Free ICAP 2 - The Hidden Gallery by Maryrose Wood Page A

upset.”
    The children did not look convinced. Penelope was about to explain how a journal is a true record of events, and not a collection of alarming fantasies about sharp-toothed Gypsies with bristly tails—but something in the children’s faces made her stop and ask, “Wait…did something unpleasant happen when I left you alone with that strange woman?”
    â€œThe hunt is on!” the Incorrigibles cried, followed by many urgent howls of “Ahwoooooooooo! Ahwoooooooooo!”
    Penelope stroked the children’s heads and murmured soothing noises. “‘The hunt is on.’ What a thingfo her to say! I should like to ask her what she meant by it,” she thought determinedly. “Perhaps Mr. Harley-Dickinson knows who she is, and how she can be reached; after all, she did frequent his neighborhood. I will write to him at once.”
    Â 
    W HEN THE CARRIAGE from Ashton Place finally pulled up to the entrance of Number Twelve Muffinshire Lane, and Old Timothy, the coachman, held open the door, only Lady Constance emerged.
    Penelope watched from one of the windows upstairs. Was Old Timothy friend or foe? She still suspected that he might have been the culprit who released the squirrel at the holiday ball, in order to provoke the children into wolfish fits. And yet, if not for Old Timothy, the three Incorrigibles would never have been rescued from the forest of Ashton Place to begin with. Instead, they might have ended up in the same predicament as the many hunting trophies in Lord Fredrick’s study, with their shining glass eyes and stiff, taxidermic poses—oh, it was too awful to think about!
    The servants streamed out from the house like ants to remove Lady Constance’s many floral-upholstered trunks from the carriage. The children had worn themselves out with howling and were now quietlypracticing their cursive letters, so Penelope opened the windows again and listened. Lady Constance’s voice carried clearly from the cobblestone street below.
    â€œLord Fredrick will be here in time for supper. He has many acquaintances in the city, and wished to pay a call at his club’s accommodations in London before settling in. It is quite understandable.” Lady Constance sounded merry in the sort of brightly exaggerated way that made it clear she was trying not to cry, and perhaps not entirely succeeding.
    â€œPoor Lady Constance,” Penelope thought, with a rush of sympathy. “Lord Fredrick pays scarcely any attention to her at all. Perhaps that is why she is so ill-tempered so much of the time.”
    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). But she had long ago learned from Dr. Westminster, the Swanburne veterinarian, that some creatures become perfectly miserable when left alone too much, and this misery can easily turn to viciousness. As a result, their caretakers and fellow creatures give them a wide berth, which only makes them more lonely, mistrustful, and snappish than before.
    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. Could such a cure be achieved with Lady Constance?
    If so, Penelope theorized, and if Lady Constance were not so terribly spoiled but had instead had the benefit of a more Swanburne-like education, she might well turn out to be a perfectly pleasant companion. She and Penelope might even be friends, were it not for the vast difference in their social stations, what with Lady Constance being a lady and Penelope being a lowly governess.
    â€œDear me, that is a lot of ‘ifs’ and ‘might have beens,’” Penelope concluded. “But still, there is no harm in offering a friendly greeting. Today she