The Interrupted Tale (19 page)

Penelope smiled. “No, that will not be necessary. Now, off you go!”
Clap clap clap!

 

S
HANTALOO'S PRIDE HAD BEEN WOUNDED
by her brief captivity in the laundry basket. Now she was hiding behind the portrait of Agatha Swanburne and would not come out, no matter how sweetly the children called or how many tasty pancake crumbs they offered on their fingertips.

Leaving the children to soothe the embarrassed kitty, Penelope went to work. Quickly, she sorted through the treasures and put the important items to one side. “Measuring spoons, castor oil—
blech!
—a large cooking pot with a tight-fitting lid, moldy apples, goose fat, rinds of cheese . . .” Everything on Simon's list was there except, of course, the paprika. That would not be available until later, when the girls sent to buy it returned from the spice market.

“The paprika can be delivered last,” she thought. The rest of the items had to be brought to the chicken coop right away for safekeeping. But there was a great deal to carry, and as she did not know which were the true ingredients for the visibilizer and which were the red herrings, nothing could be left behind.

“Postal Tygers, I require your help,” she said. “These treasures must be delivered by tyger post. Are you up to the task?”

“Postal Tygers, at your service!” The boys saluted, then growled. They swatted their tyger paws about and lashed their imaginary tyger tails. Cassiopeia joined in as well, for she saw no reason she could not be a Swanburne girl and a Postal Tyger, not to mention a star of the Imperial Russian Ballet, a brave explorer of parts unknown, and perhaps the Queen of England, too.

Following Penelope's instructions, the children found three empty bushels and packed them full of treasures; the lighter objects they placed in the wicker basket, which was smaller and easier for Cassiopeia to carry. They were so busy that they did not even hear the dining-room doors swing open.

“Will
some
one
please
ex
plain
this
fright
ful
mess
?” Baroness Hoover roared.

“Iambic pentameter!” the children shouted in answer, and returned to their work.

The baroness seemed unimpressed by their mastery of poetic meter. “This is a dining hall, not a flea market,” she snapped. Already she was at Penelope's elbow. The mere mention of fleas made the children squirm and scratch.

“Now, now. Just some young people having a bit of fun, eh?” It was the baroness's husband, the baron. He scurried behind her like a shadow, looking thoroughly cowed. (Just as red herrings have nothing to do with herrings, looking cowed has nothing to do with cows. It simply means that the baron had the look of someone who had been bullied and scolded a great deal, and who felt perpetually nervous and ashamed as a result.)

“Good morning, Baroness. And to you as well, Baron Hoover.” Penelope curtsied, as was only polite. There was nothing particularly likable about the baron, but she found him far preferable to his wife. “The Swanburne girls had a treasure hunt this morning, and these are the treasures. As you see by our bushels, we are tidying up right now.” She smiled the innocent smile of a master criminal at work. “Surely, you have taken part in a treasure hunt, Baroness? In your youth, perhaps?”

“In her youth she was out hunting barons, har har! Caught one, too. Just my luck it was me.” Baron Hoover chuckled, and the baroness fired him a sideways look that was sharp enough to cut rope. She turned to Penelope, waving a sheet of paper.

“Miss Lumley, I have just reviewed the updated CAKE agenda. It appears you intend to make a speech today after all.”

“Cake for breakfast! Cake for lunch! Cake for tea! Cake for supper! Even cake for dessert!” The children joined hands and spun in merry circles around the baroness, who did her best to ignore them.

“All speeches must be approved by the DODO. And by the DODO, I mean me.” She held out a hand. Her fingers unfurled dangerously, like the slow unsheathing of claws. “Give me a copy of your speech, if you please.”

Penelope shrugged in apology. “I am afraid I cannot, Baroness. My speech is committed to memory, not paper. Did you know that all the great orators spoke from memory? Why, in the days of ancient Rome—”

“Fall of Rome!” the children squealed, and tumbled to the ground.

The baron slapped his leg in delight. “Fall of Rome, that's clever, what? Ah, to be a child, all games and giggles! Life is never so simple again, once you grow up to be a big old serious baron, with all your baron responsibilities. What I wouldn't give for a day off . . .”

His wife's furious gaze remained fixed on Penelope. “In that case, Miss Lumley, you will have to recite your speech to me
immediately
. In fact, I may need to hear it several times, just to be sure.”

Uneasily, Penelope replied, “That will take some time, Baroness. And as you see, the children and I have a great deal of work to do.”

