At which point the carriage hit a pothole and flew thirteen-and-one-half inches into the air before crashing down again. The driver took this opportunity to break his silence with the brief and heartfelt outburst mentioned earlier, but it is not necessary to reprint his exact words. Fortunately, Penelope was unfamiliar with the expression he used and was, therefore, none the worse for hearing it.
However, she took the interruption as a reminder that wallowing in self-pity, even in the privacy of her own mind, was not the Swanburne way. Instead, she cheered herself with the idea that she might soon have three pupils of her own to teach, to mold, and to imbue with the sterling values she felt so fortunate to have acquired at school. If each child came equipped with a pony, so much the better!
And then, abruptly, they were out of the trees and coming over the crest of a hill, passing between great stone pillars that framed a tall and forbidding black iron gate.
Once through the gate, she could finally see before her the house known as Ashton Place.
THE COACHMAN WAS RIGHT: Ashton Place was a very grand house indeed. It was perfectly situated in the sheltered lowland ahead and big as a palace, with the lovely symmetrical proportions of the ancient Greek architecture Penelope had so often admired in her history books at Swanburne.
From the hilltop vantage of the gate Penelope could see that the surrounding property numbered not in the hundreds, nor the thousands, but in the tens of thousands of acres—in fact, the forest she had just passed through was part of the estate. There were orchards and farms and groups of other, much smaller houses as well. These were the cottages in which the servants lived, and where the blacksmith, tinsmith, and tanner plied their trades. There was even a smokehouse for the curing of fresh bacon, ham, sausage, and all sorts of meat-based delicacies that would nowadays be purchased in a supermarket, uninterestingly wrapped in plastic.
And Penelope noted with delight: There was a barn big enough to house a whole herd of ponies, with their long, lovingly brushed tails and red ribbons braided prettily through their manes—oh, how Penelope wished the job were already hers! But the interview was still ahead, and she resolved to keep her wits about her.
The driveway approaching the main entrance curved around formal gardens of great beauty, now tinged with the first brushstrokes of autumn color. The coachman brought the carriage straight to the front of the house and assisted his passenger brusquely to the ground. A kind-faced, square-built woman of middle age was waiting to greet the new arrival.
“Miss Lumley, I presume?”
Penelope nodded.
“I’m Mrs. Clarke, the head housekeeper. Thank goodness you’ve arrived! Lady Constance has been asking for you every quarter hour the whole blessed day. Don’t make such a stricken face, dear. You’re not late. Lady Constance tends to be impatient, that’s all it is. But look at you—you’re hardly more than a child yourself! Jasper, see to her bag, please!”
The carpetbag was whisked inside by a young man who appeared from nowhere. As for the trunk of books, which the coachman was struggling to lift—“Leave that in the carriage for now,” Mrs. Clarke directed. She jangled the large ring of keys she wore at her waist and gave Penelope an appraising look. “Until we see how things go.”
MRS. CLARKE HUSTLED HER DIRECTLY to the drawing room in such a flurry of chatter Penelope barely had time to gape at the grandeur of the house’s vast interior. Still, it was impossible to ignore the sheer size and quantity of the rooms, the plushness of the carpets underfoot, the curtains of sumptuous velvet, the way the woodwork shone with the burnished glow of a dark jewel.
The drawing room had been prepared for the interview as if it were a stage set, with two chairs drawn near each other and a tea tray already in place on the sideboard. Mrs. Clarke seemed more nervous than Penelope; she babbled nonstop. “Have a seat there by the window, dear. The air will refresh you. You must be starved! There’s tea at hand, but now that you’re here I’ll bring up a tray of sandwiches in case you feel peckish. Speaking for myself, I can’t travel more than a half mile from home without taking some refreshment, and here you’ve come all the way from who knows where—”
“Heathcote. Excuse me for interrupting,” said Penelope, “but what is that unusual sound?”
