ICAP 1 - The Mysterious Howling

by Wood, Maryrose

  “A ‘shot or two’—you mean, at the children?” The queasy feeling in Penelope’s tummy was growing worse, and she wished she had something safe and familiar to hold: her poetry book, perhaps, or the small pillow cross-stitched with one of Agatha Swanburne’s sayings—“Complaining Doesn’t Butter the Biscuit”—that her school friend Cecily had made in sewing class and given her for a birthday present two years before.

  “I can’t see for toffee at distances, I’m afraid,” Lord Fredrick confessed, although he did not sound the least bit apologetic. “I can read the newspaper as well as the next man, if I hold it close, but more than twelve paces away and your guess is as good as mine.”

  “And yet you have managed to…” Penelope paused, not knowing a delicate way to say “heartlessly slaughter these many dozens of animals,” so instead she waved a hand vaguely around the study at all of the stuffed, staring heads.

  “The woods are full of life, Miss Lumley.” Lord Fredrick made a swooping gesture with his cigar, leaving trails of smoke in the air. “If you listen for a rustling in the leaves and shoot at it, you’re bound to hit something sooner or later. How was I to know there were children living in the forest? On my own estate! It’s most irregular.”

  The smoke made her eyes water and her throat burn, but she was determined not to cough. “And then?”

  “Old Timothy always has a rope with him. He’s used it in the past to tie up bigger game, like this elk here, and have the dogs drag it home. It was quick work to lasso the children and haul them back to the house. Although I shall not soon forget the racket they made! I was tempted to leave them behind more than once.”

  Penelope bit her tongue and waited for Lord Fredrick to finish.

  “We herded them into the barn. My wife was rather upset, of course, but had the sense to place an advertisement for governess straightaway—and you know the rest. They’re filthy and uncivilized, to be sure, but on the plus side you’ve got a blank canvas to work with.” Lord Ashton tapped more ash off his cigar. “I’ve read your letter of recommendation. Surely a girl of your talents will thrive on the challenge, what?”

  “If I am given permission to manage them as I see fit, I have no doubt that their better natures will prevail,” Penelope answered rather boldly. “However, at this very moment, they are still locked in the barn wearing nothing but blankets, and Lady Constance has not yet given me leave to move them into the nursery.”

  “‘As you see fit,’ what is meant by that? Ah, you are concerned about my wife’s feelings, is that it? Now, Miss—Lumley, is it?—I realize that Constance is rather high-strung about all this, but I assure you, as soon as they can say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and perform some simple tricks, her maternal nature will blossom like a rose. She’ll feel calmer about it in the morning. For tonight, let things stay as they are. There’ll be less trouble that way all around.”

  “But sir,” Penelope pressed, “children should sleep in beds, in clean pajamas, and have bedtime books read aloud—”

  “After years of living in the wild, one more night in a barn won’t kill ’em.” Lord Fredrick pushed his chair back in a way that made it clear: The conversation was finished—Penelope’s side of it, anyway. “You can read stories to ’em in the nursery tomorrow, assuming they don’t have fleas, of course. Remember, Miss Lumley, they were found on my property and that means I can do with ’em as I please. Finders keepers, what? Here, look: I have chosen names for all three.” He took a small note card out of his vest pocket and handed it to Penelope. “See that they learn to answer to these. It is very tedious to say ‘Hey, boy!’ or ‘Hey, girl!’ and get no reaction. Even my hounds can come when called.”

  “As you wish.” Penelope took the card from him without bothering to look at it, since her eyes were suddenly blurry with tears, and this time not from the smoke. “It shall be our very first lesson.”

  BY THE TIME PENELOPE had made her way back to the barn carrying a basket full of fresh-baked plum cakes and a large pitcher of milk, the sun had already dipped far below the horizon. With no daylight to illuminate its interior the barn was quite dim, and yet with so much dry hay scattered everywhere, Penelope was afraid to light a candle. The children seemed perfectly comfortable in the dark, though, and at the smell of the cakes, they gathered close to their new governess without a trace of fear.