The baroness sneered. “Without the DODO's prior approval, you will not be permitted to speak.”

“Dodo!” the children squawked. Still on the ground, they writhed in mock agony and made their dying dodo noises.

Penelope frowned. What to do? The ingredients for the visibilizer had to be delivered, and the sooner the better, but the baroness clearly intended to monopolize the rest of her morning. Dare she trust the Incorrigible children to go to the chicken coop alone? It seemed she had no choice. At least their tummies were stuffed full of pancakes, she reasoned. Surely they would not be tempted by all that plump, tasty poultry . . . or would they?

“Very well, Baroness,” she said. “But the children must finish their chores. As Agatha Swanburne said, ‘This and that left here and there means a trip and a fall every now and then.'” Penelope knelt and spoke softly to the Incorrigibles. “Postal Tygers, it appears you shall have to make this important delivery without me, for I have some business with the baroness. Are you up to the task?”

“Postal Tygers, at your service,” they cried, jumping to their feet.

“To whom should we deliver?” Alexander saluted so crisply it nearly knocked the soup bowl off his head.

“Dr. Westminster. His office is in the back of the chicken coop, and that is where you will find him.” Penelope gave them each a stern look. “However, under no circumstances are you to bother the chickens. Understood?”

“We will not bother them,” Alexander said firmly. His siblings nodded in agreement. As an afterthought, he said, “Does nibbling bother them?”

“Yes, it does.” Penelope glanced at the baroness, who had turned pale with fear and was gesticulating wildly at the baron. A strange yowling sound was coming from the portrait of Agatha Swanburne, and neither she nor her husband could discover why. “Nibbling bothers them a great deal. Biting does, too.”

“No nibbling and no biting,” Beowulf declared. “Can we eat them, though?”

“No, no, no.” She thought quickly. “Some chickens are for eating, true, but these particular chickens are not. They are trained dancers, for one thing, and it would be a pity to waste all that talent. . . . Eureka!” she blurted, for the answer had come to her. “Do not think of them as chickens. Think of them as precious baby dodos.”

That seemed to do the trick. The Incorrigibles began saying
ooooh
, and
awww
, and
oojie-woojie-dodo-woo
, as anyone would in the presence of an adorable baby who might be the very last hope of a soon-to-be-extinct species.

“Who would ever suppose that three fierce tygers could make such soothing noises?” Penelope said encouragingly. “Now, as to the location of the chicken coop . . . proceed out the main door of the school, over the rise of the hill, down a short pebbled path, then make a left at the shrubbery. . . .”

“Do not worry, Lumawoo.” Beowulf sniffed deeply. “We will follow the smell of chickens.”

“He means baby dodos,” Cassiopeia corrected.

“Baby dodos smell just like chickens. It is a remarkable coincidence.” Penelope stood. “Off with you to Dr. Westminster, then. Come straight back to the Incorrigible dormitory when you are done. Remember, you will have important responsibilities to attend to later! Careful with your bushels, please.”

“Westminstawoo,” they repeated to one another so they would not forget. The boys each balanced a bushel on their soup-bowl helmets; the third bushel they carried between them by its handles. Cassiopeia had no helmet, but her pigtails, tied in a knot, provided ample cushioning for the wicker basket. They began to march and sing.

 

“Our tyger feet

Are quieter than most.

We can't be beat

Delivering the post.”

 

Penelope joined in their singing, her voice high and pure.

 

“We eat our peas,

But cake we like the best.

We say, ‘More, please!'

And gobble up the rest.

A-woof, ahwoo, a-woof, ahwoo!”

 

“
Woof, ahwoo, a-woof, ahwoo!
Catchy tune, what?” the baron said, tapping his foot. “Reminds me of something I heard in the theater once. Can't think what it was, though.”

The yowling that seemed to emanate from Agatha Swanburne's portrait joined in the singing, too.

“Meow, meow, meow, meow!”

“It is haunted!” The terrified baroness extended a shaking hand toward the sheeted painting. “This painting is haunted. Take me away from here immediately!”

“Are you not even curious to see who might be haunting you?” Penelope snatched away the sheet, and there she stood: Agatha Swanburne, clear gray eyes, striking auburn hair, and that look of calm amusement on her face. . . .

The baroness gasped. “Agatha Swanburne! Agatha Swanburne!” Then she fainted dead away.

The Twelfth Chapter
The children are given important responsibilities.