Mrs. Clark’s mouth slammed shut and stayed that way for a count of three, and then flew open again to emit another stream of even more rapid chatter. “What sound? I’m sure I don’t hear any sound, certainly not an ‘unusual’ sound or any other type of sound that one wouldn’t normally expect to hear in a busy household such as this—”
“It is an unusual sound,” said Penelope, tilting her head to listen. “It’s coming in the windows. It has a sort of a howling feeling to it.”
“A how—a how—!” Mrs. Clarke’s rushing river of words suddenly went dry. At that moment a bell rang from some distant place within the house. It was a pleasant, mellow-toned bell, but even the airiest, tinkling chime can be rung insistently and in a panic, and that was unmistakably the type of ringing this was.
Mrs. Clarke gave a small, involuntary yelp. “Ai! That’ll be Lady Constance. I’ll go tell her you’re here and settled. And I’m sure I don’t hear anything like a how—a how—well, nothing unusual, to be sure! Here, let me close the windows, dear, so the bugs can’t get in—”
At which point, despite the frantic ringing of the bell and Penelope’s comment that the breeze was, in fact, quite refreshing and that it would be a pity to shut up windows on such a lovely autumn day, Mrs. Clarke took pains to shutter and bolt every window in the room.
“WOULD YOU CARE FOR SOME TEA, Miss Lumley?”
“Thank you kindly, I would.”
Lady Constance poured the tea herself. “So perhaps she is not completely spoiled,” thought Penelope with relief. Lady Constance had appeared within moments of Mrs. Clarke’s departure, quite breathless, as if she had raced down the halls. Otherwise she was much as Penelope had pictured her: perhaps nineteen or twenty at the most, with blond hair the color of butterscotch pudding and pale, circular blue eyes that were a bit too large for her face.
The round eyes gave her the appearance of a doll, as did her pink-hued cheeks and upturned nose. Penelope knew little about fashion, but even she could see that Lady Constance’s tiered silk gown was of the most extravagant style. It called to her mind the words of Agatha Swanburne: “That which can be purchased at a shop is easily left in a taxi; that which you carry inside you is difficult, though not impossible, to misplace.”
Lady Constance smiled charmingly. “Well! I have never interviewed a possible governess before! I feel somewhat nervous; you must forgive me.”
“It is my first interview as well,” Penelope offered, “so perhaps between the two of us we will muddle through.”
Lady Constance smiled again and stirred her tea. An awkward moment passed, until the two young ladies spoke at once.
“Where are the—”
“What do you—”
“Pardon me!”
“No, you must go first, of course,” Lady Constance declared. Penelope briefly imagined those round, doll eyes were taking in her plain dress and sensible footwear, but shooed away the thought as fast as it came.
“I have you at a terrible disadvantage, I realize,” Lady Constance went on. “I have seen your résumé and letter of recommendation from Miss Mortimer, so I feel I know a great deal about you. Your headmistress has described you in the most glowing terms. But you must have many questions about life here at Ashton Place. Please ask; I will do my best to answer, and we will let the conversation proceed in that way.”
She sat back pertly in her chair and folded her hands, as if she were the one in need of a job.
“If you insist.” Penelope felt suddenly cautious at the notion of having to interview her prospective employer. “I understand that you are seeking a governess for three children. Perhaps you might tell me their ages and a bit about them.”
“Oh!” Lady Constance trilled a s
trange, forced laugh. “Let us not talk about the children just yet.”
Penelope thought this an odd response, frankly.
“Forgive me,” she said after a moment. “I don’t mean to pry. But a governess for the children is the available position, is it not?” She smiled what she hoped was a warm and friendly smile. “I hope there has not been a mistake?”
“Oh no, heavens, no!” Lady Constance stirred her tea again with vigor, although the sugar had long since dissolved. “We are in dire need of a governess, there is no doubt. It’s just that”—she seemed to be struggling to find words and avoided Penelope’s gaze—“children are not a very interesting topic, I find. That is to say, children are merely—children. All more or less alike. Don’t you agree?”
Penelope did not, but she did not say so. It had just occurred to her that Lady Constance was far too young to have school-age offspring of her own. Whose children were they, she wondered, whom Lady Constance found so unworthy of discussion?
