ICAP 2 - The Hidden Gallery Read online

  Cassiopeia, the youngest Incorrigible, looked up at Penelope with her green, pixieish eyes.

  “Nutsawoo come, too?” she asked sweetly. “To Londawoo?”

  Penelope had not thought of this. Nutsawoo was the very same squirrel that had caused such a ruckus at the holiday ball. Somehow the furry scamp had avoided being torn to shreds by the children and had subsequently become Cassiopeia’s beloved pet, living on the tree branches outside the nursery windows. Having already given such glorious chase in pursuit of him (or her—Penelope was not entirely sure how one told the sex of a squirrel, and was not inclined to investigate), the children had grown more or less immune to Nutsawoo’s “squirrelyness” and could coexist calmly with the anxious little creature. Alas, this privilege did not extend to others of Nutsawoo’s kind. To the Incorrigibles, they remained fair game.

  Cassiopeia gazed pleadingly at her governess, waiting for an answer. What to do? Nutsawoo could not come to London; that was obvious. But how to convince Cassiopeia? The child was quite attached to her twitchy, beady-eyed pet.

  “The city is no place for a squirrel,” Penelope began, but then thought better of it, for of course the many parks of London were no doubt overrun with squirrels.

  “Nutsawoo is not accustomed to travel and might catch cold,” she then commenced to say, but again she stopped, for surely Nutsawoo had done nothing his whole life but skitter from tree to tree over the vast forests of Ashton Place. In terms of sheer mileage, he had likely traveled far more than Penelope had, and in all sorts of weather, too.

  Beowulf and Alexander flanked their sister. All three children lifted their shining eyes to Penelope, and one of them (she could not tell which) whimpered imploringly. It reminded her of the not-so-distant afternoon when she had first discovered the three siblings locked in the barn at Ashton Place, unkempt, unschooled, and untamed—truly, so much had changed since that day! And yet so much, clearly, had not, for Beowulf was starting to drool in anticipation of her reply.

  “Nutsawoo,” she said finally, “does not own any appropriate luggage.”

  The three Incorrigibles looked at their governess as if she were not entirely well. However, Penelope had once taken a class at Swanburne called Great Orations of Antiquity, in which she had to memorize famous speeches given by generals and politicians from days of old. From this exercise she had learned that when faced with the task of having to convince the citizenry of a flimsy argument, the best strategy is to speak in a loud voice and leave no time for questions.

  “No luggage. There; that settles the matter,” she bellowed. “Nutsawoo will stay here and keep an eye on the nursery while we are gone. On to geometry! Gather your graph paper, please.”

  Cassiopeia’s eyes began to well up with tears.

  “It will be a short trip and the time will go quickly,” Penelope added, sounding less firm than before.

  “Postcard?” the girl asked with a sniff. “For Nutsawoo?”

  Penelope was about to explain that Nutsawoo could not read, but then she sighed. For how could she argue? After all, these were three children who had lived in the woods with no one but wild animals to care for them. If they could be taught, by patient repetition and the judicious use of treats, to live indoors, eat cooked food (liberally doused in ketchup, of course), appreciate the rudiments of poetry, and even perform complicated dance steps, as the Incorrigibles had already, impressively, done, who was to say that dear Nutsawoo, somewhere in the shallows of that simple, frantic squirrel brain, might not appreciate receiving a picture postcard from London? The naughty fur ball might even write back, for all Penelope knew.

  “Of course we will send postcards to Nutsawoo. And we shall bring him back a present as well. In fact,” she went on, with the instinctive knack every good governess has for turning something enjoyable into a lesson, and vice versa, “I will expect all three of you to practice your writing by keeping a journal of our trip so that Nutsawoo may know how we spend our days. Why, by the time we return, he will think he has been to London himself! He will be the envy of all his little squirrel friends,” she declared.

  Penelope had no way of knowing if this last statement was true. Could squirrels feel envy? Would they give two figs about seeing London? Did Nutsawoo even have friends? To seriously consider the answers to these questions would require Penelope to do something called “going off on a tangent,” which is another way of saying “to stray from the subject at hand.” To go off on a tangent is always a risky maneuver, for once one has gone, it is often surprisingly difficult to find one’s way back. Penelope knew better than to let this happen, so she simply stood her ground and waited.

