The Fourth Chapter part.8

often shared breakfast with her favorites among the

students and would read the newspaper aloud to them

as they gobbled up their boiled oats and milk. “ ‘Knowl-

edge of French, Latin, History, Etiquette, Drawing,

and Music will be Required—Experience with Animals

Strongly Preferred.’ Animals! Did you hear that? It is

the perfect job for you, Penny, dear!” Her warm voice

had throbbed with conviction as she handed Penel-

ope the page torn from the latest edition of Heathcote,

All Year Round (Now Illustrated). “No arguments! You

must have an interview. I will write your recommenda-

tion at once.”

Now that same sheet of newspaper was carefully

folded and tucked inside Penelope’s volume of poetry,

serving as both bookmark and, she hoped, lucky charm.

“It sounds as if the children are deeply attached to their

pets,” she told herself, as the horses clip-clopped along

the road through the ancient forest that lay between

the village and the estate, “and that means they are

likely to be from a kind and fun-loving family, and we

shall all get along splendidly.”

The idea was so comforting, she almost asked the

coachman what sort of animals she could expect to

meet at Ashton Place. She dearly hoped there were

ponies on the premises. Penelope had secretly wished

for a pony ever since she was a tiny girl and discovered

the Giddy-Yap, Rainbow! books in the Swanburne

library. The adventures of Rainbow and her young mis-

tress, Edith-Anne Pevington, had filled many a happy

hour curled up on the window seat of Miss Mortimer’s

office. The volume titled Silky Mischief, in which Rain-

bow’s gentle influence saves an ill-tempered pony on a

neighboring farm from a gruesome fate, left an espe-

cially lasting impression. Penelope had reread it more

times than she could count.

But upon reflection she felt it would be more polite

to inquire about other topics first. She adjusted her

bonnet and pulled her cloak around her against the

early autumn breeze.

“Tell me, sir: What sort of a house is Ashton

Place?”

“Very grand, as you’ll soon see. Four generations of

Ashtons have lived out their days there.” The coach-

man paused and clucked encouragement to the horses

and then went on. “I reckon it’s lucky a house can’t

speak. If it could, Ashton Place could tell all manner

a’ secrets.”

Penelope found his imagery quaint, if a tad unorigi-

nal, but knew better than to say so. Instead, she asked,

“And what sort of people are Lord and Lady Ashton? I

The Fourth Chapter part.7

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 legend-

ary 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 lit-

tlest 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 Penel-

ope 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 Fourth Chapter part.6

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 Penel-

ope 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?