“Tell me, then,” she said, “about Ashton Place.”
Lady Constance brightened at once and launched into an animated description of the house: the history, the architecture, the furnishings. Everything on the premises, she explained, was of the highest quality. The most valuable antiquities had been acquired by her husband’s great-grandfather, Admiral Percival Racine Ashton, who had designed and built the house and was himself a figure of historical importance—
“Ahwooooooooooooooooooo! Ahwoooooooooooooo!”
“Woof! Woof!”
At the sound, the pink circles on Lady Ashton’s cheeks visibly shrank and disappeared, as if someone had rubbed them out with an eraser.
“…children are not a very interesting topic, I find.”
“Pardon me,” she said abruptly, rising. She scurried across the drawing room and tugged repeatedly on the bellpull that hung by the door. Penelope could hear it ring in some faraway part of the house.
Mrs. Clarke appeared on the instant.
“I’m terribly sorry, my lady,” she said quickly, “we’ve done our best to keep them quiet—”
“Mrs. Clarke!” Lady Constance interrupted, in a loud voice full of false cheer. “Surely those hunting dogs need to be fed! They sound entirely desperate!”
Then she leaned over and whispered rapidly in Mrs. Clarke’s ear. Mrs. Clarke clapped her hand over her mouth and listened. When Lady Constance was done, Mrs. Clarke glanced nervously at Penelope and then back to her mistress.
“Of course, my lady, I will see to—the dogs—at once.” Then she left.
Lady Constance walked slowly back to her seat, lowered herself carefully, and heaved a most unladylike sigh. Her golden, delicately curved eyebrows frowned in deepest concentration as she glared at the carpet.
Recall that it was Penelope’s first job interview; there was nothing for her to compare the experience to except a historical account she had once read describing the interrogation of military prisoners during the Napoleonic Wars. This hardly seemed relevant. However, the look on Lady Constance’s face had grown quite serious, and Penelope guessed that the pleasantries must now be over.
She took a deep breath and braced herself to answer probing questions about her literary and scientific knowledge, her skill at mathematics, penmanship, and musical composition, her grasp of geography and the rules of lawn tennis, and her familiarity with the rudiments of first aid.
“Well,” said Lady Constance decisively, after a pause, “Miss Lumley. You are certainly everything I had hoped for in a governess, and more. May I offer you the position?”
“What?” Penelope exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise.
“Forgive me! Of course you need to know the terms. I am utterly hopeless with numbers, but Lord Ashton drew this up for your perusal before he left for business this morning.” She handed Penelope a folded sheet of heavy notepaper, monogrammed with a large, decorative A.
Penelope opened it and read. The neat writing within indicated salary, number of holidays, sick leave, and so forth. The terms were generous, excessively so. Ridiculously so, in fact.
“I do hope the salary is adequate! If you require, Lord Ashton will make any necessary adjustments.” Lady Constance looked at Penelope with a strangely blank expression on her face and waited for her answer.
“These terms are perfectly acceptable,” Penelope finally choked out.
“Excellent, excellent!” Lady Constance sprang from her seat once more and paced around the room. “You must start at once. Today, in fact! I will send instructions to your school—Swansea? Swansong? You must remind me of the name—to send the rest of your things.”
“My trunk is in the carriage that brought me from the station,” Penelope said. “I have no other possessions.” She was suddenly dizzy and thought this must be what people meant when they said that a person was “in shock.” But she managed to stand up, and Lady Constance impulsively took her right hand in both of her own.
“Miss Lumley,” she said, “may I have your solemn oath that you will embrace the position of governess and fulfill its duties from this day forward? I would hate to endure the crushing disappointment I would feel, if you should suddenly change your mind.”
Penelope straightened and returned the lady’s gaze with as much forthrightness as she could muster, given the rapid turn of events.
“The word of a Swanburne girl is as solemn an oath as anyone could require,” she replied. “Have no fear on that account. I accept.”
