted them as if he were an old friend. There was no fear in the boy, he could sense it. Yes, the little human was wary, of course, but it wasn't afraid of him. He had two reactions in his fiery breast: one was surprise, and the other was pleasure at finding a human who didn't treat him like a beast. Because he was a child, the lack of respect was something he could ignore. "I see," he answered slowly and glanced sideward. "Who are the others?"

Peter tossed his head toward their hiding place. "Oh, my friends."

"Young ones, too, I think?"

"Of course." He smiled. "May they can come out? They want to meet you."

"Better for them to keep their distance for now. At our last hatchery, we were much disturbed, so we collected our eggs and left before evil could come to our young-ones, they are now close to emerging. We are in haste now to make the old caves secure and restful." He glanced up toward the sky, now a deep blue. "The others are wary, and I feel a change in the wind. Danger is coming to this island soon, but we cannot leave now because of the young. They will be out of their eggs in a few days."

Peter frowned. "You and your family were chased away? That's cruel!" He fingered the knife at his belt. "And danger is coming? No one I know is threatening Neverland – except for the codfish, but he isn't that bad anymore," he said, shrugging. "Most times. He still gets angry. And scaley things bother him. He's had this tick since he was hunted by a crocodile that he finally killed."

"A codfish fought a crocodile – and won?" Ayden growled inquisitively.

Peter frowned. "Well, he certainly enjoys a fight, but he isn't that nasty anymore. But dumping water on him when asleep can put him in a baaaaad mood."

The dragon was completely put off by this speech. "Codfish enjoys a fight?" Or killing a crocodile? Could he mean a White Shark? And why would it be angry when be woken with water? Didn't they live in water?

Peter read the puzzled expression on the visitor's face. He smirked and formed his right index-finger into a hook. "The codfish is the old man on his ship out there!" He jerked his head into the direction of Pirate's Cove, where the Jolly Roger lay.

This 'explanation' seemed to perplex the dragon-leader even more, "Old man? Ship? Codfish?" Ayden frowned, then – suddenly – his snout changed into a large grin, showing his fearsome teeth. "A riddle!" he exclaimed pleased. "I love riddles."

The boy shook quickly his head – knowing very well the dragons' weak spot for a good riddle, and would spend hours on it. "No, no! No riddle. I meant the pirate-captain. Codfish is his nickname." But Ayden wasn't listening, thinking aloud.

"A codfish that gets angry when wakened up with water, but is strong enough to win against a crocodile. Hm… There must be a key to the mystery, but what is it?" He sat down, curled his tail around him and descended deeply in thought.

Peter sighed. "Dragons and riddles!" he murmured. "Why didn't I think of it earlier?"

Tink's reply? 'Since when do you think at all?'

*** PP *** PP ***

"This can't be!" Nibs said with a voice crackling as it descended to his manly tone. He wore the name Ethan now, what meant 'gift from the island' – very fitting if you think where he came from. He shook his head, shoulder-length brown hair scattering about his face. "You must be mistaken."

"I tell you: It was him!" Wendy bounced excitedly, watching for their reactions. After throwing off the traveling dress and tossing on a loose afternoon frock, Wendy dashed to the former nursery where they boys were studying. But if they thought the girl would tell them new stories about school, they were mistaken. After a brief report of Roedean, she came quickly to her visit in Ashford-Manor and when she got 'lost' during the night and found a certain painting in the library.

Curley, who had been named Blake (fair-haired) and whose curls weren't so long anymore, but still untamed, glanced at Tootles (now Thomas), who looked at the twins and who looked at Michael, who sat in silent surprise between the older boys.

"Nibs is right," Slightly (who was now named Robert) murmured. "It couldn't be a portrait of Hook."

"Why not?" Wendy pressed. "I would know those eyes anywhere!"

"Yeah, blue as forget-me-not – until he's ready to kill!" John Napoleon Darling grumbled. John leaned back on his desk chair, warily eyeing his sister. His voice had descended the lowest of them all, and resembled his father more and more every day.

"See?" she said triumphantly "You said it yourself. We all know these eyes. And seeing them in the painting, I am completely convinced. And the rest of the face looked like him too, only younger, without the hook and the beard," Wendy said firmly.

