Hi, my dear readers!

Thank you for the feedback. I'm really happy that you like the direction the story takes now – and that Wendy escaped. I also know that the most of you are very curious about the meeting between Mrs. Darling and Hook. Well, here you go.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight / Lywhn

Chapter 48 – On the Road Again

Kenly Fulsom groaned in relief as he entered the warmth of the office of the petrol station. The owner was now filling the Wolseley's tank and the spare cans with fuel. For more than an hour Fulsom had been on the road and just got out of London. Even with school holidays, stores and shops were back in business and streets were full of vehicles. The stop and go of heavy traffic used up the fuel, so he was refilling even before Guildford. Entering the village, he saw the sign of a garage not far from the main road (which would later become the A3) and pulled in. The owner offered Fulsom a spot in the warm office while he filled the Wolseley.

The Ashfords driver's gaze wandered over the dingy little room as he warmed his hands by the stove in the corner, then to a table with a fresh teapot and cups. Grateful for the warm tea, he helped himself to a cup. Sipping it, his glance fell on the newspaper beside the tray. The London edition of The Times. Unfolding it, he skimmed the first articles – and frowned. Disbelieving he stared at the headline 'Authentic 18th Century Pirate Ship Arrives in London's Port' and then at the photo. Gasping, he froze.

There was no way this could be true!

The man shaking hands with the dockmaster was dead! He himself had witnessed that killing shot, and him falling, DEAD. But here he was in all his pomposity: Captain James bloody Hook, looking fresh as a spring morning, and most unlikely of all, in London!

Setting the tea down before he dropped it, eyes widening at every sentence, Fulsom read through the article and what he learned shook him. Hook had come with his whole crew. 'For business.' AND 'research' on his English roots. Hah. Fulsom knew what that meant. Dalton Ashford should be very, very careful from now on. And … wasn't that one of the boys in the background of the second photo? One of that flying boy's unruly group? So, his friends had come with Hook to London? Another vital consideration.

Tossing back the remainder of his 'cuppa' tea, Fulsom replaced it on the tray, hid the newspaper beneath his jacket and left the office. He had to get to the manor as quickly as possible.

"Do ya sell spare cans, too?" he asked the garage owner, who was almost done filling the tank.

Out of breath from operating the handpump, the man looked up. "Shore do, guvnor."

"Right. I'll buy two more filled. I'm sure His Lordship, Viscount Ashford, will pay you extra for them."

The owner grinned. "A pleasure!"

Ten minutes later, bill in his pocket, Fulsom was back on the road and driving as fast as he dared. And just as he left the little village, he stared at the sign that told him the name of it: Hook Rise!

He grimaced. Well, if that didn't fit!?

*** PP *** PP ***

The express train from Portsmouth stopped with loud screeching brakes and its characteristic ear-splitting whistle announcing its arrival. The moment they halted, Wendy rose. She was beginning to feel her weariness, despite her high spirits after escaping and anticipation of seeing James again. The aftereffects of the sedatives, the stress, the lack of sleep the night before were taking their toll. But Wendy fought the heavy eyelids with success. She only had to think of a pair of forget-me-not-blue eyes and her drowsiness retreated. For now.

As the train approached Waterloo Station, Bumblyn was back in her satchel and she was certain that he was glad that he could hide there again. As they'd thundered down the track, she'd stood up against the window, coat open, satchel hooked around her neck. This allowed Bumblyn to watch the landscape shielded from curious eyes passing her compartment. Wendy tried to describe or explain most of what he saw, but it was clear that the tiny bogey was bewildered by this foreign world.

Stepping onto the station platform, Bumblyn once again curled into the satchel, Wendy looked around her. Waterloo Station was – to put it simply – complete confusion. Reconstruction and expansion had been going on for more than ten years. Most of the work was done, but the expansion of the railway platforms left them on different levels, even outside the large hall. To complicate matters further, a few platform numbers were used twice. So, if you wanted platform 3, you had to find out if it was on the inside or the outside. Sometime later, this confusion would even be 'celebrated' in a song.

Walking to the iron fence and through one of the gates, Wendy soon reached the waiting area, attempting to orient herself. She knew that she first had to take another train and then the Tube to reach -

"Real pirate ship in London harbor – sightseeing tours offered soon! Descendant of a real pirate captain offers sightseeing tours!" The boy stopped his pitch as a pretty girl, barely older than he, confronted him, carrying her heavy satchel in her arms like a baby.

"May I?" she asked. He handed her The Times and put out his hand for the coin in payment. He saw the girl's eyes widen at the pirate ship article, then began to glow with affection. He cleared his throat. Without another word, she gave him ten silver shillings. He tried to return her change, but she shook her head. "No! the rest is for you!" she said, rushing into the crowd.

The paperboy called a hearty "Thank you, Miss!" after her and smiled widely. The extra money would help support his family.

Wendy hastened to one of the benches in the waiting area and sat down. Carefully placing the satchel between her feet and covering it with her long coat, she unfolded The Times. There was the picture. Yes! This was her Captain James Hook, shaking a strange man's hand, smiling! She could see from his posture and the set of his jaw that he was tense, possibly overwhelmed. Of course he was! Who wouldn't be in his situation, facing a completely new world? Most of what he remembered didn't exist anymore. She was certain that deep down he was afraid, too, as she would be, but not daring to admit it.