  Luckily, it took only a moment for her statement about Nutsawoo to have the desired effect on the children.

  “Pictures?” Beowulf asked. Beowulf loved to draw and had a real talent for it, too.

  “Yes, you may include pictures in the journal.” Fearing she was making the assignment too easy, Penelope added, “But the captions must be written in French. Now, that is quite enough discussion, for ‘Ten parts talking is half as much as one part doing,’ as Agatha Swanburne used to say. Never mind about the graph paper. We shall study geometry by calculating the volume of our suitcases and organizing our packing accordingly.”

  The children eagerly obeyed and gathered their possessions into neat piles, which they proceeded to measure. Alexander jumped on his pile and knocked it over a few times before settling down to work, and Beowulf had a tendency to gnaw on his ruler, but not to the extent where it threw off his arithmetic. Cassiopeia, though the youngest, was a whiz at math, and easily finished before her brothers.

  All the while Penelope heard the three of them murmuring to one another in funny little grunting sounds, which, she assumed, constituted their efforts to learn some French in time for the trip. She hardly expected them to do so, as they were still getting accustomed to expressing themselves in English (as opposed to barks and howls), but the challenge would help keep them occupied and, she sincerely hoped, far away from trouble.

  “We shall study geometry by calculating the volume of our suitcases and organizing our packing accordingly.”

  “I TELL YOU, MISS LUMLEY, it was just like watching one of those Spaniards in the tight suits and funny hats—the ones who get in the ring with a crazed bull and cry, ‘Toro! Toro!’ while waving a red blankie around.” Mrs. Clarke used her large apron (conveniently stained cherry red, since she had recently baked a pie) to demonstrate.

  “Toro! Toro!” she exclaimed with verve. “Except this time Lady Constance was the minotaur, and Lord Fredrick was the bull, you should pardon the expression.”

  “I believe you are referring to a matador,” Penelope helpfully corrected. Mrs. Clarke did not seem to pay her any mind. She was too busy relishing her own performance, a dramatic reenactment of the negotiations between Lady Constance and her husband, in which the lady informed Lord Fredrick that he needed to lease a town house in London at once.

  According to Mrs. Clarke, the encounter could only be described as toreadorical: the outright threats and faked retreats, the defiant swirl of Lady Constance’s red skirts, the snorting, stamping protest of Lord Fredrick. Finally, the cunning matador played dead. Then, when the bull’s guard was down, she brandished a dagger to deliver the final blow.

  In Lady Constance’s case, this meant a heartrending bout of weeping, followed by the threat that she would succumb to something called a “conniption fit” if Lord Fredrick did not agree to her plan that instant. Penelope did not know if a conniption fit was a serious medical condition, but it certainly sounded unpleasant to endure, and even worse to witness.

  Lord Fredrick must have thought so as well, for it was quickly decided. A house in the city would be leased, a battalion of servants would be installed, and Lady Constance would be given a generous shopping allowance to boot.

  “It’ll be a pleasant change of scene for the staff, anyway.” Mrs. Clarke was flushed with exertion and excitement. “Bu
t if Lady Constance doesn’t give alternate Sundays as a half day for the servants, there will be plenty of grumbling among them, mark my words.”

  “A half day would hardly be enough time to see the sights of London,” Penelope began to protest, but she was interrupted by a frightful noise, which seemed to have its origins rather close by.

  “Torowooooooooooooo! Torowooooooooooooo!”

  It was the Incorrigibles. Penelope had been under the impression that they had retired to the back nursery for afternoon naps, or perhaps some quiet activities such as chess (which the boys enjoyed a great deal) or practicing sums on the abacus (a favorite pastime of Cassiopeia’s). But in fact they were leaping from bed to bed in a wild game of bullfighting. Alexander had assumed the role of matador, and Beowulf and Cassiopeia were taking turns charging at him. One of the red velvet curtains from the window now served as the matador’s blanket.

  “Children, stop!” Penelope cried in alarm. “That will be quite enough of that. The poor window curtain! All the loops are torn off. It will not hang up properly again without a good deal of mending.”