"So how do you know him without the beard?" Oliver, Twin one, asked.

"Or the hook?" Lucas, Twin two, added.

Wendy rolled her eyes. "As if his beard and hook were all all there were to him! There's the shape of his mouth, the arrogance, the nose, the cheekbones, the hair ..l should I go on?"

"You really had a close look at him the last time we stayed in Neverland, hadn't you?" Slightly teased, and John tsked, "The things you're describing aren't really proper for a young lady, dear sister."

"Hey, I was much younger. And that war with the wizard brought us a lot closer than I ever intended."

"Not that you minded," Nibs smirked, remembering the unusual interaction between the two.

Wendy sighed. "Boys, don't you get it? If this man on the portrait really is Hook, then we can solve the riddle of him."

"What riddle?" Tootles asked, reaching for another chocolate.

"Victoria told me that he was—is—the youngest son of a marquess who married a Scottish lady who was the off-spring of a, um, … nobleman's liaison. The family was accused of planning a coup against George I, but I don't believe it."

"Of course not," Michael teased.

Ignoring him, Wendy continued, "His oldest brother was killed when soldiers came to the manor to arrest the family. His father and second brother were executed, his mother was sent to exile. He himself escaped – to Bristol. And then he was never seen again." She looked around at their confused expressions. "Don't you see? He changed his name and fled to the Caribbean, where he became a pirate …"

"The pirate we all know," Curley sighed.

"If his family was wrongly accused of treason and most were killed because of it, it would only follow that he would became such a …a-"

"Berserker?" John offered.

"Murderer?" Oliver interjected.

"A bitter and lonely man," Wendy shot back.

"What evidence do you have that his family wasn't traitorous?" John asked.

She sighed again. "John, remember our history. During those times, our nation was split into two political and religious factions, each intolerant of the other. You only needed to accuse someone of treachery and his reputation was not only ruined, his life was forfeit. I can't picture Hook being a traitor. Remember? Peter told us that S'Hadh offered to give Hook right hand back if he switched sides. Hook refused. Besides," she added, pounding her fist on her knee, "it just doesn't fit anything I know about him."

"Maybe he hadn't any part of the treason he was accused of, but we don't know his brothers – or his father," John mused. "You can't read a man's thoughts."

Wendy shook her head. "I don't believe that his family planned a rebellion against the king. But that's not the whole story."

"There's more?" Slightly asked.

Wendy bent forwards. "There's always more, Slightly. Look, Hook escaped in 1714 – now it's 1909! How can he be unchanged?"

Nibs shrugged. "In Neverland, time stands still."

"Really?" Wendy cocked her head. "Then how was it that Tiger-Lily grew between our first and the second visits? Or her father start to get grey? But Hook hadn't changed slightest. The same for Smee and the other pirates – and for Peter! Which brings us to the next question: How does time run in Neverland? Why does time seem to go forward for some, but—"

"Wendy!" John broke in. "That may be fascinating, but…"

"No, John. Stop, think. Some inhabitants of Neverland remain untouched by time, for others it continues. Peter told me once that he heard his parents speaking about his future in an office when he was very little. Office – not study. 'Office.' It's a newer word, so he must have been born after it was introduced to the working world – maybe … maybe only a few decades ago. Now look at Hook. He escaped in 1714 as a grown man – possibly a century before Peter was born. Yet Peter was in Neverland when Hook arrived. And both stayed more or less the same age since then, while the Indians are aging. Why? How does the magic of Neverland work and-"

Nibs made a face. "WENDY! Please don't go all Sherlock Holmes-y about Neverland, Peter and our 'dear' captain!" he begged, mentioning his favourite detective stories. "You won't solve this riddle. Just take the facts as they are: facts."

"But…"

"Neverland is full of magic," Slightly cut in. "Most things have no logical explanation, nothing that would work in our world – they're just … magical. And about Hook: whatever he was before he set foot on Neverland, those reasons why he left England and became a pirate, are not really important. 'He is what he is – The End,' " Slightly quoted from his favourite storyteller.

