Hallo, my dear readers!

Even if a few days have passed by since the new year began, I don't want to miss to wish you all a happy New Year. Hopefully it will be good one for all of you and brings more peace than the last one.

Thank you for the feedback; I knew that you would love it how Wendy was able to flee. And I'm sure you're going to like the new chapter, too. There is a lot going on, and a few funny scenes are there, too.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight / Lywhn

Chapter 47 – Women's Work

The weather in London was hardly better than in Surrey. The night was cold and damp, rain mingling with snow. Wind blew from the Thames and the first fog was creeping over the turf. Tinker Bell hated this weather. Even wrapped in protective layers of leaves, she shivered flying over Kensington Gardens, in Hyde Park, behind the wrought iron fences.

Descending, she saw the Serpentines, originally fed by two small rivers, but now fed by water pumped from the Thames. It was a long water course, deep and wide enough to allow boating during the warm season, and the café near the boat house was a popular meeting area. Now the water lay silent and dark there, the last of the ice along its banks. Following the Serpentines, Tinker Bell passed Bird's Island, where Peter had lived with the thrush Solomon Caw as an infant. Then she crossed the Serpentine Bridge and looking to her left, she could see the wide path leading to the bridge: The Baby Walk. Here nannies took walks with prams or little children, unaware of the hundreds of fairies playing in the flower beds along the path, masked as flowers. Only infants, toddlers and those with open hearts were able to see them. And there, where the Baby Walk ended in the west, where the Broad Walk headed to the north, passing Kensington Palace, was the Fairies' Basin, a bed of ivy – one of the plants the Little People used for medicinal fluids.

Tink spared the Baby Walk only a glance. Usually, when she was here with Peter, they looked for little boys who had fallen out of their prams and therefore could become Lost Boys after a few days, but hearing no wails or whimpers, she knew that every baby was home with his parents as they should be. And this trip, there was no time to waste.

Turning north, she saw the spot Peter landed after he tried to go home home. Seeing the round water basin to her left – 'The Round Pond' with foot path around it – she sighed in relief as she finally spotted the large chestnut trees in a circle, where the fairy-queen's winter palace was hidden.

She knew that she wouldn't find Niam here; the queen remained in Neverland much of the time – especially when the island was in trouble. But a few of Niam's court might be there, among them her daughter Mab, and she could plead for help to locate Peter from them. Even after all the time since Peter had left Kensington Gardens to live in Neverland, the fairies still loved him, remembering his deft and beautiful playing of the pipe, the wonderful stories he would tell.

Darting beneath the many trees, leaving a trail of gold dust, Tink arrived at the hidden entrance to the fairy queen's winter palace. In earlier times, it had been in the middle of the circle of trees, but after a few very close calls with nosy mortals, it was now well-hidden underground in the dome made of gnarled roots. Tink took a moment to gather herself, then she slipped beneath two roots and knocked three times against a knot. It was several moments before a fairy guard looked out of another knothole. "Tinker Bell?" he asked, seeing her worried expression.

"Yes, indeed," the star-fairy answered and rubbed her arms. "May I come in? It's miserable cold …" She paused as a hidden door was opened. Warm light fell into the icy dark early morning, and, shivering, Tink slipped in. She found herself in the large anteroom – at least it was large for fairies. Behind it was the proper gate that led into the entrance hall, made of colored glass and moonbeams. Originally on the surface, it was now safe from the curiosity of those who doubted fairies.

The guard who admitted her wasn't alone. A few of them, wearing something like uniforms and carrying halberds, peered at ther. Tink took a deep breath. "I'm here in order of Her Majesty, Queen Niam. The rose fairy Aurora, the Pixie Kailen and I were sent out to rescue Peter Pan who has been kidnapped by evil men. Niam told me to get help from this Court."

The captain of the guards, an older fairy, examined her closely. "The boy who won't grow up was kidnapped – from Neverland?" he asked incredulously.

Tink sighed. "Yes. A minor nobleman has a witch as servant. She opened a portal between this world and Neverland. Then he and a few other men came and captured Peter." She lowered her head. "Many of our kind fought to protect Peter and were injured or killed, for the mortals were well prepared. They took the Pan away."

"What about the one-handed man who calls himself Hook?" the captain asked, knowing well of the pirate from Niam, when she and consort resided in the Fairy Queen's Winter Palace.

"Yes, Captain Hook," Tinker Bell replied. "He and Peter made peace, you must have heard, and Hook traveled back to this world to save Peter, taking Aurora, Kailen and me with him. But this night I learned that Peter isn't in the evil man's house anymore. He was taken to an orphanage somewhere here in London – at least we suspect it's in London."

"A 'orphanage' – it's a house for children with no parents?" a younger fairy guard wanted to know, shuddering at the thought. Fairies loved little children and knowing them alone and unsheltered hurt their hearts.

"Yes. Peter was sent there after the man's witch took blood from him" there were gasps of horror all around her "to brew a potion that should make her young again." More outraged gasps erupted. "And the man in the orphanage got coins from the nobleman to take Peter. I'm sure that Peter is in great danger, kept captive somewhere from where he can't escape. If we don't find him quickly, he'll grow too much to return to Neverland. And you know what this means – not only for him, but also for our brothers and sisters on the island. And for all the other Good Neighbors."

