Jimmie swung his bare legs, breathed in the smell of sun-warmed grass and summer wildflowers and listened to the dun flies buzz.

All along either side of him, Janey and the cousins were strung out along the banks of the Derwent, their muddy feet swinging in the breeze. Below him, Fitzy and Roddy were looking for frogs in the shallows. Nearby, sunk in the shaded water, a large creel teemed with the children's catch. Jimmie sighed with happiness knowing that his fish was the largest one, a fat, silver, speckled fellow.

His gaze turned to Papa, a little ways away in the water. Jimmie's trousers were rolled to the knees just like Papa's, his shirt sleeves to the elbow. He tried to look serious and make his eyes squint like Papa's as he scanned the water for trout.

He thought about how Papa had taught him how to pull the rod back and fling the line forward. Jimmie could not make the tufted fly kiss the top of the water instead of sinking below, but Papa had promised that one day he would be able to. Then Papa had asked him if he wished to catch a fish and taken the rod and hooked the big trout, then given it back to Jimmie.

The trout fought. There was splashing from the water and screaming from behind him - Janey's shrill shrieks still rang in his ears - but Papa had not shouted at him like Roddy and Fitzy. He had only spoken quiet instructions and gathered up the lines and helped Jimmie right the fishing rod when it went astray.

Jimmie gazed at Papa with admiration. Surely Papa was the best fisherman on the Derwent! Maybe the whole world! He had the longest fishing rod and threw the fly the farthest and it always landed exactly where Papa wished. Brent, their tallest footman, could not make the fly go nearly as far, and he could not make the line loop and dance in the air as well as Papa. Papa had helped many of the children catch a fish.

Even Uncle Bingley, who had a vast collection of colourful flies in his tackle box, admitted Papa was the best. Uncle Bingley had tried and tried to lure the giant trout hiding in the tree's watery roots and finally given up in despair. Then Papa had thrown once and the fish had struck. It was magnificent, almost filling one of the creels by itself.

"I love Papa," Janey said suddenly beside him. Jimmie looked at his sister with interest. Could she see inside his head?

"Did you just figure that out?" Fitzy's voice said scornfully from below. He looked up at them. "Of course you love Papa. He is your father."

"No. But I have decided that I love Papa best." Janey said. "Better than Mama. Papas are better than mamas."

"Yes, that is true," Fitzy nodded thoughtfully.

"Of course," Roddy said beside him. "Papas have the finest guns and shoot and hunt."

"I love Mama best," said Bessie firmly, glaring at Roddy a bit. "Mama is beautiful and she has the prettiest dresses. Everyone says so. I want to be just like Mama when I grow up."

"Me too!" Valentine piped in.

"I love both Mama and Papa," Johnny said softly. He looked up at his sister Franny beside him and said, hopefully, "Do you think Mama will come see us fish soon?" Franny nodded and put her arm around Johnny.

"Who do you love best, Jimmie?" Janey demanded, turning to him.

Jimmie's swinging legs went still. Who did he love best? He was not sure. He knew he used to love Mama best. Mama tickled his toes and gave the best tucks and sang to him every night. She was full of laughter and games and silly stories. Everyone smiled when Mama entered the room. And Mama let him and Fitzy and Janey and Baby Emmie cuddle in her bed, even if Papa was already there and complaining about not enough room.

Jimmie loved finding Mama in her own bed in the mornings! Papa always said the only person allowed in his bed was Mama. But then Papa had helped him catch his fish, and Fitzy said Papa always caught the most fish, and the biggest ones.

"I don't know," he said cautiously.

"It must be Papa. Papa is the best at everything. What can Mama do best? I cannot think of anything," Janey said.

That was true. Papa rode a taller horse than Mama and Mama often said he had the finest seat she had ever seen. That always made Papa blush and then blush harder when Mama laughed, so that meant Papa was modest too. And Papa could make the rocks skip eight or nine times or even more. Mama always said if her rocks skipped at all it was by sheer accident.

Bessie frowned. "Of course he will say his papa, Janey, he is a boy. Boys always love their papa best, and girls their mama."

"That is not true," Janey objected. "I am a girl and I love my papa best."

Jimmie thought about this. Should he love Papa best because he was a boy? Roddy and Fitzy did. But then Janey didn't. And if Jimmie loved Papa best and Janey did not love Mama the way she was supposed to, who would love Mama? Baby Emmie was too young to count. Jimmie shook his head, confused and a little sad for Mama.