Wendy stuck out her tongue at him and lifted her chin. "He had lived here, near London, before he was forced to flee, went to sea and finally arrived in Neverland. He was the youngest son of a marquess before his family was brought into dishonour by a lower class family who were given their properties in return 'in recognition of their service.' And do you really think I'd let this go? Never!"

The boys looked around at one another, as if seeking a consensus.

"What are you planning?" Tootles finally asked.

"Victoria knows a lot about her family's history, but not all of it. Maybe I can find more answers find in the manor's library."

"You do realize that you're being suspicious of your best friend's family?" Nibs said slowly.

"Her so-called family sees her as a burden." Wendy shook her head, sadly. "She is a stranger to the manor, and I think she is closer to her mother's sister, Lady Catherine. Dalton Ashford was nice to her, but… he's somehow cold. She told me his father wants to marry her off as soon as possible to be freed of his responsibility for her. Does that sound like a loving family?"

"You are hellbent to find out the truth," Oliver sighed.

"Yes!" Wendy said emphatically.

"Anything we can say to stop you?" John asked, and when his sister shook her head, his shoulders went slack. "I knew it."

The other boys grinned understandingly, and it was Slightly, who warned her, "But don't be too eager to visit the manor again. The viscount could get the wrong idea."

Wendy smiled at him – the kind of smile that let you know that something big was coming. "Don't fret, Slightly, I will be the perfect guest!"

"You?" Michael asked, taken aback, and the whole group burst out laughing.

*** PP ***

The popular waltz "The Beautiful Blue Danube," composed by Johann Strauß, echoed through the large ball room. Since Queen Victoria had invited the Austrian composer decades before to the ball she gave to honour of her future husband, Prince Albert of Hanover, his music had been enjoyed at every official or private party. The waltz was a popular dance – at first quite scandalous due to the the fact it required you to dance very close to your partner.

Wendy gracefully followed Dalton Ashford's lead, having learned the steps at her school. The skirt of her gown accented her grace as she danced. The gown, the current 'Edwardian-style' was high waisted, expanding to her instep, embroidered with pearls and lace, belted, with a straight décolleté neckline and short sleeves, also ornamented with lace, and all in a soft pearl/cream color with a hint of gold reflected in her hair.

Wendy smiled unconsciously. She loved the waltz, but this special piece was her favourite. It always reminded her of the springs in Neverland, pouring from the rocks, growing into rivers which cascaded down the mountains, finally flowing into the sea. If she closed her eyes, she was even able to hear the birds singing, feel the soft breeze that rustled the leaves and the nighttime cries of the animals. And the very first dance of her life – that special evening on the magical island with Peter, after they watched the fairies' ball. First shy and uncommonly uncertain, Peter had offered her his hand in an invitation to dance. They had swept through the warm night air, lit by the fairies, until they reached the treetops, and had swayed beneath the full moon and millions of stars. It was then she'd felt it for the first time: the stirring, fluttering of butterflies in her stomach, the first small hint of the power of the world-turning emotion.

Wendy's thoughts of those precious unforgettable moments were, of course, mirrored on her face. Dalton Ashford watched her closely as she opened her eyes after the last note faded away and smiled. "You have been thinking of something splendid, Miss Darling. Your face is aglow if kissed by an angel."

His voice dragged her from the land of eternal childhood and Peter's sun-kissed face and blue eyes. Her gaze wandered up to the man, who held her in a very similar pose to one she remembered from five years ago.

Dalton Ashford looked very handsome in his evening attire, white shirt, grey waist coat, and hair in the newest fashion. Here was a man every young lady would have considered for her husband. And every woman would have been proud to have attracted his interest, but Wendy was wary around him. Something in him wasn't right, she could feel it. It was true that her parents were had some wealth from the "inheritance," but she knew they were not in the same class that Dalton normally associated with. It seemed that he wasn't concerned about class distinction this evening, and flirted openly with her. He seemed careful to spare her any trouble in public – a possible sign of his serious intentions toward her. This was revealed to Wendy by her aunt and mother only minutes before at the buffet.

