The source of the mysterious
howling is revealed.
When people experience a sudden, happy change of
fortune, it often comes as a great shock to the system.
Reckless personalities may do foolish and extravagant
things, such as buying a yacht even if they are prone to
seasickness and do not know their port side from their
aft, while more cautious souls might busy themselves
with trivial, repetitive tasks as they wait for the sur-
prise to wear off. Many a winning lottery ticket holder,
upon receiving the news, has spent the entire afternoon
methodically sharpening pencils; for all we know some
are sharpening still, their winnings yet unclaimed.
Temperamentally speaking, Penelope was more of a
pencil sharpener than a yacht buyer. Earlier that very
morning, she had been a sleepy girl on a noisy train,
but now she was a professional governess in an enor-
mous and unimaginably wealthy house. Part of her was
itching to run to the nursery, meet the children, and
begin instructing them immediately in Latin verbs and
the correct use of globes. She was also eager to write
Miss Charlotte Mortimer a letter, telling her the excel-
lent news. But even more powerful than those urges
was the urge to unpack her trunk and carpetbag and
put her room in order. After all, Ashton Place was her
home now, and as Agatha Swanburne often said, “A
well-organized stocking drawer is the first step toward
a well-organized mind.”
Penelope’s trunk was brought up to a small, second-
floor bedroom, and Mrs. Clarke sent a young lady’s
maid named Margaret upstairs to help “put away your
frocks and bonnets,” as the girl explained in her shy,
squeaky voice. But when Penelope explained that she
had brought many books and few clothes, all of which
she would prefer to arrange herself, Margaret curtsied
and left the new resident of Ashton Place to her own
devices.
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