"Oh! There is Mama and Aunt Darcy!" said Valentine, scrambling to her feet and waving. Jimmie looked and saw the mamas and the babies with their nursery maids. He suddenly felt uneasy. Would Mama be able to tell if he did not love her best anymore?

"Hello, darlings!" Mama put Emmie down to play in the grass and swept Jimmie into a hug, and then gave Johnny and Georgy a squeeze.

"Is my mama coming?" Johnny peered anxiously behind Mama.

Mama knelt down beside Johnny. "I am sorry, little one, your mama says she prefers to stay inside today."

"Is she playing cards with Annie again?" Georgy asked. Annie was a chambermaid, especially assigned to help Aunt Liddy.

Mama glanced quickly at Georgy, then back at Johnny, whose face had puckered up like he was eating a sour lime.

"No, darlings, she is just tired. You know, it is very tiring for a mama when a new baby comes. But she looks forward to seeing you and promises that you may visit in her room this evening." Mama smiled brightly at the boys. "But tell me about fishing! Did you learn how to throw the fly? I know you could not have caught anything when it is only your first time. Nobody ever catches anything their first time!"

The boys protested mightily at this and dragged Mama and Aunt Bingley to the river to show them the creel full of their fish. Mama was astonished and begged their pardon for doubting them. Then she and Aunt Bingley discussed the best way to dress the fish, which platters to use, and which footman should have the honour of carrying them out, and Mama asked for a taste from each one.

"You may have the first taste, Mama!" Jimmie said, bursting with pride. He loved Mama!

But then they all went to admire Papa's giant trout and everyone marvelled at Papa's fishing and Jimmie felt uncertain again as to whether he loved Mama or Papa best.

"I do not know how you do it, Darcy," Uncle Bingley said, pushing his hat up off his forehead in perplexity. "I am sure I tried every fly in my box."

Papa shook his head. "For the life of me, Bingley, I cannot fathom why you expect the fish to rise for a May fly when it is August. You are too distracted by the pretty colours. Pick what the fish are eating and focus on casting it properly."

Papa was wonderful at casting. He made the flies dance and buzz on the water, just beyond the fish's nose. That was to tease and fascinate the fish until it could not help but snap up the hook, he explained.

After luncheon, Papa and Uncle Bingley showed the children how to catch minnows and gave them a lesson on how tie flies. Jimmie was surprised to learn that the brightest dun flies, those with the gold bodies, were threaded with Aunt Bingley's hair. Uncle Bingley had come at her with scissors saying they needed more for the children's flies, and she had laughed and protested but in the end permitted him to snip a lock.

"Is that Aunt Bingley's hair on your flies too, Papa?" Jimmie asked, peering into the neat little cabinets of Papa's box.

"Yes, son. The salmon trout like them quite well." Papa did not look up and his brow was furrowed in concentration as his nimble fingers tied on the hackles, then lashed the spotted rooster feathers to the fly he was making for Johnny.

Jimmie pointed to one of the smaller flies, the body wrapped in brown. "Is that Mama's hair?"

"No, son, we use horsehair for those, from the chestnuts and bays in the stables."

"Oh." Jimmie sat back on his heels in disappointment. Poor Mama! Even the fish did not love her best.

The rest of the afternoon was wonderful, except for his niggling worry about Mama. The nursery maids took the babies and the footmen the creels full of fish back to the house and everyone played cache-cache under the trees. By the time they all returned, laughing and tired, to sit on the rugs, Jimmie had almost forgot about his problem. But then Janey started speaking again.

"Mama," said Janey, her hands on her hips. "I am tired of being a girl. I want to be a boy."

"Oh? Why is that, Janey?" Mama asked.

"Boys grow up to be gentlemen and girls grow up to be ladies. And ladies cannot do anything."

"That is not true." Mama pursed her lips. "Some things gentlemen do especially and some things ladies do. And some things have nothing whatever to do with being a lady or a gentleman but only inclination and effort."

"Well, I wish to fish, and ladies do not fish."

"Oh! That is no hindrance, darling. Ladies may fish. I fished."

"Did you, Mama?" Fitzy said, interested. Jimmie sat up as well. Mama fished?

"Yes, when I was a girl, with my papa, your Grandpapa Bennet. And when your papa and I were first wed, we would fish together on occasion. But I have not had much opportunity since. You children keep us so busy, you see."

