The Mysterious Howling
Page 17
Penelope signed her name and then blew on the ink to dry it before folding the letter and addressing it for the post. During the letter writing Cassiopeia had taken out her doll-sized combs and brushes and amused herself by playing with Penelope’s hair, as little girls so dearly like to do, even to this very day.
“Lumawoo hair, pretty, look.”
“I am not in the habit of gazing into mirrors for entertainment,” Penelope said distractedly. But she was secretly pleased by the compliment. With all the hullabaloo of getting ready for the party, she had never had time to apply the herbal poultice Miss Mortimer had sent to her, but even without it she noticed how her hair seemed to be remaining in good health—perhaps it had even acquired a bit more shine in the last week or so. No doubt the abundant food at Ashton Place and fresh country air agreed with her.
“Look,” Cassiopeia said again, as she brushed Penelope’s hair down its full length, now about halfway down her back. “Apples.” Apples was her current word for all things reddish. “Cassawoof apples, Lumawoo apples,” she repeated.
Before Penelope could see what on earth the girl meant, Cassiopeia pulled a lock of her own auburn hair loose from its ribbon, laid it next to a lock of her teacher’s, and draped them forward over Penelope’s shoulder, where they could both see them intermingled. The color was identical.
“Apples,” Cassiopeia said, delighted with the discovery. “Same apples!”
“Silly girl,” Penelope said fondly, as she quickly twisted her hair back into its customary bun. “It is just a trick of the light I am sure. Now, let us read another chapter of A New Friend for Rainbow—but this time I expect you to follow along. It is time you began learning to read for yourself. . . .”
And, with little Nutsawoo nestled in Cassiopeia’s lap (for he too seemed to enjoy a good story), that is just what they did.
To Be Continued . . .
Acknowledgments
Abundant thanks to my agent, Elizabeth Kaplan, who would make a superb governess, and to my remarkable editor, Donna Bray, who loves Jane Eyre as much as I do. They are both Swanburne girls, through and through, and I am lucky to know them.
Thanks to Alessandra Balzer, Ruta Rimas, and all the excellent people at Balzer & Bray and HarperCollins Children’s Books for their support and enthusiasm. I’m especially grateful for the attentive copyediting by Kathryn Silsand and Kimberly Craskey. Special thanks to Melissa Sarver at the Elizabeth Kaplan Literary Agency for her smarts, good cheer, and unfailing professionalism.
Squealing fangirl thanks to Jon Klassen, whose illustrations are so marvelous they make me want to howl with joy.
I salute and thank the many faithful family members and friends whose patient and supportive energies help keep this writer from slipping too far down the slope, especially Beatrix, Harry, Laury, Mana, Andrew, Joe, and of course, Bob. Lil’ the dog deserves a nod also, and a scratch behind the ears.
Sincere thanks to Professor Michael Oil for his useful comments, especially regarding the work of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Portions of the book were written and revised during several delightful residencies at the Lasagna Cottage Writer’s Sanctuary and Snack Shack; for this I am deeply grateful. (To my fellow authors: do not endeavor to apply for this residency; it is offered by invitation only and, frankly, there is not much room at the cottage. However, the lasagna is delicious.)
Maryrose Wood
April 17, 2009
EXTRAS
The Collected Wisdom of Agatha Swanburne
A Sneak Peek at the Second Book in the Series, The HIDDEN GALLERY
THE COLLECTED WISDOM OF
AGATHA SWANBURNE,
Founder of the Swanburne Academy for Poor Bright Females
There is no alarm clock like embarrassment.
All books are judged by their covers until they are read.
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.
A well-organized stocking drawer is the first step toward a well-organized mind.
The best way to find out how fast a horse can run is to smack it on the rump.
No hopeless case is truly without hope.
If it were easy to resist, it would not be called chocolate cake.
When the impossible becomes merely difficult, that’s when you know you’ve won.
Doing your best is the best you can do.
And one from Miss Penelope Lumley:
There is no need to carry yesterday’s fears and disappointments into a brand-new day.
Excerpt from
The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place:
Book II: The Hidden Gallery
A Sneak Peek at Book Two,
The HIDDEN GALLERY
PENELOPE CLOSED HER EYES, for she felt suddenly drowsy. “New things become familiar with time, and familiar things become strange. It is very curious and”—yawn—“tiring to think of.”
Already the train was having its inevitable nap-inducing effect. The three Incorrigibles were out cold, nestled in a heap on the seat, and Penelope was ready to follow their example. As the train wheels clickity-clacked along, Penelope’s head slowly leaned back against the seat. Her eyelids grew heavy until finally they fluttered closed.
The copy of Hixby’s Guide began to slip from her loosening grasp. Now it lay in her lap, jostled back and forth with every lurch of the train. From there it would soon fall to the floor with a thud—
Grrrrrrrrrrr!
