The Hidden Gallery: Chapters 5–6

This is the phenomenon whereby, after weeks of excitedly shopping for straw hats and suitable luggage, making lists of what to pack and what to leave behind, purchasing bug repellent and checking weather reports, and then traveling by foot, aeroplane, tramp steamer, hot-air balloon, or what you please, you arrive, finally, in Mahi-Mahi or Ahwoo-Ahwoo or some other rare and spectacular locale, only to discover that you would much prefer to be at home.

Soon, even that pathetic excursion requires more zip than you can muster.

Penelope thought she had planned the day from top to bottom, but she had not planned that the children would be in a funk, and so, she realized, her plan must be altered.

There was a whole floor for the private use of the lord and lady of the house, with spacious bedchambers, dressing rooms, and the most newfangled lavatories imaginable, including actual flush toilets and slipper-shaped tubs that could heat up their own bathwater.

Finally she reached the bottommost floor, which was the domain of the cook, the scullery maids, and the laundresses.

Finally she reached the bottommost floor, which was the domain of the cook, the scullery maids, and the laundresses.

“Yesterday was a bit of a muddle, but I believe I have the hang of things now. After the post office we will proceed to Buckingham Palace.”

(Actually Penelope was mistaken, for there was a book late in the Giddy-Yap, Rainbow! series in which the pony-crazed heroine, Edith-Anne Pevington, did, in fact, send a picture postcard to Rainbow while taking a round-the-world voyage with her eccentric aunt.

In any case, her new plan worked: Thanks to a hot breakfast, a bit of kind but firm handling, and a helpful (if imaginary) nudge from a squirrel, all three Incorrigibles had managed to shake off their holiday fatigue and were now ready to venture forth.

And, although she felt a bit skittish about letting the Hixby’s out of her sight (this was, as you no doubt recall, because of the regrettable incident on the train), she handed the guidebook over to Alexander with only the slightest hesitation.

Both Buckingham Palace and Ashton Place were fine examples of the neoclassical style of architecture, which is to say they were boxy and rather plain, in a symmetrical, fluted-column sort of way.

Or perhaps the sight of the three Incorrigible children once again facing down the barrel of a musket (just as they had on the fateful day when Lord Fredrick Ashton discovered them running wild in the woods of Ashton Place, and was prevented from shooting only by the quick intervention of Old Timothy, the enigmatic coachman)—well, it was simply too much for Penelope to bear, if one will pardon the expression.

The servants from Ashton Place were frantically cleaning the already spotless house: airing out linens, dusting bric-a-brac, making up beds, sweeping the carpets, polishing woodwork, and otherwise getting things spick-and-span for the imminent appearance of Lady Constance and Lord Fredrick.

The servants from Ashton Place were frantically cleaning the already spotless house: airing out linens, dusting bric-a-brac, making up beds, sweeping the carpets, polishing woodwork, and otherwise getting things spick-and-span for the imminent appearance of Lady Constance and Lord Fredrick.

The hubbub was at such a fever pitch that even Mrs. Clarke could not hold still long enough to say a proper good morning to Penelope and the children, though she had scarcely seen them since their arrival in London.

“Frond,” Alexander corrected, for the plant in question was, in fact, a fern, and thus its leaves were properly called fronds.

Affixed with a one-cent stamp bearing the likeness of Queen Victoria herself, a letter would reach its destination within hours of the time it was sent.

Penelope was so dazzled by this marvelous display of postal competence— and for a mere penny, mind you, as long as the letter weighed less than half an ounce— she did not even notice that the correspondence in her hand was not from Miss Mortimer at all.

“No doubt Agatha Swanburne did say something along those lines, but whether she did or not, it is advice well worth taking. Now, how are your journal entries about our trip to Buckingham Palace coming along? Do you have any questions about neoclassical architecture? The use of pediments? The practice of primogeniture in the British hereditary monarchy?”

Beowulf’s picture was far more elaborate than those of his siblings, and it did need a bit more work coloring in the background, but the gist of it was on full, frightening view.

In the foreground: the dense, ferny undergrowth of a forest, bordered by a few gnarled tree trunks rising upward.

This may seem an astute observation for a fifteen-year-old girl with no personal experience of marriage to make (as previously mentioned, Penelope had had scarce contact with boys in general, never mind prospective husbands).

This may seem an astute observation for a fifteen-year-old girl with no personal experience of marriage to make (as previously mentioned, Penelope had had scarce contact with boys in general, never mind prospective husbands).

A great deal of kindness and patience (not to mention quick reflexes and an ample supply of treats) are required to turn a situation like this around without getting badly bitten.

“But still, there is no harm in offering a friendly greeting. Today she will be tired from her long journey, but perhaps tomorrow, after I have done with the children’s lessons for the day, I will go downstairs on some pretext or other and see if I can engage Lady Constance in pleasant conversation. It would be the kind and generous thing—the Swanburne thing—to do.”