  The children, whose tendency to get carried away was exceeded only by their eagerness to please, looked crestfallen.

  “Sorry, Lumawoo,” Alexander offered, his head down. The other two made apologies as well, using the socially useful phrases they had studied so diligently. “Deepest apologies! Regretfully yours! Will not happen again!”

  “Peculiar, isn’t it?” Mrs. Clarke observed, as an aside. “Three savage creatures such as they are, and yet they still enjoy imitating wild animals. You’d think they would’ve had quite enough of that sort of thing in the forest, where they were raised.”

  Of course, it was Mrs. Clarke they were imitating, for how would the children know anything about bull-fights and matadors? They would not have been likely to meet any in the woods of Ashton Place. Nor could they fairly be called “savage,” not after all Penelope’s hard work teaching them. Did savages know their multiplication tables? Did they enjoy the poetry of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow? Could they repeat a few pithy phrases in Latin? Certainly not, and the Incorrigibles could do all those things, after a fashion.

  They were, however, prone to mischief, especially when in high spirits. “As are most children,” Penelope thought resignedly. “But that is no excuse for destructive behavior.”

  “Your apology is accepted, children,” she said aloud. “Now, let us start tidying up this mess—”

  “Mrs. Clarke say, ‘Torowoo,’” Alexander interrupted, with the barest hint of a frown.

  “And wave skirt,” Cassiopeia added, demonstrating with the torn curtain.

  Beowulf added nothing further to these arguments, but pressed his lips together unhappily to prevent himself from chewing. The children had apologized, but clearly they also felt that an injustice had been done, for why should they be scolded for playing matador when the housekeeper was not?

  Penelope began to explain. “I do realize that Mrs. Clarke was just now imitating a bullfighter, and therefore you must have thought it was a splendid idea and an enjoyable way to pass the time. And it is, certainly, but only within reason. Do you understand?”

  The three Incorrigibles looked at one another. It was plain that they did not understand, and who could blame them? “Within reason” is not the sort of place one can easily find on a map; in fact, its location may vary considerably from one day to the next. It was only when Penelope tried to explain such notions to the Incorrigibles that she realized how the precise meaning of “getting carried away,” “taking things too far,” “going overboard,” and other, similar figures of speech were all woefully hard to pin down. Alas, once the room was a shambles, the curtains ripped, and the pillows emptied of feathers, their meaning became all too clear.

  Mrs. Clarke also tried to shed light on the matter. “It’s true I was saying ‘Toro, toro,’ but only to describe to Miss Lumley something that happened between our master and mistress. So I wasn’t playing bullfighter at all, you see. I was telling a story. It’s a whole different business.”

  “Metaphor?” Cassiopeia inquired.

  “Minotaur, silly!” Mrs. Clarke patted the child indulgently on the head. “Aren’t you a bright little thing, though?”

  Penelope felt the time had come to put a stop to this conversation. “Never mind, children; your apologies are accepted. Now make up your beds, just as they were before you started to play minotaur…I mean, metaphor—matador!…and fold up the red curtain neatly so I may give it to Margaret to be sewn. If you can get all that done and settle yourselves calmly in your chairs near the hearth within, say, ninety seconds”—she took out a pocket watch to mark the time—“I will read aloud to you.”

  As the children scrambled to do as they were told (for, like most children, they dearly loved to be read to), Penelope reached into her apron pocket and withdrew a small volume. “My former headmistress, Miss Mortimer, has sent us a guidebook describing all the important sights of London. It should provide us with an excellent preparation for our trip.”

  “Sights and sounds are all very well, but I prefer a nice lady’s hat shop myself,” Mrs. Clarke said, with a dreamy look on her face. “And a confectioner’s. A bit of money in hand and a half day off on alternate Sundays, that’s all the preparation I need.”

  Whether Mrs. Clarke was truly in need of a confectioner’s shop was a matter of opinion, but Penelope was too busy timing the children to comment. “Eighty-eight…eighty-nine…ninety. Well done! Now, come sit down and let us begin. Hixby’s Lavishly Illustrated Guide to London: Compleat with Historical Reference, Architectural Significance, and Literary Allusions,” she said, reading off the cover. “What a marvelous gift.”