When she could tear her eyes away from his black-and-white image, she saw the background of the photo. She recognized the wharfs on the south side of the Thames and at the right edge of the photo there was even a bit of the Tower Bridge. James Hook was here in London, only a few miles away! Her belly clenched with warmth and yearning, competing with joy and tenderness in her heart. He'd come! Somehow he had gotten away from Neverland, and had sailed through time and space to come to the Mainland – to her!

Unaware of her silly smile, she skimmed the article. And another photo, showing Billy Jukes, Alf Mason, Mullins, Herbs and … yes, Nibs! Reportedly, the cabin boy. Wendy snorted. The Jolly Roger had no cabin boy!

Breathlessly she read the report, smiling at the story of the inheritance, the reconstruction, the fire – or why he supposedly was in London: to charge for sightseeing aboard the Jolly Roger. Wendy knew the boys had come up with that story. And research on his English ancestors? Indeed! He needed to find out what really happened two centuries ago – why his father and two brothers had to die. He now had a chance to look into the charges risk-free. The Ashfords would get the shock of their lives if the last Shalford uncovered their past. Perhaps justice could be forced to reopen the case.

She felt a pinch to her leg from the satchel beneath her coat, and realized Bumblyn was growing impatient. The little Hobgoblin could rarely sit still – especially when he was hungry. Rolling the newspaper, Wendy stuck the paper into the satchel next to him. She knew he would "pitch a fit" as soon as he dared show himself.

Rising, the girl walked quickly in a different direction. She knew now that the Jolly Roger anchored in St. Katherine Docks. She had to reach James – before he did something rash and left for Surrey to 'save' her!

Following the signs, she soon reached stairs which led below to the deep underground railway that ran beneath Waterloo Station. She would ride the tube to Bank Monument Station near the Bank of England on the other side of the Thames; therefore near London Tower. It was one of the first tunnels beneath the wide river, like others on the Continent. Soon she would be holding her beloved captain again. And she was determined to hold him close – and to kiss every inch of his strong body as soon as she got the chance …

*** PP *** PP ***

Smee had thought that the trip from the ship to the Darling home had been the worst. But like everything else in life, things could always get 'worser,' as Michael would say. Yes, Smee had learned far more than he wanted since yesterday about 'new modes of transportation.' He also knew that carriages, carts, and horses were still used as well as foot traffic. But never he had imagined that so many modes of transport could even be possible without collisions at every corner.

Motorcars overtook coaches and slower motorcars and stopped omnibuses, dodging back out of the way at the last moment before they collided with an oncoming vehicle; horns blared, shouts exchanged, gestures of frustration and anger were passed among the many, many drivers. Bicycles slid between the larger vehicles, motorcars and coaches had to stop and tried to pass by when an omnibus paused at a corner to exchange passengers; people rushed on foot across the street – successfully avoiding the wheeled traffic. And whenever there were other cross streets, it was all horns, shouts, and gesticulating.

Traffic laws were still evolving. There was no clear right-of-way, no electrical signals, no policemen who regulated the flow of traffic. Everyone drove, bicycled and walked like he or she wanted. The only thing that seemed to have a rule was the direction on each side of the street (not the pavement!), otherwise all came to an understanding by using arms, and shouts and horns.

And, what amazed the man the most was the swift competent manner in which Mrs. Darling was handling this traffic. Thrice she had to avoid other motorcars that turned onto the road in front of her, oblivious of other vehicles; a few times she overtook a horse cart or coach, stopped to allow people to cross the street – which made other drivers behind her use their horns – and a couple of occasions he heard her loudly discussing whom should be allowed to drive first: the other or herself.

Smee sat beside her and clung to the frame of the motorcar for dear life, with the other hand he held his hat. Most of the time his eyes were wide in horror. He wanted to close them and curl up under the seat, and found he couldn't. This was not a town, this was insanity! How the people could find their way around was beyond him. And he was even more baffled that this willowy beauty took it all in stride. She even had the presence of mind to act as a kind of guide for him as they traversed the city. The boys on the backseat pointed out churches, parks, stores, playgrounds and a few important buildings and streets they passed. Smee held his tongue and onto the seat.

After they left the financial district, the traffic eased. "That was the worst," Slightly tried to comfort him.

"There is a critical exit I must take to get to the Docks. If I miss it, we'll have to cross the Tower Bridge, turn around and return to this side of the Thames for a second attempt," Mrs. Darling added.

Smee felt that she sounded far too good-humored. How was it possible that this woman could be so casual while facing all … THIS? Nerves of steel – just like her daughter! he concluded.

Finally they reached the end of road that connected near London Tower to Tower Street. Smee sighed in relief. At least he was now somewhere familiar. A moment later they turned onto a road that led directly to the Tower Bridge. Smee was about to ask Mrs. Darling something, when she suddenly she turned the wheel to the left. The vehicle jerked sharply like a ship that was brought too hard into the wind, which coaxed a wail from Smee while he pressed his eyes shut. Mary only laughed, "Oh dear, now I almost did miss the exit!"

Angry blaring horns, shouts like "Are ya daft?" and "Hey, lady, pick a lane!" accompanied them, while Mary directed the vehicle to the narrow route that led directly to the portal with the stone elephants.

