Read Online The Unmapped Sea by Maryrose Wood - Free Book Online Page B

Alexander approvingly.
    Beowulf made a swashbuckling gesture that caused both of his siblings to duck. “And pirates.”
    â€œ Sort of likes pirates,” Cassiopeia corrected. (It was true that Simon had both happy and unhappy memories of his days as a pirate. This is called “having mixed feelings,” and it is a condition we all find ourselves in sooner or later. There is no known cure except to eat a small amount of bittersweet chocolate. The chocolate does nothing to unmix one’s feelings, but it does serve as a tasty reminder that bittersweet is a perfectly good flavor and can be enjoyed on its own merits.)
    â€œWe will see him soon enough, never fear.” Penelope checked the nib of her pen and paused, for she did not know where in London Simon was staying. However, she knew a great deal about Simon himself, and that, she decided, would have to do.
    In a bold hand, she wrote on the envelope: Mr. Simon Harley-Dickinson, member in good standing of the Bards and Poets Society, the Professional Organization for Scribes, Playwrights, Scribblers, and Devotees of Thespis, care of the Theatrical Firmament, London, England.
    Proudly, she showed it to the children. “For an organization as well run and efficient as the London Postal Service, that is more than enough to go on,” she told them, and then turned her attention to the letter.
    Dear Simon,
    For reasons best explained later, the children and I are on our way to Brighton. (Forgive the shaky penmanship! If you have deduced that this letter must have been written on a moving train, you would not be wrong.)
    I believe I have discovered the means to convince G.-U. Pudge to reveal the tale of his secret boyhood adventure (you know the one). I trust you are still on friendly terms with the stage manager of Pirates on Holiday. Borrow a costume from that dreadful show and bring it with you to Brighton as soon as you can. A garment in your size and suitable for the rank of admiral would be ideal.
    Deepest thanks for your loyal assistance! Reply to P. Lumley, care of the Brighton General Post Office. I will look for your answer there.
    She paused, and considered how to end. “Wishing you good luck on your theatrical adventures . . .” “With best wishes, from your friend . . .” “From your faithful partner in crime . . .”
    But it all sounded so formal, so familiar, so glib, so forced! It put her in mind of Goldilocks’s porridge. “Everything I write is either too warm or too cold,” shethought. Her pen hovered in the air. She and Simon were friends; why was it so tricky to find the right way to end a letter to him? She never had such trouble signing a letter to Cecily, her old schoolmate.
    She took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. “I will use the trick that all the girls are taught at Swanburne. When faced with a difficult problem, imagine you are a person who knows exactly what to do. Then, do exactly as that person would. In this case, how would I say good-bye if I were the sort of person who never gave a second thought about what to say?”
    That solved her dilemma at once. With a flourish, she wrote:
    Arrivederci!
    P.L.

T HE F OURTH C HAPTER
A holiday in Brighton gets off on the wrong foot.
    M RS. C LARKE SNOOZED THE WHOLE way to Brighton and had to be awakened upon their arrival. Margaret did the honors; she shook the good woman by the shoulders, first gently, then more forcefully, until the housekeeper began to mumble, “Mind your toes around the hermit crabs, dear Hubert! Wouldn’t want you to get a nasty pinch.” Once fully roused, she explained, “I was dreaming of a long-ago beach holiday with dear old Mr. Clarke, rest his soul. How he would have loved a trip to Brighton!”
    Brighton! Pudge! Ahwoo-Ahwoo! The letter to Simon was tucked in Penelope’s coat pocket. Every few minutes she reached in to make sure it was still there, much the way Lord Fredrick fretted