The captain listened carefully; a deep frown on his pale forehead. "We don't meddle with humans, but Peter Pan is one of us. I still hear his pipe in my ears, the merry tunes gave us much joy during our celebrations. And he is very important for our people in Neverland. True, he might be replaced by another boy, but Peter Pan is unique. He's our friend and protector. I'll wake Queen Mab and tell her your story. She will surely help you find the boy."

Tink gave him a relieved smile. "Thank you!" she sighed and watched him go, while another guard brought her a bluebell full of warm tea. Queen Mab was one of Niam's daughters. She took over whenever her mother was in Neverland, which was now most of the time. She was also the midwife for the fairies. You will remember, the first fairies were born from the first baby's laugh as it splintered into thousands of pieces, and even now fairies came from other babies' first laughter, but many fairies were also born like other infants, and therefore a midwife was needed. Mab, with her gentle hands and her deep understanding of nature's mysteries, was perfect for this task and she fulfilled it with grace and skill.

Tink knew that Mab would send help, just like Mab's mother Niam had said. And the star-fairy already had a plan. Searching every house in London would take too long, but there was another way. Fairies had a sixth sense when it came to children and they loved to follow them, because the children's belief in them energized them. And where many children were gathered, the empowering of belief was easily felt. It attracted fairies. This is how they would find Peter, because no child believed more fiercely in fairies than Peter Pan.

But taking the time to search would take its toll on her friend, giving him time to age, just like the former lost boys and even Wendy …

*** PP *** PP ***

The road down from Charles Hill was unpaved and slippery, forcing Wendy to wrestle with the unfamiliar vehicle as it plowed through the cold mud. From there she drove east, finding the main road that led from the south to the north. Because of the rain, she had to get out of the car at every crossroad in order to read the signs. She made a wrong turn, and she had to return to take another route, losing half an hour. Near Godalming, she had to stop to refill the tank. The usual two or three spare gasoline cans were stowed on the motorcar, one half-full, another full. As she poured the contents of the second can into the tank, she knew that this was too little to reach London. She would have to purchase more in Guildford, five miles to the north.

Feeling cold and wet, but still in high spirits, she replaced the cans behind the passenger cabin and resumed her drive. Bumblyn sat beside her, watching her closely and enduring the bumps and jolts. He was kneading the tuft on his tail, a sure sign he was tense, but Wendy was grateful he was not complaining. Usually the tiny Hobgoblin made no bones about an unhappy situation, but on this ride, he kept silent. Maybe it was the fear of the motorcar or he didn't want to distract her.

Even with damp clothes, and the chill fog, Wendy's mood remained elevated. The knowledge that James was not only alive but also in London made up for any discomfort, and more. Besides, she was grateful to have escaped the manor and the spiraling insanity of his old nanny, now completely transformed into a devil's servant. She bit her lip, remembering Nissa and Hutchings, but she was determined to return quickly to help them and the dragonling.

By quarter to seven, the sky had grown light, Guildford Road (later to become A3100) crossed the railway that led north, to Woking. A few minutes later she passed the first houses in Guildford. This trip normally took half an hour. Wendy had needed one and a half, but she had managed to keep the motorcar on the road, avoiding accident. She knew how to steer a motorcar, in theory anyway, for she had no much training. And she was very happy that the road between Guildford and Godalming was paved.

She reached a crossroads with an old church on the left, St. Nicolas Church. Here she hesitated. If she continued on this route, she would have to purchase more gas, and then approach London from the southwest, an area she didn't know. However, she could take a train which she'd often done going to and from Roedean.

Another car stopped behind her, blowing its horn to signal her to move. It was the moment of decision. Continuing through the intersection, she followed the signs to Guildford's station, a typical one made of red brick and white window frames, chimneys and gables. A wide drive was available for cars with a glassed-in reception room.

Wendy steered the Austin through the open gate and parked. The car would draw attention, and word would eventually be sent to the manor. She knew that she had, technically, stolen the vehicle, but she was no thief. She didn't want to give Dalton any reason to press charges against her for theft. So, the motorcar had to be returned quickly. And she already knew how to do this. After she switched off the engine, she grabbed the satchel from the well by the passenger seat and opened it. "Bumblyn, do you think you could fit in here?".

The Hobgoblin, who hadn't even made a sound for quite some time, looked into the handbag and mumbled, "Bumblyn is small. Fitting in he will."

Wendy nodded, put the pouch with the professor's money into her coat pocket and helped her little friend to pack himself into the handbag. "All right, I'll carry you in my arms so that you can't get hurt," she said softly.

He climbed in. With big, almost fearful eyes the tiny bogey looked up at her. "Doing what are we?" he asked.

"We'll travel the last part by train. I don't know the way through most of London, but I know which trains to use to get to Bloomsbury. Dalton will soon realize that both I and his motorcar are missing. If he calls the police and accuses me of theft, I can get in trouble."

"What is train?" Bumblyn wanted to know.

She smiled, remembering the explanation she had given when James asked the same question. "A train is made of several carriages linked together and pulled by another strong carriage that can move with a motor."