Bryan thought his heart must have stopped, only to beat now three times faster than before. Gasping for air and clapping his hand to his chest, he stared at the woman beside him. "D'ye have a death wish, Mum?" he panted; happy to feel his heart beating.

"What? Why? We turned at the exit and no one got hurt!" She sounded far too flippant, while behind her the two boys laughed.

Smee slid deeper into the seat and gulped. "An' 'ere I t'ought yer daughter is a daredevil!"

Mary smiled, "She gets it honestly," and slowed as the car rolled through the gates, avoiding the workmen. She instantly saw the Jolly Roger and brought the vehicle to an abrupt stop. Which made Smee slide off the seat. Pushing himself back up, he saw her face – mouth open, eyes wide in awe. He looked, too, and seeing their ship, his panic faded. He was back! Indeed, the Jolly Roger was a sight to behold and he felt a rush of homesickness.

"Oh … sweet Mary and Joseph and all the saints!" Mrs. Darling whispered as she took in the elegant bow with the skeleton mermaid as figurehead, the many gilded accoutrements along the railing and above the cannon scuttles, the red-brown ship hull, the tall masts with the furled sails, the crow nests and the white flag that flapped aft in the wind – a 'gift' from Mr. Davies, because 'no ship in port should ever be without a flag.'

For a moment, Mary thought she was dreaming. She had seen such ships in old paintings, in books, and always admired them. She'd seen the wonderful drawings of it in Wendy's diaries, but seeing this ship now, floating proudly in the dock, took her breath away. For a moment she felt like she'd gone back in time, to an age long ago when those ships travelled the seas – until she heard a car behind her blow his horn, and she came back to herself. This was real. The ship of her daughter's tales was anchored here, in London, and it was wonderful!

Shaking her head, Mary parked the car a few yards away from the gangway. Smee took several deep breaths. "Mum, ah've lived thru battles w' the Royal Navy, an 'urricane, a great sea monster, a giant croc'dile, and torments by Pan 'imself, but ah nivver fear'd fer me life like on tha' trip!"

She looked at him compassionately, her reckless side receding. "I apologize, Mr. Smee, it was not my intention to frighten you, but to arrive here in good time." She smiled, "Let's go find your captain."

She left the vehicle together with a very relieved (and wobbly) Smee and two rambunctious boys. Shooting the latter a warning look – John and Slightly were acting like little school-girls! – she followed Smee. Gathering her skirts, she walked up the gangway, grateful for the rope she could hold on the side.

"D'ere ye're!" a deep rich voice called. Mrs. Darling looked up and saw that a giant had appeared at the railing opening, looking down at them; a dark-skinned man with long dreadlocks and a collection of gold chains around his neck. And she knew they were real gold.

"Dunno if th' capt'n was more angry or worried when ye didn't come back." Another voice coming from a face covered in warts, with teeth going every which way.

She knew them. As Smee climbed aboard and greeted them, Mary waited a moment. The gangway swayed a little bit and beneath her was the hard pier. It swayed, and John put his hand on her back to steady her, knowing she was unfamiliar with it. Carefully, Mary reached the deck with weak knees, and a dark hand appeared. Glancing up, she looked directly into the grinning face of the black pirate with the dreadlocks. "Need a han', Mum?" he asked, amused that he startled her.

Mary took a deep breath, remembering names and descriptions from her daughter's books, and took the strong hand. "Thank you, Mr. Akeele."

Surprised, he helped her aboard, where the man with the many warts steadied her. "Thank you, Mr. Mason," she said. … so ugly that his own mother gave him away for a jar of muscatel … Wendy had said, and she'd been right. The man had a face that could curdle milk!

Slightly and John hopped aboard, hearing her address the buccaneers by their names. It seemed Mary Darling knew more about Neverland, the Jolly Roger and its crew than they might have thought.

A younger man pulled his tricornered hat from his head, nodding politely at her. Mary wasn't sure if he smiled, for his whole faces was covered with tattoos, as were his hands. Ah yes, she knew about this one, too. "Good morning, Mr. Jukes," she said and looked around. Then she saw the steep stair that led to the bridge with the large double-wheel. "Is Captain Hook in his quarters?" she asked. As Jukes only nodded in mute surprise, she gave him a quick "Thank you!" and headed aft.

Off-duty crew had gathered on deck; most stared at the lovely visitor. The lady knew their names? How so? Slightly and John explained her name and her purpose.

"The storyteller's mot'er? Wha's she doin'ere?" Mullins asked Smee, who rolled his eyes.

"Try 'n' t'ink ova reason!" the bosun sighed.

"Smee? Is she allowed ter disturb th'e capt'n wit'out bein' announced first?" Mason wanted to know, pointing up to the bridge.

"T'e capt'n just has breakfast," Jukes added nervously.

Turning his attention aft, Smee saw Mrs. Darling at the door to the captain's quarters and how she gave a quick knock. "Mum, wait!" he called, but it was too late. Horrified he watched how Wendy's mother simply walked into the quarters. "Glory be," he murmured, "As if I coulda stopped 'er …"

*** PP *** PP ***

Daniel Kempton steered his car through the traffic at Piccadilly Circus. The way from Park Lane to the famous square was about a mile, but in the time Kempton needed to reach this traffic hub, Victoria had told him so much about her friend's adventures which were supposed to be fantasy that his head was spinning. And, according to Victoria's newest 'deduction,' this ominous self-proclaimed pirate-captain at the harbor was the fairytale character from her friend's original books! What an unbelievable story!