T
HERE WERE NO SMELLING SALTS
among the treasure-hunt spoils, but a single drop of castor oil drizzled on her tongue was enough to revive the baroness. She came to in seconds, sputtering and frantically wiping her mouth to get rid of the horrendous taste. Once back on her feet, she was even more cross than before. “The nerve of that Swanburne woman! I refuse to be intimidated by the ghost of some long-dead headmistress,” she said. Then she demanded that Penelope immediately present her speech in full for the DODO's approval.

But Penelope had not gotten an A in her Great Orations of Antiquity class for nothing. The speech she gave for the baroness was like something out of one of those modern frozen-yogurt machines they have nowadays: sprinkles of Cicero were ladled over chunks of Demosthenes, and Queen Elizabeth's speech before the battle with the Spanish Armada swirled together with spoonfuls of
Julius Caesar
. In the chill of an empty classroom in which no one had bothered to light the hearth, the young governess babbled on and on, while Baroness Hoover struggled to stay awake. (The baron made no such effort, and took the opportunity to put his feet up and doze.)

While Penelope recited and gestured, she worried about the Incorrigibles. Had she erred in trusting them to go to the chicken coop alone? Would her instruction to think of the chickens as baby dodos be enough to prevent mayhem? And ought she have given Dr. Westminster some warning about the . . . well,
unusual
traits of her three pupils? Most of the time they were exceptionally well mannered and pleasant, of course. But there were those rare occasions. . . .

“The worst that might happen is that they try to feed and burp the chickens, or tell them bedtime stories before putting them down for naps,” she thought, stubbornly optimistic (whether she was being optoomuchstic remained to be seen). “For all I know, those dancing chickens would enjoy a bit of coddling. And who does not like to hear a good story?”

She paused for breath and surveyed her audience of two. The baron sagged limply in his chair, his chin lodged on his chest. The baroness looked drowsy; she had given up taking notes, and when her pencil rolled to the floor she had not bothered to pick it up. But her eyelids fluttered every now and then, and her nodding head was stubbornly propped up on one fist.

“I shall have to do better,” Penelope resolved, “which is to say, worse. Much, much worse.” Practicing the opposite of all that she had been taught, she wove together the most boring, dull, tedious, and uninteresting bits of every speech she knew. She talked too fast, and then too slow. She garbled her words and flattened her voice to a mind-numbing drone. Before long both the baroness and baron snored contentedly in their chairs. She let her voice grow quiet, then trail off . . . silence. They were out cold. Success!

The sheet of paper with the day's agenda lay coiled in the baroness's hand. The old Penelope would never have taken it without permission, but Penelope “Sticky Fingers” Lumley, master criminal and friend to pirates, had no such hesitation. She slipped the paper out of the baroness's sleep-loosened fist with perfect stealth. “I believe I could teach a class on Great Bore-ations of Antiquity,” she thought, quite proud of herself. “Now out I sneak, on my tyger feet,” and indeed, she was quieter than most as she tiptoed out of the room.

Once safely away, she paused to look over the schedule. The guests were to arrive at half past twelve. At one o'clock, Miss Mortimer would deliver a brief welcome. The afternoon would be devoted to classroom demonstrations. Then, dinner. “And look, just after dinner: Important Official Announcements, followed by Prepared Remarks by Miss P. Lumley, Distinguished Alumna.” Even with so much on her mind, it gave her a tingle of pleasure to see her name in print.

A glance at a hall clock revealed that it was half past noon exactly. The school would soon be overrun with visitors—and where were the Incorrigible children? Back in their room by now, she assumed. She went to find them straightaway.

But there was no sign of them in the Incorrigible dormitory, or anywhere else in the building. Worried, Penelope broke into a trot and did not slow until she arrived at the main entrance to Swanburne. The guests were already arriving in swarms. Old schoolmates who had not seen each other in years squealed and embraced. “You have not changed one bit,” they cried, or “You are so changed, I scarcely recognize you” or “How has it been so long?” or “It feels like only yesterday we recited the multiplication tables together!”

Luckily, the welcoming committee of Swanburne girls was prepared for all the happy tears being shed, and handed each arriving visitor the gift of a commemorative handkerchief. These had been embroidered with the word
“hope
,” which of course was a reference to the Swanburne motto, still buried beneath the ivy above the door.

Penelope spotted some old schoolmates of her own among the throng, but she could not stop to exchange greetings now, not with the children unaccounted for. “Pardon me, I must get to the chicken coop. . . . Excuse me, I beg your pardon. . . .” Politely but firmly, she tried to elbow her way through, but alas, she was but one little herring swimming against a mighty tide of Swanburne girls.