"With a motor? No horses? Mortals doing magic?" the Hobgoblin squeaked in surprise and Wendy had to smile again, shaking her head.

"This magic is only the power of steam. I'll show you how it works later. You already rode in a lorry from the portal to the manor. The principle now is likewise." With those words she closed the handbag and cut off Bumblyn's protest. "Shhhhh. You don't want other humans to learn of you," Wendy murmured. Promptly all wailing and squirming were stilled, and the girl left the Austin.

Crossing the yard now filling with coaches, a few bicycles and another motorcar, she walked to the ticket office. Listening to the man in front of her buying a ticket to Woking, she learned that the train standing at the station had to wait until the express train coming from Portsmouth made its own stop here.

She sent up a whispered prayer of gratitude. The express train stopped between Portsmouth and London-Waterloo only twice: here in Guildford and in Woking. A direct connection between the Clarence Pier in Portsmouth and the capital had been completed in 1861, but an express-train had priority – the reason the other train had to wait – between the two towns. If she remembered the schedule correctly, the journey between Portsmouth and London lasted two and a half hours, which meant that it would take now more than an hour to London now.

Happily, Wendy bought the ticket with Archibald's money, and asked the man at the ticket counter if she could have a sheet of paper and a pencil. A coy look from under long lashes and a soft 'please' accomplished her request, and moments later she returned to the Austin and put the folded paper on the driver seat, weighing it down with the lorry lever she had taken with her. She heard an approaching whistle, and knew that the express train was nearing the station. Glancing up, she could already see the steam in the cold morning air.

She hurried back to the station platform. The huge, powerful locomotive was already stopping, emitting a lot of noise and steam. The air was filled with the smell of the hot coal fire, and the girl felt Bumblyn fidget in the satchel she carried against her chest. "Be still!" she hissed. "Everything is going well." She climbed into the next train carriage, found an empty compartment and sat down. Putting the satchel beside her, she whispered, "Be still a few more minutes, until we're moving. If no other passengers join us, I'll open the bag and show you where we are, all right?"

"Not good for poor Bumblyn," came the muffled reply from the satchel.

"I know. Not long now and we're home. And then I let you out and you get a lot to eat!"

Obviously this prospect of a full stomach agreed with the little Hobgoblin, because he grew quiet. Outside the conductor's whistle sounded and a jerk went through the train. Wendy took a deep sigh of relief. She had definitely escaped. Even if Dalton were to arrive at the station, he had no chance of catching up with the train.

The next stage of her journey – from Waterloo Station to Bloomsbury – she would have to switch trains and then had to use the Tube, but herein lay another advantage. Wendy knew the train and tube schedules in London, as well as the omnibus lines. Dalton Ashford, traveling as a citizen of a different class, had rarely or never used the Tube or an omnibus.

Leaning back in the comfortable seat of the second class compartment, she began to relax. She had made it! She had escaped Ashford and was on her way back to London. In two or three hours she would be at home, would learn where the Jolly Roger anchored and would see James again. Together they would find Peter and save him from the hellhole where Ashford had sent him. These two things were what mattered most in her world!

*** PP *** PP ***

Horrified, Peter stood staring at the lines of washtubs from where the smell was … well … was mostly unpleasant. It was warm here, almost too warm, and the air was moist. "What is this?" he asked Frank in a whisper.

He and the other children had breakfasted on something that didn't deserve the name, then gathered together in different teams. Peter's team was led through a connecting door to the next building where he found himself now. "It's the washhouse where we work after school," Frank replied under his breath. "And because it's the holidays – no school – we work all day here."

Peter blinked. Children working? Hadn't Wendy told him that there were new laws that protected children? "But I thought they weren't allowed to work children now?" he murmured.

"Ha," Fank sighed. "Guys like Director Primely avoid rules. They tell the inspectors we only do a little light work like folding the sheets and stuff. But we do all the work."

And work it was. Peter was aghast at what grownups wanted children to do, just to get spots off a few stupid sheets and blankets. There were tubs where the laundry was literally cooked in soap and water, then removed on long poles, and rinsed in clear hot water – a step done by the older boys. Then everything had to be rinsed again in the next tub, until the water was soapy, then the water was replaced. In between the sheets, blankets and tablecloths were struck repeatedly with paddles, others were scrubbed with hand brushes until the spots were gone. In the next room there were large wringers through which the laundry had to go to squeeze out the water. The water that poured on the floor between the different working steps had to be pushed into ditches in the floor. Then the laundry was stretched and hung on lines. In the next room they had to be ironed – work done by children Peter's size.

It was hard graft, and even if Peter was strong, he learned to loathe it quickly. There was no fun, nothing that could be called 'play.' They had to work non-stop, with Thin Joe, Fat Elmer and Snippy Mildred watching every move. This was nothing like the work children should do! And worse were the two staff of the washhouse. Woe to any child if one blanket wasn't folded neatly or a wrinkle was found in a tablecloth. Shocked, Peter watched as a young girl and boy were viciously slapped for their "mistakes." This was slavery. And his determination to escape intensified.

