Blurb: Henry Tilney, paleontologist for a NY museum, is unwittingly roped into helping Catherine Morland take a leopard to a farm in Connecticut. NA as Bringing Up Baby.

I watched BUB while it was streaming last year with my oldest kid and this is what I took away from it. I recognize that the main male character ( "David", aka Cary Grant) is not a very good Henry Tilney as Henry is more witty and charming than hapless so be forewarned.

1: Our Hero Begins His Quest

The phone on Henry's desk rang and he answered it instinctively. "Museum of Natural Sciences and History, New York, Paleontology Department. This is Henry Tilney speaking."

"Henry!" came the excited voice at the other end of the line.

"Eleanor? What are you doing, calling me?" His mind began to imagine all sorts of scenarios. His sister had been at the Wyoming dig site for nearly two years. They exchanged letters frequently but never phone calls; as far as he knew, they didn't have a telephone at the site.

"Henry, we found it!" she said, her glee palpable.

"You found it?"

"We found it!"

"You found… You found it? You found the intercostal clavicle? You found the intercostal clavicle!" Henry sprung from his seat, practically shouting as well. "This is so exciting! I can't wait to see it!"

"Howard was so excited when we found it that he finally proposed to me," Eleanor told him in a smaller voice but no less happy.

"Oh," was all Henry could say. He knew his sister had been in love with Howard since a week after they had started working on the site together.

"I was so excited that I said yes," she said again, even more quietly.

"Oh, that's wonderful," he told her and sat down again. "You'll make a beautiful bride, and --"

"We got married two days ago," she cut him off.

"You did what?"

"We found the intercostal clavicle a week ago, verified it and went to town to ship it to you, and then Howard and I stayed a few more days to get married and have a little honeymoon in a hotel room rather than a cabin. You should be getting the fossil today or tomorrow, Monday at the latest."

"You did what?" Henry repeated and stood again, trying to pace behind his desk on the short leash afforded by his phone.

Eleanor was being too calm about this, but she'd apparently had more time than her brother to get used to the news. "You know what Uncle Errol is like," she said, and Henry could clearly see her expression in his mind's eye. "He would have protested or tried to withhold his consent, as if it was up to him. And then he would have insisted that we come out to New York and invite 200 people and make Howard polish off his doctorate and wait three years and make a complete circus out of it! And Uncle Errol would just blame you for everything that went wrong the entire time. I just wanted to be married to Howard and now I am. Please tell me you're happy for me."

Henry swallowed a little something in his throat. "I am," he said. "I just wish I could have been there."

His sister sighed from all the way in Wyoming. "I feel the same," she said. "Howard and I decided to have a formal party when you come visit us -- you have to come visit us now -- to celebrate. And the intercostal clavicle is coming. That'll keep you busy for a few weeks."

"Yes, of course. I'm so happy for you. I can't believe you --"

There was a sharp rap on his door before it opened. His uncle stood on the threshold, ready to micromanage.

"I can't believe you found the intercostal clavicle!" Henry corrected himself, his tone shifting noticeably to accommodate his expanded audience. "Congratulations, to you and Howard. And everyone else! I'll tell Uncle Errol right away! Take care now, Eleanor. Good bye!"

And Henry hung up. He knew instinctively to hide Eleanor's elopement from his uncle. Everything Eleanor had complained about was true. The man would have refused to allow his niece to marry so far beneath her if it had been in his power. And failing that, he would have tried to recast it as a fundraiser for the museum, dragging it out for the maximum profit. And then he probably would have slashed Henry's budget anyway. Henry's budget paid for the Wyoming project so Henry would be forced to choose between his sister's happiness and his own.

"Your sister found the missing fossil?" his uncle surmised.

"She did," Henry smiled tightly. "It's already in transit, should arrive between today and Monday. I think this shows the importance of keeping the site funded --"

"Excellent news!" the director said. "This is just the sort of thing you need to tell Mr. Sherman today. If this museum can uncover rare fossils already, just think of how much more we'll achieve with a million dollars from the Allen Foundation!"

"Must I, Uncle?" Henry asked. Just the thought of courting donors made him weary. He wanted to stay in his office in case the fossil arrived today. He also didn't particularly like golf, and he especially didn't like the schmoozing his uncle constantly volunteered him to do. It wasn't that he didn't like talking to people, but he didn't like talking to people for the sole purpose of enriching the museum.

"Henry!" Errol Tilney said in a warning tone. "What have I told you about referring to me as your uncle while at work. You may be family but this is a professional institution. If people think you got your position through nepotism, it could undermine the integrity of the entire museum."

"Yes, sir," Henry grumbled quietly. That fear of ethical misconduct hung over Henry's head like the proverbial Sword of Damocles. It was why Henry was constantly agreeing to go above and beyond at work -- staying late, coming in over the weekend, meeting with potential donors -- just to show that he was as committed and deserving as anyone else. Henry didn't like to have his uncle criticize him but it was effective at getting Henry to do whatever his uncle wanted of him.

For a moment Errol's features softened. "I know you just got carried away with the excitement of the new find, but save it for Mr. Sherman. Your enthusiasm is a huge selling point among donors, so long as you keep the big science words to a minimum; no one likes to feel stupid. Come to think of it, maybe I should add a few lunches to your calendar next week. You can talk up the intercostal clavicle to the matrons and patrons, and see what loose change shakes out."

Rather than waiting to see what Henry thought of the idea, Errol wandered off to make the appointments.

Henry sighed and tried to consider himself lucky. Then he tidied his desk and got ready to go golfing.

.o8o.

Henry was supposed to meet with Alexander Sherman at a country club outside the city. He found the older man exactly where he said he would be: warming up on the practice green, sinking shot after shot from increasing distance. Mr. Sherman apparently took his golf rather seriously.

"Mr. Sherman!" Henry called out when he thought he wouldn't be distracting.

"Tilney?" The older man barely looked at him before checking his watch. "Right on time, let's get to the first tee."

At that, the man stalked off, leaving Henry and a caddy to collect the rest of the balls and the golf bag and trail after him.

"Mr. Sherman," Henry began as the older man set up his first shot.

Sherman glared at him and shushed him emphatically. He pulled back the club then brought it down. The ball left the tee with a satisfying thwack and sailed straight down the fairway to land near the green.

"Good shot, sir," Henry couldn't stop himself from saying before grimacing. He sounded like a toadie, which would probably be fine with his uncle but rubbed Henry the wrong way.

"I understand that you represent the Allen Foundation," Henry said as he set up his own ball, "and are in the position of being able to give the Museum of Natural Sciences and History a significant gift."

"Are you going to talk during the whole game?" Sherman asked, irritation in his voice. "Because let me tell you, young man, I play golf to play golf . If you want to talk business, save it for later. We'll get cocktails and talk about the museum after but right now I need you to focus on the game."

"Right," Henry said, slightly rattled after that little set down.

He wasn't an athlete but he was a man of science. Hitting a golf ball was just a physics problem brought to life. Velocity, angle of trajectory, friction: all he needed was the right mix to get the ball moving in the right direction. It should be easy.

He gripped his club and swung. There was the same satisfying thwack but Henry's ball flew 90 degrees in the wrong direction, through a stand of trees and onto the fairway of another hole.

"Let me just get that," said Henry, mortified,and then scurried off.

Mr. Sherman and the caddy began to walk toward the green.

.o8o.

The course was not empty, so Henry should not have been surprised to find someone else on the same hole as his wayward golf ball, but he was surprised to see the woman approach it with a club in hand and prepare to hit it.

"Wait!" Henry called before the woman made a serious mistake. "Stop!"

The woman looked over her shoulder at him and smiled sunnily then swung without even looking at the ball. It darted forward and landed on the green fifty yards away.

"Good shot," Henry said automatically.

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him again.

"Good shot, but that was my ball," he corrected, his legs propelling him toward her.

Her smile faltered. "Are you playing this hole?"

"No," Henry admitted. "Actually, I'm supposed to be on the first hole with Mr. Sherman."

"Oh," she said, tucking her club under her arm and heading toward the green. "Well, this isn't the first and I'm not Mr. Sherman."

Henry stared at her retreating figure for a moment before snapping out of it. She really, really didn't look like a Mr. Sherman.

"Be that as it may," he hurried to fall in step beside her, "I had a bad drive and sent my ball over here and you just hit it."

"I find that unlikely," she said, her attention focused on the green.

"Unlikely but not improbable," said Henry. "I'm not a good golfer."

"Practice makes perfect," she told him. "You just need to play more often."

Henry grimaced. "Thanks for the advice but I don't honestly like it."

She spared him another glance. "You don't like my advice, or golf?"

"I don't like golf," Henry clarified as her caddy helped her exchange her club for a putter. "And I'll need to hear more of your advice before I can form an educated opinion on it. And that's still my ball."

"This ball?" she asked and tapped it into the hole from 3 yards.

"I know there's a saying about possession and nine-tenths, but yes."

"Well, I suppose I've finished for the day --" she was on the 18th hole, after all -- "so if you want to steal my ball now, I probably won't stop you. Probably won't even yell for help."

"You would accuse me of stealing my own property?" he asked, a confused smile on his face.

"Do you have the receipt of purchase?" she countered. "Otherwise, this is a classic he-said-she-said. And did you see that putt? I should take that wonderful ball home and frame it. That should be my lucky ball from this moment forward. I should have it dipped in bronze and placed in a trophy case. I should --"

"All right!" Henry said, not certain how much of this he could take. "I'm going to steal my ball back now. Don't scream."

"Oh no, someone help me," he heard her whisper under her breath for no one else to hear.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to stay with her and maybe have lunch together and talk about random bits of nothing, maybe brag about the intercostal clavicle. But he needed to find Mr. Sherman and talk about the Allen Foundation.

The worst part was that he couldn't even offer to see her around again. He was only at this club to meet with Sherman and if he didn't suitably impress the man -- a possibility growing more improbable with each minute of delay -- he'd never have a reason to be back.

With a self-deprecating smile, he showed her the initials he had scribbled on his ball, then went to go find Mr. Sherman without a word of farewell.

The truly worst part, Henry corrected himself later that day, was that it had taken another half hour to find Mr. Sherman, who had then sent Henry back to the first hole to play the course in its entirety from the beginning. Henry hadn't caught up with him again on the links, and hadn't found him at the bar afterwards. But there was a note inviting him back to the club for dinner that night where Mr. Sherman would listen to Henry talk about how the museum would like to use the Allen Foundation's money, if Henry was interested.

Henry was not especially interested, but he knew his obligations. He left a written reply to Sherman's note and returned to the museum.

His uncle fortunately was gone for the day. The intercostal clavicle unfortunately was not yet arrived. He stayed in his office as late as he could before giving up on the delivery arriving today and sped home to get ready for dinner with Mr. Sherman.

2: Aiding a Damsel in Distress

Summary: an olive and two purses derail Henry's plans to have dinner with Mr. Sherman.

Catherine Morland sat at the country club's bar and watched the bartenders prepare cocktails for the members and their guests. There was a bit of showmanship involved in mixing and pouring the drinks but Charlie clearly had the most flare, tossing garnishes like olives and cherries straight up into the air and catching them in a glass with hardly a splash.

Her interest was noticed and Charlie asked if she wanted to try it. She demurred weakly, more of a token protest than anything, and reached for the bowl of olives as he handed her a glass of ice.

"The trick," he told her, "is the angle. Straight up, straight down. Otherwise it splashes too much or the olive bounces out of the glass," he demonstrated one last time, throwing the olive high into the air and spinning around for extra theatricality before catching it in a glass.

Catherine's first few attempts were very clumsy and she lost four olives to parts unknown. The fifth olive did land in the glass and then bounced out, joining its brethren on the floor. She watched it slip under someone's shoe and send them sprawling.

"Oh no!" she said, setting down her glass and haphazardly grabbing her purse off the bar top as she rushed to help.

As fate would have it, this was the dashing thief who had stolen her lucky golf ball. "Hello there," she said, offering her hand to him.

"You again," the man said, which was all completely true.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry about my wayward olive," Catherine apologized. "I'm still learning how to do the trick. I'm Catherine, by the way. Catherine Morland." Without waiting for him to make sense of her words, she tugged on his hand until he could get the rest of the way to standing on his own.

"There you are, sir," she said, helping him dust specks of dirt from his sleeves.

"Henry," he said by way of nothing. "Henry Tilney."

"Catherine," she repeated, having understood him perfectly. "Catherine Morland."

"Morland?" he repeated with some dismay. "I'm afraid I really am looking for the same Mr. Sherman as from this morning. I have to go."

"Well, maybe next time," she said and swallowed her own dose of disappointment.

He shook her hand and began to turn away when he stopped. He bent down and picked up a spangled clutch from the floor. "Is this yours, Miss Morland?" he said, offering it to her.

Catherine looked at it and frowned. "No, that's not my bag," she shook her head.

He studied it again and then the spot on the floor where he found it. "But didn't you put it down when you helped me?"

"No, my purse is gray satin with a silver clasp…" her voice trailed off. She remembered grabbing it from the bar and then helping Mr. Tilney up. "It should be somewhere nearby."

At this point there was a small commotion at the bar as a couple who had been sitting next to Catherine realized that the woman's purse had gone missing. They looked on the bar top but only saw a gray clutch, clearly not the beaded pocketbook that the woman had chosen for the night. They turned to the bartender for help in either finding the purse or reporting the theft. He barely had to blink before he noticed Henry Tilney holding a purse that couldn't be his.

"Does that man have it?" he asked innocently.

The woman gasped. That was indeed hers and it looked like Henry had stolen it.

"Thief!" the woman's husband cried before cooler heads could prevail. Thankfully the general noise kept the exclamation from spreading rapidly but it reached Henry and Catherine with no trouble.

"Mr. Tilney, have you stolen another golf ball?" Catherine wondered.

"Not likely," Henry answered, not least of which was due to the fact that he hadn't stolen her ball in the first place.

Before they could tease each other further, the husband had come over and threatened, "You should be arrested for stealing! You should be thrown out of here! Your membership should be revoked! I don't know who you think you are but my wife and I came here to relax, not to get our pockets picked!"

The commotion was spreading now and someone from the club approached their group to contain the damage.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, ladies," he said calmly with a polite nod to Catherine and the wife. "I am Mr. Womack. What seems to be the problem?"

"This man," the husband began in a loud, accusatory tone but the club employee made a hushing gesture and the husband tried again more quietly: "This man stole my wife's purse and was about to walk away with it."

"This purse?" Henry repeated, the dots finally connecting. "You think I was trying to steal this purse? Absolutely not, no. My friend, Miss Morland has lost her purse and I saw this lying around and thought it might be hers. I --"

"Sir," Mr. Womack smoothly interrupted, seeking a quick resolution, "if you aren't trying to take Mrs. Ferris' purse, will you please give it back to its proper owner?"

Henry, who really wanted to protest his innocence a little longer, grudgingly handed back the bag. The husband made a show of having his wife check that nothing was missing from inside as a small group looked on in curiosity.

"Oh!" Catherine finally realized. "But my bag has gone missing."

The news passed through the crowd like a shock. One misplaced purse was an accident; two was a crime wave. Anyone who might have thought it was a mistake with Henry glared at him in judgment while the less charitable were calling for his arrest.

"But I didn't take your bag!" Henry said, speaking to Catherine and the rest of his audience. "I've never even seen it!"

"Gray satin, silver clasp," Catherine reminded him.

"Miss Morland," he said. It was not a whine, not an admonishment, but it was a plea for aid that might come best through silence.

"Perhaps we can discuss this privately," Mr. Womack finally suggested, herding Henry and Catherine out of the large space.

The husband and wife, having secured their own property and seeing nothing more for themselves to worry about, were willing to let the club deal with Henry however it saw fit. They returned to their drinks and made plans to dine on that tale all week.

Catherine and Henry were escorted to a small office and questioned thoroughly. Henry knew he was innocent but he couldn't help glancing worriedly at the clock on the wall as his time with Mr. Sherman arrived and began to pass.

Catherine described her bag again and sketched a picture of it at which point Henry foolishly asked for more details. His sister had owned a purse very similar to it before she left all the trappings of wealth behind to move to Wyoming, and he vividly remembered her describing the prized clutch that she had found at Saks. Henry's knowledge made him look guilty even as Catherine declared that she didn't think Henry had taken it.

It was only during a shift change that Charlie the Bartender brought back the purse that Catherine had left lying on the bar top before all the hubbub began.

"Now?" Henry asked the barman with all the gravity of Caesar finding a knife in his back. Over an hour had passed and Henry didn't dare show his face to Mr. Sherman. "You bring it now?"

"Oh, Mr. Tilney, it's all right," Catherine soothed. "It's all just a misunderstanding, but it's all cleared up now. Mr. Womack and Charlie meant no harm. All's well that ends well, as the bard says."

"But it hasn't ended well," Henry stated. "It has ended very not well. I won't be able to show my face at work tomorrow. My uncle will be furious. He'll fire me, he'll cancel my dig. My sister and her husband will lose their jobs and be penniless. The site will fall into disrepair and the fossils will be eroded to dust. I'm going to have to do more than steal a few purses to make up for this."

"He doesn't mean it like that, Mr. Womack," Catherine told the manager before Henry could be detained further for premeditated theft. "It's just been a stressful day."

"Stressful!" Henry agreed. "I was supposed to play golf with Mr. Sherman today but my ball went AWOL and it took too long to get it back." He tossed her a meaningful look. He wasn't angry with her, not exactly, but he was beginning to realize how much of his day had been derailed by Miss Morland. "So he suggested I meet him here for dinner to catch up and now it looks like I've refused to see him twice. I doubt Alexander Sherman would give me a third chance to insult him."

Catherine sat up straight in her chair. "You never said you were looking for Alexander Sherman."

"How many Shermans are at this club anyway? And how does that make a difference?" Henry sighed.

"Alexander Sherman who lives at 850 Terres Drive?" Catherine asked for clarity.

Henry shrugged. "How should I know where he lives? I was supposed to meet him at this club, not follow him home."

"Mr. Tilney, I know Alexander Sherman; I call him Sacha," she said with a spark of excitement. "I know where he lives. I can take you to his home and explain to him why you couldn't meet him for dinner."

"Please, no, don't explain dinner," Henry told her. "I don't want him or anyone else to know that I was accused of purse snatching or pickpocketing or anything like that."

"Of course, whatever you like, just let me help. I can make this right for you, I know I can." She probably wouldn't have looked half so convincing if her eyes weren't so impossibly large.

Henry looked to Mr. Womack for support. He wanted to accept Miss Morland's offer but he wasn't sure if it was wise.

It was clear to the manager that Henry had not attempted to steal the first handbag, nor was he responsible for misplacing the second handbag. The club hadn't illegally detained him, but nor was Henry guilty of anything other than picking the wrong bag off the floor. If Mr. Womack could quietly send Henry on his way with no hard feelings, it would be the best for everyone. Womack shrugged back at him encouragingly.

"Very well, Miss Morland, let's go see Sacha," Henry readied himself to do whatever he needed to do to salvage things with Mr. Sherman. His stomach, however, chose this moment to announce that he had missed lunch and dinner, and barely remembered breakfast. He needed to eat before he tackled -- figuratively -- Mr. Sherman.

"Oh!" Catherine exclaimed softly in surprise. "Perhaps we should have a bite to eat first. Mr. Womack," she said, giving him a bright smile, "given everything poor Mr. Tilney has endured tonight at the club, do you think you can get us fed with minimal fuss?"

---

Notes: if you know the movie, I'm sorry I didn't do the dinner scene from the club but I think we're all better off searching YouTube for the original. If you haven't seen it, you are missing out. And I promise you: there's a leopard coming.