Daniel was a young man, tolerant, imaginative – after all, a reporter at heart demanded that you had some imagination and curiosity to discover hidden truths and facts. But the notion that somewhere a fairy realm existed with real fairies, gnomes, pixies and even mermaids, was … unbelievable. And a boy who could fly and didn't grow up? A friendly Indian tribe? A giant crocodile? Lost Boys? All too fantastic. It sounded like one of those fantasy novels popular over the last ten years, but that this all could be true …? Yes, there were some who tried to prove that fairies existed, and paintings and postcards of them enjoyed great popularity, but he, personally, thought it just part of a trend, surely to disappear in a few years.

But Victoria insisted that this mysterious island and its inhabitants were real. She told him that her best friend had certainly visited this island for the third time last week. Craziest of all, her cousin, the viscount, had followed Miss Darling and her brothers, had brought her back from there against her will and imprisoned her in Ashford Manor. "Let me guess: This pirate-captain came to London to rescue her," Daniel had said; trying to keep the mockery out of his voice.

It didn't work. Vicky sat back in her seat, pouting. "You don't believe me."

"Sweetheart, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but really! Don't you think that this is a bit … fantastic?" He swerved to avoid an omnibus that pulled into traffic without warning. He was encountering much of what Mrs. Darling had just been through. On the other side of the square at the London Pavilion, a giant promotional banner informed the public that 'Chochran's Revue' was staged there, a very popular show. Other flamboyant advertising plastered every surface in the West End. It was distracting. He had to sort out his thoughts.

Victoria unfolded The Times again. Tapping the photo, she continued, "This is Captain James Hook, the pirate Wendy not only wrote about but also drew. I've seen her drawings. It's this man! And here, in the other photo – Ethan, one of Wendy's adopted brothers. She once told me that she used her adopted brothers as models for the Lost Boys, Peter Pan's gang. And now Ethan is aboard Hook's ship as the 'cabin boy.' The article says that 'Captain Andrews' comes from the United States – South Carolina or so. How long do you need to cross the Atlantic aboard an old galleon under wind power?" She looked expectantly at Daniel, who tried to stay focused on the traffic.

"I don't know. Three or four weeks?" he guessed.

"Longer! You already needed maybe six or eight weeks from Portsmouth or Bristol to the Caribbean at Blackbeard's time – meaning Hook's time. But when Dalton took Wendy home the Saturday of the ball, I saw Ethan at the door of their home, so he couldn't have been in America, then sail on the Jolly Roger to England, and to be here now. And two of her adopted brothers, Thomas and Blake, confirmed my assumptions a few minutes before I called you. Wendy was back in Neverland, together with them, and my stupid cousin followed her and kidnapped her! Her and this boy, Peter Pan!"

Daniel took the next road that led down to the long street that began at Trafalgar Square and would become The Strand. "You really believe that?"

Victoria sighed and folded the newspaper again. "I know it sounds rather … improbable, but it's true! Wendy's stories are real and now her adventures have caught up with her. Because of Dalton!" She turned her head to look at the young man. "She's in trouble and needs help. My pathetic cousin seemed to be bound and determined to win her for himself, but I know that she's in love with another man."

"And who might that be?" Kempton asked, already assuming the answer. And right he was!

"James Hook," Vicky replied. "Heavens, I think she had a crush on him from the start. You should see the look on her face when she talked about this Hook even years ago. Now she and I are grown, and I'm sure she fell for the captain during her last stay in Neverland. It would fit! Not only her character, but it would explain why Hook is here – in London."

Daniel passed a horse-drawn coach, avoiding the tossing head of the lead animal. "Does he return her feelings? If so, I was right that he came to London to rescue the damsel in distress." He snorted. "Well, a pirate turned hero – there's a story in that."

"Don't make fun!" Victoria rebuked him. "My best friend is captive in my cousin's manor, and you joke about it?"

'Uh-oh, you just stepped on thin ice, old boy!' he thought.

"This is no family squabble, Daniel," Vicky continued, frowning. "I'm too serious. When I remember the two stories Wendy wrote, how Captain Hook already risked his life for her when she was twelve. And though a severe man, he forgave her much – including tricking him and later nearly destroying his quarters while fighting harpies."

"Harpies, uh?" Kempton shook his head. "Not unpleasant old women, I suppose?"

"You're catching on. Neverland is full of mystical creatures."

Daniel took a deep breath. It seemed the normally level-headed Victoria was convinced of this crazy story. "Let's pursue your idea further. For argument's sake, let's assume there is a kind of fairy world somewhere and your friend has visited it twice – now a third time. And let's suppose that she really is in trouble. Then she would be in trouble there and not here, right? And, if I understand your interpretation, then the dangers on this island are of magical or mystical nature, just like the inhabitants there. So they would know the best way to help her." Victoria opened her mouth to object, but Daniel continued. "And, if there is indeed a real pirate captain and his crew at the island, don't you think that those scoundrels know exactly how to deal with danger? They live for danger after all! Or, rather, they did live for it."