He was the Prince of Neverland, the eternal boy, and not a child that could be abused by grownups for cheap labor! He considered throwing the next hot dripping blanket onto Thin Joe, but there were too many warders around. He couldn't battle them all at once. No, better wait until they were ignoring him, come up with a real plan to get away. He couldn't know that the Weird Sisters' spinning wheel was already turning …

*** PP *** PP ***

At the same time as the express train from Portsmouth roared through southwest London and neared Waterloo Station, Mr. Smee watched Mrs. Darling's preparations to get the horseless coach running – the motorcar, she called it. From somewhere a church bell rang eight times and the early morning was cold.

John and Slightly, both dressed and ready to leave, stood on the walk beside the bosun. Mary had phoned her sister-in-law early in the morning, telling her that the boys were back and that she would bring Robert to their home. Neither Slightly nor John were happy about it. They wanted to pow-wow with the others about how to find and rescue Peter, but Mrs. Darling had been quite stern for once. John was coming along, not only to introduce his blood-brother to her, but because he had promised Dark Owl to return in the morning, and a Darling always keeps his word. Also, Mary had promised Millicent to bring Robert to her, and so it would be. End of discussion!

Now the two boys stood there watching her with some amusement, until the front door opened and Curly appeared. "Mother, Father is on the phone!" he yelled.

Mary grimaced. What timing! "Boys, watch the motorcar!" she directed, gathered her long skirt and her driving coat, repositioned her hat gone askew, and hastened back into the house. John watched her go, sighed, and put the luggage in the back seat. "Clothes for Dark Owl," he explained to Smee. "If he wants to leave the ship, he'll need other clothes, and a cap to hide his hair."

The old man grunted. "Do ye really t'ink tha' 'll fool th' people t' believin' 'e's an Englishman?"

"No, but he won't attract as much attention," John replied, climbing into the back seat. Then he gestured to the seat by the driver. "Climb in."

Smee's spectacles began to migrate down his nose again. "W-w-wha'?" he gasped, staring at the motorcar.

"Mother's taking you back to the ship, as you know -"

"In THA'"!? he squeaked.

"Smee, you're a yellow-belly!" the boys groaned.

In the house, Mary Darling related the salient points of Wendy's call. George's relief about hearing from their daughter was quickly doused when he learned of the reason the viscount courted Wendy, and about Ashford's financial difficulties. At first he didn't want to believe it, but Mary made it very clear that a) her daughter didn't lie and b) that it was up to him to do the research. After all, if the viscount was really such a dishonorable man as to go behind his own father's back, he certainly wasn't the right husband for their daughter. And, furthermore, if he had embezzled funds from his father's company, he certainly had covered his tracks deceptively. And betraying a bank was always a reason for investigation.

"It would be an utter impertinence if that young man truly thinks I would abuse my rank to get him money for free!" George growled. He was a decent man who would never involve himself in dodgy dealings!

Mary smiled. Woe to the deceiver! It was the quickest way to wind up her husband. Yet she concentrated more on the facts than the mood. "George, I don't know if the Ashfords are customers of the Bank of England, but -"

"The earl is – and his accounts are flawless," her husband interrupted her. "I already checked them over last week after Viscount Ashford asked for my permission to court our daughter."

"I thought as much," Mary sighed. Of course George had done his homework; she wouldn't expect any less from him.

"And if the viscount indeed embezzled funds from the company, he will have left traces. I'll speak with Ben Taylor, our forensic accountant, to check the accounts the Ashfords have at our bank. Perhaps Ben can use his connections to obtain further information from the other banks the Ashfords deal with."

"That would be a great help," Mary replied. "If Dalton Ashford really is a gambler, we not only have to protect our daughter, but you must reveal his manipulations before your bank is betrayed."

She heard George sighing painfully, before he grumbled, "I'll call Ben as soon as I can. But right now, I must breakfast with Sir Edward, and will have to concentrate on the upcoming negotiation. But don't fear, my love, we'll clear this up together – at latest when I'm back in London, probably this evening. At least I'll try to get back today. How are the boys doing?"

"Fine – except they're worried about Peter and Wendy." It occurred to her that she might be gone awhile, driving to the St. Katherine Docks and then to Millicent. "I called Millie this morning and promised to bring Robert to her, so I'll be not here for a while. But Liza has already arrived and she's with the boys."

"Good to hear. I don't want them running about London on a foolhardy rescue mission. If it turns out that the viscount really has money problems for an excuse to court Wendy, then I will confront him. Perhaps he and I can come to an agreement. That way his father won't need to learn anything from me concerning the embezzled funds – should it be true – and he can reveal where the boy is. Then we get the young pest out and he can travel back with his ominous Captain Hook to Neverland.'

Mary grimaced, thinking, Yes, except for Wendy who is madly in love with the captain – and who would rather go with him than stay here. But she held her tongue. One thing at time, as her mother always said. So she replied, "I see you've already got a plan, George. Thank you. Stay safe. Much success in the upcoming negotiation. My greetings to Sir Edward."

"Thank you, my dear, and give the boys a hug from me. Bye!"

The call ended. Turning to look at Liza, who frowned, she sighed, "Men! I ask myself how they can run a country with their simple way of thinking."

Liza snorted a laugh, before she said, "They think they're running it – but in truth it's us. As my mum would say, 'A man might be the head, but the woman is the neck'."