Raising a brow, she answered his unspoken question: "I was remembering a deep forest at the foot of mountains, where water becomes a river that flows to the sea. The waltz describes this little wonder of nature."

The music came to an end, and the maestro of bowed to polite gloved applause. This was the signal for their break, and the dancers left the dance floor.

Dalton was still watching her. "Yes, I've been told music can have that effect, but frankly, I can't hear it."

"Really?" Wendy saw her suspicions about this man's imagination confirmed: he had none. "Then, Milord, I must tell you that you're missing a lot. Allowing your thoughts to take you to wonderful places is the key to fresh mental depth and fortitude, especially when your life is as busy and stressful as yours."

He grinned and led her back to the table where her parents and Aunt Millicent sat. George rose instantly when he saw the two young people approaching. The ballroom, with its enormous chandeliers, velvet curtains, high windows and marble columns was full of talking and laughing people, and it made Wendy a bit dizzy, so she took his arm. Dalton looked down at her. "My days are busy, Miss Darling, but I've not forgotten to enjoy life, because, where lives are concerned, you only get one." He held her chair for her; out of the corner of her eye, Wendy noticed that Victoria was accompanied by her current dancing partner to the table where her aunt, Lady Catherine Bellingham and her husband, Earl Hendrik, sat.

Wendy took her seat and smiled at her parents.

"May I join you, Mr. Darling?" Dalton asked with a winning smile, which was answered by a "Uh… Of course, Milord." Wendy suppressed a grin. Her father had never managed been able to make 'small-talk' properly and still stumbled over any sentence that hadn't to do with his business, his family or his new hobby: stamp collecting.

Dalton bowed toward the two ladies and turned toward Wendy. "May I fetch you a glass of punch, Miss Darling? I'm feeling a tad parched myself."

"Yes, please, Milord, but do not make yourself any inconvenience." (Oh yes, the sentiments were false, and the words were empty, but that didn't change the fact that most people knew this and thought them foolish. It was a vague and long-accepted courtesy. For of course the gentleman wouldn't bother to offer to get her a drink if he didn't want to get it.)

"Oh, my pleasure, Miss Wendy—may I call you that?" A hopeful smile tugged at his mouth. Wendy felt the firm bump from her aunt's foot beneath the table when she paused.

"You may, Milord."

"And please, call me Dalton!" he corrected her eagerly, took her hand and kissed it in perfect form. "I will return quickly, Miss Wendy. And something for the other ladies as well?" he directed this to Mary and Millicent.

Mary, wearing a pale green evening dress, promptly blushed and Millicent glowed. "Thank you, but my glass is still half full," Mary answered. "But it you might get one for my sister-in-law."

"I'll return momentarily." Ashford turned and strode to the punch bowl. George could finally take his seat again.

The young viscount was barely out of earshot when Millicent took a deep breath, looking almost triumphant. She wore an evening gown, too, made of a deep red velvet, with a higher neckline and heavy beige silk lace. Her hair – a deep auburn with the first hint of silver at the temples – was collected at the top of her head, and she wore an exquisite necklace of silver and garnets. She leaned closer and examined her niece, then whispered, "Really, Wendy, what a find! He is quite interested in you. My dear, you can't imagine what this could mean for your future—"

"Please, Millie," George intervened gently, "give the girl some room," recognizing the moué that had passed over Wendy's face, and quite agreeing with her. Bending forward, he pressed his hand upon hers. "Tonight, just listen. And when you've had enough, I can always call it an evening and we can all return home."

"George!" Millicent protested under her breath. "Be reasonable! If she is going to be the future Lady Ashford, she has to learn how to behave in public!"

"Don't I have any say in this matter?" Wendy murmured forcefully, careful to keep a pleasant expression as she turned her face to the refreshment table.

This time it was her mother who answered, "Of course, dear one, but give the boy a chance. Get to know him, and you'll surely like him better and better."

Wendy doubted that completely, but held her tongue. This wasn't the place to discuss their differing ideas of choosing a life partner.