  “Ahwoooooosions!” the Incorrigibles howled in agreement. Then all four eager pupils—for Mrs. Clarke secretly liked to be read to as well—gathered ’round to listen.

  THE THIRD CHAPTER

  The Incorrigibles travel by steam

  engine, with heated results.

  THE HIXBY’S GUIDE HAD COME by return post as soon as Miss Charlotte Mortimer received the letter confirming that Penelope and the children would be heading to London. It was both a practical and a fashionable gift, for at the time, guidebooks were all the rage, and there were scores of them available on every conceivable topic: from Audubon’s Birds of America to Zachary’s Taxonomy of Badgers, with Their Cubs, Accurately Figured.

  Fans of ferns could choose from among dozens of best-selling titles, including Frondson’s Pteridomania for the Beginner, with a Preface on Spores by Dr. Ward. (It should be noted that ferns were wildly popular in Miss Penelope Lumley’s day, much more so than in our own.)

  As for travel guides, there were Black’s Picturesque Tourist guides to England, Scotland, and Wales, and Harvey’s indispensable On the Cheap: Touring the Continent on Five Pence a Day. Few would risk crossing the Atlantic without a copy of Appleton’s Railroad and Steamboat Companion. Being a Traveler’s Guide Through the United States of America, Canada, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia. With Maps of the Country Through Which the Routes Pass, in the Northern, Middle, and Eastern States, a book whose title was as grand and cocksure as the New World it so thrillingly described.

  There were scores of books about London, naturally, but in the note accompanying her gift, Miss Mortimer assured Penelope that Hixby’s was by far the best of the lot, and she should use no other to find her way around town. As the title promised, the volume was lavishly illustrated with thumbnail-sized watercolor paintings, most of which depicted wildflower meadows and snowcapped mountain peaks. Neither of these seemed likely to be a prominent feature of the city. However, the pictures were attractive, and Penelope liked them a great deal. She found herself admiring them during the long carriage ride to Ashton Station, where she and the Incorrigibles would soon be boarding the train to London.

  “In fact,” she told the children as they stood in line to buy tickets, “these miniature paintings are so delightful that I th
ink our very first excursion must be to the British Museum. According to Mr. Hixby”—and here she thumbed her way to the appropriate page—“we are to ‘avoid the crowds that throng before the more well-known works, and concentrate on obscure galleries for the discerning visitor.’”

  She showed the page to the children so they could admire the illustration (it was a very pretty lake scene). “Mr. Hixby calls Gallery Seventeen, Overuse of Symbolism in Minor Historical Portraits, a ‘must-see.’”

  “Then we must see it,” Alexander replied, and Beowulf yapped in agreement. Penelope corrected him with a glance, whereupon he said, “Yes, we must,” just like a proper English schoolboy. Cassiopeia, still sad from her tearful leave-taking with Nutsawoo back at Ashton Place, was silent. She remained so until they were done purchasing their tickets at the ticket window and had walked outside to the platform to wait for their train. Then she began leaping up and down.

  “Torowoooo!” she yelled, pointing. “Torowoooo!”

  “I doubt you will see any matadors on the train platform,” Penelope remarked. “If we were traveling to Spain, perhaps. Or to a costume ball.”

  But it was the steam locomotive itself that had over-heated the little girl’s imagination. It was one of the new shiny red Bloomer engines, a flashy piece of engineering and full of pep, too. (Returning briefly to the subject of guidebooks: For technical specifications on the Bloomer, there is no better reference than Craswell’s Opinionated Guide to British Steam Locomotives. Alas, copies are notoriously hard to come by.)

  “Torowoooo!” The boys took up the cry, pointing and jostling each other. “Torowoooo!”

  Penelope looked, and although she did not howl “Torowoooo!” like the children, she was just as impressed. The locomotive was a gleaming scarlet, with a forbidding front grille of inky black. Two shiny gold smokestacks rose above. Truth be told, the appearance of the Bloomer was not unlike a black-nosed, golden-horned, bloodred bull, snorting and puffing steam out of its nostrils and its tall, glittering horns.