"But …"

"Surely the pirates of that time were excellent seamen and strategists, their crews were murderous and fearless fighters, their ships were often better cared for than those of the Royal Navy. Think about it a moment, Victoria. I'm sure that such a crew would be able-"

"STOP!" Victoria's cry made Kempton brake so suddenly so that both were thrown forward, eliciting angry horns and shouts behind them, other cars dodging them.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?" shouted a well-dressed man with a very red face. "Someone like you should never be on the road! Curry-faced blighter!"

Both sat in the stopped car, the young reporter took a few breaths. "Why should I stop?" he asked, slowly pulling over to the berm of the road.

Vicky's heart was galloping. "You … you said, those pirate-captains were excellent seamen and strategists … that their ships were often in better condition than those of the Royal Navy," she mused, staring into the distance. Royal Navy … a memory was scratching at the edge of her mind. Looking once again at the photo in The Times, she suddenly knew. Gasping, she fell back into the seat. "Oh. My. God … it's him!"

Putting the car in neutral and setting the brake, Daniel turned towards her. "Who is 'him'?" he asked; seeing that her riddle – because it was nothing else – was a very serious thing.

Victoria was recalling the beginning of the Easter Holidays. Unfolding the newspaper again, she looked carefully at the photo and groaned, "Why didn't I see it sooner?" She shook her head. "It's him! Captain Hook is Shalford!"

"Who?"

"I always thought that Wendy's drawing of Hook reminded me of someone, but I never made the connection. Now it's clear: Hook is Shalford – or the other way around!"

He frowned. "Shalford? Who is that?"

"The Shalfords – the family that owned the manor in Surrey before the Ashfords were given it as reward for their service to the crown." Vicky turned towards him. "Charges were pressed against the Shalfords as part of a conspiracy to kill the still uncrowned George I. The marquess and one of his sons were executed, the second son was killed during the arrest. Only the youngest son, an officer in the Royal Navy, escaped after he returned from sea a few weeks later. All trace of him was lost in Bristol and nothing was ever seen or heard of him again, or so the story goes. An old oil painting of him as a young man hangs in the manor library."

Daniel queried, "And? What has this to do with the captain who's anchored in London or the captain of your friend's tales?"

Victoria's green-grey were afire. "I'm not crazy, Daniel, but … Captain Andrews alias Captain Hook is in truth the last Shalford son!"

His eyes widened almost comically. "You … you think … you think this captain in the harbor is …" He shook his head.

"I know it sounds crazy, but that's part of the picture!" Victoria's eyes narrowed. "Wendy was fascinated by the painting and asked me a lot about the boy in it and his family. And now I know why. She recognized him. The youngest and last son of the Shalfords is none else than Captain James Hook – the same man who now anchors his ship in the St. Katherine Docks! He's even using his own name as a pseudonym: Captain James Andrews."

"Victoria!" Daniel groaned, thinking that the young woman was getting carried away.

She shook her head. He wouldn't talk her out of that conclusion. "James Andrew were the given names of the last Shalford son. He's using them now as his full name when he joined the pirates. And after somehow landing in Neverland he became Captain James Hook. He must have taken the new name after he lost his right hand."

Kempton cleared his throat, confusion taking another turn into the wind. "Darling, George I. was crowned in 1714. So, if you're right, the difficulty with the Shalfords must have been even earlier. That would mean that James Andrews or James Hook has to be over two hundred years old." He gave her a forced smile. "According to the picture, he looks rather younger than that. I might ask him where he found his Fountain of Youth."

Rolling her eyes, she glared at him. "You don't believe me – and I can't blame you. I almost can't believe it myself, but everything I know about her, him, the picture … points to that truth! The ship is an old Spanish galleon. It must have been built more than two hundred years ago. Certainly he won it during his time as a Caribbean pirate. He wears the clothes of that time, as does his crew. And the 'Foutain of Youth' you joked about is in truth Neverland itself. People don't age there, Wendy said. And many legends of fairy realms say the same – you don't age in their world, while outside times continues to flow normally. That's the reason he is so young and vital, even if he was born over two hundred years ago. He's been in Neverland this whole time."

Daniel rubbed his temples. "It could also be that Andrews is simply the descendent of this last Shalford. That would fit his statement in the article that he is here for business AND to find out about his English roots. He even said that his ancestor was a pirate -"

Shaking her head, Victoria interrupted him. "He twisted the tale so that his arrival and appearance would make sense to everyone. Wendy recognized him in the painting in our library the instant she saw him. Of course she did. Besides my very – very! – strong suspicion that she has a real crush on him, Hook's eyes are unique. She pointed it out often to me. A 'piercing azure,' 'blue like forget-me-nots.' The boy on the painting has the same eyes. And the same mouth." She had utterly convinced herself of the truths of her deductions.

"A-a-and … you want to confront the man about your … 'ideas' when we reach the ship?"

Victoria gave him a determined gleam. "Yes, I will do exactly that."

He shook his head and chuckled. "Two possibilities present themselves, my dear: He'll laugh his head off or he'll call the police to take you to the asylum."

Victoria chuckled. "Or he'll kick me off his ship, because of the old grudge against my family!"

"He won't dare!" Daniel said smirking.

