Eight weeks later,

Knightsbridge, London

Jim leaned on the black iron railing surrounding Hans Place green and listened to Westman read aloud from a list in his hand.

"All right. How about this one?" asked Westman. "A gentleman residing on Jamaica Road claims he saw the ghost of Old Father Thames in St. Saviour's Dock."

A carriage clattered past, and Jim spoke over the noise. "Father Thames isn't a ghost, he's more of an entity."

Westman squinted in the sunshine as he watched the hackney cab pass along the street. "A river god in folklore. More like a sprite. It might be worth investigating."

"Jolly good."

Westman's dog, Jack, panted and moved into a shady patch under a tree.

"What do you have?" asked Westman.

Jim reached into his smart grey coat and took out his notebook. "Hm. Strange shadows and noises in a house on Berkeley Square. Also, a young woman in Barking says she was walking along an overgrown track near the asylum when it began raining toads."

"That can never be a good thing."

An expensive carriage bearing a coat-of-arms entered the street and Jim pushed himself away from the railing.

A grin stretched his lips. "Ah, here he is."

The carriage drew to a halt and Jim dashed to meet the passenger. Orson Carte stepped onto the street, his slicked hair reflecting the sun. At the sight of Jim landing in his path, the man's eyes widened.

"Good afternoon, Mr Carte," said Jim, pleased by the expression on Carte's face. He was looking forward to this interview.

"Oh, no, not you." Carte's mouth pinched beneath his little waxed moustache.

Jim mirrored each sidestep the man took, blocking his escape. "I meant to finish my article weeks ago, but I was delayed. I hope you don't mind."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Are you sure? I thought I'd give you one last chance to share your side of the story. The account I have doesn't show you in a favourable light."

Carte stilled and exhaled sharply. "All right, Penderry," he hissed. "What will it take to make this go away? How much do you want?"

"A bribe?" His eyebrows migrated skyward. "I don't want your money, Mr Carte. I'm only concerned about the truth."

"Well, I'd sooner avoid a scandal. Leave my name out of the damn story and you can have whatever you want. A carriage, club memberships, invitations to parties, introductions to heiresses, anything."

"No, thank you." Jim frowned, amazed at the man's shallowness.

But as much as he disliked Orson Carte, Jim wasn't a mean-spirited person. He was aware of the damage his article would to do to Carte's reputation.

With a sigh, he tucked his notebook in his pocket. "I suppose I could make you anonymous."

A cool expression settled over Carte's face. "Good. I'm glad you finally accept the situation. It doesn't do well to tangle with one's superiors, paper boy."

Carte turned to leave and Jim clamped a hand on his shoulder. "I'm doing you a favour, Mr Carte. Perhaps you could grant me one in return?"

Carte peered at his hand and shrugged it away. "What do you want?"

"I'm acquainted with a gentleman who dreams of nothing more than dog shows. Mr Appleby Spencer. Your parents barred him a few years back. Perhaps it's time to lift the ban?"

Carte curved an eyebrow and raised his chin. "That's it?"

Jim nodded. It was worth a try. "No special treatment, just a fair chance to rejoin the dog fancy community."

Carte regarded him with distaste. "Very well. I'll see what I can do. But this had better be the last time I ever set eyes on your face."

With that, Carte marched away. Once he was out of earshot, Westman turned to Jim, one eyebrow raised.

"I could have sworn we always keep witnesses anonymous."

Jim smiled innocently. "Do we? Must have slipped my mind."

***

Several days later, a well-dressed crowd gathered in Hyde Park for the annual dog fancy show. Amongst the sea of onlookers, Jim peered between top hats and bonnets, trying to get a glimpse of the raised platform. The winning entries were about to be announced. Westman peered over heads and reported down to Sophie everything that was happening.

"Horse and Carte has arrived," he said, making Jim grin.

But the silly name also brought back memories of a certain eel-swinging young lady. He hadn't heard from Bunny since their farewell in Bombay almost three months ago. In all that time, oddly enough, he hadn't spared a glance for any other girl. There had been no excursions with actresses from the theatre, or flirtations with elegant young ladies at his grandmother's summer garden party. His heart didn't want to release him, it seemed.

