The Unseen Guest

by Maryrose Wood

  “An ostrich cannot fly, but time certainly does,” Penelope thought. “How sad it is that my three pupils are growing up so quickly, and yet their true parents are missing it all.”

  Just…like…mine. The words seemed to come from outside her, but it was only a whippoorwill offering its plaintive, three-note cry.

  Whip-poor-will!

  Whip-poor-will!

  Elk, elk, elk—missing parents seemed to crop up at every turn. Penelope shook off a lonely pang and said, “You heard Mrs. Clarke, children. That is enough bird-watching for today. We are needed back at the house.”

  “But, Lumawoo! Only one bird.”

  “Given its size, I should think an ostrich would count as three birds at least. Now, my fine ponies, how about a race back to Ashton Place? The first Incorrigible to set hoof in the house gets an extra biscuit.”

  That was all she needed to say. The children eagerly galloped ahead. In their haste to be first, they failed to notice a tree sparrow and two different types of finches in the trees just to the right of the path, but Penelope felt it was better not to risk further distractions and said nothing. Besides, after coming face-to-face with an ostrich, anything short of a dodo was bound to be a letdown.

  (As you may know, a dodo was a comical-looking and utterly defenseless sort of bird that even in Miss Lumley’s day had been extinct for more than a century. Imagine a fifty-pound pigeon with the feet of a turkey, the beak of a toucan, and the prehistoric charm of a rhinoceros. Dodos could not fly; they could not run; apparently they did not taste very good, either. With so many disadvantages, you may think it a wonder they survived as long as they did, but the extinction of the dodo was not caused by natural predators, inclement weather, or even a plague of contagious dodo disease. No; it was the carelessness of people that did them in. Some wrongs can be made right by a heartfelt apology and a sincere effort to do better; alas, this is not one of them, for no matter how sorry one feels about it, there will never be dodos again. It is a great disappointment to bird-watchers, to be sure, but far, far worse for the dodos.)

  As for Penelope, even as she jogged along, trying in vain to keep the galloping children in sight, the “do not think of elk” principle was in full force.

  “So, Mater Ashton is paying a call at Ashton Place,” Penelope mused as she bounded over the rocky paths. “It seems that even Lord Fredrick Ashton gets an unexpected visit from his mother now and then. Perhaps the Incorrigibles and I will also be so fortunate, someday.” Then she called, “Children, not quite so fast! Whoaaaaaaa!”

  THE THIRD CHAPTER

  Lady Constance plays a game of hide-and-seek.

  IF YOUR SISTER LAVINIA TAKES the last biscuit from the biscuit tin and leaves you nothing but crumbs, you might very well feel mad as a hornet, but if you are wise as an owl, you will stay cool as a cucumber and sweetly ask your mater to bake a fresh batch. Happy as a lark, you will take the oven-warm biscuits up to your private tree house and, hungry as a horse, devour them all yourself. Then it will be Lavinia’s turn to be mad as a hornet—unless she discovers your clever scheme and, gentle as a lamb and sweet as a kitten, somehow persuades you to share.

  Why comparisons to insects, animals, and even vegetables are so often used to discuss matters that have only to do with humans is a question that philosophers have yet to answer. Consider the expression “dead as a dodo.” Dodos, as you know, are extinct; therefore, this rather gloomy phrase means that the thing being described is not merely dead. It is very dead; in fact, it is extremely and permanently dead, and likely to remain so.

  Granted, the differences between “dead,” “very dead,” and “extremely and permanently dead” are not easy to comprehend. What is clear is that, in Miss Lumley’s day, as in our own, dodos are as dead as, well, dodos, but the carelessness of humans is far from extinct. Scaling a slippery, snow-capped mountain without the proper equipment can lead to a gruesome end, no matter how thrilling the scenery. And many fine poems have been written about shipwrecks, but only a foolish captain would knowingly set sail into stormy seas.

  Certainly no one of good sense would sail headlong into the whirling, tornado-like temper of Lady Constance Ashton, if it could be helped. When highly agitated, as she was now, Lord Fredrick’s young bride had a regrettable tendency to blow over anything in her path.