She laughed. "See, just now even you admit the possibility of him being the last Shalford!"

"I do not!" he grumbled, earning him a soft punch. He released the hand brake and pulled into traffic.

"We'll see who's right very soon," Vicky replied smugly.

*** PP *** PP ***

It wasn't Mary's normal practice to walk in on someone without invitation or introductions – a strange man in his private rooms no less! – but she had no time to wait for niceties. The door behind the wheel showed the initials 'J. A. S. Hook, Cptn.' And she took a deep breath, bracing herself. Lifting her hand, she knocked firmly, paused a moment and then opened the door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the semidarkness in the small anteroom; then she entered the main cabin.

She paused again, suddenly awed by the grandeur of the cabin, planned, expanded, and ornamented over the past two hundred years by a variety of artisans. The ship's carpenters had taken advantage of the unusual properties of Neverland, allowing the interior to be larger than the exterior. (Don't ask.) Her eyes took in the expensive furniture, the carpets, the carved ceiling and the colored leaded windows; everything bathed in the golden glow of candles. This was the luxury of high Baroque. Not Neo-Baroque, oh no, but the original!

Her gaze was drawn to the figure at the dining table to her right. He rose. The bluest eyes she ever saw – 'blue as forget-me-nots' – investigated her from a face that was well-proportioned and masculine with high cheekbones and expressive lips, framed by a dark moustache and a goatee. He definitely resembled her husband, but this man was taller, younger. Long black curls fell over his broad shoulders, completely out of fashion, but suiting him. He was clad in a black shirt, long blue waistcoat with golden embroidery, deep blue breeches and black boots with high shafts. She glimpsed something golden shimmering at his open collar – the necklace with the dragon-scale that saved his life. And there, where his right hand had been, a shimmering silver hook extended beyond the shirt cuff, reflecting the light of the candles. To be sure, James Hook was a very attractive man, with an aura of mystery and danger. It was no wonder that Wendy had fallen for him. Mary reminded herself to breathe again. Yet the man looked tired. His eyes were red with darker circles under them. He hadn't slept much recently, the mother in her noticed. And then she noticed the evidence of the fire aboard.

Collecting herself and looking again to the man at the table, "Captain Hook?" she addressed him politely. "Please excuse my abrupt visit at this hour, but I think we both share the same concern. I wish to speak with you about it."

James had finally fallen asleep during the early morning hours while reading Moby Dick, while Captain Ahab was having one of its famous fits, only to be awakened just after dawn by the work outside on the docks. After Nibs helped him to dress for the day, he had ordered a breakfast and had begun to plan for his next move, when this … lovely … female came through the door of his cabin.

Rising, he stared at his visitor. The woman was possibly in her late thirties and obviously a lady dressed in a style he could appreciate. She had a well-proportioned, even, beautiful face and in the right corner of her mouth something seemed to wink – her hidden kiss. Something about her seemed familiar, but he was still weary, and didn't make the connection immediately. It was the fourth night without much sleep and he was quite groggy. But he straightened, addressing her: "Madame?" What was she talking about?

Behind her, Smee appeared – out of breath and clearly put off. "Mum, ye can't just walk into t'e capt'n's quarters …" He panted, looking apologetically at his superior. "Sorry, Capt'n, but I couldna stop 'er," he said.

"Smee! Found your way back, I see," the captain said with a frown. "I was about to send a search party."

His underling sighed deeply. "Sorry, I didn't come back yest'day, Capt'n, but dis be no town but a noodle soup in a large pot. Ye dunno know what I've been throo while-"

Hook lifted his left hand to silence the bosun. "Later!" he ordered. "First I want to know what this charming lady is doing in my quarters."

(It was on the tip of Smee's tongue to point out that this was normal when they were in port – his captain had been popular with the ladies everywhere in the Caribbean and the Carolinas – but those wild times were over.) Smee knew that there was only one female in the whole world that held Hook's interest: this "charming lady's" daughter.

Mary decided to answer. "I apologize for invading your quarters, but it's important." Gliding toward him, she slipped off her left glove and offered her hand. "I am Mary Elisabeth Darling," she introduced herself and felt the captain's strong fingers close around hers; the gold of the two large rings were warm as his sailor's rough hand was.

He lifted his brow. "Mary Elisabeth Darling?" He looked at her more closely. Grey-green-blue eyes, elegant features, a hidden kiss in the right corner of her mouth … "Wendy's mother?" he guessed. Catching her amused smile, he knew he was right. The resemblance was undeniable. Finally realizing who the lady was – his storyteller's mother no less – he lifted her hand to his lips, bowing perfectly. "Madame, it is an honor to meet you."

'How gallant – for a pirate,' Mary thought, and replied, "Thank you, Captain, the pleasure is mine. Finally I meet the man who's filled my daughter's stories for years."

James nearly smiled. "Filled or haunted?" he teased, releasing her hand.

Mary laughed softly. It seemed the man possessed a dry humor. "It depends how old the stories are. In earlier times you were the villain that drove the action of her tales. And now you not only fill her stories, but also her heart."

She was surprised to see a touch of pink in his cheeks, when Smee cleared his throat. "Mizz Darlin' is right, Capt'n. Ye're in our storyteller's heart."

Hook shot him look. "Smee-" he began, but was interrupted by his bosun.