Mary chuckled and checked her hat again. "I'll try to be back around midday, but don't worry if it takes longer." She glanced at the boys who had gathered in the hallway. "And you all behave! You cannot help your friend by dashing about London with no clue where to go." With those words, she left the house and found outside another discussion ongoing.

John sat on the backseat of the motorcar, Robert was in the driver's seat and Mr. Smee stood on the pavement, gesturing negatively with both arms. "No, no, an' once again, no. No a t'ousan' 'orses could get me in tha' awful thin'." He pointed at the motorcar. The bosun's tirade was interrupted by Mrs. Darling beside him.

"I told him of Wendy's call and the viscount's reasons to 'help' us and for courting her. Your father is … very irritated, you might say."

"In other words, he's royally steamed," Slightly translated with a smirk, climbing out of the driver seat.

"You could say that. Mr. Darling will check Ashford's financial background, and he'll try to be back this evening. I only hope he doesn't ruin his chance persuading the earl to work with their bank, otherwise he's in trouble with Sir Edward." She sighed. "It seems everything happens at once." She shook her head, walked around the motorcar and looked back at the house, where the other boys stood by the door. "Stay here until I return," she said. "I want to speak with Captain Hook. There are a few things I have to discuss with him before your father returns. Then I'll take Robert to his mother." She slipped behind the wheel, switched on the two headlamps and released the hand brake. "What are you waiting for, Mr. Smee?"

"Mum," Smee wheezed, transferring his weight from foot to foot, wringing his soft hat in his hands at the sight of her piercing eyes. "I think I'll walk –"

"Nonsense, you would get lost, just like last evening. And the distance is much too far for walking!" Mrs. Darling said firmly, adopting her best Millicent-voice with the hesitant old pirate.

Slightly shoved him towards the motorcar and pushed him onto the seat beside the driver. "Come on, Smee, don't chicken out!" Then he climbed in the backseat beside his cousin, who grinned.

Mary soothingly told him, "Have no fear, Mr. Smee, a motorcar is the most comfortable manner of travel about the city these days." Then she engaged the first gear. They began to move – and Smee clung to the seat under him, wishing for a horse in front of him, feeling like he was going to fall forward into the street.

"Womens in control is bad luck!" he whimpered.

"Great day in the morning, Mr. Smee, you're a pirate! Don't tell me that you believe such things!" The other boys stood at the front door and snickered as Mary turned the motorcar and finally drove away.

"What do you think, will he survive the ride?" Curly shook his head, watching them go.

"Hm, sure. Only if Mother doesn't wallop him on the way there. I was wondering if Hook will survive the confrontation with her," Tootles snickered.

Curly and the twins laughed and returned to the house. Of course, they wouldn't wait for the others to return. They would have a pow-wow, about how to help Peter and Wendy, not knowing that Tink and a few dozen fairies were already combing through London. Unfortunately, none of the little magical beings had a clue where all the orphanages were located.

*** PP *** PP ***

In the last twenty years, Bloomsbury had become a respectable quarter of the city, where people of a solid middle and upper middle class lived. The presence of the British Museum and the proximity of portions of the University contributed to the transformation of a poor borough into an estimable one.

There were other boroughs of greater status; the nobles and diplomats or politicians of London resided mainly in Mayfair, east of Hyde Park, a 'stone's throw' from Buckingham Palace. The most expensive street was the Park Lane that began south at Hyde Park Corner and Piccadilly Street and ran along the park to the north where it ended in Oxford Street, the most expensive shopping district. Many residences were located along the side-streets branching off Park Lane – townhouses stood wall to wall or separated by small but beautiful gardens.

It was in one of those side streets that Lady Catherine Bellingham and her husband Hendrik lived. This was Victoria Ashford's home whenever she visited her mother's sister.

As Mrs. Darling began her trip to the St. Katherine Docks, and the express train with Wendy aboard reached Woking, Lady and Earl Bellingham breakfasted together with their niece. While Catherine skimmed through the newest lady's magazine, her husband was reading The Times. Victoria, always interested in current events, took the main section of The Times to check the local news on the front page. Straightening the paper, she sipped her tea as her gaze fell on the headline. 'Authentic 18th Century Pirate Ship Arrives in London's Port'.

What?

Victoria's glance fell to the photo – and promptly she choked on the tea she'd just sipped. Catherine and Hendrik Bellingham looked up as Vicky began to cough into her napkin. "Victoria, dear!" Aunt Cathy said, and took her tea from her other hand.

Hendrik watched her noisy convulsions. "I always say reading and drinking your tea at the same time can lead to accidents," he said, gently patting his niece on the back.

"The reason why you do it every morning – reading and drinking your tea, I mean," his wife retorted.

Victoria had no ears for the banter. Getting her coughing under control, she could only see the photo of the man she knew she had seen before – in her friend Wendy's drawings!

Impossible! She had to be mistaken.

Coughing under control, she rose. "E-excuse me, please," she stuttered. "I, uh, must change." Not waiting for an answer, she darted out of the dining room to the marble staircase and her private apartment with the section of the paper.