3: Breaking Bread

Ten minutes later and the two of them were standing in a corner of the kitchen, out of the way of the cooks and dishwashers. Catherine was eating a chicken breast over a bed of rice while Henry was cutting into a steak.

He placed a piece in his mouth and chewed and sighed in contentment. "I think the last solid food I had was lunch yesterday," he said before cutting another piece.

The news took Catherine aback. "Mr. Tilney, you need to take better care of yourself than that, or at least someone should."

Henry made a noise that might have been agreement, might have been merely appreciation for the chef's skill. "My sister Eleanor and I always had each other to look out for growing up, but she's in Wyoming right now. She got married this week," he said. It felt good to share that with another person.

Catherine nearly dropped her fork. "How wonderful! You must be so happy for her!"

"Yes, but keep it under your hat," said Henry. "She eloped and I don't think our uncle needs to know right now."

Catherine quietly absorbed that fact before asking, "Is there a problem with your sister's husband?"

Henry took a deep breath and then a mouthful of potato while he tried to formulate an answer that would be complementary. He didn't want to say anything that would reflect poorly on the museum to a potential donor, or even someone who was on a first name basis with a potential donor. "Our parents died when we were teenagers," he began. He didn't tell this story often, but this was a good steak and better company. "Which left us in the care of our uncle. Uncle Errol has never been married and has no children. He didn't really know what to do with us, but we were old enough to figure most of it out ourselves."

Catherine scrunched up her brow in sympathy. Rather than waiting for her well-meaning reply, Henry barrelled on: "And besides, Uncle Errol has the museum, which is rather like his child. It's the most important thing in his life, and you have to respect that. Unfortunately, this means that when he thinks in terms of what's best for us, he puts the museum first."

"How do you mean?" she prompted.

"I'm a paleontologist," he started then faltered. This is where the truth got tricky. He knew that his uncle would be upset over Eleanor's elopement and a part of him worried that his uncle would express his personal displeasure in a professional way. Or an unprofessional way, if firing his niece in a fit of pique was not strictly professional, but he could hardly say that.

"I study the bones of dinosaurs which are animals that lived tens or hundreds of millions of years ago," he said instead. "I'm not a golfer. I'd much rather be digging in a pit with a spoon than swinging my way out of a sand trap. But the museum needs money, my department needs money; without it, my sister and her husband and everyone else employed at their excavation site will be out of a job. So I need to impress Mr. Sherman so he'll speak well of us to the Allen Foundation so they'll give us money so we can afford various research projects and exhibits. So it is very important for me to speak with Mr. Sherman and clear up any bad impressions I made today before my wedding gift to my sister is an extended honeymoon because the museum can no longer afford to employ her or her husband."

"That doesn't sound like fun," Catherine opined.

"No, but it's a living," Henry grouched and rested his chin in his hand.

"I know Sacha can be a bit of a stickler when it comes to following the rules, but that's just because legally he's required to be," Catherine warned him. Henry could believe it, having had to play all 18 holes. "But I'll go with you and talk to him, see if I can smooth things out."

"That's very kind of you, Miss Morland," Henry said. "You don't need to do that. You don't need to do any of this."

"It's no trouble. It's not like I had much else planned. And maybe I feel a little guilty for making you miss your earlier appointments," she admitted.

Henry just looked at her for a moment, wondering how he could thank her properly because he didn't doubt that she could talk Mr. Sherman -- or any man for that matter -- into doing whatever she asked.

"Wait a moment," he said as her words sunk in, "wait a moment. Why don't you have other plans? Did you really come to the club to eat dinner by yourself?"

"I'm hardly by myself if there are 50 other people in the dining room," she said, not meeting his eye. "It's just, I live in Connecticut with my parents most of the time. And then my brother sent a telegram that he was sending something very important -- very mysterious if you ask me -- that needed to be picked up so I came down. I always stay with Aunt Bess when I come down -- she's the one who belongs to the club -- but she had to dash off to Boston so yes, I have no plans for tonight, Mr. Tilney. I can take you to see Sacha when we're done with dinner."

"You travel alone often?"

"You see, I was a massive tomboy as a child. My mother despaired of me. She worried that I'd grow up completely unfit for polite society. But then Aunt Bess took me under her wing, as it were. She taught me how to play tennis and croquet and golf and badminton and bowling, as well as how to swim and skate. And she took me skiing with her in Vermont for a few years. She sent me to ballroom dancing lessons and would have signed me up for Spanish and Irish dancing too but my parents weren't very keen on the idea."

"You've done all that?"

"I didn't say I was good at any of it," Catherine modestly deflected.

Henry didn't believe her. He had seen her play golf already.

"Oh, and field hockey, lacrosse, rowing, and cricket," she amended, "which ruined me for all other bat sports. Basically everything that didn't involve football, horses, or guns.

"The whole point of the whirlwind was to keep me so busy doing acceptable activities that I'd have no time for, well, unacceptable activities," she concluded. "And it worked. Now I've started to settle down and Aunt Bess has been teaching me how to play cards and knit although to be honest I don't think I'll stick with it much longer."

"Why not?" Henry asked as if prompted.

"I'm terribly competitive. At least with cards, my partner and I are playing against another couple; with knitting, it's just me versus the yarn, and I can't stand losing."

He burst into laughter.

She spotted a waiter as he moved past them. "Benny, can I trouble you for a slice of chocolate cake?" she asked with a dangerously disarming smile.

"It's no trouble, Miss Catherine," he said.

Henry could feel Catherine's charm even when it wasn't aimed at him.

"Is anything wrong, Mr. Tilney?"

He tried to pass it off. "Benny the waiter, Charlie the bartender… Aren't you worried the caddies will get jealous?"

"Daniel? Of course not. We go way back," she said with breezy confidence.

And Henry realized that it wasn't the caddy's jealousy that concerned him.

"Anyway, I come down often enough to visit Aunt Bess and we'll come to the club when I'm here. As I said, she's in Boston right now but they all know me here at the club, Aunt Bess made sure of that. I'm welcome anytime but always take care not to overstay. And normally I would just wait for Aunt Bess to come back to New York but, as I mentioned, my brother's very important, very urgent telegram said that someone needs to be here to pick up a very important package tomorrow. So my parents sent me down. I can't imagine what James is sending us, but I'm sure it's fabulous!"

Henry almost asked if he could call her tomorrow to find out what her brother had sent or to tell her about the intercostal clavicle when it arrived but perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He decided to wait until after he finally spoke with Mr. Sherman.

.o8o

Alexander Sherman lived in a mansion of a house but it was dark and shuttered by the time Henry's car pulled to a stop in front of it.

"This is the place?" he asked uneasily. "Must be nice to be born rich."

Catherine didn't say anything but Henry felt her silence keenly.

"Sorry, that was just sour grapes," Henry started to apologize. "There's nothing wrong with having money; I just wish I was so lucky."

"Money can't buy happiness," Catherine shrugged.

"It can buy a pretty nice house," Henry countered, gesturing to the mansion in front of them. "Although it looks like everyone has gone to bed. What time is it?"

It wasn't yet 11 o'clock and Catherine was confident that Mr. Sherman was still awake, so they got out of the car and knocked on the front door. There was a distinct lack of response from inside: no lights turned on, no curtains flicked open, no figure could be spotted approaching the entrance. He knocked again but there was no answer.

Henry began to fear that he had lost his chance with Mr. Sherman and the Allen Foundation. His uncle would be livid when he found out. "We're too late," he lamented.

"Come on," Catherine said, grabbing his hand. "Don't give up yet. His bedroom window is back here."

She led him to the side. The windows were just as dark here as in the front of the house.

"Too late," Henry chastised himself again. "Uncle Errol is going to kill me."

Catherine dropped his hand to pick up a handful of gravel which she tossed at the window. She missed, mostly, but was encouraged to try again. The second time was perfect, scattering the window with a whole bunch of noisy pebbles, but still the bedroom stayed dark. Catherine tossed a third handful just as successfully. She bent down to grab more rocks when Henry saw movement inside.

The sash flew open and a man's head poked out. "What in tarnation --" he began before being pelted with rocks. He cried out in surprise, hit the back of his head soundly on the window frame, tripped over his own feet and fell backwards, out of view.

A woman's scream -- Mrs. Sherman no doubt -- sent Henry and Catherine scrambling before they could be caught standing around, wide-eyed and mouths agape. Instinct took over and they raced to Henry's car and sped down the block before either one thought to ask the other.

"That was…" Catherine began. "Oh, poor Sacha! What have I done?"

While Henry felt bad for Miss Morland and Mr. Sherman, he selfishly felt worse for himself. What Catherine had done, that was known and immutable. She could apologize later to her old friend and would undoubtedly be forgiven. The thing that was going to keep Henry awake tonight was a completely different question: Having effectively burned his bridges with the Allen Foundation and their money, what was he going to do?

---

Note: I promise you that there is a leopard in this story.

4: A Dragon, or the Modern Equivalent

The next morning, Henry sat in his office appreciating it as if it was the last time he'd ever be there. Maybe it was. Maybe Mr. Sherman had already called the museum to complain and his uncle was about to fire him on the spot. Maybe Henry'd be told to gather what he could carry and walk out, not bothering to finish the morning much less the whole day.

There was a knock on his door and he felt it like a noose around his neck.

"Come in," he offered timidly.

It wasn't his uncle. An assistant pushed into the room and delivered a box no longer than Henry's forearm. "This just arrived from Wyoming," he said and walked out.

In all the tragedy, Henry had forgotten about the intercostal clavicle! With rising excitement, Henry opened the package and pulled out a plaster-covered fossil. It would take time and delicacy to remove the plaster which has been applied to protect the priceless artifact during shipping, but here it was, in his hands!

The door to his office burst open without warning or ceremony and his uncle strode in.

"Henry!" he said by way of greeting.

"Sir," Henry answered automatically before correcting himself, "Director Tilney."

"Is that it?" Errol Tilney wasted no time in asking. "Jones said you'd got a package."

"It is," Henry confirmed. Then, in a superhuman act of will, he offered the fossil to his uncle. "Would you like to hold it?"

The older man plucked it from his grasp then almost dropped it due to its unexpected weight. "It's heavy," he observed carelessly before passing it back to Henry.

"Yes," Henry agreed, surreptitiously checking it for any damage.

"What did Sherman say about it?"

"Sherman?" Henry repeated. "Mr. Sherman?" he stalled. "Alexander Sherman? Of the Allen Foundation?"

"Yes, Alexander Sherman. You went golfing with him yesterday," his uncle reminded him testily. "Is he going to give us the money?"

"We, we… It didn't come up," said Henry.

"How is that possible?" Errol Tilney exclaimed. "You golfed with him. Did you talk with him?"

"Well, yes and no," Henry stammered.

"Did you talk with him or not?" the director's voice rose in agitation.

"I did," Henry said. "I tried."

The phone rang and Henry grabbed it like a lifeline. His uncle couldn't really yell at him while he was on a call but he could at least glare murderously.

"Museum of Natural Sciences and History, New York, Paleontology Department. This is Henry Tilney speaking."

"Oh, excellent! I found you! This is Catherine Morland from yesterday," came the pleasant voice. As if it would take only one sleepless night for Henry to forget her.

"Now isn't a good time, Miss Morland," Henry said under the weight of his uncle's glower. It wasn't smart to warn her that he probably wouldn't be at this number for long.

"But I must see you right now. It's very urgent. I need your expertise. I've been calling around all morning trying to reach you," she told him while he tried to interrupt to say he was busy and his uncle folded his arms across his chest to glare more effectively.

"My brother sent me a leopard," she said and whatever rebuttal he was about to make fizzled and died.

"A leopard?" he repeated with a nervous hitch.

"Yes, would you like to talk with him? The leopard, of course; not my brother." There was a fumbling noise then a very imposing, "meow," then more fumbling. "That was him, did you hear him?"

"You're with the leopard right now?" he asked, his voice climbing higher. He imagined Catherine in an animal warehouse -- the sort that a carnival might use in the off-season if such a thing existed -- and standing too near a cage.

"Yes, they delivered him to Aunt Bess' house at sunrise," Catherine answered as if this was the most natural, unthreatening thing that has happened to her all week. "He came in a cage but he seemed so tired of being cooped up that I let him out. He's puttering about my bedroom now."

"The leopard is loose in your bedroom?" Henry summarized.

"Really," she scoffed and there was another loud animal noise in the background. "You make him sound beastly. He's been nothing but a pussycat all morning. But I do think I need your advice on how to care for him."

"Catherine," he said in the calmest voice he could manage, and he would apologize for addressing her informally when she was safe, "my advice is don't make any sudden movements but get out of the room as quick as you can."

"Are you saying my brother sent me a dangerous animal?" she said, sounding displeased with him. It was the first sign of haughtiness he'd had from her.

"Miss Morland," he said, treading lightly.

"Henry," his uncle snapped at him. He was not accustomed to being ignored.

Without thinking, Henry shushed him. Yes, his uncle was standing in his office but a leopard was prowling in Catherine's bedroom.

"You think I'm in danger?" she asked with a calculating undertone.

"You have a leopard ," he stressed. One didn't need to be a man of science to see the obvious concern.

"And if you thought I was truly in danger, would you come save me?" which was the least clever thing she'd said that day -- and Henry was including, "Oh, just put the leopard in my bedroom," or words to that effect in his assessment -- because who could stand idly by while someone else was mauled by a ferocious beast?

"Of course, but it's not going to come to that," he said. "Now hang up the phone and leave the room as carefully as possible. I'll wait at my desk for you to call back from a phone that isn't in the same room as a leopard."

"Henry!" his uncle yelled at him which would have been enough to get him to drop everything but Henry merely held up a hand to ask for silence. Catherine was in a very perilous predicament even if she refused to treat it with appropriate severity and it wouldn't do for him to get distracted right now.

There was a measured sigh from the headset and Catherine was shouting into his ear, "Oh, Mr. Tilney! Help!" Then there were sounds of a scuffle and the line went dead.

He called her name but there was no reply. The call had been disconnected and there was no reviving it from his end. He needed to rescue her. He needed to save her before it was too late. He knew where she lived after having taken her home last night and morning traffic should have died down by now, he could get there in twenty minutes if he drove quickly.

He started to bolt from the room but his uncle stopped him.

"Henry, you will stay right here and tell me what is going on," the director commanded. "What happened with Mr. Sherman?"

"No time," replied Henry and tried to leave again only to get yanked back by the cord of his phone. He tossed it to his uncle to deal with and ran, the intercostal clavicle gripped tightly in his other hand.

.o8o.

Catherine Morland quite liked her new leopard. It had never occurred to her to want a leopard before but now that she had one she never wanted to give him up. Good work to James for sending such a delightful gift!

And the cat was such a sweetheart! He didn't purr but he had a playful roar and looked ever so graceful as he prowled her room, his spots rippling with each stride.

As she waited for Mr. Tilney to come over, she went into the ensuite and turned on the tub faucet. A steady trickle of water leaked out and the leopard was at her side in an instant to investigate. After Catherine splashed her hand in the stream in demonstration, the boy caught on quickly and was soon lapping up a drink.

"Poor dear, you were thirsty," Catherine observed before remembering the tea still sitting on her breakfast tray and deciding she could use a drink as well. She knew it had been wrong to pretend to be in danger but she really needed to see Mr. Tilney. He was an expert on large animals so he would be able to tell her how to take care of her brother's gift.

When Henry Tilney burst into her room all disheveled and serious, she was sipping her tea like a lady as her mother had taught her.

"Miss Morland!" he sounded a little breathless like he had run up all the stairs in the townhouse and a few others besides. He looked at her, and it was a very intense look, like he was checking her head to toe for injuries. "The leopard?" he said at last, confused by the peaceful lack of blood and dismemberment.

"He's in the bath," she said with a slight nod. "Can I offer you some tea?"

Hearing the commotion, the leopard came out to investigate which nearly had Henry jumping out of his skin.

"The leopard," he whispered and clung to the far wall.

"Please don't worry about him, Mr. Tilney. My brother sent me a tame leopard," she explained. She then handed him a note that had been included in the transport documents.

"Please look after my leopard, Baby," he read aloud. "I've raised him from a kitten and he's remarkably well behaved. He's been my constant companion for the last 12 months and I'd prefer to keep him with me but the next leg of my trip is sadly not leopard-friendly. He is much too spoiled by me to return to the wild and I am much too spoiled by him to let him go so I am sending him to you for safekeeping until I return to the states at Thanksgiving. He should have more than enough space on the farm. If he ever gets bored or difficult, know that he enjoys listening to music, especially love songs. It used to make me rather melancholy listening to those songs so soon after Isabella, but now I listen to them and think of my Baby. Give my love to Mother. Signed, James," he concluded, his voice fading away.

He stared at the letter a little longer then turned to her. "You can't tame a leopard," he told her.

Baby growled in agreement but ruined the effect by rubbing his head against Catherine's knees. "He seems quite tame to me," she observed.

"Everything seems tame on a full stomach," opined Henry, his eyes fixed on the big cat.

Rather than argue, Catherine turned on the record player. A song began to project from the speaker and Baby hopped onto Catherine's bed and curled his tail in time to the music.

"You don't think my brother would have sent me something that would hurt me?" she asked Henry over the first verse.

Henry had to admit that the right answer was not obvious. He couldn't imagine a brother would send such a dangerous gift, but he couldn't imagine a leopard wasn't a dangerous gift.

"Your sister sent you the bone from a long dead creature," Catherine pointed out. "That sounds rather strange and macabre, to an outsider. A leopard is the same thing, really."

"A leopard is not the same thing at all!" he exclaimed. "Go back in time a hundred million years or so and the brontosaurus was still a vegetarian."

“But you'll help me with Baby, won't you?” she pleaded. “I don't know anyone else nearby who knows the first thing about animals.”

“I'm a paleontologist,” he said in exasperation. “I don't know the first thing about animals unless they're already dead.”

"Nonsense, you must know more than you realize,” Catherine told him but Henry was unmoved. “Well then, “she said, changing tack, “can you at least help me take him to the farm in Connecticut?"

"That's what this is about? You want me to drive your leopard to the country?"

"I can't keep him in town, cooped up in my bedroom for weeks. You read the letter, James wants me to take him to the farm. There's plenty of space and he won't get in anyone's way."

"I can't," said Henry, and he began to realize how he had left things with his uncle. He had been dismissive and rude to the older man, not answering his questions and leaving abruptly. At the time, Henry had been too afraid for Catherine's safety to give his behavior a second thought, but now that the threat was neither grave nor pressing, it was hard to justify.

And he had ruined the museum's chances with the Allen Foundation! Oh, this was awful.

"I can't," he said again, utterly forlorn. "I can't help you. I can't even help myself. My uncle is going to go through the roof when I tell him I've messed things up with Mr. Sherman."

Catherine Morland's mouth dipped in a frown before perking up again. "You'll be pleased to know that Sacha is fully recovered from last night," she shared. "I called him earlier and Aunt Lily -- that's Mrs. Sherman, not really my aunt -- told me all about it. Yes, he's fine now but they're going to get out of the city for a few days. They have a place near the farm. If you wanted to help me take Baby to Connecticut, maybe you could run into him there and discuss your business with him. He's always more relaxed out of doors."

She had laid it out so sweetly that Henry wasn't sure how fully he was being manipulated.

"Please say you'll help me, Mr. Tilney. I can't take Baby on the train, my aunt drove her car to Boston, and I can't hire a taxi to bring my leopard back to Connecticut. James is a dear but even I know that Baby isn't a practical gift. Help me, please. And in return let me help you. I know I wrecked your plans yesterday. I'm trying to make amends. If you take Baby and me to Connecticut, then Sacha will see how generous you are, and I'm sure he'll be generous in return."

Henry shook his head but he knew he was going to agree.

It didn't help his resolve that a love song was still playing in the background although a desire to avoid his uncle's wrath until Henry could turn the situation around was what tipped the scales into Catherine's favor.