  Penelope had brought three tin cups from the kitchen and poured each full of milk to wash down the cakes. The children lapped at the milk like puppies and sniffed at the cakes for a long time before deciding to eat them. Penelope demonstrated what to do, and soon their faces were covered with cake crumbs and milk mustaches. If not for the wild, squirrels’ nests of hair, lack of clothes, and overall unwashed condition, they would have looked practically childlike.

  Penelope hated to let them eat with such grubby hands, but “First things first,” she said aloud. “Tonight we must make friends and grow used to one another. Tomorrow we can think about giving baths.”

  The children looked at her quizzically, tipping their heads from side to side in a way that reminded Penelope of a cocker spaniel she had once seen staring at itself in a mirror. Then she remembered the card from Lord Ashton, still unread in her apron pocket.

  “The three of you are now the wards of Lord Fredrick Ashton, and in his capacity as master of the household, he has chosen names for you.” She slipped the card out and read. “You,” she said, looking at the eldest boy, “are to be called Alexander. Can you say it? Alexander,” she pronounced again, clearly.

  “Alawoooooo,” he repeated.

  “Very good!” She glanced at the card. “It says here, you are named after ‘Alexander the Great, the legendary commander who mercilessly conquered the Persian Empire and was said to drink too much wine.’ Hmm. That is an odd choice.”

  “Alawooooo!” he said again, with feeling.

  “As for you,” she said, turning to the smaller boy, “you are to be called Beowulf. ‘Beowulf was a fearless warrior of old, who slew monsters and dragons until he met a bloody and violent end.’ A most unsavory namesake, in my opinion, but that is what Lord Ashton has written here. Can you say Beowulf?”

  “Beowoooooo,” the boy said proudly.

  “Excellent,” Penelope praised. “And now for our littlest pupil. Heavens! It appears that Lord Ashton has named you—well, let me read it. ‘Cassiopeia, after the vain and arrogant queen of the ancient Greeks who tried to sacrifice her own daughter to the sea gods.’ How dreadful! But it will have to do.” She was about to ask the little girl to repeat her name, but the clever child had been watching the other two and beat Penelope to the task.

  “Cassawoof!” she yelped. “Woof! Woof!”

  “That is good enough for now.” Penelope sighed. The names were very ill-chosen in her opinion. For one thing, Cassiopeia was quite impossible to spell.

  “Tomorrow we will begin our lessons, children,” she said, putting away the card. “And take baths. But now we must go to sleep. Good night, Alexander. Pleasant dreams, Beowulf. Sleep well, Cassiopeia.”

  Then, since Penelope knew the best way to teach anybody anything was by setting a good example, she lay down in the hay and closed her eyes. Immediately, the children piled up against her like a litter of puppies and did the same. In that way, the four of them stayed quite cozy, the whole night long.

  THE FIFTH CHAPTER

  A difficulty with trousers is soon resolved.

  AS YOU PROBABLY KNOW from personal experience, there are children who love to take baths, and there are children who absolutely do not. It took some trial and error, but Penelope soon discovered that Alexander would get in the tub only if the water was quite cool and perfectly still. Cassiopeia preferred hot water but was frightened of the soap. Once in, Beowulf could hardly be pried out of the bath; he would have soaked all day if permitted.

  “This is not a Russian spa, where we can lay about and take the waters all day long,” Penelope said to him, cheerfully but firmly. “We have les
sons to do, and—the dress goes on frontward, Cassiopeia, arms through the holes, but please dry off first—and the sooner we get started, the better!” Soon Beowulf was out of the tub and wrapped in a thick towel, like the others.

  It was a new day, and Penelope had taken Lord Fredrick’s words to heart—as far as she was concerned the previous night would be the last one these three children would spend anywhere but in a bright, tidy nursery, with plenty of toy soldiers, a miniature china tea set, and a copy of A Child’s History of England near at hand.