Ten minutes, later she wished she had started an argument. Now not only were Dalton and – fortunately – Victoria at their table, but Vicky's aunt and her husband, too. The Bellinghams gushed over her, and how beautiful she'd grown since last summer when they'd seen her last, and how glad they were that Victoria had such a good friend. Dalton was acute enough to sense Wendy's discomfort, and attempted to dissuade Lady Catherine to other subjects, but Catherine and Millicent seemed to have found an unspoken consensus concerning Wendy and a possible relationship with the young viscount, and pelted her with advice and criticisms.

Victoria finally had enough and rescued her friend by taking her hand and inviting her to have a look around, to see if there were other girls there they knew in the building. Barely out of view, Wendy's head bowed and she groaned; eyes closed. "Oh, Vicky, one minute more and I would have screamed!"

In full sympathy, Vicky wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I don't know what's gotten into Aunt Cathy. Usually she is more… unobtrusive."

"Aunt Millicent 'got into' her. Believe me, she can infect everyone with her passions – except the boys and me," Wendy deadpanned.

Victoria giggled, then looked toward the door to the entrance hall. "Do you want a little bit fresh air?"

"I would love it – but given that spring hasn't found its way to London yet, I-" She stopped as her friend turned rigid, clutching her arm. Following Vicky's gaze, she saw a younger man with dark hair who had just come in the entrance. He wore a long topcoat, a top hat, and black formal suit with tails. He presented the concierge with an envelope, then looked around. He found the two girls and smiled broadly for a second, before arranging his face into a serious expression. He took the envelope back from the concierge and gave them a sober nod.

Wendy glanced at her friend and saw that Victoria's face was flushed. Wendy didn't have to be Sherlock to know this was "Daniel Kempton, I assume," she whispered. Vicky only nodded with shining eyes. "Did you know that he would be here this evening?"

"Yes, around ten o'clock he said."

"Well, it's only nine o'clock. He's a bit early – not that you mind," Wendy teased her, while she watched this man her friend was so taken with. He was handsome, certainly, and passing off this coat and hat to the servant, he smiled at the older man and thanked him – an unusual behaviour for this society. Then Wendy remembered that Daniel Kempton came from the middle class, where a more casual dealing with other people was normal.

"How do I look?" Vicky whispered as the young man headed into their direction.

Wendy glanced again at her friend, who looked breath-taking in her sandy-beige evening-gown. "Like a princess," she murmured back.

Then the young man approached and bowed. "Lady Ashford, I'm pleased to meet you here," he said and lifted Vicky's hand to his mouth. Wendy struggled to hide her smirk. Such a display – Daniel was a good actor!

"Good evening, Daniel," Victoria replied. Nodding towards her companion, she said, "She knows."

Kempton raised a brow, guessing who she was. Vicky confirmed it. "Wendy, may I introduce Daniel Kempton to you? Daniel, this is Wendy Darling – my best friend."

Taking Wendy's hand and touching it to his lips, the young man smiled, "I'm pleased to meet you finally, Miss Darling. Victoria told a lot about you."

Wendy smiled back. "Then you've an advantage, Mr. Kempton. I only just heard about you, but…" She lowered her voice. "… your secret's safe with me." She winked at him, which made him chuckle. Then Wendy proved one more time how clever she was. "Seeing that you both obviously made this appointment, I think you should enjoy each other's company while I play lookout, so that neither Dalton nor Earl Bellingham will suspect a thing." She turned to leave, but Vicky held her back.

"What will you tell them when you return alone?"

Wendy pointed to the next ballroom. "Easy. We met some other friends from school and you're with them." She winked again. "Don't fret, I'll come up with an excuse."

"And you?" Vicky prompted. "I mean, Aunt Cathy is very curious about you and Dalton…"

"I'll just dance with him during the next set of waltzes." She grinned and turned back toward her family, but pointed a finger at Vicky. "You owe me!" she joked.

"I won't forget," Vicky replied. "Thank you!"

"And my thanks, too," Daniel added.

"See you soon." Then she vanished back into the ballroom. At least Vicky would have a pleasant evening – or, at least, a pleasant hour.