"How soon can you be ready to go?" he asked. "My car is illegally parked. I can't stick around all morning."

---

Notes: In the original movie, the leopard is from South America, which is an interesting choice for a plot hole. Leopards are spotted cats and live in Africa. Jaguars are spotted cats and live in SA. The animal they used in the movie was a leopard. Why did they decide to write that he was from SA? Did they not know where leopards come from? Was there something going on in Africa or SA during the writing of the script that made them change it?

Summary: Henry and Catherine drive Baby into the country.
And apologies in advance to Beclyn for what's going to happen while traveling with a leopard.

5: A Knight Errant

Henry and Catherine lured Baby down to the street and into the backseat of Henry's car before a meter maid could ticket him. Catherine sat in the front passenger seat and began fiddling with the radio dial, listening for the sort of music that would keep the leopard happy in the stop-and-go congestion until they could get out of the city.

She was clear with her directions, warning him in advance of any turns so he could drive as smoothly as possible and not disturb the predator in the backseat. Once they were on a relatively open stretch of road, they kept glancing at Baby who seemed well-adjusted to travel after enduring the trip from Africa.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Catherine shyly told him that he'd better call her Catherine for the rest of the trip. "It won't do for Aunt Bess to think I rode in a stranger's car," she explained. "She'll tell my parents that I was being unsafe and I won't hear the end of it."

Henry personally thought he was far safer company than a leopard but had no objections to the request and was able to suggest in the spirit of reciprocity that she use his first name as well. Catherine accepted with something like a blush before falling silent.

There was no more conversation in the car for another ten minutes. At that point, the radio picked up more static than song and Catherine was forced to shut it off and sing to Baby herself.

She didn't sound like a professional performer but she knew all the words and stayed mostly in tune. And -- what was more important -- the leopard didn't seem to mind. With no need for detailed navigation for the next hour, she twisted in her seat to serenade Baby directly, checking only briefly on Henry when her voice would falter just a little. After a while, however, the pose got tiring and she faced forward and sang to the open road.

After another ten minutes she checked the backseat and saw that their most important passenger had fallen asleep. "Baby's sleeping," she said in a quiet voice and fell silent.

"Did your aunt provide you with a music tutor?" he said, thinking of all the other opportunities that Aunt Bess had provided

"Oh, she would never do that!" Catherine said, sounding scandalized but offering no explanation. "How did you end up working as a paleontologist with all the bones?"

It was a blatant change of subject but she had been singing for a long while; it was Henry's turn to provide the chatter.

"I suppose my fascination started as a child. We lived in upstate New York and there was a stream about a mile from our house. My sister and I would walk to it all the time. One summer day, I found my first fossil there in the stream bed. It was just a common trilobite but after that, I was hooked," he concluded with a shrug.

There was a pause as Catherine soaked up the story, then she frowned and asked, "That's it?"

"Yes?" he said, wondering why she felt there should be more.

"Come now, Henry," she chided him. "There has to be more to the story. We certainly have time for a little embellishment."

"I love paleontology," he shrugged simply. "I was rather good at it in college. My advisor, Professor Messing wrote amazing letters of recommendation; I could have gone to Georgia or Illinois but in the end I decided to stay in New York. The fact that my uncle is the director was honestly a discouragement as I didn't want anyone to think I had gotten my job due to nepotism. My uncle thankfully stayed out of the interview and hiring process, but I was already familiar with Professor Wiltshire who was the museum's head of paleontology so I'm sure my connections with him gave me an unfair advantage over other candidates."

"Forgive me," Catherine apologized for interrupting, "but you seem a little too humble to take advantage of your connections, Henry. I'm sure you were the best candidate."

"And what do you know of paleontology?" he asked, not unkindly. He didn't want to prove her wrong but he didn't need her defense.

"Very little, compared to some," she admitted, "but I know a great deal about men who use their connections like a battering ram to knock down anything between them and what they want. You don't seem the type."

He took his eyes off the road and stared at her, wondering how many golf balls she had accidentally stolen at her aunt's club and how many condescending harangues she'd had to deal with.

"Well," he said as he returned his attention to the road and adjusted his grip on the wheel, "regardless, I got the job. A couple of years later, old Dr. Wiltshire retired. He was as much of a dinosaur as the specimens we studied but he decided to retire before going extinct. By then, I thought I knew all there was to know about running the department. Things like: how to slowly circulate the less eye-catching pieces through our main exhibit hall; how to restore any new acquisitions and prepare them for exhibit; how to methodically examine the pieces in our permanent collection."

"What's the most interesting piece in the museum?" asked Catherine.

"The intercostal clavicle," he answered immediately even though it was not literally in the museum at the moment before adding, "I suppose my opinion is biased toward the newest piece, but we've been looking for it for ages."

Catherine recalled that it was Henry's sister who found it which led to them both talking about their siblings. Henry had yet to share Eleanor's joy with anyone so he took delight in sharing all the little signs he observed over the years that spoke of a mutual respect between his sister and his new brother-in-law.

Catherine gushed at the happily-ever-after and wished with a sigh that her own brother James could one day find a similar ending.

"Ah, yes," Henry said, remembering, "Isabella from the letter."

"It was awful," Catherine frowned. "The whole thing was just awful. She and James got engaged so fast. I fell in love with her too; we were to be sisters after all. But then she found out that James wasn't going to inherit piles of money and she cheated on him. He was devastated when he found out. He broke it off but everything around him only reminded him of her. My parents were so worried when he said he was going to Africa but I suppose it's been good for him. He sounds like he's finally over Isabella."

"It's funny, I guess, that my sister went away to find love while your brother went away to recover from love gone wrong," Henry mused.

Catherine smiled at him. "Yes, but I don't think I appreciate the idea of having to go so far from home to find happiness. Then again, if I was miserable at home as James was after Isabella, I suppose I wouldn't mind leaving it."

Henry grimaced. Eleanor had not been happy moving back to their uncle's home after she finished college. A number of her friends had only continued their education until they had secured a fiancé but Eleanor had graduated with a degree in English. Uncle Errol hadn't known what to do with her then and all his suggestions -- various attempts to throw her in the path of rich bachelors with a family history of philanthropy -- were met with increasing coldness. Henry had tried to step in, to explain to their uncle that Eleanor didn't want to feel like she was being married off, but it went as well as a reasonable man might expect in hindsight.

"Yes," he said slowly, the acrimonious taste of bad memories clinging to his tongue. "Eleanor was rather grateful for the opportunity to go out west where no one would think too much about what she was supposed to be doing instead."

"Will they move back to New York, do you think?" Catherine wondered. "Or will they settle out there?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. The possibility that he would only see her again after a long period of planning and days of travel was depressing. "At least, if I can keep her on the museum's payroll, it won't feel like she's so far."

"I'm sure Sacha will be able to help you," Catherine told him, encouragingly. "And I'm glad your sister is so happy now. It's a good reminder that low spirits are temporary. And who knows? Maybe James will meet a girl in Africa and live happily ever after there."

"Just the two of them, and Baby makes three," Henry joked.

Catherine started giggling at the silliness of the image. She covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the noise but it was no use. Trying to be quiet only made her louder. Finally she could contain herself no longer and burst into loud peals of laughter. Henry soon joined her.

They might have laughed all the way to the end of their journey but they woke up the leopard in the backseat who growled petulantly. They immediately fell silent, hoping to placate the cat.

Baby, however, wasn't cheery at being woken. He remained grouchy and complaining, flexing his claws and threatening the upholstery.

"What do we do?" said Catherine.

"I don't know!" Henry replied. It was one of the few times that Henry regretted his career choice. If only he had studied living animals, he might know what to do now. "Play him some music!"

Catherine fiddled with the radio for something soothing and Henry pulled the car to a little patch of gravel on the side of the road. Henry got out of the car, then opened the back door. He didn't know what the leopard was about to do -- the only animals he seriously studied were so long extinct that their behavior was pure conjecture -- but he didn't want himself or Catherine trapped in the same car when it happened.

Baby bounded out and away from the road. Catherine called out in surprise and ran after him, with Henry trailing in last place.

Despite the terrain and flora being foreign to the big cat, he moved with speed and grace, and had soon escaped his chaperones.

"Oh, Baby! We've got to find him!" Catherine nearly wailed.

Henry could only agree. While he didn't want to be mauled to death in his own car, he also didn't want anyone else to be mauled due to his negligence or cowardice.

They began calling for the leopard, singing refrains from popular love songs, and methodically checking any vegetation that might be big enough to hide the animal, getting further and further from the road as time passed.

Before either of them could lose hope, there was a growl and a squawk and other noises that sounded like a brief, one-sided fight. Catherine and Henry immediately chased after the sound and found Baby with a dead duck. The sight turned their stomachs but the snack put Baby in a docile mood. After drinking from a nearby pond -- the same pond at which the unlucky duck had made its temporary home -- he allowed himself to be coaxed and cajoled back to the car.

As the cat washed his face and paws, Catherine shakily asked Henry if he wouldn't mind stopping at the town center near the farm to load up on meats from a butcher's shop. Baby was fed now, but her brother's letter gave no guidance on how frequently or how much to feed him and she would hate to have Baby get hungry again.

"Of course," Henry agreed, a little pale himself.

By unspoken accord, they rolled their windows down so the car interior would smell less like an abattoir. They continued on, the radio providing background noise to cover up their lack of conversation.

6: A Rest in the Quest

"Stop here," Catherine directed in front of a line of busy shops and Henry dutifully pulled into the one open parking spot.

The butcher shop was clearly marked and doing brisk business although the line did not extend outside the shop.

"You go," Catherine said when he had turned off the engine. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on Baby."

"Are you sure?" he wondered. They had both been a little shaken from Baby's earlier snack.

Catherine smiled back at him. "Perfectly," she said, and she was at ease with her decision. The car had been aired out and it was easy to imagine that nothing had happened. "I'll be quite safe."

Henry wasn't completely convinced of that, but decided the best option was for him to be quick. So he left the keys in the car and hustled into the shop.

She checked on the cat in the backseat who was starting to perk up again in response to the bustle on the street. Before she could get too worried about that, however, there was a knock on the hood of the car.

"Miss?" came a disgruntled voice. "Miss, you need to move your car."

Catherine whipped her head around. By the man's attire, he worked for the local police force but she didn't know him. "I'm sorry? Can you repeat that?" she asked as she leaned out the window.

"I said you need to move your car," he repeated with more volume and more irritation.

"My car? I need to move my car?" With her head full of leopards and meat and paleontologists, it was difficult to figure out what had gotten this man in such a tizzy. She didn't even own a car.

The officer straightened and glared at her with the full force of his authority. "Get out of the car, miss, and come here."

Feeling trapped, Catherine stepped out and came forward. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked nervously.

"The problem is that you've parked your car in front of the hydrant," he told her, gesturing at the fire plug by the front bumper of Henry's car.

Catherine took it all in and felt a little silly as the pieces fell into place. "Oh, but this isn't my car," she informed him. Her mother would no doubt scold her for weaponizing the truth but Catherine thought it was excusable. It was Henry's car and, yes, he had parked in that spot at her suggestion but he would only be a moment. And surely if a fire were to break out in the next minute or two, Catherine could move the car to another block. It was unnecessary for her to move it right now, and if she could just keep the officer talking until Henry came back then the crisis would be averted.

"This isn't your car?" the man demanded, incredulous. "What were you doing, sitting in it, if it isn't your car?"

"Well, I just," she turned to look through the windshield and saw a conspicuous absence of leopard in the back.

"I, I just," she stammered, her eyes frantically searching for signs of Baby without showing her panic to the peace officer. She had left her door ajar when the man had told her to get out of the car, and the windows were rolled down to air out the interior besides. The leopard could have gotten out while they were looking at Henry's fender! Baby could be anywhere!

"I was --" Just when Catherine had decided that the threat to public safety was more dire than the threat to her dignity, she saw a leopard tail curl into the window of the next car. Baby must have snuck into it.

"I just wanted to see if I liked it," she lied through her teeth, promising to pay strict attention to her father's next three sermons as a penance, "to see if I wanted to get a new car. I'll just leave it alone now," she added, opening the door of the car Baby had chosen. She sat down and made herself comfortable. The key was waiting in the ignition and the key chain hanging from it was instantly recognizable.

The officer looked at her and would probably have kept hassling her in some way, but Henry came out of the shop and she called to him, telling him to, "Get in this car, please. We don't want to be late!"

He complied although the expression on his face demanded some explanation, but as soon as he opened the passenger door and saw the leopard lounging in the backseat as well as the policeman frowning on the curb, he knew his questions could wait. Catherine turned the key and pulled out of the spot.

"I'm very sorry about that," she said as soon as she could, her eyes on the policeman in the rearview mirror. "You had parked too close to a hydrant and they wanted me to move your car but then Baby got out and I figured, for the moment at least, it'd be better to pretend that my car was the one with the leopard in it."

"We can't abandon my car," he said.

"It's not abandoned. The police will probably tow it in a few minutes and then you can pick it up at the station," Catherine told him. "Good heavens, I left the key in it; they won't need to tow it if they don't want to; they can just drive it over. It'll be safe until you can get it back."

"And in exchange we've stolen a car!" Henry pointed out as if that was worse.

"This is Sacha's car," Catherine clarified calmly. "I didn't recognize it when we parked next to it but after I got inside --"

"We stole Mr. Sherman's car?" Henry said, aghast.

"Borrowed, really," she corrected. "I'm sure he'll understand when I explain it to him. There's a leopard in the back; we can't just leave Baby behind for Sacha to find later. And I didn't want to try to coax Baby back into your car with that police officer standing there. He'd make a commotion, I'm sure of it. Besides, if I had to choose, I'd rather disappoint the police than the leopard. There are natural laws that trump man-made ones."

Henry disagreed adamantly in principle but in application he was wavering. He grumbled for a while but not so vehemently that he demanded Catherine return to his car right away. Recognizing it for the victory it was, she changed the subject, explaining that her aunt's farm was only ten minutes away, 15 if one was trying not to incommode a leopard in the back.

Henry was too distracted thinking about his job and his family and his car and how inextricably bound and bungled it all was to read the handsome sign that marked the moment they crossed the farm's boundary. The main house, however, was sufficient to pull him from his musings. They did not stop there but drove past to the carriage house in the back.

Henry then got out to open the wide doors and Catherine drove through, parking the borrowed car inside. Henry shut the doors securely. The whole structure gave off the impression that it had been built for horses decades ago and then converted for cars as they became more fashionable. The stalls were free of hay. There was no riding tack laying about but there were mechanics' tools, and the whole place smelled faintly of oil and exhaust rather than anything to do with animals.

Catherine got out and helped Henry make one of the stalls leopard-friendly. They chose the emptiest one and quickly removed anything that looked like it might hurt the animal or anything that looked like Baby could rip it apart. They added a few blankets and a bucket of drinking water from a nearby sink as well as one of the raw steaks Henry had bought from the butcher. Satisfied with their work, they coaxed Baby out of the car and into his temporary nest.

As they shut the stall door to keep Baby contained until Catherine could decide how best to let an animal like that roam freely, Henry noticed a bit of cobweb on her sleeve. Without thinking he brushed it off, and left a trail of grease in its wake.

He knew as soon as he saw the mark that the stain would never come out of that fabric. From the look of horror on Catherine's face, she knew too that her blouse was ruined. This was perhaps the first time he had seen Fortune direct bad luck at her when he was in the area, and she looked devastated.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. He held up his hands in a placating gesture only to think that the grime on his hands was more threatening than soothing so he took a step back.

He tripped over a push broom propped against the wall behind him, flailed momentarily and knocked into a storage case, then fell to the ground. Catherine called out in alarm but didn't move to interfere as the broom handle fell on top of him along with every random thing on the shelves. He curled up protectively, his hands shielding his face from anything sharp or heavy.

When the clattering finally ceased, Catherine was by his side, helping him up. He was filthy now, far worse than Catherine and her blouse. If she wanted to change out to short sleeves, no one would suspect why. Henry's suit, on the other hand, was probably a lost cause.

"Henry, are you all right?" she said, helping him up. "Oh my goodness, let's get you to the house, clean you up a little."

He didn't think there was much point in cleaning up a little when he clearly needed a lot . The clavicle was still safe in his pocket, still covered in the protective plaster, but Henry's own person was another, less fortunate story. Even ignoring what would probably turn into a few bruises, his hands, face, and hair were splattered with oil and coated with dirt. His clothes were probably not fit for the rag bag. He didn't keep an emergency change of clothes in his car but even if he did, he didn't have his car anymore. There was no way that Henry could try to contact Alexander Sherman right now, and there was no way that Henry could climb back into the stolen car and drive it back to New York.

Having given up on anything, he was docile as Catherine led him to the kitchen entrance in the back, where she walked in with all the confidence of family. Aunt Bess was in Boston but the maid was in the kitchen, preparing for a meal. She took one look at the bedraggled horror that was Henry and screamed at the sight of him.

This attracted the dog, who rushed in from another room and began to yap in defense of its territory, pinning in Henry at the door. Catherine took hold of the dog's collar and pulled him away from where he was harassing Henry's pants leg.

Catherine quickly got the situation under control, explaining to the maid that this disheveled vagabond was actually a respected scientist from New York who had business with Dear Mr. Sherman, and they had been parking the car in the garage when Poor Henry suffered an unfortunate mishap and now he needed to wash up. "Is that all right, Susan? Can he use one of the bathrooms?"

The maid looked as though she didn't want Henry to take another step across her freshly waxed floor, but as it wasn't really her house, she wasn't really in a position to refuse her employer's niece. "Just don't let him use the good towels, Miss Catherine," she conceded. "I'll never get them white again otherwise."

Catherine agreed to the terms of surrender and handed off a wrapped package of steaks to store in the refrigerator until Catherine had need of them. Then Henry followed her through the house, taking care that he didn't bump into a wall accidentally or tread on a pale rug and leave a trail. Henry didn't think of himself as a vain man but the woman's reaction to his appearance had shaken his natural confidence.

Catherine led him to a spare room with a private en suite. A cheval mirror in the corner of the room projected a modern atrocity at him. He yelped at his reflection and wondered why Catherine didn't seem offended by the mere sight of him.

"True beauty comes from inside," she counseled in the tone of someone parroting the catechism. "But maybe you can take a shower and I can find some old clothes for you to wear, if you want," she said.

He took her up on the offer with alacrity.

"I'll find something suitable for you to wear, I'm sure of it,” Catherine spoke with confidence. "Just get started and I'll put the clothes on the bed for you to change into after the shower."

She bustled out, shutting the door behind her.

Alone, Henry carefully removed the intercostal clavicle from his jacket pocket and set it on the bed. Then he stripped off everything except the final layer of clothing and laid it on the bed as well, turning his clothes inside-out so as not to dirty the quilt.

He stepped into the en suite to disrobe the rest of the way. There was a flimsy fashionable robe hanging from the hook on the door; he wondered if this had been left behind by a previous visitor or was simply provided like soap and towels for the guests' convenience. He turned on the water. With a slight groan from the pipes, the shower began to fill with steam.

Summary: Henry dresses up like a fool. Something important goes missing.

7: The Fool's Motley

Catherine didn't want to upset her aunt by giving Henry anything to wear that was of special sentimental value so she went down to the kitchen to ask about spare clothes. Susan pointed out that Catherine's brother had left some clothes behind the last time he had spent the night and offered to take Henry's clothes to the cleaners in town if Catherine would bring them down.

The maid also shared that Aunt Bess had telephoned earlier to say that she would be home for dinner and was bringing a guest from Boston. Susan was currently preparing their dinner but was not so far along as she couldn't add another place setting or two if Catherine and Henry wanted to join them.