  Penelope had smiled ear to ear to find a supply of child-sized clothing, washed and pressed, in a basket by the barn door at sunrise, with a note that read: “For the three ‘Silkies,’ from your friend, Mrs. C.” But she was quite determined that the children must follow her to the house and wash up before they could dream of putting on clean clothes. By means of much gentle cooing and calling of “Here, children! Follow Miss Lumley! Keep your blankets around you, come, come!” she had been able to accomplish the journey from barn to bathtub without difficulty, except for a good deal of barking and scuffling along the way and one small incident when Alexander chased a squirrel halfway up a tree and had to be lured back down with treats.

  “That Mrs. Clarke,” Penelope thought with gratitude, as she tugged the dress over Cassiopeia’s freshly shampooed head. “Although excitable and in need of calisthenics, she is also warmhearted and efficient. She would have had the makings of a Swanburne girl, given the right training and encouragement. Well, it is never too late to improve oneself!”

  Meanwhile, the noise made by the plumbing and the sight of the water gurgling down the drain was a source of fascination to the boys. “It drains clockwise, as it always does in the northern hemisphere. That is known as the Coriolis effect,” Penelope noted. The children stared at her blankly, and she sighed. “But we will continue our studies of the earth’s rotation at another time. Now, gentlemen, it is time to put on your clothes.”

  She spoke with some trepidation, due to the fact that Penelope had lived most of her life in an all-girls’ school and had as little knowledge of how to fasten boys’ trousers as Alexander and Beowulf. The bathroom, as was the style in very wealthy houses of those days, was a large room with a separate screened dressing area. Hoping for the best, Penelope handed their clothes to the two boys and indicated that they should go behind the screen and put them on as best they could.

  Of course, she reasoned as she waited, if they needed a male instructor in this urgent matter of the trousers, Mrs. Clarke could send up that young Jasper fellow who had carried her trunk upstairs so capably. “Perhaps I ought to call for him now,” she thought. “This does seem to be taking a long time.”

  She took a step nearer to the screen and inquired, “Alexander? Beowulf? Are you almost dressed?”

  “Alawooooo” came from behind the screen.

  “Beowooooo” followed immediately after.

  “Cassawoof!” Cassiopeia barked obligingly from the loveseat on the other side of the room. She had one woolen stocking pulled halfway up her arm and was flapping it around with delight.

  “That is a marvelous display of your skill at introducing yourselves, children,” Penelope said, “yet I am curious to know how the pants are coming along. Show me the pants, boys, if you please!”

  Alexander and Beowulf stepped out from behind the screen, grinning foolishly and pushing each other in front. Beowulf had put his arms through the pant legs and had a shirt tied loosely around his waist. Alexander’s pants were on his legs, but inverted, with his feet stuck through the bottom ends of the trousers and the waistband encircling his ankles.

  Alexander and Beowulf stepped out from behind the screen…

  Cassiopeia burst into fits of laughter while Penelope, eyes modestly shielded with one hand, walked across the room to give the bellpull a tug. “What a good beginning that is, boys!” she said encouragingly. “Now I am going to ask Mrs. Clarke to summon our friend Jasper. He can show you some of the refinements of gentlemen’s dress, in case we should ever want to go out in public—oh, Mrs. Clarke! You are very quick.”

  “I was just bringing up fresh towels and heard the bell.” She leaned close to Penelope and whispered in her ear. “How did you ever get them to follow you inside the house? A week ago they had to be dragged into the barn with a rope!”

  “A week ago they were being hunted with a rifle and were frightened out of their wits,” Penelope replied hotly. “They are no different from any other strays—I mean, children. They will follow anyone who feeds them and is kind. Many thanks for the clothes,” she added. “The ‘Silkies’ have been washed and currycombed, and I think you will find their appearances much improved.”

  Mrs. Clarke stuck her head in the bathroom to see this remarkable sight. Instead, she got an eyeful of the inventive and somewhat revealing outfits fashioned by the boys.

  “Pardon me!” she shrieked, clapping her hand over her eyes. Her sudden outburst caused the children to whimper in fear and hide behind the bathtub.

  “Now, now,” Penelope said soothingly. “Mrs. Clarke, I was just going to ask you to send that boy Jasper up, so he could demonstrate to these young gentlemen the correct technique for getting their trousers on.”