  “I cannot believe that the very first time I am to meet my mother-in-law it is with less than an hour’s notice, and of course Fredrick is not even at home! How is it possible that the Widow Ashton could arrive with no warning? Or did she write to Fredrick, and he simply forgot to tell me? If that is the case, I may scream from the sheer frustration of it all! Margaret, what is taking so long?”

  It had fallen upon poor Margaret, the good-hearted and squeaky-voiced housemaid, to help Lady Constance change into a fresh gown and fix her hair so that she might receive her unexpected guest. But Lady Constance would not stay put; she raced from window to window and peered out to see if the Widow Ashton’s carriage had arrived.

  “It’ll go quicker if you hold still, ma’am.”

  “How can I hold still at a time like this? Wait—do you hear something? Do you suppose it is her? Why are there so many trees by the windows? I can scarcely see a thing!”

  “Patience, m’lady. Like my old mum likes to say, a watched pot never boils.”

  No doubt Agatha Swanburne would have agreed with this homespun wisdom, but the advice went unheeded, for Lady Constance had just reached the same conclusion that Penelope had come to that very morning. “This is absurd; I cannot tell anything from looking out the windows. Follow me, Margaret!” Clutching a powder puff in one hand and a container of face powder in the other, Lady Constance ran out of her dressing room, down the stairs, and out the front door of Ashton Place. Breathless, she scanned the property, first in one direction, then in the other. “She is not here yet,” Lady Constance cried, throwing her arms wide in despair. Every time she gestured, she left a trail of rose-scented powder. “Oh, it is torture! If she truly is coming, I say she ought to get here at once and put an end to this dreadful waiting.”

  Margaret took her frantic mistress by the arm. “My lady, if you please, come inside and stand by the mirror so I can pin up your curls in the back.”

  On most days a mirror would have been an excellent way to focus Lady Constance’s attention, but today was not most days, for when Lady Constance saw her reflection she shrieked.

  “Eek! I look like a ghost!” In fact she had powdered herself into an otherworldly pallor, which she now tried to fix by powdering herself even more. “Margaret, you must do something about my face. To look at me, anyone would think I was a bloodless old crone of twenty-five.”

  “I will, in a moment, my lady. First I must get your hair put up properly. And your dress is not even fastened.”

  “Face, hair, dress—why is it all so complicated? If I were a bird, I would wear the same feathers every day and no one would think less of me for it.” Lady Constance batted at her face with the puff until she all but disappeared in a perfumed fog. “What if she hates me, Margaret? Men can be very attached to their mothers; at least, that is what I have heard. Perhaps the Widow Ashton will speak meanly of me to Fredrick and turn him against me.”

  “I hope not, ma’am.” Margaret had nearly gotten all the wayward yellow ringlets pinned into place, but at her well-intended reply, Lady Constance spun ’round in a panic and the pins went flying.

  “You hope not? You hope not? Why? Do you actually think there is the tiniest shred of possibility that Fredrick’s mother might find me…unappealing?”

  “No, of course not, my lady.”

  “Of course not is right. It is ridiculous to worry. I am lovely and charming; everyone says so. Ah-choo! Oh dear, the powder is all up my nose. Ah-choo! Ah-choo!”

  “Take my handkerchief, ma’am.”

  Lady Constance did, and blew her nose into it noisily, talking all the while. “On the other hand, who knows what sort of person Fredr
ick’s mother is? She might be perfectly dreadful and dislike me for no reason at all. Fredrick hardly speaks of her, but Fredrick hardly speaks of anything, ah-choo! Did you know, Margaret, the woman did not even attend our wedding? I find that terribly rude. Ah-choo!”

  “If my lady will let me get at these buttons…I am sure my lord’s mother must have had a good excuse—”

  “Oh, she had a fine excuse! Apparently the Widow Ashton has been in deep mourning ever since Fredrick’s father was killed in some sort of gruesome accident, many years ago. I ask you, is that a reason not to attend your own son’s wedding?”

  “Killed in an accident, tsk tsk! Poor Widow Ashton, what a sad and lonely life she must have.” Margaret whizzed through the buttons on the back of the dress and tied the sash at the back of the skirt into a floppy bow.