Too pleased with the idea, Catherine agreed without even checking with Henry. She then dashed about, gathering the outfit Henry had placed on the bed to bring down to Susan before flitting about other rooms, upending drawers and disemboweling trunks until she found a costume that James must have worn to the Halloween party last year. It wasn't very professional but at least the jester's motley was clean.

Catherine was laying out James' abandoned costume when she heard the shower turn off. "Henry!" she called out before he could do something impulsive like walk out of the bathroom while she was standing right there.

"Catherine?" he replied, his voice muffled by a door and possibly a towel.

"Susan is taking your suit to be dry cleaned," she told him through all the layers preserving his modesty. "I don't want to borrow anything of Uncle Edgar's -- Susan doesn't think Aunt Bess would like it -- but my brother left a Halloween costume behind that should fit you much better."

"Halloween?" he repeated, poking his head out of the door.

Catherine averted her gaze lest she catch sight of something swoonworthy. After a moment's hesitation, he came into the room clad in a towel and robe.

"It's a costume!" he discovered. The comfort from washing away the dirt in a hot shower was replaced too quickly by the distress of realizing there were many more obstacles to surmount. "I want my clothes back, my real clothes. I can't meet Mr. Sherman dressed like a fool." While his suit was probably ruined, it was still a suit.

"I'm afraid Susan has already taken them to town," she began to apologize.

But something about the bed worried Henry even more than his missing clothes. "Where's my clavicle?"

Catherine tried very hard not to look at the man, because she was certain his clavicle was easy to spot if the robe gaped a little at the neck.

"Where is the intercostal clavicle?" he continued and Catherine's brain caught up with him. "I put it on the bed near my dirty clothes. Do you think the maid has it?"

Now that she knew what he was talking about, Catherine put her blush aside. She was quite confident that she had not gathered up the fossil with Henry's suit. But if she hadn't taken it, and Henry hadn't moved it, where could it have gone?

Through the window, George started barking in the yard.

"The dog must have taken it!" she realized. "This is my fault. I must have left the door open when I gathered up your clothes. He must have snuck in here after that. Oh, he's surely buried it by now."

Henry wanted to scream but when he asked, "Why would a dog bury a bone!" he sounded stressed rather than maniacal.

"George is always burying anything he can carry. Don't worry. We know he took it -- I guess -- we just need to find where he put it," reasoned Catherine.

Henry didn't wait for more. His intercostal clavicle needed him now, and with the maid gone, there was no one else to see him looking so ridiculous. He left the room and chased after the barking noise. A few steps behind, Catherine followed him.

.o8o.

Henry found the dog easily and knelt in front of it. "His paws were covered in dirt," Henry declared in dismay. "How did he even get outside to bury it?"

"There's a dog door in the kitchen," explained Catherine. "We'll have to look for a freshly dug hole."

"Dressed like this?" Henry said, the robe fluttering in agitation.

"Go upstairs and put on my brother's costume," Catherine took charge. "I'll stay with George now and see if he can lead me to your fossil, and you join us as soon as you can."

Henry agreed for lack of a better plan and they temporarily parted ways.

He went back into the house and got dressed in the jester's motley, feeling more foolish than he looked. As a man of science, the costume was demeaning. Why couldn't Catherine's brother have dressed as a wizard or someone wise?

He flew down the stairs, jingling and jangling with each step, and went out the front door just as a car pulled up and two strangers got out. One was a man about Henry's age and the other was an older woman who looked at Henry like he was the worst sort of criminal.

"Who are you and where is Susan?" she demanded.

Henry, forgetting briefly that Susan was the maid's name, shot back, "I was here first. The question we need to ask is, Who are you?"

"I am Elizabeth Allen and this is my home. And I should very much like to know what you are doing in it," she told him with dignity.

"Elizabeth Allen," Henry repeated the name, his brain making connections. "Elizabeth Allen of the Allen Foundation? That Elizabeth Allen? The famous philanthropist Elizabeth Allen? Whose Allen Foundation is responsible for giving millions of dollars to deserving organizations like schools and hospitals and museums?" Of course Catherine Morland was on a first-name basis with Alexander Sherman if her Aunt Bess was Mrs. Allen!

The younger man offered to detain Henry forcibly while the woman no doubt went inside and called the police but Catherine ran up to them, the dog yapping at her heels.

“Aunt Bess!” she cried, pleasantly surprised. She threw her arms briefly around the older woman's neck. “What are you doing back so early? Susan expected you in time for dinner.”

“Catherine, what is going on? Do you know this man? What was he doing inside my home?"

“Oh, good heavens, where are my manners,” Catherine excused herself. “Aunt Bess, this is Mister Henry --”

“No!” Henry shouted. The last thing he wanted was for Mrs. Allen to know exactly who he was. Even if she had never heard of a Henry Tilney before now, she might have heard of Director Errol Tilney of the Museum of Natural Sciences and History which was currently petitioning the Allen Foundation for a donation. It was pointless to make a good impression with Mr. Sherman if Henry ruined the museum's reputation with the titular head of the Allen Foundation.

“No,” he repeated, trying to sound less desperate while Catherine looked on in confusion. “Henry Noh. That’s Noh with an ‘h’. The ‘h’ is silent.”

"A most unusual name,” Aunt Bess observed.

"I've never heard that said before," he replied while looking pointedly back at Catherine, willing her to understand him and not to expose his true identity.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Noh, what were you doing in my home?” Mrs. Allen returned to the matter at hand.

"I can explain that," Catherine offered. "We -- Henry and I -- were talking at your club yesterday and he mentioned that he has business with Sacha, but he couldn't meet with him because… well, because I got in the way. And I know what Mother would say if she knew I was getting underfoot, so I decided to try to fix it. And since I know Sacha and Aunt Lily came out here today, I decided… we decided ," she corrected as she looked at her aunt's guest, "that Henry should drive me home and talk with Sacha in the country."

"Mr. Noh drove all the way from New York City to meet with Sacha dressed like that ?" Mrs. Allen asked incredulously.

"Not like this, no," Henry conceded the point, "but my suit got dirty. I couldn't very well present myself to Mr. Sherman while so disheveled."

"Yes, exactly," Catherine jumped back in. "He was quite presentable at the start, and all through the drive really. It was just at the end when we were parking in the carriage house that his suit was ruined. Here!" she said, holding up her arm as evidence. "You can see some of the dirt on my sleeve; just imagine it ten times worse for Henry. And Susan told us he could take a shower in one of the spare rooms to wash up while she took his clothes to the cleaners in town, and maybe stay for dinner since we're here."

"Then why is he dressed like a fool?"

"Because Susan took all his clothes. I tried to find something else for him to wear but the only thing I came across was an old Halloween costume. Oh! And then George got into the spare room and took something of Henry's: the intercontinental --"

"Intercostal," Henry corrected her quietly.

"The intercostal clavicle," she said without missing a beat. "And George must have buried it outside; you know how he is. Henry desperately needs to show it to Sacha so we rushed out to search for it without trying to find more appropriate attire first. And then you came home," concluded Catherine, rather anticlimactically. "And now we're all caught up."

"Yes," mused Mrs. Allen, "I suppose that explains it all, except why you come here instead of going home to your parents at the parsonage?"

Catherine opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. She knew that Baby was a big surprise -- potentially a terribly unwelcome one -- and didn't want to spring it on her aunt just yet, certainly not in front of a stranger. However she couldn't come up with some other way to explain it at the moment. "I can't say," she said, downcast.

"And what did your brother send to you that you needed to pick up in New York?"

"I can't say," she answered again, far more quickly the second time.

"I suppose your two secrets are related," the older woman deduced. "Well, just make sure your mother finds out before I regret letting you get away with this. And I suppose I should let George show you and Mr. Noh where he's hidden this thing for Sacha." She then turned to her traveling companion. "Mr. Thorpe, can I press you to park the car in the carriage house around back and then join me inside while these two play with the dog for a bit?"

"No!" Catherine leapt forward a little, thinking of this stranger traumatized by the discovery of Baby in his stall. "No, let me. You've driven all the way from Boston; surely you deserve to relax. I can take care of the cat -- I mean, the car ! -- after we're done with George."

"You're hiding something, my dear girl," Mrs. Allen huffed.

Catherine fidgeted, caught. "It's just that we left an awful mess in the garage. I don't want your guest to see it before I've had a chance to clean it up."

Mrs. Allen tsked fondly, used to spoiling Catherine when her parents were unable to do so. "Come inside, Mr. Thorpe. My niece and her friend will join us soon enough."

The guest went inside with his hostess, leaving Catherine and Henry and George. The trio spent the next half-hour tromping over the property. George would find a spot with soft, recently turned earth and start digging. Catherine or Henry would often join him.

They uncovered a boot and a pair of slippers, a glove and a cap, a gold pen and six sticks, but no intercostal clavicle. Henry's spirits were flagging and Catherine was trying to get him to buck up when Susan's car swung up the drive and George abandoned the game for whatever the maid might have for him.

"We might as well tidy up the garage," Catherine suggested. "George won't shift until he figures out that Susan doesn't have any treats for him."

Glum, Henry went to open the carriage house doors while she brought the car to it.

When he opened the doors, he could see immediately that something was wrong. The mess was still there, as expected, but the door to the leopard's stall had swung open. Without a thought for his own safety, Henry rushed into the stall. But there was no danger there; Baby was gone.

---

Note: the clavicle, anyone?

Summary: Meet John Thorpe, big game hunter.

8: Wild Boar/Bore

Catherine parked the car in the garage next to Mr. Sherman's vehicle. She got out and stood next to Henry, gaping at the empty stall.

"Henry, where's Baby?" she asked in a voice of dreamlike worry.

"I don't know, Catherine," Henry replied.

"How did he get out?"

"I don't know, Catherine."

"Why would he go anywhere? We left him food and water. What more does a leopard want?"

"I don't know, Catherine," he repeated once more. "I am a paleontologist, not a leopard-opterist or whatever they're called!"

She seemed surprised by his outburst but really, the bigger surprise was that he had borne so much before breaking.

"Do you think he'll be safe?" she wondered half to herself.

"Baby's a leopard ," Henry reminded her. "It's the rest of us I'm worried about. Does your aunt keep any animals on the farm?"

"There's a pond where we get ducks every year but it's not that kind of farm. There's no animals but George," answered Catherine before a thought occurred to her. "You don't think Baby would eat George, do you?"

"Not on a full stomach, but if George harasses Baby, there's no telling what the leopard may do in response," he answered morosely. And if that dog was mauled or killed, who knew if Henry would ever find the intercostal clavicle again.

"Henry, that's awful! We have to do something!" declared Catherine.

Further conversation was interrupted by an astonished whistle from the door. "Mercy, Miss Catherine!" exclaimed the maid. "You said there was a mess in here but I had no idea." Susan then entered and studied the pile of debris up close, circling it to see it from all angles. Clearly, she had overheard nothing about the missing leopard. "It'll take hours to clean this," she concluded with the tone of someone who pitied whoever else would be saddled with the task.

"We're very sorry," Catherine began to apologize but Susan waved her off.

"Nevermind, Miss Catherine," she said. "It's not my problem, and I don't think it's your fault either. I've told Geoffrey who drives for Mrs. Allen many times that the cabinet and shelves needed to be replaced but he told me to mind my own business. It seems only right that this mess is his business. He can clean it up tomorrow. Come into the house now and sit with your aunt, there's nothing else for you to do tonight."

Susan started walking away. After blinking at each other, Catherine and Henry trailed after her.

"The cleaners said your suit would be ready tomorrow morning but not to expect miracles," Susan informed them as an afterthought. "And Mrs. Allen has offered to let you stay here tonight, Mr. Noh. She's already hosting Mr. Thorpe so what's one more?” she said with the general air of grievance that came from being responsible for the additional work that sprang from such generosity. “She is also offering to let you borrow one of Mr. Allen's old suits for the rest of the evening. And she's telephoned your parents, Miss Catherine, that you'll be home after dinner."

"What exactly did she say to my parents?" asked Catherine, suddenly worried for reasons that had nothing to do with leopards.

"I hardly have time to eavesdrop," stated the maid matter of factly. "But Mrs. Allen would never say a disparaging word about you."

.o8o.

Catherine sat with Mr. Thorpe, eager to demonstrate how well she had earned her aunt's respect and trust. Henry jingled after Mrs. Allen, eager to find more appropriate attire.

"What brings you to Connecticut?" Catherine asked, determined to fill in as hostess during her aunt's absence.

"Mrs. Allen invited me, and I had nothing else pressing at home," he replied. There was a small pause when Catherine thought she might need to say something to keep the conversation going, but then the man kept talking. "It turns out that my mom and your aunt are in the same sorority. They knew each other from way back and got to talking at the reunion in Boston. Now, as I mentioned, I got nothing going on right now --" There was a small inflection to let Catherine know this period of idleness was short lived and self-imposed. "Well, your aunt and I shared a few words and the next thing we know, we got more connections than just my mother. You see, Mrs. Allen lives out here in Fullerton, Connecticut and I have a really good friend who's from Fullerton, Connecticut so I came along to surprise his family."

The pause is more noticeable now. "Who do you know?" Catherine asked on cue.

"Jimmy Morland," answered Mr. Thorpe.

"You know my brother James?" Catherine rephrased.

"Yeah," Thorpe answered. "We go way back, met in college. I ran into him again 8 months ago and we spent some time together."

Catherine let that soak in for a moment. She no longer wondered why Mrs. Allen had invited this man to visit the area. Mr. and Mrs. Morland would be delighted to talk with one of James' friends. But if Mr. Thorpe last saw her brother eight months ago, that meant, "You were in Africa?"

"Of course I was! Last I saw of him, Jimmy had this leopard cub that he was toting around like a baby, singing it lullabies, and feeding it from a bottle."

"How adorable!" she exclaimed at the mental image of her brother with Baby as a kitten.

Thorpe made a face as he prepared to say more. "Oh, they look cute when they're small, but a leopard is no pet. I told him he needed to get rid of the thing before it grew up and mauled somebody. Too bad we had to part ways before I could make him see reason. I just hope he's okay."

Catherine, who knew that Baby hadn't mauled anyone except a duck, was able to dismiss that concern. "But what were you doing in Africa, Mr. Thorpe?"

"I was working," he shrugged in an approximation of humility. "I have a little business in which I help my clients who are inexperienced hunters collect trophies from Africa to bring home."

Catherine, who was familiar with receiving all sorts of trophies and medals for various athletic achievements, innocently asked, "What do your clients do to earn these trophies?"

"Usually they just stand there and pull the trigger," Thorpe grinned at her. "Of course, I charge them for the work I do: arranging transportation; buying the ammunition and food; tracking the animals; showing them how to load the guns or hold them; paying off any officials who want to make trouble. It's all very corrupt over there; if they can smell a dollar on you, they'll do what they can to take it from you. Anyway, I help my clients find the big game and stick a gun in their hands, and they pay me for my time and connections. Very few men come all the way to Africa thinking they'll let me do all of it -- they've done target practice or shot a turkey or something -- but after a week in the bush, shooting at shadows and hitting not-even-that, they come around."

"You kill the animals?" Catherine said, color drained from her face.

"Not like Mrs. Allen's barking dog; not someone's pet ," he assured her. Catherine did not feel assured. "We're talking big, dangerous, wild beasts. Trust me, you wouldn't want to meet up with something like that."

Catherine thought it was terrible to go chasing after animals just to kill them for sport but Mrs. Allen rejoined them before she could think of what to say.

"And what do you think of James' friend, Catherine?" she asked. "Imagine my surprise to discover that one of my sorority sisters has children who know the Morland family! I simply had to invite him to meet the rest of you. And his stories, so fascinating! He talked the entire drive home and I think he barely scratched the surface. Did you know Africa was so dangerous?"

Again Catherine struggled to reply, but Mr. Thorpe swooped in to her rescue and answered so thoroughly that no one remembered what the original question was.

Then Henry came down looking 20 years out of fashion and a little small in his clothes but no longer a clown.

"Henry!" Catherine couldn't help exclaim. She didn't spring up from her chair to greet him, but she felt a magnetic pull just the same. "You look better."

"I feel better," he concurred, smoothing the line of his suit. "And thank you so much for your hospitality, Mrs. Allen."

"Any friend of the Morlands is a friend of mine," she replied. And with both Henry and John Thorpe in her home, no other proof was needed.

"So what do you do, Mr. Noh?" asked his hostess.

"I study…" Henry stopped. He didn't want to admit anything that tied him back to the museum in front of Mrs. Allen but he didn't have enough hobbies to tell much of a lie. "I study animals, in New York."

"What a coincidence. I study animals too, in Africa," said Thorpe. "So what animals do you study, then, Mr. Noh?"

"And what does it have to do with George?" Mrs. Allen asked.

"Oh, he stole Henry's clavicle," Catherine said, then expounded, "the clavicle that Henry wants to show to Sacha."

"How did you get your hands on a clavicle?" asked John Thorpe.

"It was a gift from my sister. She lives in Wyoming," he explained, then added, "with her husband."

Thorpe whistled in appreciation. "They still have buffalo out there? Those beasts are huge."

"Majestic," Henry agreed, having seen a display in the museum.

"I wonder what it would take to bring down an animal that size," Thorpe said mostly to himself.

"You can't hunt them," Henry replied, aghast.

"Mr. Noh," Susan said from the door to the kitchen but Henry didn't notice her.

"They've nearly gone extinct," he continued. "Even now, there's serious work to bring back their numbers."

"Mr. Noh," the maid repeated more forcefully.

"Buffalo are an American symbol, as representative of our country as the bald eagle," he went on, and might have kept rambling except for Catherine's gentle interruption of, "Henry?"

At that point, he turned to the maid who merely repeated, "Mr. Noh," one more time.

"No?" He blinked owlishly, having forgotten his temporary last name. Then it came rushing back. "I mean yes . I mean, yes, I'm Mr. Noh."

"Mr. Noh, the dog's run outside again if you want to follow him," said Susan. She had seen far more foolishness than this in her time and could take it in stride but she was beginning to suspect that Miss Catherine's friend was less equipped.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Allen, Mr. Thorpe," Henry said as he stood and left the room. Social obligations were secondary to recovering the fossil.

"I'll just see if I can help him," Catherine added as she followed him out.

After fifteen minutes of fruitlessly pawing at the ground, George returned to the kitchen to rest up. Henry and Catherine returned empty-handed to the parlor where John Thorpe was continuing to entertain his hostess with all sorts of wild and improbable stories. The seated pair made polite inquiries into the search but it was obvious from the long faces that George had yet to return the treasure he had stolen.

"Tough luck then," Mrs. Allen sympathized with them. "Mr. Thorpe was just telling me of some near misses of his own."

This was all Thorpe needed to retell an outlandish hunting tale which ended in a grisly death that he barely edited to make suitable for the ladies.

Henry sat and looked mildly attentive but his mind was with his missing fossil, in a random hole somewhere on the property. It allowed him to avoid thinking of John Thorpe as exceedingly tedious and vain and prone to exaggeration.

And when the maid came back to announce George had wandered out again, Henry didn't need to be told twice. He went, and if he thought at all about the impression he was making, he was at least glad it was consistent and under a fake identity.

Catherine watched him leave and wondered how rude it would be to Aunt Bess and her other guest if she went as well. Surely if Aunt Bess could keep company with Mr. Thorpe, then Catherine ought to keep company with Henry. Rather than spend too much time thinking about it, Catherine stood up, excused herself, and went after Henry.

---

Note: not a colonel but a big game hunter. Hope that works for you, Harvey.

Summary: Baby is found, then lost, then hunted.

9: The Hunt

Henry followed George all over the farm, back to the house to sit with Mrs. Allen and Mr. Thorpe, and then out again; Catherine followed Henry. She tried to be encouraging but every freshly dug hole that failed to reveal the missing fossil made Henry's expression more grim. And every time the dog temporarily abandoned his game to trot back to the house only made Henry more taciturn.