"It's true. Miss Wendy asked me ter give ye a message. She asked me ter tell ya t'at she loves ye."

"What?" Hook blinked, feeling warmth beginning in his chest. Then it hit him. "When did she tell you that?"

"Last night," Mary answered instead of Smee. "Wendy called and -"

"Tha' means she used an odd wooden box wit' cords 'n' through which ye can speak wit' people who be far 'n' away," he added. As Hook frowned, he added quietly, "I spoke wit' th' lass by usin' it, Capt'n.

"What … what did she say?" he demanded, trying to remain calm, throat constricting.

"Firs' she wept in deep anguish 'coz she tho't ye dead and t'en in happiness when I tol' her t'at ye're alive."

"So, she thought me dead," Hook murmured and lowered his head, pushing back the pain that pierced his chest. He knew his softhearted kitten had mourned him deeply; as he had seen in his vision. 'Old, alone, done for' no more!' He sighed and closed his eyes. "I wish I could have spared her sorrow, but I had no way to tell her I lived. Even my crew assumed I'd gone to Davy Jones' locker," he said to Mary.

Mrs. Darling was watching Hook's eyes closely, seeing the regret. She explained, "Wendy learned of your death from Viscount Ashford, who obviously twisted the truth. He told her and us, too, that a bullet accidentally hit and killed you, but I learned the truth from my sons. Thank you for taking care of them, by the way."

Hook only nodded, then frowned. "So, Ashford lied. Nothing new there."

"He not only lied to Wendy, but also to my husband and me when we visited him at the manor last Sunday," Mary replied. "We found Wendy deeply asleep and were told their doctor had given her a sedative, as she was so upset about your death." She shook her head. "In truth, Wendy was sedated by Viscount Ashford's former nanny, who-"

"Who dabbles in witchcraft, I know, Madame, which is how Ashford and his henchmen were able to come to Neverland." Then he straightened as he realized that they still stood next to the table. "Where are my manners?" he mumbled, gesturing to a seat. "Please, Mrs. Darling, have a seat."

"Thank you, Captain."

He held the chair for her and returned to his own, his eyes quickly searching the darker corners and niches of his quarters. Kailen and Aurora had been on the bookshelf, eating a few bites of bread and Cookson's homemade marmalade when Mrs. Darling had burst into his quarters, but the two were now hidden. He knew that they were there, listening to every word. And where was that fluttering nuisance, Tinker Bell? Smee was back, but the fairy was still absent. Odd!

Turning his attention back to his visitor, who opened her coat, he glanced up at his bosun. "Smee, please bring hot tea for Mrs. Darling. She's been out in this damp London air." He looked at Mary. "May I invite you to breakfast, Madame?"

Wendy's mother gave him a smile – one of those silent smiles her daughter could melt stones with. "Thank you, Captain, I've already breakfasted."

James nodded. "As you wish. Mr. Smee, the tea." The Irishman saluted casually and left the cabin, knowing this conversation was not for his ears.

Mary watched her host and gestured toward the table. "Please, Captain, don't let my arrival stop you from finishing your own breakfast. I'm sure, you're going to need it."

He coughed quietly behind his napkin. "You think so?" he asked, tickled by the lady's charming motherly way. It was the same with Wendy. He remembered very well how stern she had been while 'nursing' him after 'The Battle.'

Mrs. Darling cocked her head. "Wendy would say 'Aye!' And concerning her: I'm here to speak with you about … our Wendy."

Hook took a bite of marmalade and toast, watching her. He knew exactly what the lady wanted to talk about. Surely the boys hadn't been able to keep their big mouths shut! "Please know that a gentleman will not answer delicate questions concerning … private events," he said, then continued to eat.

Mary snorted. "It seems you and my daughter share certain characteristics, such as grabbing the bull by the horns." She took a deep breath while watching him enjoy his breakfast. He was quite skillful with his left hand and hook; she admired his deftness. Yet she had come for more than getting Wendy out of the manor. She had to know what really transpired between her daughter and the pirate. "Captain, as we're already speaking of my daughter and you, I have – indeed! – a few questions. And private life or not, I will still ask for truthful answers." He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and looked sharply at her, but – just like her daughter – she ignored his warning glance. What was it with the Darling-women and their fearlessness? "My daughter not only asked Mr. Smee to give you a passionate message of love, she also admitted her feelings for you to me last night." She saw a smile begin to tug at his mouth, while his sharp gaze softened. Hm! Eyebrow climbing, she cleared her throat. "I would like to believe that you return her feelings. Considering you left Neverland and travelled to London – crossing time and realms, one might say – to get her back tells me more than words. Yet I want to know how far your … relationship has progressed."

James tensed. The pirate in him wanted to say 'we share a bed.' The gentleman in him wanted to protect his beloved's reputation. What he said was a mixture of both. "Madame, I do understand that you, Wendy's mother, are worried. And you ae right to demand answers from me, but, as I've said, I'm a very private person. And even as a pirate, I still possess some decency. So … I would rather not answer this question before I've spoken with Wendy."