She was able to look at him closely: He was a tall man with long dark curly hair, a moustache and goatee. He wore a frockcoat and a wide-brimmed hat with extraordinary feathers and a weapon's sash around his left shoulder, obviously decorated with gems. He was shaking another man's hand with his left. But what set him apart was the hook on his truncated right arm. With expanding eyes, she read through the first lines. Her breath hitched at the description '…Captain James Andrews, who goes by the stage name Hook …' and '… his ship, a Spanish galleon of the early 18th century, was named 'Jolly Roger,' a tribute to the infamous black flag – a clever naming for a pirate ship…'.

Oh my stars! She herself had told Wendy it was a 'genius idea' to name the pirate ship in her fantasy book the 'Jolly Roger' and the commander who had lost his right hand, 'Captain Hook.' That this man … in the flesh … might someday appear in London, dressed like that, with hair exactly as Wendy had painted him, had never occurred to Victoria. Amazed, paralyzed, she read the whole article, then the paper sank from her nerveless fingers. How … could this man even exist? He, his ship and his crew were products of Wendy's fantasy – or were they?

According to the newspaper, the man was the descendant of a true pirate captain who sailed the Caribbean during the time of Blackbeard and Vane, found the old ship, rebuilt it and was now in London to offer sightseeing tours on said ship. And he also wanted to do some research on his ancestor's English roots? That would explain his appearance and his ship, at least to the rest of the world that didn't know about Neverland. Even Vicky had never heard of the magical island before she met Wendy. (It was true, most children dreamed of a place where dreams came true and where they could have unending adventures, where they didn't have to obey grownups and never grew older.) Victoria had believed that Neverland was no more than that – a world her friend had made up, who committed her dreams to paper … right?

But, it seemed, there was more to Neverland than she'd thought. The arrival of Hook and his ship proved that.

Back to the paper: "Captain Andrews who goes by the stage name 'Hook' because of the accident that robbed him off his right hand …" she read. Then she snorted. As if! If this man was really the Captain Hook from Wendy's tales, then a flying boy who wouldn't grow up cut his hand off and fed it to a crocodile! Vicky's brows drew together as her mind began to work again.

What was she thinking here? Wendy's tales were fantasy, weren't they? Yet this man on the photo looked exactly like the pirate captain in Wendy's drawings. And he also looked familiar in another way, almost as if Vicky had seen him before. If she could only remember …

Still lost in thought, she slipped off her dressing gown and nightgown, and chose her clothes for the day.

Wendy… and that face.

The penny dropped. This arrival of this captain was definitely connected to her best friend; of this she was certain. Wendy, who had supposedly fallen ill more than a week ago – so ill that the doctor forbade visitors. It seemed she was still abed, otherwise she would have called by now. But to be so ill for over a week? Other girls may be delicate, but Wendy was healthy, strong, more than vital, yet she had been too sick to even welcome visitors. And now this fantasy captain of her tales arrives in London, including ship and crew, 'costumed' as pirates. Both things – Wendy's so-called illness and the galleon down in the docks – belonged together!

Her thinking took another intuitive leap.

What if these tales Wendy wrote were actually true? What if they weren't fantasy but all these figures – Peter Pan, Captain Hook, the fairies and Indians – did exist somewhere? What if Wendy wasn't ill but had returned to Neverland and her parents said she was ill only to cover her absence? But if so, what – for king's sake – was the pirate captain then doing here? Did that fit as well?

The same for the cabin boy, mentioned in the article, who had alerted the crew of the fire aboard. If this was really the Captain Hook from Wendy's tales, then there was no cabin boy aboard the ship. She was sure of that. Maybe it was one of the Lost Boys, who -

One moment! Wendy had told her that she took her adoptive brothers as models for the Lost Boys. But if Neverland really existed, then these 'brothers' the Darlings took in – were they possibly the real Lost Boys?

Victoria remembered another photo in the article. There was a boy in the background. Closing her skirt, she quickly took the newspaper again to look for the picture that showed the cannon deck, a few members of the crew and a boy between them. Vicky looked closely at the photo. The boy wasn't very clear, but … Hold it! That was surely Ethan Darling – one of Wendy's adopted brothers! And the article referred to him as the 'cabin boy'?

If Ethan was aboard the ship as 'cabin boy', then the other boys might be with him, too. And this would mean that they, too, had been off to Neverland and were back now. All of them, or only Ethan? And if so, why? Had something happened and Ethan had accompanied Captain Hook to England because they needed help? Help for what? And what about that boy who never grew up, Peter Pan? Was he with them, and if so, why didn't he fly to London as before? And why did the captain and his crew reveal themselves to the whole world by anchoring in London, fabricating a tale about their past and heritage? Wasn't it in their own interest to keep their existence a secret, regardless of whether the public believed their story or not?

Any way she looked at it, she couldn't find reason or rhyme to these events. There was only one reason for the pirate to take this step: something grave, something momentous happened that forced him away from the island – together with one or all of Wendy's brothers. And what about Wendy? If she had returned yesterday, she certainly would have called by now, wouldn't she?

This all was one big riddle. A riddle Victoria was fiercely determined to solve.