*** PP ***

'The fun' didn't last more than three-quarters of an hour, then Lord Bellingham got suspicious because of his niece's absence. While the three women talked with each other, and he had a conversed with Mr. Darling, he suddenly became aware that Vicky had not returned. He excused himself and moved toward the attached ballroom past the French doors. Fortunately, Wendy, who was again accompanying Dalton, noticed and stopped mid-step. She shyly begged off the rest of the dance due to tight shoes.

"Of course," he said, winking at her. Then he saw Bellingham walking toward the alternat ballroom and quickly scanned his surroundings. "Is Victoria still with your other classmates?" he asked, now missing her as well.

"Certainly," Wendy answered and took off after Vicky's uncle; knowing she had to act quickly. To her irritation, Dalton followed her, and her mind began to ponder the different possibilities to warning Vicky before scandal broke loose. Approaching Lord Bellingham, she asked, "Are you searching for someone, Milord?"

"My niece," he replied, and saw Dalton behind Wendy.

"Uh, she's certainly still with Claudia and Sara;" she came up with the first names which sprang into her mind. "If you like, I'll bring her to you." She threw Dalton another of her shining smiles. "I need little break anyway and find I have to powder my nose. Excuse me, gentlemen."

Not waiting for a reply, she exited through the groups who stood about chatting or eating or arguing about politics or whether Peary or Cook had made it to the North Pole first. On a second dance floor, pairs flowed elegantly over the parquet. Everywhere were people – talking or dancing with smiling or bored or flushed faces. She couldn't see Victoria anywhere.

After searching most of the corners, Wendy finally found her in a vacant side-foyer. She could still hear the music there and the two lovebirds were dancing, all alone. Wendy sighed inwardly as she watched her friend for a moment. She had danced like this with Peter, but in the air. The magic of those moments had given her such happy thoughts she grew weightless enough to soar with him in the air. And when she saw Victoria's dreamy expression, she knew that her friend was in the same heaven. She sincerely hoped the waking-up wouldn't be as abrupt as hers had been five years ago, as Peter suddenly grew aware of the seriousness of his flirtation.

Clearing her throat, Wendy approached, and was nearly on top of them before they became aware of her. "Sorry to disturb you, but Lord Bellingham and Dalton have begun to search for you," she said quietly.

Victoria sighed deeply and threw a longing glance at Daniel. He wrapped an arm around her waist and gave Wendy a grateful smile. "Thank you for warning us," he said, and turned back to Victoria. "I think it's the best if we separate now."

"I don't want to," Vicky whispered.

Wendy was attempting to find a way that the two could remain together for some time. "Are you here in the capacity as a reporter, Mr. Kempton?" she asked.

"Yes, you could say that," he answered. "That's why I got an invitation, the one I showed the concierge was sent to my boss at The Times. But I… persuaded him to let me do the report about the social event, which he hates, and he gave me the invitation."

Wendy nearly hooted with glee. "Tricks wherever you look! Peter and Hook would be delighted – everyone gets his own way!" she giggled before she could stop herself. At the couples' puzzled expressions, she waved her hand. "Never mind," she smiled innocently. "Now we can manage a few more minutes for you two. Vicky and I will return to the table, and after a quarter hour or so, you arrive there, Mr. Kempton, and pretend to be fully surprised at Ashford's presence. After you wrote such fine articles about Dalton's father and his companies, I'm sure Dalton would be pleased to see you. Then I can suggest he invite you to sit with us and talk. And then, I'm free of him and you're once again in Vicky's company."

"Who is the trickster now?" Victoria beamed.

"When you have seven younger boys around, you learn how!"

Laughing, the three turned back to the main ball room. They were almost across the large entrance hall when Victoria gasped, "Oh no, here comes Dalton!" She'd spotted him approaching from within the crowd near the door.

Wendy acted. "Step back a few steps, Mr. Kempton," she ordered and turned around as Dalton opened the door. "Stand still, both of you." She waited a moment and raised her voice. "And you are a reporter, Sir? From which newspaper?" She winked at the two.

"I'm from The Times, Miss Darling" Daniel replied, who instantly understood what the girl was up to.

"Mr. Kempton wrote the two articles about Uncle Marlow and Dalton, or rather, their two companies and…" Vicky piped, easing into Wendy's plan.

