dissolved. “We are in dire need of a governess, there is

no doubt. It’s just that”—she seemed to be struggling

to find words and avoided Penelope’s gaze—“children

are not a very interesting topic, I find. That is to say,

children are merely—children. All more or less alike.

Don’t you agree?”

Penelope did not, but she did not say so. It had just

occurred to her that Lady Constance was far too young

to have school-age offspring of her own. Whose chil-

dren were they, she wondered, whom Lady Constance

found so unworthy of discussion?

“Tell me, then,” she said, “about Ashton Place.”

Lady Constance brightened at once and launched

into an animated description of the house: the his-

tory, the architecture, the furnishings. Everything on

the premises, she explained, was of the highest qual-

ity. The most valuable antiquities had been acquired

by her husband’s great-grandfather, Admiral Percival

Racine Ashton, who had designed and built the house

and was himself a figure of historical importance—

“Ahwooooooooooooooooooo! Ahwoooooooooooooo!”

“Woof! Woof!”

At the sound, the pink circles on Lady Ashton’s

cheeks visibly shrank and disappeared, as if someone

had rubbed them out with an eraser.

“. . . children are not a very interesting topic, I find.”

“Pardon me,” she said abruptly, rising. She scurried

across the drawing room and tugged repeatedly on the

bellpull that hung by the door. Penelope could hear it

ring in some faraway part of the house.

Mrs. Clarke appeared on the instant.

“I’m terribly sorry, my lady,” she said quickly, “we’ve

done our best to keep them quiet—”

“Mrs. Clarke!” Lady Constance interrupted, in a

loud voice full of false cheer. “Surely those hunting

dogs need to be fed! They sound entirely desperate!”

Then she leaned over and whispered rapidly in Mrs.

Clarke’s ear. Mrs. Clarke clapped her hand over her

mouth and listened. When Lady Constance was done,

Mrs. Clarke glanced nervously at Penelope and then

back to her mistress.

“Of course, my lady, I will see to—the dogs—at once.”

Then she left.

Lady Constance walked slowly back to her seat, low-

ered herself carefully, and heaved a most unladylike

sigh. Her golden, delicately curved eyebrows frowned

in deepest concentration as she glared at the carpet.

Recall that it was Penelope’s first job interview;

there was nothing for her to compare the experience to

except a historical account she had once read describ-

ing the interrogation of military prisoners during the