And with that, they both affixed their signatures to the bottom of the letter of terms that Lord Ashton had prepared. Penelope hardly thought this necessary, but Lady Constance assured her that signed, binding contracts were the custom in these parts, a charming formality which she would not dream of omitting.
THE THIRD CHAPTER
The source of the mysterious howling is revealed.
WHEN PEOPLE EXPERIENCE a sudden, happy change of fortune, it often comes as a great shock to the system. Reckless personalities may do foolish and extravagant things, such as buying a yacht even if they are prone to seasickness and do not know their port side from their aft, while more cautious souls might busy themselves with trivial, repetitive tasks as they wait for the surprise to wear off. Many a winning lottery ticket holder, upon receiving the news, has spent the entire afternoon methodically sharpening pencils; for all we know some are sharpening still, their winnings yet unclaimed.
Temperamentally speaking, Penelope was more of a pencil sharpener than a yacht buyer. Earlier that very morning, she had been a sleepy girl on a noisy train, but now she was a professional governess in an enormous and unimaginably wealthy house. Part of her was itching to run to the nursery, meet the children, and begin instructing them immediately in Latin verbs and the correct use of globes. She was also eager to write Miss Charlotte Mortimer a letter, telling her the excellent news. But even more powerful than those urges was the urge to unpack her trunk and carpetbag and put her room in order. After all, Ashton Place was her home now, and as Agatha Swanburne often said, “A well-organized stocking drawer is the first step toward a well-organized mind.”
Penelope’s trunk was brought up to a small, second-floor bedroom, and Mrs. Clarke sent a young lady’s maid named Margaret upstairs to help “put away your frocks and bonnets,” as the girl explained in her shy, squeaky voice. But when Penelope explained that she had brought many books and few clothes, all of which she would prefer to arrange herself, Margaret curtsied and left the new resident of Ashton Place to her own devices.
With so few possessions, Penelope did not take long to complete her task. Within half an hour her garments were hung up or folded in dresser drawers, and a dozen carefully chosen books were displayed on the small shelf near the door, including her very own brand-new copy of Edith-Anne Gets a Pony, a goodbye gift from the girls at Swanburne. It was the first book in the Giddy-Yap, Rainbow! series—an excellent present, of course, but Penelope would have preferred Silky Mischief, which was her favorite. No m
atter; now that she would be earning a salary, Penelope resolved to buy copies of the entire series to read aloud to her pupils—what a happy chore that would be!
The rest of the books she left in the trunk for the present, until they could find their permanent home in the nursery. There would be so much to do! She wondered if she would be allowed to have breakfast with the children and, if so, at what time. The interview with Lady Constance had been so brief and strange that there had been no chance to delve into such details.
“Still,” she thought, “there will be plenty of opportunity to learn the ins and outs of my new position ‘on the job,’ as it were. For now, my sole occupation should be to acquaint myself with my new home—starting with this charming room.”
At Swanburne, Penelope had always shared her sleeping quarters. The dormitory halls had each held a dozen girls, two to a cot. So, to have her own bed, in her own room, was an unheard-of luxury. And such a room! The flocked wallpaper had a delicate floral print, the floors were covered with fine Arabian carpeting in a leaf-and-ivy pattern, and the mahogany dresser had drawer-pulls carved in the shape of mushrooms. The four-poster bed was covered with soft, moss-green bedding embroidered with every decorative stitch Penelope had ever learned and many she had never seen before.
Best of all: Tall French windows opened to a small, private balcony. Penelope threw the windows open and stepped outside. How delightful it was! Out here she could sit and take the air, read, admire the gardens near the house, and gaze at the majestic forest in the distance—
“Ahwooooooooooooooooooo!”
“Woof! Woof!”
“Ahwooooooooooooooooooo!”
There it was again—the baying, barking, and howling of the dogs. Could they be hungry again so soon after being fed? Did they miss their master and long for the thrill of the hunt? Or was there something else amiss? The noise seemed to be coming from the direction of the barn.
ICAP 1 - The Mysterious Howling Page 2