ICAP 2 - The Hidden Gallery

by Wood, Maryrose

  “My sense of smell may not be up to the job, but my hearing is as keen as an owl’s,” Penelope thought, still riding blindly. “I hear voices shouting, a sharp crack of the whip, horses neighing in protest, the clatter of hooves, the skid of carriage wheels, the Incorrigibles calling, ‘Lumawoo’—whoops!”

  “Lumawoo! Lumawoo!”

  “Whoa! Whoa, I say!”

  “Easy, Rainbow,” Penelope cried, for the velocipede seemed to be rearing up in alarm. It skidded out from under her; the next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the cobblestones of Muffinshire Lane.

  The elephants would have to wait. She opened her eyes and found herself face-to-face with the tall spoked wheel of a luxurious town coach, which had come to a sudden stop not three feet from where she lay. Looking in the other direction, she saw that the coach was pulled by four spirited, pure black Andalusians. The elegant carriage was the same midnight shade as the horses, so richly polished it gleamed in the sun.

  The coachman stared down at her. Beads of sweat studded his forehead. His hands were still white-knuckled from hauling back on the reins.

  “What were you thinking, miss?” he scolded. “Taking some sort of a joy ride? You nearly killed us all, there!”

  Four long, dark horse faces, with their rubbery lips and swiveling ears, and annoyed expressions in their long-lashed eyes, also turned ’round to look at her, snorting and huffing as if to say, “Neigh, neigh! Why don’t you look where you’re going, Miss Two Legs? And get a real pony while you’re at it. That dandy-horse contraption is perfectly ridiculous!”

  “Miss Two Legs? Why, that is not a very polite form of address,” Penelope mumbled in reply. Understand that she was more than a little disoriented, for she had taken quite a tumble.

  “Lumawoo! Lumahwooooooooo!” The three Incorrigible children howled her name from someplace close by. A high, squeaking sound accompanied them; it might have been Margaret’s voice, but in Penelope’s mind it sounded more like the chirruping of a worried Nutsawoo.

  “Say! Are you all right, Miss Lumley?” A familiar and perfectly nice young face, waves of brown hair, finely formed features, gleam of genius and all, gazed down at her and extended a hand.

  Now she was quite sure she must have a concussion. For here was Simon Harley-Dickinson gently helping her to her feet, and the Incorrigibles, their faces grubby and hands sticky from candy, clambering out of the town coach and crowding anxiously around her. Beowulf clutched a balloon on a string, and all three children smelled, frankly, like elephants.

  “Simon? I mean, Mr. Harley-Dickinson, of course. Forgive me, I am still a bit flustered from the fall….” Penelope blinked, and blinked again. Muffinshire Lane was whirling like a top, but the children hugged her so hard she could not have toppled over again if she wanted to, which, naturally, she did not.

  “Say, that’s some set of wheels you have there, Miss Lumley!” Simon grinned from ear to ear.

  Penelope hid her embarrassment by vigorously brushing the dirt off her tangled skirt. “What, the velocipede?” she said offhandedly. “It is perfectly easy, once you get the knack.” She looked around once more. Her head was beginning to clear, and the street had stopped spinning. Only then did the import of the situation dawn on her fully. “But—wait!” She turned to the Incorrigibles. “I thought you were at the zoo! In fact, I was just on my way to find you there. I was afraid something dreadful might have happened.”

  The children only giggled and took turns batting at Beowulf’s balloon. Penelope hid her enormous relief by sounding cross. “Alexander! Beowulf! Cassiopeia! I would like an explanation, please. What were you doing, riding in this magnificent carriage? And to whom does it belong? I am quite sure I have told you never to accept rides from strangers—or if I have not, I should have, and will do so frequently from this point forward.”

  “But I am not a stranger, of course.” A tall, middle-aged man swung gracefully out of the carriage. He, too, was dressed in black, and his hair was as dark as the quartet of horsetails that were now impatiently whipping about. “We were at the zoo, Miss Lumley, and we are just on our way back. The carriage is mine. I am glad you find it pleasing.”

  That voice! It was rich, powerful—and familiar. She would have recognized it even with her eyes closed, but there could be no mistaking the imposing, black-clad figure who stood before her.