Penelope startled awake to behold a most unexpected scene, in which all three Incorrigibles played prominent roles. Alexander’s teeth were bared to the molars. Beowulf was growling like a mad thing, and Cassiopeia’s jaws were locked on to the sleeve of a man in a long black coat, who was trying unsuccessfully to shake her off.
“I beeg yer pardon!” the man said heatedly. “Miss, could you call uff your cheeldren? The gurl is aboot to draw blood.” His accent was hard to place.
“Children, whatever is going on?” Penelope cried.
“Man steal book,” Alexander said in a fierce, low voice. His eyes were fixed on the intruder. The fellow was tall and rotund, with a misshapen nose and a hat pulled low over his eyes.
Penelope glanced down at her lap. Her Hixby’s Guide was gone. Frantically she looked around the seat and floor. Then her eyes traveled upward to the man’s arm, still held fast by Cassiopeia’s teeth buried in the coat sleeve. The book dangled between his fingers.
“I will take that back, thank you,” she said curtly, snatching the book away.
“It was falling to the floor, miss. I only mint to kitch it and put it on the zeet next to you while you sleeped,” he said in his inscrutable accent. “The flur is so dirty and demp, it would be have been rooned.”
“Thank you kindly for your trouble.” Out of the corner of her eye Penelope noted that the children were still on high alert. What animal instincts did they have, she wondered, that made them know when danger was present?
“Is ridikalus book in any case,” the man pressed on. “Full of mistikes and out of deet. If you like, I will geev you my copy of Parson’s Pictorial Pamphlet Depicting the City of London and Environs, Second Edition, and tek this worthless tome off your hends.”
“A moment ago you were afraid it would be ruined. Now you say it is worthless. I find your arguments somewhat contradictory.” Penelope smiled in a way that was not at all friendly; it was a trick she had learned from Lady Constance but had never before had reason to use. “I thank you again for your trouble. Good day.”
“Good day,” Alexander repeated through bared teeth; as a result the phrase, while socially useful, was not very well pronounced.
“Grrrrrrr day,” said Beowulf, most unpleasantly.
“Let go of the man’s sleeve, dear,” Penelope instructed. Cassiopeia obeyed with reluctance. There was a small rip and a half-moon-shaped wet spot in the fabric where her mouth had been. Under different, friend
lier circumstances Penelope might have offered to have the coat mended, but these circumstances were not those. Penelope drew the children close to her and regarded the man with what she hoped was a stern and fearless gaze.
The man lingered briefly, as if he would say more. With a parting glance at the Hixby’s Guide—did Penelope imagine it, or was it a longing, greedy, covetous sort of glance?—he left.
Cassiopeia wiped her mouth on the hem of her dress. A tiny, bright green feather came unstuck from her lips. She held it between two fingers, then blew it into the air. They all watched as the downy tuft wafted hypnotically back and forth, back and forth, until it disappeared under the seat.
“Yukawoo,” Cassiopeia remarked before curling up next to her brothers once more. “Taste like pillows.”
The three children quickly drifted back to sleep. Penelope did not. She remained anxiously alert for the rest of the trip, holding tight to her Hixby’s Guide and ready, frankly, to pounce.
“London, Euston Staaaaaaayshun!”
“Hold hands, children, hold hands!” The passengers stampeded out of the train like a herd of cows that were late for a very important milking appointment. Penelope clutched her carpetbag with one hand and Alexander’s sweaty fingers with the other. Alexander held tightly to Cassiopeia, and Cassiopeia held just as tightly to Beowulf. In this white-knuckled way, the three groggy children and their nervous governess snaked through the crowd, searching for an exit.
Penelope could not help trying to catch a glimpse of the strange man who had tried to steal her Hixby’s Guide. She did not see him, but in such a large crowd it would have been nearly impossible to find anyone. The thought made her squeeze Alexander’s hand so tightly that he yelped.
“It was an unpleasant incident, nothing more,” she thought bravely. “I ought not to make too much of it, for pickpockets and rogues are a commonplace in London. We must stay on our toes, that is all.”
With that settled, Penelope turned her attention to a more immediate concern: finding her way to Number Twelve Muffinshire Lane, which was the address of the house Lord Fredrick had rented. She knew that London was a large, bustling, and confusing city, and that one wrong turn might send them wandering down dark cobblestone streets that dead-ended at smelly slaughterhouses and riverfront establishments of ill repute. However, there was a foldout map in the back of her guidebook, and the children were skilled trackers—at least when in a forest.
Once the foursome had elbowed their way out of the station, Penelope tried to get her bearings by holding the map open and spinning it ’round until it resembled the maze of streets that crisscrossed before her. The sidewalks outside Euston Station were even more crowded than the interior of the station had been. Passersby jostled Penelope this way and that, making it difficult to keep the book open to the correct page. Not only that, but the foldout map was so charmingly decorated with pretty alpine meadows, it was impossible to read the street names.