She finished dressing, checked her hair, took the newspaper and left her room. On silent feet, she made for her uncle's study and the telephone. A boy's voice eventually answered, "Thomas Darling in Bloomsbury, London speaking."

So, Wendy's brothers were at least at home. Still or again? "Thomas? It's me, Victoria. I want to speak with Wendy, please."

For a moment there was silence, before the boy answered, "Uh … she isn't here."

"Oh. I take it then that she's doing better?" She tried to sound as casual as possible.

The boy hesitated again, then answered, "Well, uh, yes – I think so."

So, Thomas Darling didn't know that his sister had been ill? Or how she was doing now? Two confirmations that something was very off! She had an idea. Thomas Darling was the one Wendy had used as a model for the Lost Boy Tootles. Taking a deep breath, Vicky risked a shot into the dark. "Tootles, is Wendy still in Neverland?" she asked bluntly.

A quick gasp, then silence. Finally a tentative, "W-w-w-where?"

"Tootles, is Wendy still in Neverland or did she come back with you all? And why is Captain Hook here?"

Another pause, then the boy's voice again: "How do you know that Hook is here?"

"Because there's a whole article about him in The Times, including photographs. I know Hook from the drawings Wendy made in her books. And the man on the photo is that captain! The article confirms it. So, what about Wendy? I was told that she's ill, but -"

"Tootles, who's that?" another boy's voice, and she recognized him as Blake Darling. Blake – or rather, Curly.

"Victoria is on the line," Thomas replied, and the other boy's voice was on the line.

"Hello, Victoria, Blake speaking. Um, how do you do?" He sounded … determined yet uncertain. Very interesting!

"Fine, thanks. I hope the same goes for Wendy? Did she come back with you from Neverland or is she still on the island?" Again silence. "Curly, listen, Tootle's and your reactions only confirm what I realized when I saw Captain Hook in today's newspaper. I've wondered for some time if Wendy's stories might be true. And now his ship is anchored near the Tower and The Times is has a story about him. I only ask why he came officially to London. There has to be a reason why he left Neverland and risked everything to do it."

"Uh… Victoria, listen. This uh … how shall I tell you…"

"How about plain and clear?" she prodded. "Stop telling me tales. What's going on here? Has something happened to Wendy? Why is Hook here? Is Peter Pan with him or -"

"Victoria, please stop! You shouldn't even know that …" The boy stopped and gulped.

"I shouldn't even know that Neverland isn't a fantasy invented by my best friend, but a real world?" Vicky lowered her voice. "Curly, please, what's going on? Wendy wasn't ill, like her parents said, but she was back in Neverland, right? And now Hook is here. Why? Does Wendy need help? My help?" She was almost begging now.

She heard a big sigh before the boy answered, "You're right. We were back in Neverland. Then your cousin Dalton followed us, kidnapped Wendy and Peter and brought them back to the Mainland."

"What?" Victoria sat back in the chair, suddenly feeling cold. "Dalton kidnapped Wendy?"

"Aye! Her and Peter. And he left a wake of devastation and murder in Neverland. Wendy is still at the manor and Peter was taken to an unknown orphanage yesterday after they stole his blood. Hook brought us home and wants to rescue them both: Wendy and Peter."

Stole his blood? Victoria dropped her head on her uncle's desk and felt nauseated. She believed the boy, even if it seemed too fantastic, but she had long suspected that those stories Wendy came up with were based on true events. "Dalton is keeping Wendy in the manor?" she finally asked.

"Yes, against her will. She was able to sneak into his study last night and called us. Father is not in London, so he can't demand that Dalton let her go. Now Mother is on her way to the port to speak with Captain Hook. Wendy is worried that Hook will come to the manor to free her, and get himself injured or killed in the process. But knowing Hook he won't listen, so…"

Victoria's hand clutched the receiver until her knuckles turned white. A frown had appeared on her forehead, while her eyes flashed. "All right, I understand. Not everything, but most of it. We must act. You can't simply storm the manor, it has many protections. Hook really would be taking a risk if he tried to go inside by force. We have to use a trick – and I already have an idea. But first there are problems to resolve. When did your mother leave for the port?"

"Half an hour ago, or so," Curly answered.

"Right, then I certainly can meet her aboard – her and Wendy's captain. Together we should be able to come up with something." She hesitated. "What about that boy, Peter Pan?"

"Like I told you, they took him to an orphanage after he didn't need him anymore. His driver took Peter away. All we know is that this orphanage could be in London and is run by a guy named Primely."

Victoria nodded slowly. "Right, I think I know someone who can help. You and the other boys are alone at the moment?"

"Liza is here."

"Stay at home, Curly, you and the other boys. Stay near the telephone, we might need reinforcements. Understood?" She had no idea if this was true or if she would even have the chance to phone the boys; after all, telephones weren't available on every corner, but this way she knew the boys would be safe.

"Hmm, I suppose so." It sounded tentative, and she couldn't blame him.

"Very good. I or someone else will call you as soon as there's news. Bye!" Vicky hung up. For a long moment she sat there, angry, bewildered. Neverland existed! And with it all those people she had heard stories about. People who were in danger, including her best friend, because of…

"Dalton Ashford, if this is true, I will slap you so hard your mother feels it, you miserable horse thief!" Taking a deep breath, she lifted the receiver again and demanded to be linked to the offices of The Times in Fleet Street. She used a very sweet tongue until the gentleman at the telephone exchange at The Times' reception agreed to get Daniel Kempton on the line. It seemed he was upstairs writing. She had to wait a few minutes until she heard the voice that made her heart leap.