  “I’ll have him come in at once,” Mrs. Clarke said, fanning herself. “Dear me! Shall I have tea brought up? They look—thirsty.”

  The children had now calmed themselves and were lapping water out of the faucet with their tongues.

  Penelope considered the housekeeper’s request. “For the time being, the children and I will take our meals in the nursery. And, Mrs. Clarke, if you could put the children’s milk in small saucers instead of cups, it would be most appreciated.”

  THE NURSERY WAS A SUITE of sunny rooms on the third floor of the house, where the children would be “safely out of the way,” as Mrs. Clarke put it. There was a night nursery, where the children would sleep (under normal circumstances, a boy of Alexander’s age would have been old enough to have his own room, but the children seemed inseparable, and given their unusual background, Penelope thought it unwise to try to pry them apart). The adjoining day nursery was where they would eat, play, and do their lessons.

  The children seemed to take their new home in stride. They had nothing to compare it to, and in any case their attention was fully taken up with the novelty of being clothed. Beowulf and Cassiopeia marched behind Alexander in a comical parade, crossing back and forth in front of the dressing mirror and then darting around the back in an attempt catch the elusive, wild-haired children who seemed to live behind it.

  But the bright, spacious nursery, with its well-stocked classroom and large chest of never-used toys, struck Penelope as almost too splendid, and she wondered if she would ever grow accustomed to it. Of course she had always felt fortunate to attend a school where the girls were treated kindly and fairly and provided with a well-rounded education, rather than just the usual domestic subjects (although, really, everyone ought to know how to stitch on a button, and that will be true as long as there are buttons to pop off). The fact that Swanburne girls dressed plainly, ate simply, and were unspoiled by luxuries merely made the true riches of Penelope’s upbringing all the more evident to her.

  It would have been pleasant to have parents, of course, or at least parents whom she could more clearly recall. Penelope had been scarcely four years old when she was delivered to Swanburne’s doorstep, for reasons that had never been made clear. She recalled being told about a mother and father who needed to take a long, dangerous journey and would someday return for her—or perhaps that was something she had read in a book. It was hard to be sure after so many years, and she had no one to ask. But there was always Miss Mortimer, who was like a mother to the girls; all in all, Penelope felt her lot in life had been rather lucky. Seeing these three waifs in their cast-off state broke her heart a little. She was glad that their days in the forest were now over, and there was now a chance to make up for what had been lost.
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  “If I can provide them with a fraction of the steady care that Swanburne and Miss Mortimer have given me, then all will be well,” she thought, before blurting: “Dear me, Cassiopeia, mind your dress! I realize it may be faster to go on all fours, but I think you will find your stockings will last longer at the knee if you walk upright. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

  THE TEACHERS AT SWANBURNE were firm believers in the prompt writing of thank-you notes, and despite all the excitement of her new responsibilities, Penelope was determined to get a letter of appreciation in the post to Miss Charlotte Mortimer that very day. After all, if not for Miss Mortimer’s finding the advertisement, being so firm and encouraging about Penelope’s application for the job, and then writing such a heartfelt letter of recommendation—why, Miss Penelope Lumley would not be a governess at all! She began the letter by thanking her former headmistress profusely, and then went on:

  As for my three pupils: They are Alexander, Beowulf, and Cassiopea Cassiopia Cassiopeia (Forgive the inkblots! The name is new to me and will require practice). Because of their canine habits and tendency to howl, it is believed that they were raised by wolves. This is to my advantage in some respects, since I have always got on famously with dogs. I shall write Dr. Westminster separately to thank him; his animal training techniques have so far proven invaluable.

  After addressing the basics of personal hygiene this morning, we attempted our first real lesson, which comprised going ’round the nursery and naming common objects (in English for now; I must put off French and Latin for a short while, until the children are more used to life indoors). They do not seem to speak any language other than barking, howling, and some strange guttural noises they use among themselves. But they are clever mimics, and I have no doubt that they will soon be prattling away.