"Here you are!" Dalton stopped nearby, gave the other young man a suspicious look before recognizing him. "Weren't you at the manor during the last Christmas Holiday? Mr. Kempton from The Times, right?"

"Yes, Milord," Daniel said, offered his hand and bowed, while Dalton shook it. "So nice to see you again, Sir."

"The pleasure is all mine. My father was very satisfied with your publications," Ashford replied. Then he turned to Victoria. "Where have you been? You were missed."

"I met two classmates and was invited to their table. Then Wendy found me, we were away to powder our noses and as we returned, I saw Mr. Kempton."

"I just arrived on assignment for The Times about this evening's ball," Daniel added. "And then I saw Lady Ashford and her lovely companion, and had to pay my respects."

Dalton laughed quietly. "Yes, the two are quite a lovely sight this evening." He offered Wendy his arm. "Shall we?" Then he looked at Vicky, who was without a gentleman's company, which would create a bad impression, and decided. "Mr. Kempton, why don't you accompany my cousin to our table? I'm sure you'll find some interesting people there. Miss Darling's father is one of the leading financial advisors from the Bank of England. He is there, as well as Victoria's maternal aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess Bellingham."

"It would be an honor, Milord," Daniel answered, bowed, "Milady, if I may?" then offered Victoria his arm while Dalton (and an inwardly celebrating Wendy) went on ahead.

It wasn't long before they were all seated together, conversation flowing freely.

Wendy sighed, looking across the dance floor at all the couples, and the rest clustered around the edges, nibbling, sipping, chatting … her glance slipped out of focus, wondering how this phenomenon of a ball or dance became so popular with not just the elite but all the classes.

Her corset was beginning to pinch again, and she looked at the gorgeous dresses around her, and knew that every one of the women were feeling much the same thing, despite their beautiful dresses. Her dance slippers were beginning to bother her feet. She slipped her hand to her hair to be certain the pins were secure, that the topknot was not sagging … and she remembered … oh the things she remembered …

The boy, wearing only his rags and leaves, looked into her eyes in the glow of the elegant lighting around the fairies … had it been a wedding dance inside the tree home? The music forever lingered in her memory.

Wendy hugged herself stealthily as the memory came full-blown before her eyes: not a silk and lace dress with a binding corset, but a wonderfully loose and comfortable nightdress. No topknot held by multiple pins, but long tresses floating about her shoulders. No tight satin shoes, but bare feet. Not a partner she had to impress or keep at a distance, but a wonderful friend. No ballroom or polished floor, but tall moonlit trees, and waltzing in the air. No candles or electric lights on the walls, but multiple fairies curling about them, lighting and shadowing their joyous faces. No orchestra, but fairy voices and a mystical song to accompany them.

Slowly she came to realize that some time, long long ago, other someones must have experienced something quite similar to what she had, and people had been trying to reproduce that wonderful experience ever since, and it had – eventually – evolved to the modern ball with all of its accoutrements. There was hardly any comparison. The original outshone every feature.

She closed her eyes and breathed another sigh, treasuring that very unexpected and personal revelation.

TBC…

Well, what did Hook once say? 'Growing up is such a barbarous thing…' I think, for some is it easy to leave childhood behind, for others it is a painful process. And for someone, who had experienced such wonder like Wendy, it must be more than hard to be forced to accept more and more that the 'mysterious world' will be lost forever…

But! This is a story about Neverland with all its magic. And even if poor Wendy begins to fear that Peter's world is maybe too far away for her now, we all know that a faery's realm has its own rules.

Nevertheless, in the next chapter everything becomes more difficult for Wendy, while in Neverland Hook has another 'dream'. And this time members of the Little People will give him advises and he starts to realize that Neverland's magic has also some eerie sides – riddles he needs answers for. And who could you ask if you want true answers for questions concerning the mystical island? He knows, whom to ask…

I hope you enjoyed the new chapter, including Wendy's clever game to help Victoria. I also hope that I could 'catch' the atmosphere of ballrooms, dancers and music of more than120 year ago…

I would really appreciate if a few of you would like to share your impressions and thoughts with me, so please leave some reviews.

'til the end of the week,

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight