Read Online ICAP 2 - The Hidden Gallery by Maryrose Wood - Free Book Online Page A

without further discussion, and with Alexander still in charge of the Hixby’s Guide , Penelope and the Incorrigible children headed home. No doubt it was the holiday fatigue at work, but Penelope could scarcely bring herself to sightsee as they walked. She had expected London to be a glittering metropolis full of culture and learning. Instead, it seemed like the forest of Ashton Place—an Ominous Landscape full of danger at every turn.
    It was not until her thoughts had strayed to AshtonPlace in this unexpected fashion, and Alexander had successfully navigated them back to Number Twelve Muffinshire Lane, that Penelope realized: In all the excitement, they had completely forgotten to buy a postcard for Nutsawoo.

T HE S IXTH C HAPTER
    Penelope finds a new
creature to tame.
    A FTER SUCH AN EVENTFUL MORNING , Penelope was in need of peaceful, calming pursuits. She looked forward to a bit of poetry read aloud, some quiet work on the children’s journals, and possibly a nap, if the Incorrigibles could be persuaded.
    But she and the children returned to find Number Twelve Muffinshire Lane in an uproar. The servants from Ashton Place were frantically cleaning the already spotless house: airing out linens, dusting bric-a-brac, making up beds, sweeping the carpets, polishingwoodwork, and otherwise getting things spick-and-span for the imminent appearance of Lady Constance and Lord Fredrick.
    The hubbub was at such a fever pitch that even Mrs. Clarke could not hold still long enough to say a proper good morning to Penelope and the children, though she had scarcely seen them since their arrival in London.
    â€œAhhhhhhh!” Mrs. Clarke cried as she propelled herself from one task to the next. The way she kept moving as she spoke gave her voice an oddly sirenlike quality, as it got LOUDER and softer and LOUDER and softer, depending on whether she was coming or going. “Miss Lumley, wherever have you been? I thought you and the children must have fallen in the Thames! Well, don’t just stand there blocking traffic—whoops! Restrain yourself, Margaret! If you use that much polish on the floor we’ll have to wear ice skates to shimmy ourselves from room to room.”
    If Penelope had been in a jollier mood, the idea of Mrs. Clarke in a pair of ice skates, gracefully twirling and leaping across a frozen expanse, would have made her struggle not to laugh. As it was, she merely said, “Mrs. Clarke, the children and I are in urgent need of some tea. May we fix it ourselves in thekitchen and bring it upstairs? We will be sure to stay out of your way.”
    â€œFix it yourselves? Bring it upstairs? I should say not! We can’t afford any spills. I’ll have Margaret carry it up, before she polishes a hole in the floor. And mind you don’t leave any fingerprints on the banister,” Mrs. Clarke called over her shoulder (for she was now whizzing into the dining room). “Lord and Lady Ashton will be here before dinner—how’s that silver coming along, Suzy?—and everything has to be just so.”
    Already she was on her way back; truly, ice skates would have been a time-saver. “Missed a spot on the ladle, Sue! Oh, Miss Lumley, before I forget, a letter came for you. It’s on the tray table by the stair—careful, Gladys! That’s a feather duster, not a cricket bat! Be gentle with the potted plant, or soon it won’t have a leaf to call its own.”
    â€œFrond,” Alexander corrected, for the plant in question was, in fact, a fern, and thus its leaves were properly called fronds. Ordinarily Penelope would have been very proud of his pteridomaniacal expertise, but at the word “letter” her mind had skipped off on a tangent from which it had not yet returned.
    â€œNot only is the General Post Office a handsome building, it is a model of brisk efficiency as well,” shethought. “For I only just mailed my letter to Miss Mortimer this morning,