  It was Judge Quinzy. She remembered him vividly from the holiday ball at Ashton Place. She had met many of Lord Fredrick’s powerful friends that night, and frankly she did not care for any of them; she found them stuck-up and rude. The men in particular had showed a fixation on hunting animals that, in Penelope’s worst imaginings, nearly threatened to encompass the “wild wolf children” Lord Fredrick had bragged about finding on his property. Judge Quinzy had been the only one who had shown a more human interest in Penelope, and in the Incorrigibles. Oddly, that made her like him the least of all.

  “Judge Quinzy! I beg your pardon.” She gave a quick curtsy, and almost lost her balance.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Lumley.” He smiled. “What a splendid day we had! Didn’t we, children?”

  They children nodded in agreement. Instinctively, Penelope put a protective arm around her three pupils. “Forgive my rudeness, Your Honor, but I am confused. How did you come to take the children to the zoo?”

  “A happy accident,” he answered with a shrug. “When I heard that my dear friends the Ashtons were in residence in London, I came by to pay a call. But when I arrived, Lady Ashton was at the hairdresser, and Lord Ashton had not yet arrived. However, this charming young lady”—at which Margaret giggled shrilly—“was entertaining the children near the front door. They were quite impossible to miss.”

  “We were playing at ice-skating, Miss,” Margaret squeaked in explanation. “The floor’s rather slippery there, I’m afraid.”

  “Naturally, my first thought was of you, Miss Lumley,” the judge went on. “At once I inquired if you were still employed by the Ashtons—I would have been sorely disappointed if you were not, for you know how impressed I was by your three pupils when I met them at Christmas. But Margaret told me the children were only in her care for the afternoon, for you had gone to have lunch with a friend. I do hope it was a pleasant rendezvous,” he added, smooth as silk.

  “It was, Your Honor,” she said, but inside she was seething. How dare he insinuate anything of that sort! And with Simon standing right there!

  Judge Quinzy gestured behind him. “My carriage is large, as you see. And it seemed too fine a day to stay indoors skating around the floor in one’s stocking feet, don’t you agree?” The children demonstrated their skating techniques, and Judge Quinzy chuckled warmly.

  “His Honor even said I should take the afternoon off and enjoy myself while he took the children to the zoo, and he’d square it with Lady Ashton personally, but I’d given my word to watch the three young’uns, so I wouldn’t dream of it,” Margaret said proudly. “But I do wish you’d been with us, Miss Lumley. I’ve never been to a zoo park before! It was more fun than—well, a barrel of monkeys. We left a note in the mail tray for you, hoping you’d come.”

  “I arrived just as the children were climbing aboard this noble coach of polished ebony, if you don’t mind the poetical language. My muse seems to be back in full force.” To Penelope, Simon quietly added, “I got your letter about that Gypsy fortune-teller. A strange business! I came straight over.”

  Penelope thought she saw Judge Quinzy’s right eyebrow arch momentarily, but he quickly composed himself. “The children were so delighted to see Mr. Harley-Dickinson, naturally I invited him to join our expedition,” the judge explained.

  Perhaps she was still discombobulated from the fall, but Penelope had a nagging sense that Judge Quinzy’s tale did not quite add up. “What an exciting day you had, children,” she said briskly as she looked each child over in turn. “You will have to tell me all about it—after you take your baths, that is,” she said, crinklin
g her nose, for the elephant smell was really quite pronounced.

  “Educashawoo,” Alexander agreed. Beowulf was too busy examining the velocipede to comment. Cassiopeia looked up at her governess and laughed. “Messy apples!” she said, indicating Penelope’s head.

  Embarrassed, Penelope reached up to smooth her hair, which had started the day in its usual neat bun, but was now in a state of wind-whipped disarray. “Thank goodness for my hatpin,” she thought as she tucked the loose strands back under her hat, which had miraculously stayed on during her wild velocipede ride. (As Agatha Swanburne once said, “A nice sharp hatpin has many uses; no woman should leave home without one,” but it was a private comment made to a close relative, which explains why Penelope was unfamiliar with the remark.)

  Judge Quinzy looked as if he was about to say something. He did not. However, Penelope felt him watching her with a strange intensity, rendered all the stranger by the way his thick glasses magnified his eyes. It made her self-conscious, and she finished tucking in her hair as quickly as she could.