"In third place," announced the adjudicator on the stage, "for most obedient canine. Mr Harold Clutterbuck and Baron."

Jim joined in the round of applause, peering between heads once again. Ordinarily, he might not have attended such an event, but he felt he owed Bunny's Uncle Appleby a show of support.

"In second place, Miss Celia Lane and Chips."

After receiving a letter of invitation to take part in the show, Appleby had taken little convincing to accept. He had become a new man almost overnight.

"And in first place, Mr Appleby Spencer and Jack."

Jim cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a cheer over the clapping crowd.

Sophie laughed at her brother. "I knew Jack would win something."

"I should think so, too," replied Westman.

"Really, it should be you up there receiving that trophy, Fred," Jim teased. "He's your dog."

"Yes, but Mr Spencer taught him those tricks. Besides, I'm not interested in competitions."

"Don't we know it?" Jim leaned close to his friend's ear. "But you did win first place in the prince throwing contest at my grandmother's party."

Westman shot him a glare, then checked to make sure Sophie hadn't overheard his joke. "We agreed to never mention that incident again."

Jim laughed.

On the raised platform, Appleby accepted his trophy to a generous applause. One of five judges tied a rosette around Jack's neck, and he barked, earning a good stroke. It was a shame none of Appleby's family could be there to witness his victory. As it stood, the old man would have to make do with the journalists from Penderry's Bizarre magazine.

A shadow fell over the gathering, and Jim looked up expecting to find a cloud blowing across the sky, but instead he discovered a gas balloon. A tether handler on the ground controlled the balloon's height, reeling it a foot lower with a rope. Jim shaded his eyes and his mouth popped open. A familiar face grinned at him from the basket.

It can't be.

"Miss Spencer?" he called.

Bunny waved, joined by Anju at her side. "Jim!"

A rope ladder dropped over the lip of the basket, narrowly missing a group of startled gentleman. Jim grabbed the rungs and climbed without a care for the stares he attracted. With a smile, he jumped into the basket, coming face to face with Bunny.

"Hello." He picked her up around the waist and twirled, earning a merry scream.

"Jim! Put me down," she said with a laugh.

He set her on her feet, but didn't release her. "Not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing here?"

"My father accepted a post in England," she said.

A few strands of her hair fell loose from their pins. It was his fault for spinning her around, but he wasn't sorry.

"Ah, I see," he said, looking into her eyes. "And here I was thinking you'd come back just to see me."

She stepped out of his arms, smiling mischievously. "Perhaps he only took the post because I asked him to."

"I thought you didn't like England."

"I warmed to it."

On the ground below, his friends tipped their heads back to see what was happening.

"Is that my niece up there?" called Appleby.

Bunny leaned over the basket. "Congratulations, Uncle Appleby."

He looked at his trophy lovingly and gave it a pat. "Thank you, my dear."

She turned back to Jim and brushed a messy wisp of hair off her face. "I believe you promised me ices and strawberries, Mr Penderry?"

"So I did. Are you sure you don't want to give the eel another try?"

Mr Danes, the proprietor of Hyde Park Balloon Hire, arrived beside the tether handler. "Oi," he shouted at Jim. "I know you. You still owe me for the last balloon you wrecked."

Jim ducked to the floor of the basket, trying to suppress a laugh. Bunny knelt with him while Danes continued to yell at him.

"I missed you," he said to her.

"And I you."

He leaned forward, then hesitated when it occurred to him they were being watched. Anju held Pikoo by a short lead and raised an eyebrow at Jim in warning. He didn't spot any makeshift weapons inside the basket. Unless one counted the sacks of ballast or the mongoose.

Bunny cupped his cheek and coaxed his gaze back to her.

That's when he knew he would kiss her, even if it led to a head injury, animal bite, or even a balloon crash.

But he needn't have worried.

Anju threw her scarf over her eyes and turned around. "Arey baba," she muttered.

With a smile, Jim leaned in and captured Bunny's lips with his own. This was one occasion that could never end with a balloon crash.

The End