  “Do you really think Fredrick’s mother is sad?” Lady Constance’s look of surprise was made comical by her clown-white face. “To lose one’s husband in a gruesome accident is a serious misfortune, I suppose. If anything as horrible as that were to happen to me, I would do nothing but cry for a week, at least—but no! Fredrick is going to live a long, healthy life.” She stamped both her feet for emphasis, as if trying to squash an elusive bug. “I will have to insist upon it, for it would be dreadfully dull if he did not. Wait, what is that noise? Someone is coming, it must be her, and I am not ready, not nearly ready—”

  “I see biscuit!”

  “No, I see biscuit!”

  “Giddy-yap, giddy-yap, Rainbowooooo!” Just as their governess had instructed, the Incorrigibles had raced the whole way home until, laughing and breathless, they reached the door at nearly the same time, with both boys claiming first dibs on the winner’s biscuit. Cassiopeia was a fierce competitor, too, of course, but her legs were the shortest; also, the plume in her hair had fallen out at one point, and she had to run back to get it, thus costing her valuable seconds.

  In the excitement of their galloping, the children had slipped far ahead of their governess, who at the moment was nowhere to be seen.

  “Eeeeeee!” Lady Constance shrieked as the three children burst into the house and skidded to a stop at her feet.

  “Ahwoooooo!” the children howled, for they were equally startled to find themselves in a near collision with what appeared to be the ghost of Lady Constance.

  “Ahwoo, you say? Ahwoo?” Lady Constance tiptoed backward in horror until her back was pressed flat against the wall. “What will Fredrick’s mother say if she finds the three of you here, drooling and barking and ahwooing away? Why, she will think I am a fool to harbor such uncivilized creatures in the house that still bears the proud name of Ashton! Miss Lumley, you must conceal these Incorrigible children at once.” She ran outside, searching. “Where is Miss Lumley? Monstrous creatures! What have you done with your governess?”

  Beowulf discreetly wiped his mouth (for the exertion of the race had left him drooling, just a bit) and gestured toward the path. “Lumawoo coming,” he said.

  Alexander peered through his spyglass. “Slower than ostrich, faster than Mrs. Clarke.”

  “Do you like my plume?” Cassiopeia waggled it in front of Lady Constance’s face. It tickled the lady’s nose and brought on more sneezes that sent hairpins flying every which way. Margaret scurried to gather them up.

  “Ah-choo! You are quite mad, all three of you. Ah-choo! I don’t know why Fredrick insists that you live here. As soon as he returns I am going to put my foot down, once and for all—”

  “Pardon me, but there is a carriage coming up the drive, my lady.” Margaret rubbed Lady Constance’s cheeks with her sleeve to remove the excess powder, but the sneezing fit was already under way.

  “Ahwoo! I mean, Ah-choo! Oh, I am all confused! I simply cannot greet Fredrick’s mother with the three of you standing at the front door as if you belonged here. Ah-choo!” A wicked look came over the lady’s face. “Children, do you know how to play hide-and-seek?”

  Lady Constance had never suggested a game to the Incorrigibles before; in fact, she scarcely spoke to the children at all if it could be helped, so they were not sure how to respond.

  “Gesundheit, and pardon me, your gracious ladyness.” Of the three Incorrigibles, Alexander was the most adept at the socially useful phrases Penelope had taught them. “We do not know hide-and-seek. Is it a good game?”

  “Why, it is the very best game of all!” Lady Constance made her eyes grow wide in that false, excited way that grown-ups sometimes do when talking to children. “Hide-and-seek is when the three Incorrigible children run very far away and stay there, quiet as mice. And sooner or later, somebody just might come out to find you! Ah-choo! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  “No run in forest?” Beowulf asked dubiously, for he recalled Miss Lumley’s instruction from earlier in the day.

  “Yes run in forest.” Lady Constance clapped her hands in exaggerated delight. “Yes, yes, yes, you must run into the forest, just as far away as you can. Can you do that, children? For I think it would be quite an adventure for you, and I would much prefer you to be out of sight and out of mind and absolutely out of the house for the duration of the Widow Ashton’s visit.”

  She smiled hugely, baring her pearly white teeth in what could only be called a wolfish grin. “I will give you the loveliest present if you could scamper off and not come back. A nice, crunchy bone, perhaps?”