  “Lumawoo, see. Postcards from zoo!” Cassiopeia announced, waving a fistful of them.

  “My heavens! You have chimpanzees, and panthers, and baboons, and even a hippopotamus. Nutsawoo will be thrilled.” Then Penelope frowned. “Cassiopeia, how did you pay for those?”

  The little girl pointed at Judge Quinzy.

  “Your Honor, I must protest,” Penelope said firmly. “Taking the children to the zoo was already much too generous. You certainly did not have to buy postcards.” Penelope almost added, “for a squirrel,” but stopped herself just in time.

  “Thankawoo,” Cassiopeia said sweetly to the judge. “Thankawoo very much.”

  Judge Quinzy patted her on the head. “You are very welcome, Miss Incorrigible.” He turned to Penelope. “And you are too kind, Miss Lumley. I am not nearly as generous as you believe. You see, a man in my position is expected to busy himself with serious pursuits. It can be rather dull, I’m afraid. I was grateful for the excuse to visit the zoo, since I have no children of my own.”

  Penelope nodded, understanding. And yet, she thought a few moments later, there was something about the way Judge Quinzy helped Beowulf onto the velocipede, and then held on as the boy got his bearings and began to scoot ’round and ’round the carriage, laughing, while the judge clapped his hands and called out phrases of encouragement, that—in her admittedly limited experience of such things—could only be described as fatherly.

  THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER

  In the aftermath of adventure,

  a friendship is forged.

  NOWADAYS, PEOPLE RESORT to all kinds of activities in order to calm themselves after a stressful event: performing yoga poses in a sauna, leaping off bridges while tied to a bungee, killing imaginary zombies with imaginary weapons, and so forth. But in Miss Penelope Lumley’s day, it was universally understood that there is nothing like a nice cup of tea to settle one’s nerves in the aftermath of an adventure—a practice many would find well worth reviving.

  As you might imagine, Penelope was now in sore need of just such a soothing cuppa, and the Incorrigible children were in sore need of baths; truly, the scent of elephants was so distinctive that Mr. Hixby may have had a point, after all. So back to Number Twelve Muffinshire Lane they marched, after bidding Judge Quinzy good day and offering more thanks for his kindness, all of which he grandly waved off.

  Penelope felt she owed a debt to Margaret, too. If not for the young housemaid’s sense of duty—and Simon’s timely arrival, of course—the children might have been whisked off to spend the day alone with Judge Quinzy, an uncomfortable notion at best. It spoke so well of Margaret’s character that Penelope wondered if she, too, had been influenced by the wisdom of Agatha Swanburne somewhere along the way.

  She tried to say as much, but the humble girl just giggled and squeaked, “No need for all that, miss! I was just minding the children, like I said I would. If you’ll pardon me, I’d best get back to work. Mrs. Clarke will be lookin’ for me.” She bobbed a quick curtsy and raced back to the house. Now that Penelope had returned, Margaret would spend the rest of this lovely day cleaning fireplace grates, sweeping carpets, and tending to the whims of her high-strung mistress whenever Lady Constance rang the bell.

  “Poor Margaret,” Penelope thought as she watched the good-hearted girl skitter gracefully away across the cobblestones. “I hope Lady Constance does not scold her for going to the zoo. If she does, it will be my fault for mentioning it. And poor Lady Constance! I wonder if she knows how vexing people find her?”

  Vexing, indeed! Even as she had the thought, Penelope wished she might invite Simon in for tea and a few of the biscuits that the children had begged her to buy at the Charming Little Bakery. (While paying for her purchase, she was saddened, but not wholly surprised, to overhear the baker complaining: Apparently a young boy had stolen two loaves of rye bread and a half dozen sticky buns before making a fast getaway, not twenty minutes earlier.)

  But Penelope knew that if Lady Constance saw her entertaining an actual caller—and a young gentleman, mind you!—there would be no end to the hysteria.

  Instead Penelope and Simon strolled at a leisurely pace, while the children took turns scooting beside them on the velocipede. Cassiopeia was much too small for her feet to reach the ground, so her brothers had to steady her and push her along, but they did not seem to mind.

  Penelope was eager to ask Simon about the fortune-teller, but first she simply had to know what had happened at the zoo, and so she asked him to tell her the story.

