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Mice were far more sensible about courting than humans were, Basil had concluded. Much as he admired his human teacher Sherlock Holmes, the way the poor fellow pined in silence for his Doctor was downright irrational. Any fool could see that Divine Providence had granted sexual drives to all sentient creatures to pair them up, whether to bring new life into the world or merely to unite in consanguinity. It was only wise to make one’s intentions known to the other, and then both could arrive at a rational decision.
Or so the rodential sleuth had thought, until he found himself tail-over-whiskers in love with David Q. Dawson. To his dismay he felt every symptom that he had always derided in romantic fools; tongue-tied, heart pounding, stammering idiocy in the other mouse’s presence.
Courting, he reminded himself, we’re sensible about courting! A sumptuous dinner at Simpson’s Wainscoting, a concert (Dawson had no patience for opera but loved chamber music)… except that such an outing was no different from any other evening with his partner and friend, who would associate such an evening with business as usual between them. And the last concert they’d attended had been interrupted by his espying a jewel thief working his way through the crowd and haring after him, a protesting Dawson right behind him. They’d caught the blackguard, too. …But he supposed that wasn’t romantic.
A boat ride, perhaps. He didn’t think David was prone to seasickness. Perhaps such an evening was not the time to find out.
A walk along the riverside - oh, that would turn into a brawl with any number of dock cutthroats, that was the exact opposite of a good idea. Not the river, possibly the park –
Cartwright!
Basil almost slapped his own forehead. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of this first, or sooner? That lad would be happy to help them both, and he was very fond of Doctor Dawson.
So it was that when Dawson returned from his practise late that afternoon, Basil asked him to bathe and dress for an evening outside to take the air.
“Truth be told, old fellow, I was rather hoping for a bite,” the mouse protested faintly.
“We’ll dine afterward.” Simpson’s would do splendidly to wrap the evening, after all. “What I have in mind won’t take very long, my dear Dawson.” But just might change everything. Dammit, there went his heart again like a rabbit’s.
Dawson grumbled a bit for appearance’s sake, but headed to the bath.
Within the hour they stood at the entrance of Regent’s Park. “Cartwright!” Basil called.
***
“This was a lovely idea, Basil!” Dawson looked about them at the gas-lamps that lined the park as their conveyance made his way around the perimeter. The thicket of coarse forelock-hair in which both mice sat sheltered them from the cold and hid them from the humans who had engaged the carriage. “I’d suspected you felt a bit more romantic about me than you’d let on, but hadn’t wanted to scare you off.”
Basil smiled. They hadn’t let go of each other’s paws since climbing up here. He stroked the large velvety ear near his other side. “Thank you, Cartwright.”
“My pleasure, you two,” the horse whickered. “I never forgot that stone you took out of my hoof, Doctor!”
David laughed. “Consider your medical bill paid in full with this, Cartwright.”
A cold breeze parted the forelock, and instinctively Basil and David leaned in to each other.
“Charming as this ride is, dear mouse,” Dawson said. “I really could use a bit of supper as well. And possibly something else afterward.”
And Basil felt his heart leap all over again when he felt his friend’s tail twine about his own in unmistakeable suggestion.