Eventually the light began to fade. He had to consider the very real possibility that the intercostal clavicle was going to spend the night outside. And if he had no fossil to show Mr. Sherman, it would make it exceedingly uncomfortable to explain why Henry had stolen the other man's car, much less to beg a donation to the museum. And without the money, his uncle would be furious at how cavalierly Henry had ignored him to pursue a colossal waste of time. Good grief! Henry had just walked out on his uncle -- his employer -- this morning with no explanation except some incomprehensible muttering about leopards. And he has lost a priceless piece of prehistory to boot! He was rapidly approaching the point at which he might as well stay in Connecticut to build a new life because the one he had in New York was about to end.

They walked back to the house together and washed up for dinner separately. Henry took his time, not intending to delay the others but because he was lost in his own worrisome thoughts.

Catherine, however, came from a home that stressed punctuality as the commonest of courtesies. As such, she found herself ready to sit at the table before her aunt or Henry had come down the stairs. This left her alone with John Thorpe who wasted no time in talking to her again.

"What's the deal with that Noh guy?" he asked with more curiosity than tact.

"With Henry?" Catherine repeated. "He needs to find the bone that George buried. He's not normally so inattentive, I'm sure."

"No, I mean, with you and that Noh guy," Thorpe clarified. "You're always running off to help him."

Catherine squirmed awkwardly. "I just feel responsible," she tried to explain. "It's my fault he had to come to Connecticut and my fault he lost his clavicle."

"But you're always trailing after him, disappearing with him, that sort of thing. Say, I know this is forward, but," he began, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "are you and that Noh guy an item? I can respect another man's claim, but if he hasn't made his move I'd like to take my shot."

Catherine blushed and stuttered her way through a nonsensical response to which Thorpe only winked and said, "Sounds like you're no one's trophy yet."

Before Catherine could figure out how to say she didn't want to be anyone's trophy at all , Mrs. Allen returned. Catherine hoped she wasn't blushing but she couldn't do anything about it if she was. She just tried to blend into the pattern on the sofa until Henry came down and they all walked into the dining room.

One would never guess that Susan had originally planned a light meal only for Mrs. Allen and one guest as the four of them sat down at the table. Based on the number of spoons and forks, Catherine knew they were in for a treat, but Susan had only brought out the first course before George's barking could be clearly heard through the open window. The dog was out again.

With the barest of courtesy, Henry set aside his napkin and left. Catherine, now more uncomfortable around John Thorpe, left as well.

.o8o.

"I don't think I like Mr. Thorpe very much," Catherine confided quietly while Henry's attention was focused on the dog digging under a bush. She did not dislike people as a rule so she always took special care when she felt the need to deviate from the norm.

Henry made a noise that might have been encouraging. He didn't find Thorpe likable either.

"He was asking about you and me, if we were together," she said, her tone a warning on the last word.

"Why would he ask that?" Henry wondered cluelessly.

Catherine sighed and wondered how to say it before deciding to depend upon Mr. Thorpe's own turn of phrase. "Well, I suppose if I wasn't your trophy, I'm free to be his ."

Henry started and stared at her horrified. "What, what did you tell him?"

"I didn't really say much," she confessed. "It caught me off guard. But it's just silly! I mean, just because I'm not with you, doesn't mean I'm…"

"Are you," asked Henry, suddenly realizing he didn't know a number of details about Catherine, such as her romantic history or present, "with anyone?" It seemed like the sort of thing a girl would slip into conversation before now: I'm already seeing somebody but he's busy today so I need you to drive me to Connecticut to drop off my leopard.

"No, of course not, but that's not what I meant," she answered. "I meant, just because I'm not with you, doesn't mean I'm interested in Mr. Thorpe. Men often assume that an unattached woman wants to be attached, indiscriminately. That's not the case. No disrespect to Mr. Thorpe but I just couldn't… I mean, he is good friends with my brother James, but --"

"Who told you that Thorpe and your brother are friends?" Henry cut in. He filed away the random facts about her lack of romantic entanglements for later.

"Mr. Thorpe told me himself," Catherine answered, "while Aunt Bess was helping you find more suitable clothes to wear. And Aunt Bess said they were friends too. She wouldn't have invited him here otherwise."

"And you believed him?" Henry questioned her.

Catherine opened her mouth to say, yes, of course , because she had believed him implicitly. Her parents had raised her to be trustworthy so she imagined everyone else was as well. But now that Henry challenged her, it didn't seem terribly plausible. James loved Baby, and Catherine couldn't imagine him befriending someone who would readily kill the animal for profit. It was far more understandable if Mr. Thorpe had met James and had presumed a friendship based on James' amiable nature.

"Do you think Mr. Thorpe doesn't realize they aren't friends?"

"That's one interpretation," Henry admitted. "The man is certainly more self absorbed than self aware; he could imagine himself more likable than he really is."

"Then we really need to get Mr. Thorpe out of here quickly," she mused. "Baby is running around loose and I don't want a hunter to find him. What are we going to do?"

“We’re going to do nothing about Mr. Thorpe” Henry said with authority. “He doesn’t know Baby’s here and no one is going to tell him. Baby will be perfectly safe; he’s a leopard. And even if --” and here Henry felt a hint of regret that he might speak something into the universe and thus jinx them both -- “even if Mr. Thorpe spies Baby through a window or something, he doesn’t have a gun. He can’t actually hurt a leopard with his bare hands and we’ll absolutely do something to stop him if he tries.”

Catherine took a deep breath and nodded. She didn’t like Mr. Thorpe, but she trusted Henry to be right on this.

"In the meantime, we'll hurry things along. You go home as soon as you can and I'll turn in early with plans to look for the clavicle when the sun rises. Mrs. Allen is probably tired from the drive as well and won't want to stay up. Thorpe will have to retire for the night, and then he won't be able to go looking for trouble."

He smiled at her and she smiled back and it suddenly felt far less complicated than she feared. They would get through tonight and things would surely look more manageable in the morning.

Before she could thank him properly, however, a leopard's cry split the night air.

"Baby!" they cried together.

The dog dashed off, towards danger.

"George!" they added, more worried.

Henry took control. "You distract Thorpe and Mrs. Allen. I'll see if I can lure Baby back to the garage."

"Nonsense, Henry," Catherine told him. "I'm coming with you. You'll need help if George gets involved."

They chased after the barking, which soon joined with more growling. Henry and Catherine rushed in, afraid they'd arrive just in time to see George as limp as a dead duck but the dog continued barking and teasing the leopard who was still apparently full from a previous meal and thus more inclined to play than prey.

Catherine called to the dog and miraculously got him to heel. For his part, Henry tried to attract Baby's attention but the large cat was still eyeing the dog and, by extension, Catherine.

"Sing to him, Henry," Catherine suggested. She picked up the dog before George could cause more problems.

"I can't give you anything but love, Baby," Henry began the first song that came to mind. "That's the one thing I have plenty of, Baby."

The leopard quieted and looked intensely at Henry. Quietly, Catherine encouraged him to keep singing and lead Baby back to the carriage house.

"You dream awhile and you scheme awhile," Henry continued and started to move away. Baby, after a moment's hesitation, began to follow him. "You're sure to find happiness and I guess all the things you think are fine."

By now, Henry was walking at a normal pace towards the carriage house and Baby was walking close behind him.

"Gee I'd like to see you looking swell, Baby," Henry kept singing, getting into the spirit of it. Baby made an encouraging noise and picked up the pace and Henry sped up to match it. "Diamond bracelets Woolworth won't sell to you, Baby."

Henry and Baby jogged into the carriage house side by side and Henry led the cat right back to its original stall. "Til the lucky day you know darn well, Baby, I can't give you anything but love."

He shut the door to the stall with Baby on the inside and stared at it like a logic problem. If the leopard had gotten out once, it stood to reason that the leopard could do so again. But how had it happened? Henry didn't think the gaps were positioned low enough or wide enough for a big cat to squeeze through. Just then, Baby pressed on the door and it started to swing open. Henry immediately put his weight on it, shutting it with an offended growl from the other side.

"So that's how it's done," he mused and began to look in a mechanic's tool chest for sitting to the door to keep it shut.

"Oh, thank goodness, Henry," Catherine said as she entered, holding a squirming George in her arms. "You got Baby back safely. And you really have an incredible voice, did you know that?"

Henry might have said something -- tell her that his singing voice was nothing special, ask her to help him pull heavy objects in front of the door -- but there were people in the back yard who were calling to them. Rather than continue their private conversation, Catherine went outside before the others decided to come in.

"Aunt Bess!" she called, far too cheerily. Catherine shut the door behind her and leaned against it for good measure

"There you are, my dear," the older woman said, sounding terribly relieved. "I was getting worried. Mr. Thorpe swore he heard a big cat, and both you and Mr. Noh were out with George."

Henry finally joined them, walking around the carriage house from where he had used a side door. "What are you saying about the leopard?" asked Henry.

"What leopard?" asked Thorpe, instantly suspicious.

"No one said anything about a leopard!" Catherine interjected. She knew that any interest from Thorpe would be bad news for Baby.

"Mr. Noh did," Mrs. Allen said. "I heard him clear as day."

"Oh, that is hardly his area of expertise," Catherine dismissed it. "Don't take him seriously on that subject. And besides, a leopard, in Connecticut? Oh, that sounds crazy." It wasn't strictly a lie.

"I know what I heard," Thorpe defended himself. "Between all the zoos and traveling circuses, there are far more leopards up and down New England than you realize. Plus, there's the reason I'm here," he added meaningfully.

"What --" asked Catherine -- "what reason is that?"

"James is sending me a leopard," Mrs. Allen admitted with a touch of excitement. "He sent me a letter a few months ago that he was going to send a leopard to my farm. Naturally I don't know what to do with a leopard, so when I met Mr. Thorpe and he explained how much he knows about African animals, I invited him to help get everything set up. And it's good timing too! Your brother never did say when I should expect it, but it must be any day now."

Catherine tried to take it all in. "But you hunt leopards," she told Mr. Thorpe.

Thorpe shrugged. "For the right price, I'll help bag 'em."

"But why would James give you a leopard, Aunt Bess?" She hated to admit it but she was a little jealous that James had given Baby to his aunt instead of his sister.

"I'm sure he knew your parents would not approve of keeping it at the parsonage, even briefly," Mrs. Allen said with a smile. "And I have much more space at the farm, and I don't think he is giving it to me outright."

"So you don't plan to hunt anything," she said to Thorpe, "and you don't plan to keep anything," she checked with her aunt.

Neither of them did and it just made her feel foolish. There was now no reason not to mention that Baby was somewhere on the farm. She looked at Henry and it appeared that he was thinking the same thing. "I suppose I need to tell you something, Aunt Bess," she said.

"What is it, my dear? Is it why you came back from New York?" There was a hopeful note in the woman's voice, almost as if she was expecting a treat.

"Yes, I… Well, we… I mean, I suppose… I suppose it's best if I just show you," she concluded, setting George down and pulling open the door to the carriage house.

Mrs. Allen peered into the darkened interior. "Catherine, is that…"

Catherine waited with bated breath for her aunt to see signs of the leopard, not sure if her initial reaction would be one of joy or fear.

Then Mrs. Allen's lips curled down. "Oh, my dear, that really is quite a mess! Geoffrey will have his work cut out for him, cleaning that up. I no longer wonder what poor Mr. Noh did to his clothes," she said as she made out the pile of detritus scattered about.

"No, that's not it," Catherine said, then looked for herself. The mess was indeed an eyesore, but what caught her breath in her throat was the open door to Baby's stall. "Henry," she gasped, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him into the doorway.

He stared into the darkness and noticed that there was nothing in the darkness to stare back at him. "Not again," he groaned.

"Not again?" Mrs. Allen repeated. "What are you two nattering on about? Have you lost your clavicle for the second time today, Mr. Noh?"

"The intercostal clavicle is still missing, ma'am," Henry told her. "And now we've lost Baby again."

"Baby?!" Mrs. Allen was shocked.

"Baby is a leopard," Catherine explained before imaginations could run wild. "James sent a note home telling me to pick up something in New York. Well, of course you were in Boston but I went anyway and 'something' turned out to be a leopard!" she confessed rapidly. "His name is Baby. I picked him up in New York this morning and Henry helped me bring him here today."

"A leopard! How marvelous," Mrs. Allen cooed. "But where is he?"

"We put him in here," Catherine said, indicating the carriage house, "but he keeps sneaking out."

"Is the clavicle even real?" Thorpe butted into the conversation. "Or was it just some excuse to go chasing after a wild animal?"

"It's real, and it's priceless, and it's missing," Henry affirmed.

Thorpe turned to their hostess. "You should be very glad you brought me to Connecticut," he told her. "I know how to handle this sort of situation. Now that I know what I'm looking for, I can track this beast with my eyes closed. Unfortunately I didn't bring any gear with me. We'll have to call the nearest zoo and see if they can shoot it full of tranquilizers before someone gets hurt."

"Oh, Mr. Thorpe, you wouldn't!" Catherine said in a panic.

"Miss Morland, I most certainly would, and I'd know it was for the greater good. You women with your rose-colored glasses and your bleeding hearts, you see a leopard and think of a sweet, harmless kitten from your childhood. Well, let me tell you that this cat has claws and teeth, and you don't want to be on the wrong end of it," he ranted.

Catherine looked to Henry in desperation.

"Come now, Mr. Thorpe, there's no need to startle everyone," Henry tried. "I've spent time with Baby myself and he's very tame. I'm sure I can find him again without getting him or anyone else riled up."

"Oh, really? Want to make this a contest, Mr. Noh?" Thorpe offered with keen interest. "First one to find the animal wins a prize."

"No," Henry answered quickly. "I'm trying to make this less exciting, not more."

"Henry, you have to do something!" Catherine fretted.

"Go inside, Mrs. Allen, and take your niece with you," Thorpe ordered calmly. "Close the windows and lock the doors. Call up the closest zoo and tell them that a wild African leopard is on the loose and we need help subduing it before a lot of people get hurt. Tell them I hunt these creatures regularly and am tracking it. I'll call you as soon as I spot it so you can send the zookeepers to the right place."

Mrs. Allen took Catherine's hand and pulled. The older woman was growing increasingly agitated; having a leopard had sounded so romantic at first but after listening to Mr. Thorpe's tales, she was frightened. She wanted to get inside and lock the house and not come out until there were no leopards in a 20-mile radius.

"Henry, please!" Catherine begged as her aunt pulled her away.

"What about it, Noh?" challenged Thorpe. "You want to come out with me or hide with the womenfolk until I make it safe again?"

Henry recognized the taunt. At the end of it, he was nothing but a man, vulnerable to dares and teasings, and heartily sick of John Thorpe despite having ignored him all evening. He squared his shoulders and said calmly, "I've changed my mind after all, Mr. Thorpe. Let's make it a contest after all."

Summary: Henry and Catherine are arrested.

10: The Squire

Catherine felt helpless as her aunt nearly dragged her into the farmhouse. She wasn't physically powerless, but her aunt was so overcome with worry that Catherine couldn't add to it by chasing after a leopard.

Well, Catherine couldn't let her aunt know that she was chasing after a leopard.

Mrs. Allen told Susan all about Baby, and how Mr. Thorpe and Mr. Noh were still out there tracking it. The maid was suitably alarmed and efficiently went through the routine of locking up the house for the night. Mrs. Allen spared one call to Mrs. Morland to say that Catherine would be spending the night after all -- no need to tell her sister that their son's leopard was the reason why Catherine wouldn't be going outside. Mrs. Allen then called Information and proceeded to argue with one person then another as she sought anyone who would be able to help with the leopard problem.

Catherine meanwhile put on a small show of opposition before declaring that she was going upstairs to bed. She walked more heavily on the treads than she had as a young child in full tantrum but it left no ambiguity as to where she was. And if she picked the spare room with the most conveniently escapable window, that was nobody's business but her own. She'd sneak out, help Henry find Baby -- bless him, bless that wonderful man -- and then sneak back into her room before her aunt even knew she was gone.

The first step of her plan was almost too easy to implement. She was on the ground almost before John Thorpe had disappeared around the corner of the carriage house to find Baby's tracks.

"Catherine!" Henry whispered at her. "What are you doing? Get back inside." He tried to shoo her back up the side of the house but she held her ground.

"I'm here to help you find Baby before Mr. Thorpe or anyone else does," she told him. "Who knows what will happen if a zoo gets its hands on James' leopard before we can demonstrate how well behaved he is? Please, Henry, you have to let me help you."

"Catherine, it's not safe," he warned. "And I have no idea how to find a leopard, much less catch one. It was dumb luck the last time and I don't think we'll be that lucky again." Now that Thorpe had gone, Henry was having second thoughts about the possibility of success, and the various degrees of failure.

"Oh, but I have an idea about that," Catherine smiled at him. "Baby loved drinking from the bathtub in my room, and he found the duck by that stream. And did you notice that his water bucket was knocked over in his stall? I think the poor dear is thirsty, or at least very fond of water. There's a large pond on the eastern edge of the farm with a stream feeding into it. I think we should look for Baby there. If we take the car, we can get there much faster than Mr. Thorpe on foot. And we can use the car to hold Baby until we can get help. All we need to do is sing Baby into it."

Henry had planned to dismiss the idea out of hand and to send her straight back to the safety of the farmhouse but he ended up grabbing her by the shoulders. "Catherine, you're brilliant!" he exclaimed.

The outburst was a surprise to both of them but it didn't quite end there. Henry held her, and kept holding her. He nearly hugged her; with enough time, he might have done more than that. Then he remembered that he was a rational man of science. And men like that didn't kiss random women merely because they were clever.

The worst part was that she looked at him, which made him think that she wouldn't mind at all if Henry temporarily lost his head for such a thing.

They stood there for a bit until they became aware that time was not on their side. They rushed to Mr. Sherman's car. With Catherine behind the wheel, they drove away.

.o8o.

Catherine wasn't expecting the flash of police lights in the rearview mirror but she didn't think it was flashing due to anything she had done. She diligently pulled to the side to let it pass but it stopped behind her.

"Do you think they heard about Baby?" Catherine wondered, remembering her aunt had been trying to call for help.

Before Henry could answer, the officer knocked loudly on the driver's side window. Catherine dutifully rolled down the window and greeted the man. "Can we help you, sir?"

There was a moment of perfectly synchronized recollection in which they both remembered meeting each other earlier that day. It has been while Henry was in the butcher's shop buying steak for Baby. Catherine had been sitting in Henry's car which was unfortunately parked in front of a fire hydrant. The policeman -- Officer Newsom -- had then watched her get into a different car and drive off with Henry.

"You!" the man said, which struck Henry as funny because he himself had said the same thing to Catherine only the night before.

"Oh," said Catherine, deflating, "hello again." However easily explained were the events of the afternoon in Catherine's opinion, she didn't think the policeman was in an understanding mood.

"Step out of the car, ma'am," ordered Officer Newsom. He noticed Henry sitting in the passenger seat. "You too," he said. "I'm going to need to have you both come down to the station."

Catherine meekly exited the car but Henry protested.

"Oh, but we can't do that now!" he exclaimed. "There's an African big game hunter on the trail of a leopard who belongs to her brother. He's an insufferable oaf -- the hunter, that is; not her brother or the leopard. We think we know where the leopard is going, so we took the car to get to the water first. Now it's terribly important that we find Baby before anyone else; even if Thorpe wasn't a creep, I wouldn't want him accidentally inciting a panic. And George! We mustn't forget about George,” said Henry, steaming like a kettle; “if we don't find that dog, I'll never get my clavicle back. And then what will my uncle say when Mr. Sherman won't give us any money?"