  The children looked tempted. But before they could begin to play this interesting-sounding game, the clippety-clop of hooves and the clattering of carriage wheels announced that it was too late.

  “She’s here! Oh, my hair! My face! My nose! Ah-choo!” Lady Constance wailed.

  “Ma’am, your buttons have come undone!” Margaret squeaked.

  “Hide,” Beowulf suggested to his siblings. No doubt he was still thinking about the possibility of a bone, for he dearly loved to gnaw. But Lady Constance misunderstood.

  “Hide? Ah-choo! Very well, then—if you three will not, then I shall hide! After all, Fredrick’s mother cannot dislike me if she has not met me.” And with that, Lady Constance kicked off both of her pretty silver shoes and began to haul herself into the low, spreading branches of a nearby tree.

  At the sight of her mistress shinnying up the gnarled trunk, Margaret, whose voice tended to rise in pitch when she was nervous, let out a squeak that only bats could hear and raced into the house to get help, thus leaving the three Incorrigible children alone to greet their guest.

  AS ANYONE WHO HAS EVER eaten a box of Cracker Jack caramel-coated popcorn already knows, life is full of surprises. On a good day, one might find a colorful plastic top that spins; on a great day, the rare and much-coveted secret decoder ring. Alas, not all surprises are so pleasant. Long-absent parents send puzzling, alpine-themed gifts, and enjoyable bird-watching expeditions are cut short by the arrival of guests.

  That life’s unexpected plot twists are not always to our liking should never be cause for despair. Even Agatha Swanburne, who had never tasted Cracker Jack in her life, once said, “Better to make the best of a bad situation than to make the worst of a good one.” Surely the secret decoder ring would be a more thrilling prize to find inside the box than yet another uninteresting sticker, but either way, one can still enjoy the popcorn.

  Yet there are times when even the pluckiest among us fail to follow this sage advice. Instead of muddling through and making the best of things, we pull the blankets over our heads and hope that whatever is troubling us will simply go away and leave us alone. This is called “burying your head in the sand,” and the expression comes from a widely held but mistaken belief about ostriches. You see, somehow the rumor began that when the giant birds wish to hide themselves, they burrow their heads into the sand and assume that if they cannot see their enemies, their enemies cannot see them, either.

  It is true that ostriches have exceedingly tiny brains relative to their size, yet even ostriches are not quite as dim-witted as all that. And no doubt the brain of Lady Co
nstance Ashton was far bigger; however, it seemed she did put some stock in the idea that if she fled the scene, she could prevent the Widow Ashton from seeing her and therefore from disliking her. But a shoeless, whimpering lady in a half-buttoned gown dangling from the branch of a tree is hardly inconspicuous. It was only the Widow Ashton’s inability to see objects clearly without her pince-nez that prevented her from spotting her daughter-in-law the moment she climbed out of her carriage.

  (A pince-nez was a sort of eyeglass popular at the time. It had no earpieces, as modern eyeglasses do, but stayed on by means of a pinching mechanism that tightly gripped the bridge of the wearer’s nose. No doubt this was just as painful as it sounds; nowadays the pince-nez is as extinct as the dodo. In the case of eyeglasses, at least, progress does have its advantages.)

  The three children stood at attention as the Widow Ashton approached. She was a tall, handsome woman no older than sixty, dressed in a black crepe gown with a crisp white collar and cuffs, and a veiled cap pinned on top of her head. She swooped toward the house, arms stretched wide. “Freddy!” she cried. “Oh, my Freddy, someone show my boy to me at once; it has been much, much too long!” She gave a cursory glance to the children—and then a second, far sterner look. “Three, already? Horrors! It seems I am too late.” She peered forcefully through the pince-nez. “But wait; Freddy has been married less than two years. Even you—yes, you, the littlest one—are older than that, are you not?”

  “I estimate five,” said Cassiopeia, who believed it was important to be accurate when speaking about numbers. By now she had slipped on Lady’s Constance’s grown-up lady shoes and was feeling quite fancy in her ostrich plume and pretty silver heels.

  “You are not my Freddy’s, then. Who are your parents?”