She wasn't surprised at his choice of words. "Your discretion speaks well of you, Captain, and perhaps I can make the decision easier for you," Mary said slowly. "Let me tell you … a story. During Holy Friday night, I woke and followed an impulse to go to the window of our bedroom. I know how to find Neverland in a clear sky: second star to the right. That star was shining and blinking – then brightened suddenly, like a little pink sun, and I felt it. Something reached us through the air, like a warm wave, very powerful. Something very special must have happened that night in Neverland." She saw him moistening his lips and for a moment, there winked something in the right corner of his mouth: A hidden kiss! And 'uh-uh' again!

A deep breath and she continued, "In my heart, I'm a mother, Captain, and I love all of my children – those I gave life to and those George and I took in. But Wendy is special to me – perhaps because she is a girl like I once was. We're very close. And I think that this … wave … I sensed had something to do with her. And you." She bent forward slightly. "You should know, the Twins pointed out that the viscount was already losing Wendy to you in Neverland. When I consider all things together, then I must conclude: Ny daughter gave herself to you, and this singular gift produced a wave of magic that was felt all the way to Earth. And I think," here she sighed, then continued, "she became a woman in your arms."

Hook sighed as well. Mothers and their intuitions. "You guess well, Madame," he said quietly; seeing no reason to deny it. "Wendy gave me the greatest gift a man can get from a woman: She trusted me with her whole self. She trusted me enough to make this step with me to a whole new world."

Mary was surprised to hear such tender and sensitive words from a man who was supposedly a villain – a man who had killed. A man who had hunted a small boy for revenge and hadn't hesitated to use brutal methods. But this same man who sat across from her was also a man in love. And love could tame the wildest beast.

"It fits," she said softly. "It had to be you who awoke the first carnal feelings in my daughter, long before she recognized them as such. It had to be you who carried her over the threshold. There was always a connection between you. A strong one, I dare say. And I'm glad that Wendy had that experience the arms of someone who would not betray her trust." She felt amusement rising in her as she saw him truly blushing now. "The dread pirate and the storyteller – what a couple," she chuckled.

"Your daughter has a way to … of charming others. Even as a little girl she … she caught me with her sweet smiles, her laughter, her shining eyes and daring character. When I saw her dancing around the bonfire in the Indian camp just days ago – a girl on the brink of womanhood – my heart was lost," James heard himself admitting, and groaned inwardly. That insect on two legs had obviously been right. He really was turning into a softie!

"And now you're here to get her back," Mary said softly.

"I'm here to rescue her," James corrected. "The Ashfords are a family of liars and thieves, indifferent to the misery they bring to others. That goes for their ancestors and the present viscount. It was irrelevant to him what my death would do to Wendy, the woman he claims to love. You don't bring sorrow to someone you love if you can prevent it, but he did so. It's clear that he doesn't care for Wendy but for his own goals." He paused, then sipped his tea. "You and Smee told me that she 'called' you last night, therefore in secret without Ashford's knowledge. We might assume she can't move freely about in the manor. Additionally, the viscount doesn't want her to speak with her parents, the reason why he sedated her during your visit. He has to have some secrets Wendy knows about but doesn't want her sharing with others. Could you share any with me?"

"Any?" Mary snorted and crossed her arms. "I don't want you to lose your appetite, but-"

"Madame, no fret. My stomach has handled a lot since Portsmouth, in June of 1714, as I learned from a loyal friend that my father and brothers were dead and that the confederates of the uncrowned new king were after my head, too."

"I know about your background, Captain," Mary said softly. "John, Michael and the others told me yesterday evening. And Mr. Smee confirmed it."

James rolled his eyes. "Since when has my past has become a bedtime story?"

"Certainly not a bedtime story, Captain, but it explains a lot," Mrs. Darling replied calmly.

Another sigh from Hook, then he resumed the topic. "I've learned to handle anything thrown in my way and make the best of it. So please, don't hold anything back out of misplaced consideration for my delicate nature. Information – nay, truth is always welcome, bad and good. Often truth is more powerful than a sword."

Mary lifted both brows and nodded. She liked his directness. "As you wish."

TBC…

Ha, now James knows from whom Wendy got this streak of directness, bravery and her way to confront problems instead of running away from them. Yes, Wendy is still very young and young people are mostly more brash, but now he met a fully grown and matured woman of the 'new ages' and he gets an impression what to expect from his crabby storyteller over the next years (*snicker*). And he is impressed, this is clear. Just wait 'til he meets Victoria, what will come in the next chapter. He is going to learn how strong the 'modern' woman is now.

So, Fulsom saw the article in The Times, and – believe me – this article will unleash far, far more, especially when Ashford and Mr. Darling learn about it.

In the next chapter, Victoria and Daniel will reach the ship and meet Hook, like I already mentioned above. And THIS will be a next shock – for Hook AND Daniel. Mary and Victoria will more or less team up (poor males) and Tink will find her way back, but not alone, but with a few unpleasant 'companions'. And then the moment comes you all waited for: Wendy shows up aboard. Just guess what will happen to our 'grim, stern' pirate-captain…

I hope, you liked the new chapter, including how Victoria deducted who her friend's pirate-captain is for real. It was also fun to write how Mary reacted to the pirates she knew from her daughter's diaries, or the first talk between her and Hook. You can imagine that I'm now really curious about your reactions and what you think, so please leave some feedback.

Have a nice rest of the week and an even nicer weekend,

Love

Yours Starflight / Lywhn