Henry stopped abruptly, realizing how deranged he sounded.

"Yes, of course, officer," he added, subdued as he climbed out of the stolen vehicle. "We'll just get in the back of the squad car and come along quietly."

.o8o.

Henry had spent all his words when the cop had stopped them so it was Catherine who repeatedly explained to Officer Newsom that this was all just a silly misunderstanding.

Yes, Mr. Sherman had reported his car stolen not 20 minutes after Catherine had driven off in it, but Sacha knew Catherine. He would never press charges if he knew that she was the one who had borrowed his car. Certainly not after she had explained the real reason why she'd needed to borrow it! And yes, Catherine had left a car illegally parked in front of a fire hydrant, but she had left the keys in the ignition so that Officer Newsom or someone else on the force could easily and safely move it to a better spot. Fullerton was a close-knit community and people rarely got upset if a friend or neighbor needed to borrow a car.

"And I suppose I should welcome you to our little community," she said after a rare breath. "You must be new to the area. I've lived here all my life and I don't think we've met before. My name is Catherine Morland," she introduced herself. "That's Catherine with a C," she clarified, then spelled it out slowly as if the officer could copy it down while driving. "Last name is Morland, without an E. So many people think it's spelled like More Land , but I think of it as M Or Land . When I was in grade school and we learned about Paul Revere and 'One if by land, two if by sea,' I realized it was Sea Or Land which made me think of M Or Land but I could never come up with what the M stands for."

"You make a habit of stealing other people's cars, Miss More Land? You have many run-ins with the cops?" the man grumbled from the front seat.

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "My father is the minister at the Fullerton Episcopal Church. My parents taught me very clearly that stealing is wrong. The only reason I drove off in Sacha's car is to avoid a public panic. Can you imagine the chaos if everyone knew there was a leopard on Main Street? No, perish the thought! My father has a sermon on just that topic: the imperfection of man's law and our duty as Christians. And my mother runs a charity drive for anyone going through a rough patch. My whole family is deeply involved in the community. That's how I know you're new here. Even if you aren't Episcopalian, I'm sure I would have heard about you before a month was out."

She was determined to convince the man that this was an innocent misunderstanding. To do this, she kept making her case, talking all the way through the drive, and the walk into the station, and into a back room.

"Ladies first," Officer Newsom finally spoke again as he gestured through a doorway.

Catherine complied, still trying to explain how local church services and festivals were coordinated to avoid inconveniencing or excluding the different denominations in the area. Henry tried to follow but the policeman directed him to the neighboring cell. When she was alone in the cell, the officer shut her door with a satisfying clang. Henry preemptively closed his own door with considerably less flare.

Catherine whirled around and started to protest through the bars but the policeman held up a hand to silence her. "Excuse me, Miss, while I talk with your accomplice first," he told her. Turning to Henry, he pulled out a small notebook and a pencil and began asking questions.

The interview was an embarrassment to Henry. He reluctantly gave his real name and place of employment. Newsom wrote it down but glared dubiously at him when Henry explained that he was a paleontologist and then spelled it out. "The word is trickier than you think," he said apologetically; Catherine made sympathetic noises of assent. The worst part was giving his uncle's home telephone number to the policeman who then went into another room to place the call.

Officer Newsom sat at his desk and dialed the number. It was costly to call New York all the way from Connecticut and he drummed his fingers in irritation. The phone rang on and on, and then… nothing. Mr. Tilney's uncle wasn't home.

Newsom returned the handset to its cradle and scribbled a note about the time of the call and the lack of response, then gathered his supplies and walked back to the detention cells.

"Anyone else I can call as a character witness?" Officer Newsom asked when he saw Henry

Henry thought of his options and discarded them all. He wouldn't ask anyone from the museum to come up to Connecticut tonight to vouch for him. His sister would do it in a heartbeat, but she was still in Wyoming and nowhere near a phone. Mrs. Allen, Susan, and Mr. Thorpe all believed his last name was Noh, which surely meant they should not speak to his character. And Mr. Sherman… well, Henry was an accomplice to stealing his car, wasn't he?

"Perhaps you can dial my uncle again in a little while," he offered instead.

Officer Newsom made a note, frowning. "And what were you doing in Connecticut, Mr. Tilney?" he asked as he wrote.

"I was, well, I think Miss Morland explained it best," answered Henry. "There was a leopard."

The man looked at Henry with his pencil poised over the page but pointedly he wrote nothing.

"Look, I didn't know to believe it at first either, but if you aren't even going to write it down, there's no point in asking about it," Henry huffed in frustration.

Equally annoyed, Newsom glared at Henry through the bars of his cell before turning away from him and starting to leave again.

"Wait!" cried Catherine. "You still need to talk to me," she reminded him.

"Catherine Morland, Fullerton Episcopal," Newsom recalled and left.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?" Catherine asked with agitation. He was supposed to let her out of the cell! "Henry, do something! Stop him!"

Henry glanced around his cell but saw no spare door opened for his convenient escape. He sat down wearily on his cot and tried calculating whether he was about to spend the night in jail.

He didn't like his odds.

.o8o.

Newsom reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a local phone book. He began flipping through it. He settled on a page and found a certain number: “Aha, Fullerton Episcopal Church!" and picked up the telephone.

The line rang twice before a woman's voice answered with a practiced greeting.

"Hello, ma’am, this is Officer Bill Newsom with the Fullerton Police Department, I'm looking for Mr. Morland," he said into the receiver.

"I'm afraid my husband is leading the men's group right now," came the calm response. "Perhaps I can help you instead."

"Perhaps you can, Mrs. Morland," he agreed. "I need to ask some questions about your daughter Catherine."

There was only a slight pause before the woman told him to go ahead.

"Does your daughter know a man named Alexander Sherman?" Newsom continued, pencil hovering over his notebook.

"Sacha?" Mrs. Morland corrected him. "Of course she does! We're good friends with Sacha and Lily Sherman."

Newsom's mouth frowned a little in response as he wrote down, family friend . "Mr. Sherman reported his car stolen from Main Street today while I was on patrol. Your daughter was there. Do you know where she is right now?"

Mrs. Morland made a faintly disapproving noise. "I'm afraid my daughter is not very observant," she told him. "She might have witnessed someone else drive off in his car but she probably didn't notice anything unusual. I don't think her testimony will help you track down the car thief. But I suppose it won't do you any harm to speak with her. She's currently at her aunt's house; Mrs. Elizabeth Allen." Mrs. Morland then gave him the address and telephone number.

Officer Newsom thanked her and rang off before immediately dialing the number for Allen Farm.

Another woman answered and offered a perfunctory greeting, fitting for the late hour.

He introduced himself and asked, "Was a young woman named Catherine Morland there earlier this evening?"

"Yes, Miss Catherine arrived earlier today. She was accompanied by a friend of hers, a young man from New York."

"What time did she leave?" Newsom asked, his fingers poised to jot down the answer.

"Miss Catherine is still here," the woman replied. "Mr. Noh from New York and Mr. Thorpe from Boston are both out looking for a… Well, the men have all left. It's just Mrs. Allen, Miss Catherine, another man, and me left in the house right now."

The officer wrote the names down then glared at them. "So Catherine Morland is there right now?"

"Of course she is!"

"And where is her friend Mr. Tilney?" he asked.

“Mr. Tilney just arrived. He's talking now with Mrs. Allen.”

Newsom wrote it down and sighed. “So if you heard about some woman driving around in a stolen car with a man named Tilney, you'd testify that she couldn't be Catherine Morland?”

The woman made a shocked noise on the line before stating emphatically that it was impossible for that woman to be Catherine Morland.

Newsom copied it all down and thanked the woman. After the call ended he sat in his chair for a bit longer, thinking of what might possibly explain what was going on.

Summary: How Errol Tilney spent his day.

11: Interlude

Mr. Errol Tinley ran his museum with clarity and purpose. His department heads knew what he expected of them, and they worked diligently toward those goals by ensuring the employees and volunteers in their departments knew what was expected of them in turn. If anyone didn't know what they needed to do or if they failed to do it, they had no future in Mr. Tilney's museum.

It had not been his idea to hire his own nephew. It looked bad, as if the museum director or his board could be persuaded by something as tawdry as familial ties rather than science and reason. But Henry had gotten his foot in the door through no support from his family, and then did well enough that the outgoing department head recommended Henry to take over his job when he retired. Mr. Tilney’s hands were tied but he made it clear that he didn't tolerate nepotism, and that Henry would be expected to work twice as hard as other department chairs to be taken half as seriously. It wouldn't be a bad thing for either of them if Henry decided to get a job in a different museum; it would be much better than for the museum to fire Henry for poor performance, but maybe Henry wouldn't get that choice.

Errol Tilney thought about the events of this morning with growing irritation. The
way Henry had treated him, the galling dismissiveness of it! It was more than a man could stand. The only thing that kept him from firing his nephew on the spot was that he didn't know how things stood between the museum and the Allen Foundation. Henry had refused to speak of it before impulsively taking a phone call in which a leopard figured prominently. The only thing that made any sense was the name Miss Morland although he had yet to figure out who she was to Henry.

The phone rang on his desk and he picked it up with a belligerent, "Yes?"

"Mr. Tilney, Mr. Fredericks is here to see you," said his secretary.

"Send him in!" he snapped then hung up.

He had given Mr. Fredericks the muddled and imprecise task of finding out what was going on with his nephew and the museum's money, and it had taken the man hours. Errol Tilney was beyond impatient for information.

"Hey, Boss," greeted Fredericks breezily, lounging in the guest chair without invitation. "Have I got a story for you!"

"Out with it!" Mr. Tilney demanded.

"First I went over to the Allen Foundation offices in town and asked to speak to Mr. Sherman. Figured I'd get it straight from the horse's mouth," Fredericks began. "But he wasn't available. So I asked his secretary to confirm that he at least met with your nephew yesterday for golf. You might have thought I was trying to steal military secrets, she was so close-lipped to me. I had to leave before she threw me out."

"But --" Tilney sputtered. How was Fredericks supposed to do his job this way?

" But ," the younger man agreed, "I had also been flirting pretty hard with Cheryl, the assistant, and she caught up with me before I left the building to see if she could help. I figure if a girl wants to get in trouble over me, I should let her. She said that Sherman went to his club in the morning and came back earlier than expected. Either your nephew is really good at golf or he didn't make it."

He paused just long enough for Mr. Tilney to glower. Henry was bad at the sport and would have taken all morning to go a full round with Mr. Sherman plus secure the funding.

"But Cheryl said he had made plans to go back to the club for dinner last night and to let his wife know," Mr. Fredericks continued. "Me personally, I don't belong to any clubs like that, but if I did I'd eat there every night to get my money's worth. Mr. Sherman, however, has money to burn, so it stood out that he was going back twice in one day."

"So Henry met with him at dinner," Mr. Tilney concluded. Why couldn't his nephew just admit to that?

The younger man winced in anticipation. "He was supposed to."

"What happened?"

"After I was done talking to Cheryl, I drove to the club, met a bartender who was working last night. He told me about a ruckus they had during dinner. A young lady was playing with an olive but it falls to the floor and trips this guy. He's lying flat on his back in the dining room so the girl runs over and helps him up. Clearly they know each other but the bartender can't hear what they're saying. All of a sudden, a woman at the bar realizes her purse has walked away and starts a scene. Someone looks over at the guy who tripped on the olive and he's standing there literally holding the bag. The woman gets upset. Her husband gets upset. Other members get upset. The club manager comes out and makes the guy give the purse back. Then the girl who dropped the olive realizes that her purse is missing! People start calling for blood, thinking this guy is a thief. The manager pulls him out of the dining room and stashes him away until they figure out what to do with him.

"This clumsy purse snatcher is your nephew, by the way," Fredericks added casually, taking glee from Mr. Tilney's reaction. "He couldn't have met with Mr. Sherman because he was being held in the manager's office until they could decide whether to call the police."

"Henry would never --" Mr. Tilney began, his face purple with indignation.

"Yeah, he didn't," Fredericks said. He was always willing to get someone else in trouble, but there was more to the story. "That bartender I was talking to was the one who found the girl's purse. It was sitting on the bar the whole time. Apparently she was the one who walked off with the wrong purse when she saw Henry fall down and it just spiraled from there."

Errol Tilney took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "So you're saying that Henry failed to meet with Mr. Sherman after all. He spent the night flirting with some girl and completely ignored his responsibility!" He would deal with his nephew later, but he needed to focus on the matter at hand. "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. I'm off to see Mr. Sherman."

"Not so fast, boss," the younger man stalled him. "Cheryl -- that girl from the Allen Foundation -- she said that Mr. Sherman wasn't at work today, said he called in sick. He hit his head or something last night and his wife wanted to go back to their place in Connecticut for a few days to rest."

"Connecticut?" He hated driving to the country.

"Yeah. Now, before you get in the car, you said that Henry got a phone call from a woman named Miss Morland, right?" He waited for the director to nod. "And that's the same name as the girl who lost her purse last night, who just happens to be Mrs. Allen's niece. That's Mrs. Allen of the Allen Foundation. So it doesn't sound like your nephew completely wasted his evening."

Mr. Tilney did not know how to take that news.

"After the club, I swung by Allen's place in the city, thinking I'd catch your nephew in flagrante delicto with Mrs. Allen's niece but the girl was gone. Henry was gone too, but I'd bet my hat he was there. A cute little maid told me that someone delivered a leopard to the house today, and that Miss Morland and the leopard got into a car driven by a nervous suit of a man so that she could take the leopard to the country. Do you want to know where in the country?"

Mr. Tilney frowned. He wanted to say no but he nodded instead.

Mr. Fredericks was enjoying this a little too much. "Small world but Mrs. Allen has a farm in the same town as Mr. Sherman has his own place in the country: Fullerton, Connecticut. They're practically neighbors. I think your boy took his girl and her leopard to see Mr. Sherman or Mrs. Allen, or both."

"The leopard…" Mr. Tilney said.

"I have no idea what the leopard is about," Fredericks said with a shake of his head. "But I have the addresses for Mr. Sherman and Mrs. Allen, take your pick. But if I can offer some advice, man to man --" he raised his eyebrows in petition -- "pick Mrs. Allen. It's her foundation. It's her money, and she's probably got more money than she's sunk into the foundation. And she's a widow, probably wouldn't mind a handsome man her own age paying attention to her for a bit."

The director looked deeply offended. He did not stoop to romancing just to get his way. "Out of the question," he said, voice implacable.

"Then you won't need her address," Fredericks said, pulling a small sheet of paper from a suit pocket and preparing to rip it in two.

Tilney snatched it from his hands and put it in his own pocket without looking at it. "I may still need to track down Henry," he excused himself.

Fredericks didn't hide his smile, just pulled out another piece of paper. "Well, here's how to get to Mr. Sherman's. If you leave now, you should get there in time for dessert, or whatever it is people have in the country. Now, if you'll pardon me. I've had a busy day running all over the city, and I've got a hot date tonight with Cheryl. If a girl wants to get into trouble for me, I really want to let her."

.o8o.

Mr. Tilney drove up to the farm house. It had taken him longer than expected to get here -- although perfectly in keeping with Fredericks' estimate -- but he had gotten turned around on the country lanes and he'd had to backtrack and ask for directions, and then it had gotten dark which made finding anything more difficult. But he was here now, at Allen Farm.

He parked the car on the driveway before the house and approached the front door. Lights were on which meant people were inside, possibly his nephew, possibly a rich widow.

He knocked and the door was soon opened by a maid. He didn't waste his time with a grand introduction, just told the woman to inform Mrs. Allen that Mr. Errol Tilney was here.

The maid escorted him into a sitting room and left him there, hustling away to find her employer and bring a tea tray.

The farmhouse exterior had been hidden by darkness so Mr. Tilney could not form much of an opinion on it. But the interior was well-lit and well-appointed with details that quietly screamed Old Money.

An older woman entered before Mr. Tilney could get bored. She apologized haphazardly but she had not been expecting a guest at this hour so perhaps he could explain what he was doing there?

“My name is Mr. Errol Tilney,” he began, his tone both obsequious and indulgent for a donor audience. “I am the director of the Museum of Natural Sciences and History in New York. I believe my nephew Henry was here earlier today.”

“Oh, of course!” Mrs. Allen chimed in. “He drove my niece Catherine and Baby here from New York.”

The phone rang but Mrs. Allen would not let it interrupt them. “I'm sure Susan will answer on the kitchen extension,” she said. The phone didn't ring again.

“I heard he had left New York,” Mr. Tilney said, determined to continue. “Henry has been trying to speak with Mr. Alexander Sherman from the Allen Foundation about securing a grant for my museum.”

“That poor young man,” sighed Mrs. Allen. “The drive was not kind to him. His suit was ruined. Susan took it to the cleaners but it won't be ready until tomorrow. Mr. Noh was going to stay the night here and meet with Sacha in the morning.”

“Mr. Noh?” Errol repeated with some confusion.

“Yes.”

“Who is Mr. Noh?”

“Your nephew is Mr. Noh.”

“My nephew is Mr. Tilney.”

“I thought you were Mr. Tilney.”

The man opened his mouth to retort then sweetened his tone before speaking. “My nephew and I are both Mr. Tilney.”

“Then who is Mr. Noh?” Mrs. Allen blinked in confusion.

“I assure you, Madam,” he said, trying to remain unperturbed, “I have no idea. If he is still here, perhaps he can explain himself.”

“I'm afraid he and Mr. Thorpe are out looking for Baby.”

Mr. Tilney was annoyed by the growing cast of characters. “And who is Mr. Thorpe?”

“He's a young man I brought with me from Boston to manage Baby until my nephew returns from Africa.”

He was just about to ask about Baby when the maid bustled in with a tea tray. Mrs. Allen thanked her and then asked about the telephone call.

“It was the police station,” Susan got straight to the point. “They said they are holding a woman who claims to be Miss Catherine. They say she and her companion -- who is neither Mr. Thorpe or Mr. Noh -- were driving around in a stolen car. I told them that's impossible. After all, your niece is safely upstairs.”

Mrs. Allen looked nonplussed at the news. “It wouldn't be the first time Catherine had snuck out if she thought it was important,” she recalled in a quiet voice. “And she really did want to help Mr. Noh. I suppose it's not really impossible that Catherine might have snuck out, but where and when did she steal a car and pick up a hitchhiker on the way?”

“Do you know the name of the hitchhiker?” Mr. Tilney asked, wishing for a notebook so he could write some of this down.

“Tilney,” the maid answered flatly, “which is obviously a lie because you're right here. Someone is impersonating Miss Catherine and you, sir, and they've stolen a car while they're at it.”

Errol Tilney found himself on his feet. “That's my nephew Henry, it has to be!” he deduced. “He left New York with a young woman who claimed to be Catherine Morland but he never showed up here. He must have gotten mixed up in some mess and now he's been arrested for it. Oh, this is terrible! I must go to the police station at once!”

“I'll come with you,” announced Mrs. Allen. “I very much want to see the woman who is pretending to be my niece.”

“Oh, ma'am!” warned the maid. “What about Baby?”

“I'm sure Mr. Noh and Mr. Thorpe have it all under control, Susan. I won't dawdle; don't worry. I'll expose this imposter, reunite Mr. Tilney with his nephew, and be home within the hour. You can count on me.”

Summary: Officer Newsom makes more arrests.

12: Dungeon

Henry was poor, taciturn company in the jail cell but Catherine kept talking as if her words might wear down the lock holding her there. There was, after all, so much to say: that Sacha would never accuse her of stealing his car; that the officer was obviously new to his post and didn't know people in the area; that she and Henry could just sneak out and find Baby, then all the rest would fall into place.

Officer Newsom eventually came back, informing them that the real Catherine Morland was sleeping comfortably and thus the chatty young imposter in the jail cell was not who she claimed to be. Neither “Catherine” nor “Henry” would be leaving tonight until they came clean and had someone vouch for them.