“Excuse me,” Alexander said pointedly as people kept bumping into them and pushing past, often while making rude remarks. “Pardon me. I beg your pardon.”
“I quite agree, Alexander,” Penelope said, making a final, futile effort to read the map before putting it away. “There is a distinct lack of good manners on display—yet there is no need to growl quite so loudly, Beowulf. Someone might take it the wrong way.”
Penelope was still not entirely sure in which direction they needed to go. Herding the Incorrigibles before her, she moved toward the nearest intersection. Omnibuses hurtled down the street at alarming speed, and a line of hansom cabs waited at the curb. The drivers prowled the sidewalk, angling for customers.
“Need a cab, miss?”
“Where ya going, miss?’
“Give ya a lift, miss? Half fare for the children.”
Penelope thought she might have enough money in her purse to pay for a cab, although she had no idea how much they charged, as she had never taken one before. But the drivers seemed somehow menacing to her, with their fake friendliness and huckstering offers of a ride. Perhaps it was some lingering disquiet from that unpleasant incident on the train; she found herself backing away from the line of hansom cabs and clutching the children even more tightly than before.
“We shall walk,” Penelope announced to the Incorrigibles. “I am sure it cannot be very far to Muffinshire Lane. And there will be so many interesting sights along the way.”
At that moment a gusty wind kicked up and nearly blew the four of them in front of a speeding omnibus. Penelope waited until the wind died down before continuing, this time with one hand holding on to her hat. “As Agatha Swanburne once said, ‘Assuming that one is on dry land, the best way to see the sights is on foot. Otherwise, use a canoe.’ Come along, children.”
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About the Author and Illustrator
MARYROSE WOOD is the author of five books (so far!) in this continuing series about the Incorrigible children and their governess. Maryrose’s other qualifications for writing these tales include a scandalous stint as a professional thespian, many years as a private governess to two curious and occasionally rambunctious pupils, and whatever literary insights she may have gleaned from living in close proximity to a clever but disobedient dog. You can visit her online at www.maryrosewood.com.
JON KLASSEN grew up in Niagara Falls, Canada, and now lives in Los Angeles, California. He is the Caldecott Award–winning author and illustrator of I Want My Hat Back and This Is Not My Hat, as well as the illustrator of Sam and Dave Dig a Hole and Extra Yarn by Mac Barnett; The Dark by Lemony Snicket; House Held Up by Trees by Ted Kooser; Cats’ Night Out by Caroline Stutson; and the first three books in the Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place series. You can visit him online at www.burstofbeaden.com.
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Praise for The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place
“It’s the best beginning since The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket and will leave readers howling for the next episode.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“How hearty and delicious. Smartly written with a middle-grade audience in mind, this is both fun and funny and sprinkled with dollops of wisdom (thank you, Agatha Swanburne). How will it all turn out? Appetites whetted.”
—ALA Booklist (starred review)
“With a Snicketesque affect, Wood’s narrative propels the drama. Pervasive humor and unanswered questions should have readers begging for more.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Jane Eyre meets Lemony Snicket in this smart, surprising satire of a nineteenth-century English governess story. Humorous antics and a climactic cliff-hanger ending will keep children turning pages and clamoring for the next volume, while more sophisticated readers will take away much more. Frequent plate-sized illustrations add wit and period flair.”
—School Library Journal (starred review)
Books by Maryrose Wood
THE INCORRIGIBLE CHILDREN OF ASHTON PLACE
Book 1: The Mysterious Howling
Book 2: The Hidden Gallery
Book 3: The Unseen Guest
Book 4: The Interrupted Tale
Book 5: The Unmapped Sea
Credits
Cover art © 2015 by Eliza Wheeler
Cover design by Dana Fritts
Copyright
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE INCORRIGIBLE CHILDREN OF ASHTON PLACE BOOK 1: THE MYSTERIOUS HOWLING. Text copyright © 2010 by Maryrose Wood. Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Jon Klassen. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether
electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data.
Wood, Maryrose.
The mysterious howling / by Maryrose Wood ; illustrated by Jon Klassen. — 1st ed.
p. cm. — (The incorrigible children of Ashton Place ; bk. 1)
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Miss Penelope Lumley, a recent graduate of the Swanburne Academy for Poor Bright Females, is hired as governess to three young children who have been raised by wolves and must teach them to behave in a civilized manner quickly, in preparation for a Christmas ball.
ISBN 978-0-06-236693-1 (pbk.)
EPub Edition © April 2015 ISBN 9780061986659
[1. Governesses—Fiction. 2. Feral children—Fiction. 3. Orphans—Fiction. 4. Balls (Parties)—Fiction. 5. Christmas—Fiction.] I. Klassen, J., ill. II. Title.
PZ7.W8524Mys 2010 2009024256
[Fic]—dc22
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15 16 17 18 19 CG/OPM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Revised paperback edition, 2015
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