  “Really, the children were remarkable,” Simon began as they walked. “I’ve got a soft spot for animals myself—”

  “Do you? So do I!” Penelope knew it was rude to interrupt, but his statement pleased her so greatly that the words burst out of her. She almost added, “Especially for ponies,” but she was not sure whether her exhortations to Rainbow while riding the velocipede had been overheard by Simon, so she omitted that detail for now.

  “You do? Fancy that.” He, too, sounded pleased. “Anyway, I’m usually able to make friends with even the most skittish beasts. Runs in the family. My great-uncle Pudge, the sailor, tells the story of how he cozied up to an albatross once, out at sea—but honestly, the children showed a knack for it the likes of which I’ve never seen. They even helped give some medicine to a sick elephant.”

  At the word “elephant,” the children started galumphing around, laughing and making loud trumpeting noises. Simon looked abashed. “I hope it doesn’t frighten you to hear what happened, Miss Lumley. As you can see, nobody got hurt.” Penelope reassured him, and his voice grew thrillingly dramatic as he told what happened next:

  “When we arrived at the elephant cage, the zoo-keeper was at his wit’s end trying to persuade the ailing pachyderm to take his pill. Before anyone could stop them, the children scrambled over the bars! Beowulf shimmied up the elephant’s trunk to hold it out of the way. Cassiopeia petted his great gray knee to calm the beast, and Alexander calmly took the pill from the zoo-keeper and popped it down the elephant’s gullet, one two three.” The children happily acted out the scene as he described it, using the velocipede as a stand-in for the elephant.

  “Bravo! What an adventure you had! And it also explains the smell. But children, remember, climbing into zoo cages is not something to make a habit of. I hope you will keep that in mind.” Privately, of course, Penelope was very proud of the Incorrigibles for rushing to the aid of a sick animal, for it is just what she would have done, no matter how many iron bars were in the way.

  She waited until the children had scooted out of earshot again before asking, “Mr. Harley-Dickinson, tell me: Did the children show any fright when faced with more familiar, forest-dwelling-type creatures? Bears, for example? Or”—her voice wavered as she said it—“wolves?”

  “Oh, we never saw the Wildlife of Great Britain exhibit. It was closed for repairs,” Simon explained. “Judge Quinzy was keenly disappointed
about that. But we amused ourselves nicely with the giraffes and orangutans and whatnot. The children couldn’t get enough of them. They pointed and laughed as if they’d never seen anything so funny.”

  “How interesting,” Penelope observed to herself. “To the Incorrigible children, these exotic beasts must have been as strange and comical looking as a person in a clown costume would be to the average child.” But to Simon she only said, “It sounds like everyone had a marvelous time.”

  Simon gave her a curious look. “Forgive me for noticing, Miss Lumley, but you don’t seem very surprised by my zoo story. Maybe I’ve got it wrong, but I suspect the average governess would have a conniption fit at the hair-raising tale I’ve just portrayed.” He frowned. “Or perhaps I failed to capture the death-defying drama of it all? I hope my muse hasn’t left me again.”

  Penelope felt her cheeks flush. Even though it seemed as if they had known each other for ages, in reality, her acquaintance with Simon was still so new that she had not yet mentioned the fact that the children had been raised by wolves. Was now an appropriate time? Penelope had read all the etiquette books in the Swanburne library, but she could not recall a rule that applied specifically to this situation.

  “I assure you, Mr. Harley-Dickinson, your zoo story was nothing short of riveting, and I would hear it again in a heartbeat. But the children have a somewhat unusual background,” she said cautiously. “It tends to make them highly skilled with animals. I have observed it myself, and that is why I am not surprised by your tale.”

  “Unusual background?” Simon stopped walking and turned to Penelope. “That’s just what Judge Quinzy said. He’s a curious fellow. Wanted to know all about me, how I’d made your acquaintance, and what I thought of the children. I told him three more clever and charming tykes I’d not had the pleasure of meeting. ‘But what do you make of their unusual background?’ he said. ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘it is unusual; not every child gets to roll around in piles of money like they do at Ashton Place. But as long as that sensible Miss Lumley’s in charge, it shouldn’t completely ruin them.’” Simon grinned. “Hizzoner guffawed nonstop for a minute and a half after that one. Say, what did he mean by it? Were they in the circus?”