"But did you ever catch anything? All by yourself without Papa's help?" Janey demanded.

"Janey," Papa interjected from the grass where he was lounging. "Of course your mother caught things. She is a very accomplished angler. She seems to have a talent for teasing and fascinating." He smiled at Mama.

"Anything big? Or just little things?"

"Janey," Papa said sternly.

Mama, who had been smiling back at Papa, said cheerfully, "It is all right." To Janey, she said, "To answer your question, love, yes, I did catch things all by myself. And I tied my own flies too."

"What was your best catch, Mama? Did you ever catch anything as big as Papa catches?" Fitzy asked.

"My best catch?" Mama's brow furrowed. "Well, there was the very large pike caught on the Dove … and a fine salmon trout downstream from here the day your papa and I took a skiff out." Mama smiled at Papa. "But my best catch, my very best catch?" Mama considered all of them thoughtfully and then suddenly dimpled, flashed Papa another look and laughed in delight. "My very best catch was a leviathan indeed. I wager it was larger than anything Papa ever landed."

"Larger?" Janey exclaimed.

"How big was it?" Fitzy gasped.

Jimmie just looked, owl-eyed.

"Very big." Mama nodded emphatically, her eyes sparkling dreamily. "A veritable giant among minnows. So large that everybody was astonished when I reeled him in."

"Did you catch it here on the Derwent? Or the Wye or the Trent?" said Roddy, who had come over with the rest of the children to hear the story. Jimmie knew that all of these rivers were renowned for their fine fish, and many tales of giant fish abounded.

"Neither. I caught him in the south, where your Grandpapa and Grandmama Bennet live."

"That cannot be," Fitzy scoffed. "The fish down south are not nearly as big as the northern fish. Everybody knows that."

"Ah. But this was not a southern creature. It was from the north, a native of Derbyshire, who had wandered into southern waters. That must account for his strange behaviour the first time I saw him. Would you not say, Fitzwilliam?" Mama tilted her head and lifted one eyebrow at Papa.

Papa, who had been watching Mama, his own eyebrows raised, said carefully, "It depends. Did you first see this creature the year we met when you were at - that is, with - a large party?"

"Yes, I am sure I did!" Mama beamed at Papa as if he had just said something very clever.

"And did he … er … resist all the flies thrown at him?"

"Indeed, he was quite a proud and disdainful fellow."

"But he eventually became aware of your … erm … enticements?"

"Eventually, perhaps. But it seemed at the outset that he was quite inured to all my attempts to tempt him," Mama said sadly.

Papa smirked. "Ah. I would not go so far as that. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he was so determined not to fall to the hook that he refused to look at the lure. But I imagine when he came a little closer, he found it irresistible."

"How did you finally catch him, Mama?" Janey asked excitedly.

Mama shook her head modestly. "In truth, I do not know. You must ask your papa. He is the expert in the ways of northern fish. It was an accident that I landed him for I had given him up and was trolling for different fish altogether."

"You were trolling for different fish?" Papa frowned.

"A good fisherman must cast her net widely," Mama said brightly. Jimmie nodded, wondering why this made Papa's frown deepen when he often told the children the same thing. Mama continued, "But never mind that, my love. Tell the children how to catch a northern prize fish."

"Yes, Darcy, give us the lesson on catching the uncatchable," said Uncle Bingley, grinning broadly from the rug where he was sitting with Aunt Bingley.

Papa glared at Uncle Bingley and Mama. When they only continued smiling at him, he rolled his eyes and turned to the children, his expression serious.

"You remember what I told you about how the largest fish would never have had the chance to grow so large if they did not resist all but the genuine flies? And therefore you cannot be obvious and lob flies right at the fish, but must appear slightly out of reach and mindful of your own concerns?"

The children nodded.

"It seems your mother - Aunt Darcy - did this to perfection. She teased and taunted the fish and drove him mad." He frowned at Mama again. "Although I am still not convinced this was entirely unconsciously done."

Mama laughed delightedly. "But it was, I assure you! I had no notion of my effect. I was not even properly fishing when, one day, the creature jumped out of the water and flopped at my feet!"

"What?!" cried Fitzy.

"How?!" gasped Janey.

"Fish don't do that!" Roddy shouted. He looked at Uncle Bingley, who was rolling around in the grass, then at Aunt Bingley, who had covered her mouth with her hand. "What is so funny?"