“Oh, but he told you he's Henry Tilney and I vouch for him,” Catherine said, hoping to clear the matter up. There was still a leopard to find.

Newsom glared at her. “You think I'm going to take the word of someone driving around in a stolen car?” he asked incredulously.

“As I already explained to you --”

“Spare me your old stories, Miss Whoever-You-Are,” the policeman cut her off. “If you haven't got anything new to say, I'm going to let you stew here for a bit.”

Catherine snapped her mouth shut and thought. The officer wanted new stories but as she had already told him the truth, that only left untruths. Still, if that's what was needed to restore freedom to her or Henry so they could rescue Baby before all of Fullerton was on alert, she would do it.

The first step was to get one of them out of their cell. As Henry seemed fairly defeated at this point, it would have to be her.

“Well, you've caught us at last,” Catherine said, slipping into a femme fatale slouch.

“What?” said Newsom.

“What?” said Henry.

She cast a conspiratorial glance at Henry. “There’s no use pretending otherwise now. He’s got us,” she said.

“Who have I got?” Newsom asked, his interest piqued.

“Oh, but we’re nothing compared to the Big Boss,” Catherine dropped the title nonchalantly.

“Who’s the Big Boss?” Newsom was hanging off her every word.

“I shouldn’t say,” she demurred. “It’s more than my life’s worth to reveal him. But maybe I can give you a couple crumbs to follow, see if the higher-ups are willing to rat him out.”

Henry stared aghast at her as if he had never seen her before but Newsom was practically salivating at the opportunity to make a name for himself. He pulled out his notebook and held his pencil at the ready.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s hear those names.”

“Not so fast!” Catherine backtracked. “What will you give me if I give you names? What will you give me if I give you places rather than people?”

“What kind of places?” Newson asked, trying to keep up.

“Well, you don’t think we were driving around looking for a leopard, now do you?” Catherine shot back. “Of course not! We steal the cars and then drop them off at a garage where someone else holds onto them until the heat dies down.”

“What garage?!?” Newsom was already imagining the commendations he would receive.

“I don’t know its address,” she said, reeling him in. “I just know where to find it. Do you have a map? I can point it out to you.”

Newson pulled out his keys without a second thought. “There’s a map of the whole area in the front room,” he said as he set her free. “Show me where it is and I’m sure I can give you preferential treatment.”

Catherine stepped forward, her foot carefully positioned in front of the door while she appeared to hesitate. “What kind of preferential treatment?”

“I, uh,” Newsom stuttered. “I can't let you go but I suppose I won’t need to put you back in your cell if you’re being so cooperative?”

“And you won’t tell anyone it was me that told you?” Catherine held out.

“Lady, I don’t even know who you are,” the officer countered.

At that Catherine smiled and stepped fully out of the cell. “That seems fair.”

She didn’t glance back at Henry but walked in front of Officer Newsom with as much of a femme fatale slink as she could manage. It was probably not convincing but she’d gone too far to stop now. It was also slower than she normally stepped but now that she was out of the jail cell, she had to think of the next step of her plan.

She approached the map which was pinned to the wall and squinted at it. She cast about for inspiration, settling on the coffee mug abandoned at the welcome desk. As naturally as she could, she cleared her throat and then coughed into her hand.

“Could I get a glass of water?” she asked innocently.

Newsom looked at her with a hitch of suspicion. “What do you need water for?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of talking,” Catherine answered honestly. “My throat’s a little dry.”

“Point out the location of the garage first,” Newsom told her. “Then I’ll get you some water.”

Catherine agreed with an “All right,” and another cough.

She stepped up to the map and spotted the location of the police station as well as her aunt’s farm house and the pond where she expected Baby to be. From there, she picked a spot on the opposite side of the map.

“Around here,” she said, again clearing her throat. “Old building, peeling paint, looks abandoned. You can’t miss it in the daylight.”

Newsom jotted everything down in his notebook and then reached for the telephone to call the sheriff at home. He was going to need reinforcements.

“What about my water?” Catherine whined.

Newsom huffed in annoyance but a deal was a deal. He put the receiver back in its cradle and walked off to the breakroom, leaving Catherine unguarded in the front room.

She wasted no time in grabbing a set of car keys left on the welcome desk and sprinting for the front door. She’d probably get into a heap of trouble if she were caught before she could resolve everything, but borrowing a police car to get to the pond and collect Baby would have to be the next step in her hastily assembled plan. If she could bring Baby to the station, it would surely show that she and Henry had not made up that part of the story.

She did feel a twinge of guilt in leaving Henry behind but she didn’t think she could get away with freeing him as well. If matters did not resolve quickly and satisfactorily, at least he could claim some innocence.

Catherine found the car parked conveniently in front of the station and unlocked the driver’s door. She took a moment to adjust the mirrors and then started the engine. She barely noticed the figure racing out of the station in her rear-view as she sped off.

.o8o.

Newsom was furious at losing his prisoner and his car. The first thing he did was telephone the sheriff who told him to stay put while they tried to finagle another body from the next jurisdiction to help at this late hour.

Having done that much and with nothing else to do but wait, Newsom didn’t mind verbally taking it out on Henry. Having endured more elegantly pointed criticism since before reaching adulthood, Henry didn't flinch to be on the receiving end.

As he was winding down his tirade, Newsom yelled at the man for doing nothing to stop his accomplice from escaping when it was clear to an independent observer that Henry could have done nothing in his present circumstances.

“And I bet she didn’t even give me the correct location of that garage!” Newsom concluded, as if that were the height of Catherine’s perfidy.

It was while he was in this foul mood that Mr Errol Tilney parked his car in the neatly vacated spot in front of the station. He escorted Mrs. Elizabeth Allen into the station and demanded to see the so-called Catherine Morland and her alleged partner in crime.

“You know Catherine Morland?” Newsom challenged.

“Of course I do!” Mrs. Allen averred. Anyone who had lived for any length of time in Fullerton knew Catherine Morland but being the girl's aunt gave her special privileges.

“And you know her too?” Newsom turned to the older gentleman.

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Tilney declared. “I am here to see my nephew and figure out how he got caught up in this mad scheme.”

“You’re the uncle?” Newsom said, mentally connecting the dots. “You’re supposed to be in New York. How do I know that you’re legitimate?”

Before Mr. Tilney could scoff condescendingly, Newsom turned back to Mrs. Allen, “And who are you supposed to be, exactly? As far as I know, that crazy dame could have sent you here to fool me into freeing her accomplice.” Just like that, all the dots connected and he could see the outline of a vast criminal conspiracy in this deceptively sleepy-looking corner of New England. “Why, you’re a bunch of crooks. I should lock you all up!”

At this point Mr. Tilney began to defend himself with a vigorous, “Do you know who I am?!?” This line was typically all he needed to say in New York where the people who worked for the people in his circle understood the threat of hierarchy. He had failed, however, to account for the officer's mental state and his location.

Newsom pulled out his handcuffs and held them menacingly aloft. The museum director had a brief moment when he considered placating the officer but decided to brazen his way through it and only fell silent when his right wrist was slapped with a cuff.

“Now see here --” he said, noticeably less confident than a second ago.

“I'll let the sheriff sort this out,” Newsom declared. “Both of you, get in a jail cell and be quiet.” He then dragged Mr. Tilney by his wrist to the door of Henry's cell and let him in.

Errol Tilney took one look at his nephew and stated, “You're fired,” which was no more than Henry had been expecting since he failed to play golf with Mr. Sherman yesterday.

Newsom then turned to Mrs. Allen and ordered her to wait in Catherine’s former cell.

“Are you sure that is necessary?” she blanched.

“The female is more dangerous than the male, in my experience,” Newsom told her, Catherine’s escape still stinging his pride. “Get in!”

Having order temporarily restored, Newsom went back to the welcome desk to await reinforcements.

Twenty minutes passed and the sheriff walked in, mid conversation with another older gentleman, commiserating on what the world was coming to.

Officer Newsom snapped to attention upon seeing his boss and was ready to extend his hand in greeting to the sheriff's guest, Mr. Alexander Sherman, whose car had so recently been recovered. The sheriff had called Mr. Sherman as soon as he had heard the outlandish story from his officer, and had offered his friend a ride to the station to see if the stolen car had indeed been recovered.

Newsom bowed and bobbed at the introductions, then eagerly led the two back to the holding cells where Mr. Sherman immediately recognized one of the detainees.

“Bess!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing in there?”

“I don't rightfully know,” she answered. “It seemed kinder than being handcuffed.”

The sheriff's face turned a mottled red and he ordered Newsom to release her at once. The officer tried to explain about the fog of war but the sheriff wouldn't listen. There was a reelection coming up and it wouldn't do to arrest wealthy, upstanding locals.

Seeing the door to Mrs. Allen’s cell swing open, Mr. Tilney began to clamour that he was also wrongfully detained. The sheriff and Mr. Sherman looked at him but didn't recognize him. They asked Mrs. Allen to vouch for him.

“I've never seen him before tonight,” she admitted, “but he says he's from the New York museum that wants my money. He showed up at the house and wanted to talk about my niece and Mr. Noh.”

“Who?” was the general chorus.

“Mr. Noh,” she repeated and pointed to Henry.

Mr. Sherman squinted at the young man. “That's Mr. Tilney.”

“That's who he claims to be,” said Mrs. Allen, pointing to the director.

“You are Henry Tilney, aren't you?” Mr. Sherman pressed, finally recognizing him. “I was supposed to play golf with you yesterday.”

“Yes, sir,” Henry agreed.

“And I was supposed to have dinner with you yesterday too,” Mr. Sherman recalled.

“Yes, sir,” Henry agreed again.

“Then how did you end up in a jail cell in Connecticut?” the sheriff wanted to know.

Henry opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. How could he succinctly and sanely explain the unexpected twist of events that landed him here? There was an errant golf ball, and a slippery olive and one or two missing purses, and probably a dinner date if he had time enough to dwell on it. And there was a priceless fossil -- where had that gone? -- and a tame leopard, and a dead duck and a wayward dog, and a ruined suit and a stolen car. And how could Henry explain even a tenth of it without being dismissed as absolutely crazy?

He closed his mouth and swallowed and then tried again. “Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose it's because of…”

There was something of a commotion in the front of the station and then Catherine came walking into the back area, looking pleased as punch with a leopard on a leash.

“Baby!” he grinned, feeling relief course through him.

Summary: The leopard is found!

13. Might Makes Right

Catherine's guess about where to find Baby was completely right. And after having slaked its thirst at the farm’s pond, the leopard was docile enough to be herded into its third car of the day. Catherine drove with due haste back to the police station to provide concrete proof that their original story was not a fantastical fiction. She made a mental note to call Aunt Bess and Susan as well to let them know that Baby -- and by extension all of Fullerton -- was safe.

A short length of rope was coiled in the borrowed car and she fashioned a makeshift leash to give the appearance that Baby was tame. (She trusted that James wouldn't send her a dangerous animal but she wouldn't be surprised if others needed a bit of theater to be convinced.)

The spot from earlier was now filled but Catherine parked the car as close as she could and then led Baby into the station. No one was in the front to greet her but she heard some voices in the back and decided to check on Henry and Officer Newsom.

The back was crowded with people, but she saw Henry, and Henry saw them.

“Baby!”

It was all that was needed to prompt the others to look at her, and to lay eyes on the leopard. They gasped and recoiled. One of the men -- the one who had been put in a cell -- looked like he was going to shout but Henry thoughtfully clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent the noise from startling Baby.

“Now, now, everybody,” said Catherine as the voice of reason, “if we can all stay calm and avoid shouting --”

There was a small rush as everyone who wasn't safely behind a locked cell door slipped into the open cell and loudly clanged it shut. Baby growled at the commotion but limited his behavior to swiping at shadows.

“Catherine, dear, is that…?” Mrs. Allen wheezed.

“Yes, this is Baby, my brother’s pet leopard which he sent home ahead of his return. He's really quite charming -- the leopard, I mean, although James is too -- but he's a very good escape artist. He keeps getting out of cars and carriage houses and I'm not sure what else. But I don't think he'll harm anyone,” she said, then added as an afterthought, “Just don't act like a duck.”

“Miss Morland,” said the sheriff who was well acquainted with her family, “can you get that animal behind bars so the rest of us can get out without getting mauled?” He then turned to Newsom, trapped in the same cell, and ordered the man to pass his keys to Catherine.

Keeping one hand loosely on the rope leash, she took the keyring and then opened the door to an empty cell with ease but the cat was growing tired of the game. He laid down on the floor and growled petulantly. Catherine tugged briefly on the leash but Baby didn't budge.

“Oh, Henry, what do I do now?” Catherine wondered. “Maybe you can sing to him again,” she looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Now?” Henry balked as if he had any dignity to preserve.

The others hissed at him to do it so he took a deep breath and exhaled the last of his pride.

“I can't give you anything but love, Baby,” he began.

The leopard looked up in interest and soon got up to pace in front of the cell as Henry continued singing.

Catherine joined in on the second verse and Baby walked over to her as she stood in front of the waiting jail cell. With a gentle nudge she got the leopard inside and the door shut. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief but otherwise kept quiet until Henry and Catherine finished the song.

After that, she extracted a promise from everyone to behave and gave her own promise to Baby that he'd be out soon before she passed the keys back to Officer Newsom who let everyone on two legs out of their cell.

As a crowd they left the back room, hoping the leopard would find them less antagonizing in their absence.

“Now,” said the sheriff, “it’s been a rather eventful night: two cars stolen and another impounded; a wandering leopard; false identities; escaped detainees. Fullerton isn't meant for this type of excitement. Can someone tell me what is going on?”

Newsom jumped in first, explaining how Miss Morland had been parked in front of a fire hydrant on Main Street, denied responsibility for the crime, and then stole Mr. Sherman's car in broad daylight.

“Is this true?” the sheriff asked of Catherine.

“Well, it's a long story,” Catherine began and then proceeded to tell it, starting with meeting Henry the day before. Her version of events didn't sound the least bit crazy or improbable to Henry, which he thought was the sign of a good storyteller because there was no way he could have explained it half as well. She also portrayed Henry was more a victim of circumstance rather than a perpetrator of rude neglect to Sacha and her aunt. Baby sounded more like a gentle tomcat in Catherine’s version, hardly a threat to any living thing but wickedly clever in getting out of whatever he was put in. And as for Catherine stealing Officer Newsom’s car, well, that was a necessary evil so she could rescue Baby from a leopard hunter and Fullerton from a leopard, and she had come back all on her own volition with the leopard and the car.

At the end of it, the sheriff looked satisfied. “It all seems reasonable, once you get over the leopard. But Sacha, if you want to press charges --”

“No, of course not,” said the other man. “I wouldn't be able to show my face in church on Sunday if I had Reverend Morland’s daughter arrested over a misunderstanding. In the end, there's no harm done, and wait till the boys at the club hear about this!”

“And you have a leopard handler from Boston to take care of your, your Baby?” the sheriff asked Mrs. Allen to confirm.

“Yes, Mr. Thorpe,” Aunt Bess replied. “He's around here somewhere, couldn't have gone far. I'm sure he'll turn up in a few hours.”

“See that he does!” the sheriff told her. “We want to get this critter out of here before morning. If your man can collect him and take him back to the farm or wherever before dawn, I don't have a problem with keeping him here for a little bit.” He spoke more to Newsom than to Mrs. Allen but everyone got the point.

“So that leaves you two,” said the sheriff, turning to the Tilneys.

“You're fired,” Mr. Tilney told his nephew, eager to distance himself from the madcap follies in which Henry had gotten involved over the last two days. He was desperate to do whatever it took to improve his chances at getting the Allen Foundation’s money.

Henry didn't protest. After all that had happened, all that had gone wrong, he had thought with growing certainty that he was going to lose his job. “Just don't punish Eleanor and the Wyoming dig for my mistakes,” he pleaded.

Errol Tilney glowered as if his niece’s livelihood was very much in peril but Catherine spoke up.

“But you shouldn't be fired, Henry!” she exclaimed. “Nothing has been your fault. I was the one who kept you from meeting with Sacha yesterday, and I was the one who made you drive Baby and me to Connecticut. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“But I did,” Henry told her, anxious to put an end to Catherine's defense before his uncle took it upon himself. “I brought the intercostal clavicle with me today and that was very wrong. Then I lost it. It was the museum's and it's priceless, and right now it's gone.”

“But you didn't lose it,” Catherine disagreed, nearly stamping her foot in her eagerness to absolve him of any wrongdoing. “George took it, and the only reason he was able to do that was because of me.”

“And who is this George fellow? A common thief?” Errol Tilney growled. He felt that Mrs. Allen’s niece was off limits to his tirades but he would not deny himself the opportunity to tear into someone else as he had his nephew.

“He's a dog, sir,” answered Henry, his voice and posture weary.

“You were outsmarted by a dog?” The director’s face grew even blacker.

Catherine looked ready to interject but it was obvious to everyone else that Mr. Tilney was determined to fight and to grind his opponent under his heel. Henry was willing to be sacrificed to his uncle's temper and no one wanted Catherine to get dragged into the fray.

Seeking to defuse the situation, or at least leave before the inevitable explosion, Mrs. Allen decided it was time to go. “My dear,” she said quietly, tugging on Catherine's arm, “if the sheriff says we're done here, perhaps we should leave before he charges his mind. Your mother knows you're staying with me tonight but you'll have to go home in the morning.” She wasn't above mentioning Mrs. Morland at a time like this to nudge Catherine's moral compass away from its true north and into the safer direction of familial obligation.

“Oh, but --” Catherine held her ground.

“Goodbye, Miss Morland,” Henry told her with finality. He held her hand briefly and then let go, hoping for her sake that Catherine would depart.

“Sheriff,” Mr. Sherman said with a throat-clearing cough, “if it's alright with you, I'd like to take my car home now. I can drive the ladies back to Allen Farm. I'll come back to the station tomorrow if you need me and finish any paperwork.”

“Yes, of course,” agreed the sheriff, eager to return to his own bed. “Newsom will give you the keys.”

Mr. Tilney and Officer Newsom were both opposed to that scheme, Mr. Tilney because he desperately wanted to secure a grant from the Allen Foundation, Officer Newsom because there was protocol to follow.

“Oh, but I want to talk with you about the museum --” Mr. Tilney tried to delay.

“My good man, you can't think I can discuss business at this hour,” Mr. Sherman shut him down. “I refuse to agree to anything until I'm rested and ready.”

“Very well,” Mr. Tilney capitulated immediately. “I'll call you tomorrow morning…”

Mr. Sherman said nothing but looked upon the offer unfavourably.

“... the day after … Monday,” the director eventually settled on after reading the facial cues. He didn't like his odds but he could only fire Henry once.

Catherine made small noises of protest but Aunt Bess and Sacha between them managed to make performative farewells and to pull Catherine out of the station and into the car.

With no more reason to display any manners now that those he wanted to impress were gone, Errol turned to his nephew ready to release his full wrath.

“Gentlemen,” said the sheriff, before another cross word was spoken, “I do not mean to be a poor host, but I think it's time for you to leave.” It would take the pair a few hours to drive back to New York but that was not the sheriff's problem.

Mr. Tilney weighed his options. If he gave his nephew a ride, he could berate him for the entire trip, but it would be more satisfying to leave him stranded in Connecticut. At that, he frowned at Henry. “Don't bother coming back to your office,” he said. “I'll have someone pack up your personal effects and send them to your apartment. This is goodbye, Henry, as good as you deserve anyway.”

Summary: Henry goes west to the dig site.

