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
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