"Victoria? Has something happened?" he asked, obviously worried.

Warmth displaced the cold in the young lady. "Daniel? I know it's inappropriate that I contact you like this. But I have a very urgent special request. Can you pick me up at Aunt Cathy's home and take me to … to the Tower of London?"

"To the Tower?" He sounded startled.

"Well, sort of. How about a little further east?"

At the office, Daniel frowned. Victoria never spoke in riddles, but was normally straightforward. So, why not now? "What's going on?" he asked carefully.

In Mayfair, Vicky sighed. "It's about Wendy – she needs our help." There. That was inoffensive. She would tell him everything on the way to the St. Katherine Docks, but not sooner. She took a deep breath as he didn't reply. "Please, Daniel, I wouldn't call if it weren't urgent, and … and there's no one else I can trust with everything I have to say."

Her pleading tone was his undoing. "I'm coming. Be ready in a quarter hour or so," he said softly, and Vicky smiled.

"Thank you, Daniel," she said relieved. "I owe you."

"Hm, I rather think, we two owe your friend, so I'll try to convince my boss that I've heard about a scoop for the paper and have to leave immediately."

Victoria began to giggle. "It might be a scoop for you. It depends on what … we find." She bit her lip. "Uh, that was a joke," she murmured.

"No, sweetheart, I rather think your last comment was serious – and I'm curious now. I'm coming over. See you soon – bye."

Well, if it was true what she thought might be true, then this would be THE story of the year. On the other hand, she knew that this 'scoop' might never be told officially. Sighing, she replaced the receiver. The clock struck quarter to nine. Time to get started.

She had to have an excuse for leaving at this early hour. Gathering her skirt and taking the newspaper with her, she walked back to her room. And as she took out a small suitcase, she reviewed her idea. No one could get into Ashford Manor if not welcomed – but she, as a family member, had free access any time she wanted. So she would 'visit' her cousin and while at the manor, she and Wendy would find a way to get away together. Maybe during a walk in the gardens? Then they could flee, and others would be waiting close by to pick them up. Well, it was a start; the details needed refining, but it might be a solution. And visiting the manor was a perfect excuse to leave the house for a couple of days. Aunt Catherine wouldn't worry and she, Victoria, would be free to act.

Quickly she packed a few things, put on her boots, coat and hat, carried the valise downstairs and then went to the dining room. Her uncle and aunt were surprised to see her ready for an outing. Vicky leapfrogged over their questions, "Sorry to rush out on you. There was a call in your study, Uncle. Dalton said Wendy is at Ashford Manor while recovering. She's doing better now and he asked if I could come to keep her company. Of course I agreed." She hated to lie to Aunt Catherine and Uncle Hendrik. But never in a million years would they believe the truth.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's good to hear that Wendy is doing better. Of course you have to visit her," Catherine said, rising. "Shall Henson drive you?" she asked. Henson was their driver.

"No, thank you. Dalton sent his own driver. He's already outside."

Hendrik snorted and folded his newspaper. "Hm, somebody should tell the boy that a little notice ahead of time would be nice."

Vicky forced a chuckle. "These are new times, Uncle Hendrik. Everything happens faster now." She blew them a kiss. "Until tomorrow or the day after. I'll call you. Bye!" And then she was out the door. Reaching the street, she already saw Daniel's smaller, older motorcar coming around the corner. Smiling, she waved at him; relieved that she could count on him. Yet she knew that he would need a lot of persuading to convince him that the 'pirate captain' in St. Katherine Docks was a real buccaneer, who came from an island not on any map – and that she had to speak with him …

TBC…

Well, now Victoria is in the scene, too. Her and Daniel. And, believe me, this will lead to a lot, because just imagine her and Wendy combined. THIS will be a natural force of female power. Poor Hook, because in the next two chapters he will realize how much women of 'today' have changed when he first meets Mrs. Darling and then Victoria…

Concerning Tink's own little excursion: I re-read "The Little White Bird" and "Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens" to get the whole description and Peter's background story right. There also exists a map Barrie made with all the important locations Peter went to when he was nothing more than a toddler. In the original book of Barrie the fairy-queen was named Mab (who, according to the British folklore, was a fairy queen and also the midwife of the fairies – the latter is what Shakespear says in his drama 'Romeo and Juliet'). But I named the fairy-queen in my story Niam (an otherworldly woman in Irish folklore). So, I made them daughter and mother (*smirk*). I hope, you like it.

So, Wendy travels per train to London and in the next chapter she arrives there and learns where Hook's ship anchors. In the meantime Victoria has problems to convince Daniel that Wendy's 'stories' are true and Mary meets the man who was first in her daughter's stories and now in her heart.

I hope, you liked the new chapter and, like always, I would be very, very happy to get some feedback, so please press the 'review-button' and leave some comments.

Have a nice rest of the week,

Love

Yours Starflight / Lywhn