14. Exiled to a Distant Land

After being fired in spectacular fashion and being told that everyone employed at the dig site was also terminated “effective immediately”, Henry had the dubious honor of explaining to the director and the board that the dig out west was paid in advance through the end of the quarter. The team would likely need the next two months to clean up the site or else the museum would be liable for financial penalties. This didn't include the harm to the museum's reputation for leaving a priceless source of prehistory in disarray. Errol Tilney was furious but the board members saw sense. They took their satisfaction in firing their head of paleontology without notice and then followed a more moderate timeline for getting out of the contract with Professor Ashley in Wyoming.

Having done all he could in New York, Henry boxed up his belongings, turned in his keys to his landlady, and went out west to see his sister. He had given up on finding gainful employment in New England and was quite doubtful about the rest of the eastern half of the country, believing his uncle to have poisoned as many wells as he could reach from his downtown office.

Henry and his brother-in-law spent all their freetime sending letters to universities and museums out west in the hope of hearing about an opportunity before their lease on the site ran out while Eleanor finished drafting research papers and they all prepared to close the site.

It took him very little time to realize that he didn't enjoy this type of work. He enjoyed his sister's stories of her rough and rugged life, and he loved pouring over the fossils found there, but the manual labor of gently coaxing the fossils from the earth was too tedious for his tastes.

It was nothing like the digging in the stream that has caused him to fall in love with paleontology as a child. When he was young, he'd spend an afternoon getting pleasantly soaked, splashing in the water, then go home covered in mud and with his pockets full of shells and pretty rocks. His mother would draw him a hot bath, then serve him a warm supper, then tuck him into his cozy bed.

But this little corner of Wyoming was nothing like his childhood. It didn't have cool streams or hot baths. It didn't have a designated cook, or if it did, they were still horrible at it. And instead of a comfortable bed in a room full of his favorite things, he had a lumpy cot in a bare, drafty cabin where he hadn't bothered to unpack anything but the most essential items.

To add insult to injury, there was no morning paper; any mail was left in a post office box in Rock River, the nearest town where it remained until someone from the site went to collect it. There was also no coffee worth drinking, no clean laundry without taking his filthy clothes into town, no radio programs worth listening to, no movie theaters, no leopards, and no Catherine Morland.

He had already arrived at the site feeling sorry for himself. While he was happy to see his sister again -- and happy to see her so happy -- weeks had passed and his mood had not improved. He wanted to go home, whatever that meant, and it was getting harder to hide that fact. It was not how Henry had hoped his visit to his sister would go, but they still planned on having that belated wedding reception in the nearest town tomorrow and Henry was determined to at least act as if he was keeping his spirits up.

Howard had taken the pickup truck into Rock River earlier to grab supplies and check the post office box they rented. It was probably too early to expect a welcome response to their letters but it was also growing too late to expect a seamless transition from one sponsor to the next. Still, they were determined to act with optimism and industry even when it felt wasted so that the other men employed at the site wouldn't lose hope.

Howard let the others unload the truck while he gave his wife a peck on the cheek and a parcel wrapped in brown paper. His look was openly curious but Eleanor only read the return address and excused herself, hiding away for an hour until at last she asked Henry and Howard to join her for some private news.

“What's all the secrecy, Eleanor?” Henry asked as they settled themselves inside the Ashleys' cabin.

“You remember Miss Morland, don't you?” she asked.

As if Henry could forget! He had described her to Eleanor and Howard when he explained the circumstances under which he had been fired, and had answered questions about her from Eleanor’s prompting in the weeks that followed, but had not trusted himself to speak of her objectively on his own. The apparent innocence of the question put him on guard.

“The young woman with the leopard,” said Howard, distilling Catherine down to something unrecognizable.

“Yes, exactly,” Eleanor smiled at her husband. “Well, I've sort of become friends with her --”

“But that's impossible!” Henry interjected. “You two have never met.”

“I never told you but after you were fired,” she explained, “Miss Morland called the museum. They wouldn't admit that you had ever worked there but they did finally tell her how to get in contact with me here. She telegramed and I telegramed back, and then I took the truck into town and she called me at the post office and we talked for a bit. And we started writing. She told me all about her brother's leopard and her efforts to find the clavicle.”

“But why didn't you say anything before now,” Henry frowned. It cast all of Eleanor's questions about Miss Morland in a new light. “Did you know about this?” he shot accusingly at his brother-in-law.

Howard threw his hands up in a display of cluelessness as Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was married, yes, but that didn't mean she told her husband everything.

“You were rather down when you came to stay with us,” Eleanor stated the obvious, “which was perfectly understandable given the circumstances. And Miss Morland felt terribly guilty about it on the phone, so I thought to keep mum so as not to rub salt in any wounds. And quite frankly, you getting worked up about it now makes me think I did the right thing in hiding it from you earlier,” she added with a gentle scold. “But the time for secrets is past! Do you want the good news, the bad news, or the great news first?”

The two men frowned at Eleanor's excitement as she danced over her box of treats. They were familiar with good news/bad news situations but never with great news thrown in.

“What's the good news?” Howard asked, starting with the familiar.

“She found the intercostal clavicle!” Eleanor practically squealed. At this point, she dug into the cardboard box and pulled out a familiarly shaped piece of plaster. It had obviously been covered in dirt and then scrubbed mostly clean before it had been packed and shipped.

Henry took it from her reverently and fought the urge to cradle it to his chest. “She found it,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Well, technically the dog found it,” Eleanor said, “but Catherine is the one who returned it to us.”

Howard chuckled to himself. “That poor fossil! We sent it to New York only for Henry to lose it in Connecticut and now it's back. Oh, why didn't Miss Morland just give it to the museum? She has to know that's where it's going to end up.”

Henry wondered that as well but maybe he'd take this as the impetus to finally write to her. If nothing else, he could thank her for babysitting that dog until it unearthed the clavicle.

“That's a segue to the bad news: we need to successfully complete our contractual obligations with the museum,” Eleanor announced. “We've already been working on this, but we expected this to be a pointless exercise so long as Uncle Errol can hold a grudge, which we suspect is limitless although it has yet to be scientifically proven. But now that we're able to offer the intercostal clavicle in exchange for recognizing all the other work we've done, I think we have a decent chance with the museum's board even if Uncle Errol is still sore.”

“That sounds like bribery,” said Howard. He did not give the impression of one who minded very much in this instance.

“That's quid pro quo,” Eleanor corrected him. Professor Ashley should have known that everything sounded better in Latin. “And once we are no longer beholden to the museum, you're ready to hear the great news.”

The two men shared a look, trying to guess where this was going and failing utterly. “What's the great news?” Howard asked his wife.

Eleanor pulled a stack of papers out of the box and held it up like a trophy. “The Allen Foundation is offering to sponsor us!”

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Henry and Howard were tripping over each other, trying to snatch the contract out of Eleanor's hands to read it for themselves. She shrieked happily and retreated behind the table to protect the papers from any harm.

“Boys, please!” she chided them as she clutched the contract protectively to her chest. “I've spent the last hour pouring over it, and I can tell you that it's no more or less than what we'd expect from another museum or university as far as funding and autonomy go. Howard will continue to manage the site. The foundation will appoint an on-site auditor to keep an independent eye on things, and we'll need to go east twice a year to give a report on our progress. But as long as they're happy with our work and as long as we're happy with their oversight, we're saved.”

Howard finally plucked the contract from his wife's grasp and began to read through it. He trusted Eleanor to know what she had read but he needed to see it for himself, or maybe have someone pinch him to prove he wasn't dreaming. Henry leaned over his shoulder, reading silently along. One or the other would periodically point something out and the three of them would discuss it.

The sun had already set before they finished their discussion, but they were determined to accept the offer. The odds of receiving a substantially better deal were too low to bother calculating. It was in many ways above what they had conditioned themselves to expect.

“This calls for a celebration,” Howard said, pulling a bottle of whiskey from the bottom of a trunk. “I want to announce it to the whole team but I think I'll save it for tomorrow during our little wedding reception.”

Eleanor just laughed and set out three glasses. “I'll drink to that, and to Miss Catherine Morland, the sweetest girl I've never met.”

Howard poured with efficiency and they held their glasses aloft.

“To Miss Morland,” Howard toasted.

“To the Allen Foundation,” Henry added, determined not to play favorites.

“To us!” Eleanor cried.

They clinked their glasses together and then took a drink.

“I wonder if we should hand-deliver our acceptance, or send it by a special courier,” Howard mused aloud as he cast a glance at the signature page. “We'll probably need to go just to tidy things up with the Museum of Natural Sciences and History. Maybe we should also send flowers to your friend, Eleanor. She really went out of her way for us.”

“Miss Morland is an absolute darling,” she agreed. “I'm jealous of you, Henry, that you got to meet her in person. She even invited us out for Thanksgiving in her letter. Of course Howard and I are going to see Mother and Father Ashley, but --”

“I'll go,” volunteered Henry. If nothing else, he could get away from the wilds and enjoy real civilization for a bit. And he would get to see Catherine.

Eleanor's smile was just a bit smug. “I had a feeling you would.”

---

Note: Let me insincerely apologize for posting this chapter on an off day but there's only one more chapter until THE END and I want to finish by this coming Wednesday for mysterious reasons of my own.

At this point, the story doesn't much resemble the movie, but General Tilney still gets credit for separating H & C abruptly.

Summary: Happily ever after.

And special thanks to Harvey for keeping me motivated to keep posting here

15: A New Sovereign

The taxi pulled up to a familiar farmhouse and Henry paid the driver. It was a small fare from the train station to Allen Farm but Henry preferred to ride rather than walk the distance. Arriving footsore and disheveled was hardly festive, after all.

The front door was decked with an autumnal wreath and garland while lights from inside glowed in welcome. If Henry listened closely, he could hear the faintest sounds of merriment through the door.

He knocked and waited.

The maid answered and recognized him.

“Mr. Noh,” she said to him, opening the door wide for him.

Henry’s eyes widened guiltily. “Oh, it's Mr. Tilney,” he came clean.

Susan smiled at him, clearly teasing. “I know. I heard all about it. The party's inside. I need to finish dinner.” With that, she left him to follow the sounds of conversation to the parlor.

He walked into the room where people were clustered in groups. One man old enough to be Henry's uncle took one glance at him and announced, “James, one of your friends is here,” before returning to his own conversation partners.

A young man about his own age came forward ready to greet him and shake hands but stood before him with a perplexed expression. “I'm sorry,” he began to apologize, “but I don't think I remember you.”

“We haven't met yet,” Henry shook his hand, guessing this was Catherine’s brother, “but I drove your leopard around this summer.”

At that bit of news, James broke out into a grin and returned the handshake with vigor. “You're that Tilney guy,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for looking after my Baby. Not many men would do that.”

“And how is Baby?” Henry asked.

James rolled his eyes and cast an unkind glance at some of the others in the room. “Miserable!” he grumbled. “Mother and Father were convinced he was too dangerous to keep so they sent him to the zoo in New Bedford.”

“That doesn't sound so terrible,” Henry offered, not sure what the problem was. Zoos were really just museums for living animals, weren't they?

“I've been to the jungles and savannas of Africa, and I've been to the leopard enclosure at the New Bedford Zoo, and I can tell you they are not the same. It's criminal!” James’ eyes flashed briefly. “I can't stand it. I've already arranged to take Baby back to Africa. I know a guy who runs an animal reserve where Baby can run around and be free. Mother's not happy that I'm leaving again so soon after coming back, especially as I'll be gone for Christmas, but she's the one who doesn't want a leopard in the area. What am I supposed to do, make him go all the way back to Africa with no one for company? I'll need to see him get settled, you know; I won't be happy unless I know he's happy. I'll be home again by Easter, end of summer at the latest.”

James had looked ready to go on an academic tear, ranting about how zoos were unnatural environments for many animals. Henry recognized the look, having started a few impromptu lectures himself from time to time. It was an occupational hazard of knowing a lot about something that most people never really thought about.

“So Baby isn't here, then? I'm sure he would have loved the turkey,” Henry tried to joke.

James looked even more amused as he realized something. “Wait a minute. You walked up to this house thinking there was a leopard around? You didn't call to check first to see if it was safe?”

Henry swallowed. “Well, in my limited experience, Baby's very tame for a leopard and I'm not a duck. I figured it would be safe enough. And if he sprung at me, I'd just sing to him.”

At that, James laughed outright. “You're alright, Tilney. Catherine knew what she was talking about.”

“Henry, you came!” Catherine joined them as if conjured by the mention of her name.

There was an awkward moment in which they mutely struggled with how to get each other before Catherine stepped a little closer and hugged him. It was over far too quickly, before Henry could fully reciprocate but he held himself back from trying to get it right a second time.

“And how is your sister?” she asked, settling beside her brother, her eyes drinking in every detail about him.

“Insufferably pleased with everything,” Henry answered with a smile. He could talk to her about Eleanor. “She sends her regrets but she and Howard had already promised to spend the holiday with his parents.”

“Oh, that's perfectly understandable,” Catherine cooed. “I'm sure I'll meet her one day. Perhaps she can come out for the biannual review with the foundation and we can all get together then.”

“She’d love to come but that depends on whether they find someone else to keep an eye on things while Howard and the auditor are meeting with the foundation,” Henry replied.

Catherine thought about that for a bit then asked, “Where will you be? During the review, I mean.”

“Oh.” It suddenly occurred to Henry that Catherine didn't know. With all the support he had received from the Allen Foundation, he expected Catherine to be in the loop. “I'm not staying in Wyoming.”

“What? Why not? The foundation was supposed to pay enough to keep all of you. Sacha assured me that he put together a fair offer. And where will you even go? Not all the way to California, I hope. Mrs. Ashley said that you had been looking to California for funding but that's even further than Wyoming. And you certainly can't come back to New York while your uncle is still there. Oh, Henry, please don't tell me you've gone back to that, that, that bully. I barely met the man but I still know he's --” The questions and worries tumbled out of Catherine faster than Henry could reply.

“Catherine!” James clamped a hand over her mouth before she could continue. “Let the man speak.”

Henry smiled his thanks. “There's nothing to worry about. The Allen Foundation did make a very reasonable offer, and if I wanted to stay there's no doubt I could have. I thought I was a man of science but a couple weeks was all I needed to know I'm also a creature of comforts.”

“You're a city boy,” James rephrased it.

“I suppose I am,” Henry agreed, knowing James Morland was used to living in far less luxury than Henry had found his drafty cabin. “And I don't want to make things awkward at the site for everyone else by being miserable all the time.”

“Tell me you're not going back to your uncle,” said Catherine.

“I am not going back to my uncle,” he repeated with sincerity.

That settled something in Catherine, but not everything. “Tell me you're not going further away, like California. Or England!” she insisted.

“I've got a job lined up in Washington DC with the Smithsonian Institute,” said Henry. “It's farther than New York but still reachable by train if one is so inclined. I start right after the new year.”

“Oh, Henry, that's wonderful!” she smiled brightly, skipping forward to squeeze his hand in congratulations or something. “Did you know that Aunt Bess simply adores the Smithsonian?”

“Yes, and I really must thank your aunt and Mr. Sherman because the Allen Foundation provided a wonderful reference for me. I wouldn't have gotten the job otherwise.”

“Of course!” Catherine had not released his hand and was already tugging him toward a group of older guests. “Sacha,” she said to one man that Henry recognized, “you remember Henry Tilney.”

She would have said more but the maid announced that dinner was ready. As one, everybody began to migrate to the dining room, led by the smells of turkey, roasted vegetables, and freshly baked bread. Then there was the scramble for everyone to sit in front of the correct place cards, then to bow their heads as Catherine’s father said grace. Then platters and bowls were passed around and people paused after the first bite to praise the cook who had already left to have dinner with her own family.

Then -- finally -- Henry was able to thank his hostess and Mr. Sherman. At this, Mr. and Mrs. Morland seemed to realize that Henry was not attending as a guest of their son.

“So you're the Henry Tilney we've heard so much about,” Mrs. Morland said. Her face was shrewdly neutral and Henry felt his palms go clammy. He had been nervous about seeing Catherine again but at least he knew she would be glad to see him; he had no such guarantees about her parents.

“I suppose I am,” he replied, trying to sound unaffected.

“And how is Wyoming?” Mr. Morland asked.

“Oh, but that's just the thing!” Catherine exclaimed. She had already discarded her earlier unease and she was ready to be excitedly optimistic.

Mrs. Morland merely gave her daughter a quelling look and Catherine brought herself under control. “I'll let Henry tell you about it,” she said.

Henry repeated much of what he had already mentioned to Catherine and her brother.

Conversation then shifted to local matters: the preparations for the annual Christmas pageant, when Mr. and Mrs. Sherman would officially decamp from New York for the holiday season, who would see James off at the start of his journey.

“You're not going back west between now and New Year's, are you?” asked James, shifting focus from himself.

“I don't plan on it,” he answered. “It's very far, and very time consuming. I plan on going to DC this weekend to find a place to live near the Smithsonian, and I'll need to be there on January 2nd to start my new job. Time isn't on my side.”

“But what will you do for Christmas if you can't spend it with your sister?” Catherine piped up with concern.

Henry faltered with his reply. “I don't know yet,” he said at last. “Something will turn up, I'm sure.”

“Father, we have to invite Henry to Fullerton for Christmas,” Catherine declared. “It wouldn't be christian otherwise. And you'll be so lonely without James at home, Mother. Surely you agree with me.”

Mrs. Morland looked like she was about to protest being put on the spot but her husband simply said that he would discuss it with Henry after dinner. With years of experience, he then changed the subject.

Later, after pie and coffee, Henry and Mr. Morland did indeed have a private chat. If it seemed at times more suitable for a man interviewing a future son-in-law than a man interviewing a potential house guest, Henry did not protest.

Despite Catherine’s entreaties, he left in time to catch the last train to New York so that he could make his planned appointments in Washington DC. He shook hands with everyone before James drove him away from the farm house. Catherine remained outside, waving at the retreating car until it was out of sight, her cheeks rosy with the anticipation of seeing him again.

.o8o.

Henry came back for almost a week at Christmas and marvelled at a holiday so similar to his own childhood memories. Catherine came back with him as far as New York City and they had a nice New Year's dinner there before going on their respective ways.

Henry’s new job started two days later and he threw himself into it, eager to make a good impression with his new boss. It wasn't until the three-day weekend in February that he had the time to visit Fullerton again but Catherine was pleased to see him just the same.

She even reciprocated in early March, coming down to DC to have lunch with him and get a private tour of his little corner of the Museum of Natural History. And later, whenever she'd tell her parents that she felt like visiting New York and took the exact same train as she used to travel to DC, they politely didn't challenge her on it.

Henry traveled up to Fullerton for Easter at the invitation of Mr. Morland. James was still away and Mr. Morland believed Henry's presence could offset the absence. He was invited up for Mother's Day and Father's Day as well even though he had caught a cold in May. It just gave Mrs. Morland an opportunity to mother somebody which was a better gift than a bouquet of flowers at her time of life.

Catherine officially went down to DC again for the Independence Day celebrations. She came home with a sparkling engagement ring and visions of a summer wedding; Washington DC was far closer to Connecticut than Wyoming but she was looking forward to having Henry permanently under the same roof.

They married in August, at the Fullerton Episcopal Church, with Ellie standing up with Catherine and James standing up with Henry. They had a brief but memorable honeymoon in Montreal before settling into Henry's apartment in DC.

Mrs. Morland worried quietly that she had not suitably prepared her daughter for married life but Catherine was quite clever when she was sufficiently motivated. They were too full of their own happiness to think of Henry's uncle, and between the Morlands and the Ashleys, they had all the family they really needed. When they moved into a house just after their first married Christmas, it was with the pleasant expectation that they would fill it with a few little Tilneys of their very own.

They christened their oldest son Leonard. His Uncle James -- and even his parents at times -- called him Baby. Leonard didn't appreciate the joke but sometimes a sense of humor skips a generation.