"There was no flopping," Papa said haughtily. Mama widened her eyes innocently at him.

"What did you do then, Mama?" Janey asked eagerly. "Did you fling a net over it?"

"No, darling, he was far too large for a net. In fact, I had the same concern as Roddy. Normal fish did not just jump at people, so I assumed there must be something wrong with the fish. I had received some warnings about him. So I threw him back."

"No!" Janey screamed, clapping her hands over her mouth.

"What?!" Roddy bellowed.

"Argh!" Fitzy exclaimed, clutching his hair. "Mama, how could you!"

"Yes, how could you?" Papa said reproachfully.

Mama looked at Papa apologetically. "I was relying on false information. It was very wrong of me, and I was justly punished. You cannot imagine how I wept and pined when I learnt better what I had let get away." Mama's eyes were bright and she passed a hand over her eyes. Jimmie cuddled closer to comfort her.

"Did you?" Papa looked at Mama tenderly.

"But you must have had another chance, Mama," Fitzy said impatiently. "Because you landed him in the end."

"Yes. Against all hope, the fish returned to Hertfordshire. It was difficult to find an opportunity to catch him, but as soon as I did, I dressed my best flies and threw them out and fortunately, he rose to the occasion." Mama and Papa smiled at each other again.

"How wonderful!" Janey sighed. "I hope I will catch a giant fish one day."

"Of course you will, my love. I have no doubt that you will catch the biggest fish if you put your mind to it. And you too, darling." She smiled at Franny, who also loved to fish and who had been listening with shining eyes.

"Perhaps we could write a book, Franny," Janey said thoughtfully. "Like Mr. Walton and Mr. Cotton.[1] Only we will include pictures and instructions on every kind of fly and what they are good for."

"Excellent idea," Papa said. "Let me know if you require assistance."

Jimmie had been silent, thinking, but finally could keep quiet no longer. "Mama," he asked tentatively. "When you caught your big fish, did you have to use Aunt Bingley's hair?"

"I beg your pardon, Jimmie?" Mama said.

"On your flies. Were they wrapped with Aunt Bingley's hair?"

Mama pursed her lips together, but Jimmie could see that she was smiling. He looked over and saw Papa lying in the grass with his arm flung over his face and shaking with quiet laughter as well, but he did not see the joke.

"No, Jimmie boy," Mama said at last. "It was true that many fish did prefer Aunt Bingley's golden hair. She made a fine catch herself that year. But I was lucky, because it seems that my catch was perfectly content with Mama's brown hair."

Jimmie smiled with contentment and relief.

"You caught a fish too, Mama?" Bessie said. All the children's eyes turned to Aunt Bingley.

Aunt Bingley smiled. "Yes, I did. A wonderful one. But it is time to go in and wash up for supper. So I will tell you that tale another day."

Mama and Aunt Bingley stood up and shook out their skirts. The children ran around gathering up their toys and tackle and errant slippers and boots and stockings and hats and the footmen folded up the rugs. When Mama announced that everything was packed up and they could return to the house, the older children ran ahead.

Papa put his arm around Mama's waist and whispered in her ear, making her laugh and push him away. "Not in front of Jimmie," she said admonishingly. Then Papa smiled and put his hat on his head and held out his hand to Jimmie. Mama did the same.

Jimmie looked from one hand to the other. Papa caught the biggest fish now, but Mama had bested him when they first met. But perhaps he did not have to choose. With a sigh of relief, he took each of their hands in one of his own. Together they walked up to the house, Mama and Papa swinging Jimmie up every once in awhile as if he was a trout dancing on a string, or a feathered fly buzzing through the air.

~ Finis ~

[1] Izaak Walton and Charles Cotton were the authors of The Compleat Angler, initially published in the 17th Century, and considered one of the foremost pieces of fishing literature. Cotton's stone fishing house along the River Dove in Derbyshire remains a favoured destination for anglers, who often stop in to make a prayer for fish.

Author's Note: Fishing was considered one of the few gentlemen's outdoor pursuits that was open to ladies during the Regency and prior to that time. In fact, the first fishing manual was written by a woman, Dame Juliana Berners, in the 15th Century. Fishing exploded into popularity among Victorian women, some of whom published widely-read manuals on fishing instruction and successfully challenged male supremacy by landing record catches.