The Hidden Gallery: Chapter 17–Epilogue

Then, of all the governesses in the wide, unfathomable world, Miss Penelope Lumley, of the Swanburne Academy for Poor Bright Females, had been chosen to raise them, educate them, and as she now understood better than ever, protect them from harm.

And then there is “faux pas,” which is an embarrassing blunder or lapse of good manners.

It was not part of the paper’s scathing review of the show itself (which, despite the enthusiasm of the audience, was deemed “A colossal failure, sure to fold in a week, what were they thinking?” by the Times’s chief theater critic, who had never been wrong about such things—although, to be fair, the critic also wrote that “some unexpectedly fine acting in the second half was not enough to salvage this barnacle-encrusted wreck of a show”).

No, the scandale du jour was reported on the Times society page, which, after a few lines speculating about why the King of Belgium was a no-show, devoted the rest of the column to mocking the tasteless garb worn to the premiere by one Lady Constance Ashton.

“What I fail to understand is how the Incorrigible children could behave so abominably, and yet all they care to criticize is my outfit!”

“And this: ‘Lady Ashton’s pirate getup was so gauche as to be illegal; quick, somebody, throw her in the brig!’

None of the date cancelers was so bold as to pin it on the eye patch, but the message was clear: Because of a single, rhinestone-studded faux pas, overnight Lady Constance had become a “social pariah,” which is to say, the sort of person absolutely no one who cared deeply about being popular would have anything to do with.

“Paupers! Pirates! What a dreadful place London is. Wild horses could not induce me to return to this inhospitable city—Mrs. Clarke!”

“Paupers! Pirates! What a dreadful place London is. Wild horses could not induce me to return to this inhospitable city—Mrs. Clarke!”

Somehow, the sight of those stoic palace guards made her buck up a bit, with their imperturbable faces and brave fur hats.

Somehow, the sight of those stoic palace guards made her buck up a bit, with their imperturbable faces and brave fur hats.

Later, after all their things were packed for the morning train and the Incorrigibles were put to bed, Penelope took out her favorite poetry book and read:
“I wander through the meadows green,
Made happy by the verdant scene.”

I have instructed the palace guard to put a quick end to any further attempts to exploit this charitable service.

I will be sure to seek out graduates of your alma mater should the palace ever require additional staff to care for the princes and princesses.

Just like the North Star and all its whirling, starry brethren, a person’s idea of where “home” is remains in perpetual motion, one’s whole life long.