The Second Chapter

Penelope and Lady Constance

converse to the accompaniment

of strange noises.

If you have ever visited a theme park full of roller

coasters, water slides, and thrilling games of chance,

you were undoubtedly tickled half to death by it all. But

then, just when it seemed the excitement had reached

a fever pitch from which you might never recover, the

tedious ordeal of waiting in a long line for the bath-

room may have suddenly made you so bored that you

wished you were home in bed with the flu.

So it was with Penelope. Despite the two days of

anxious travel she had just endured and the impor-

tant job interview that awaited her, as she sat there

trapped in the carriage seat next to a coachman who

had decided not to talk, Penelope grew excruciatingly

bored. She decided it would be rude to glance at her

poetry book.

“I shall have to resort to the scenery to keep me

occupied,” she thought, turning her mind to the task.

They were now passing through stately woods. Duti-

fully she admired the golden-tipped canopy of leaves

and observed how the sunlight could penetrate only

here and there, dappling a lush undergrowth of ferns.

Some of these she could identify even from a distance:

Hart’s-tongue ferns, cinnamon ferns, and some with

attractive crinkled edges she thought were called cor-

rugated ferns or, if they weren’t, ought to be. Penelope

had once attended a lecture at Swanburne given by

the deputy vice president of the Heathcote Amateur

Pteridological Society, and considered herself quite

knowledgeable about ferns as a result.

Then she imagined the trees as they would soon look

in the full blaze of autumn color—and then afterward,

in winter, as a field of bare-branched giants standing

on a blanket of white. It made her wonder (although

not aloud), “And where will I be come Christmas? If

know they are of the finest character, of course!”

“I don’t imagine a proper young lady like you would

have come for the interview otherwise,” he said, giving

her a sly, sideways look. Penelope wondered if she was

being teased and decided that it was unlikely, since

she and the coachman had just met. In any case, he

proceeded to answer her question.

“Lady Constance is fond of chocolates and flowers.

She’s very young, very pretty, and a bit on the spoiled

side, in my opinion.”

“You speak quite freely of your employers,” Penel-

ope commented.

“Ha! I’ve the right to speak my mind. I’ve been

working for the Ashtons since Lord Fredrick was a

boy—whoa, whoa!”

Startled by the sudden rise of a flock of geese from

the roadside, the horses had broken into a canter. The

coachman quickly pulled them back to a steady trot.

“As for Lord Fredrick,” the coachman continued,

“he spends more time at his gentlemen’s club than

you’d expect of a newly married man, but to each his

own, I say. For sport, he loves to hunt. Fox and deer,

hares and badgers and all manner a’ birds. On occa-

sion he’s bagged more . . . unusual prey.”

It seemed to Penelope that a note of mystery briefly

entered his voice, but it disappeared just as quickly.

“Any other questions?”

Despite his gruffness, Penelope smiled. After shar-

ing such a pleasant journey in the fresh air, she felt that

she and coachman were now friends and could trust

each other.

“Tell me about the children! I so look forward to

meeting them.”

“Ah,” he said, his face suddenly clouding over. “The

children are—well, I do think it’s Lady Ashton’s place

to discuss the children, I do.”

And, except for one brief and heartfelt outburst

(which would not occur for another three-quarters of

an hour), that was the last word he spoke for the rest

of the journey.

take out a favorite volume of poetry to pass the time.

And that is exactly what Miss Penelope Lumley did.

She may have been young and alone, in a strange place

with no real home to return to and on her way to a job

interview, but she was also much, much more than her

current circumstances would indicate.

She was a Swanburne girl, through and through.

One of Agatha Swanburne’s sayings, which Penelope

had often heard (you may think of her as Penelope

from this point forward, for now you have made her

acquaintance), was this: “All books are judged by their

covers until they are read.”

She had never understood the true meaning of this

expression until now. Imagine: A studious-looking girl

of fifteen, primly dressed, perched on a large, battered

trunk and reading a well-thumbed volume of obscure

poetry—what tableau could more perfectly match what

any reasonable person might expect a young governess

to look like?

It was, as they say nowadays, perfect casting. Doubt-

less that is why the coachman from Ashton Place took

only a moment to recognize Penelope on the platform.

In spite of her youth, he addressed her with all the

deference due a professional educator. Nor did he offer

any complaint at the alarming weight of the trunk.

“Full a’ books, I take it?” He grunted as he hoisted

it into the carriage. Then he held the door open for her

to enter. Penelope hesitated.

“May I ride outside, next to you?” she asked. “The

weather is so fine, and I am curious to see what the

town of Ashton is like, in case I am asked to stay,” she

added, striking what she hoped was the right note of

humility. Swanburne girls were encouraged to be con-

fident and bold, but Miss Mortimer had also advised

Penelope to show some restraint when meeting new

people—“only until you get to know each other a bit,”

she explained. Penelope had always found Miss Mor-

timer’s advice to be well worth taking.

“Hmph,” the coachman said, but he helped Penel-

ope climb up next to him in the driver’s seat. Penelope

noted the horses’ gleaming coats with approval. Her

soft spot for animals was well known at Swanburne—

indeed, that is what had caught Miss Mortimer’s eye in

the advertisement for the position. Could it truly have

been only a week since that fateful day? If Penelope

closed her eyes, she could still hear Miss Mortimer’s

voice. . . .

“Listen to this, girls: ‘Wanted Immediately: Energetic

Governess for Three Lively Children.’” Miss Mortimer