“Look! It's Miss Lumley, our distinguished alumna,” one of the girls cried, and the rest circled 'round in excitement. After the morning's treasure hunt, even the girls who had not previously heard of Penelope thought of her as a celebrity.

“Would you sign my composition notebook?” one of the girls from Dormitory C asked, holding out the prized fountain pen.

“I shall be happy to, as soon as time permits.” Penelope grew frantic, for now she was even more trapped than before. “First I have to find my pupils. . . .”

“Ahwoo!”

“Ahwoo!”

“Ahwoooooo!”

“Did you hear that? Sounded like wolves,” someone remarked. Quickly, the news spread. “Wolves! Wolves at Swanburne!”

If this had been an ordinary crowd, one could easily imagine the terrified stampede that might have ensued. But these were Swanburne girls, through and through, and they had been well trained not to panic. It was Penelope's heart that thumped with fear.

“Let me pass,” she pleaded, shouldering her way through. “It is only the children! I assure you, they are not dangerous—not to people, I mean. Oh, those poor chickens!” With a heroic shove, she pushed her way out of the crowd. She could not help but assume the worst and pictured a gruesome mess of flying feathers, and a distraught Dr. Westminster, too.

But the Incorrigibles had already flown the coop, so to speak. They were a little ways down the path, where they had set up a demonstration of their own.

“Lumawoo, look!” Beowulf called out happily when he saw his governess approaching at full speed. “Trained baby dodo tricks!”

“Trained—what?” She stopped short. Each of the children held a chicken. On a flat patch of grass, Alexander had made a simple obstacle course by putting the soup-bowl helmets on the ground. At his “ready, set, go” signal, which was two short
awhoos
followed by a long one, the birds were to run around the first helmet, jump in and out of the second, and then pass through the climactic curtain of Cassiopeia's swinging pigtails. If they completed the course successfully (as all three birds had just done), they were given a cuddle and a treat and the chance to do it all over again.

“Dodos are really the smartest birds,” Alexander said with pride, for he had done most of the training himself (with some help from Dr. Westminster, of course). “And these are only babies. Dodos back on the ground, please! Now, watch.
Ahwoo! Ahwoo! Ahwoooooo!
”
he called, and they were off.

A crowd of curious alumnae quickly gathered. All were amazed at this demonstration, and at the sight of the baby dodos, too, for everyone knew that dodos were long extinct. The birds' resemblance to ordinary barnyard chickens was deemed remarkable, and many commented upon it.

“Can I stop now?” Cassiopeia asked unsteadily. Waggling her upside-down head from side to side to keep the pigtails in motion had caused her to feel a little green.

Beowulf tugged at Penelope's sleeve. “Postal Tygers made our delivery,” he said. “But guess who we saw in the chicken coop? It was Sima—”

“Ahwoo!”
Penelope interrupted, for she did not want any mention of Simon's presence to be overheard.
“Ahwoo! Ahwooooo!”

At the sound of their cue, the chickens began another round of the obstacle course. Cassiopeia was too dizzy to swing her pigtails, so the birds finished by doing a few of the dance steps they had learned from Dr. Westminster. At the end they bowed (they dipped their beaks, to be accurate) and waited for their treats, as before.

The dancing made the crowd cheer and clap, which attracted even more onlookers. Clearly, the situation had to be nipped in the bud, for any change in the day's schedule risked throwing off the careful precision of the plan Penelope and Simon had devised.

“The dodo babies are tired; that is all the tricks they can do for now,” she announced. “Girls of the welcoming committee, please escort our guests inside. Did everyone get a handkerchief?”

 

E
FFICIENT AS SHEEPDOGS, THE GIRLS
soon had the alumnae proceeding cheerfully into the school. Penelope made a mental note to tell Miss Mortimer what a good job the welcoming committee had done. Then she turned to the Incorrigibles. Each of them now cradled a sleepy, clucking dodo baby. “Children, it is time for the CAKE,” she said. “You shall have to bring the chickens—I mean, baby dodos—back to the chicken coop. Understood?”

“Oojie-woojie-dodo-woo,”
the children crooned to their little feathered friends. “Nap time for dodos!”

“Right away, please.” Penelope used her firmest voice, for she could sense some resistance from the Incorrigibles about parting with their new pets. “Inside a school is no place for dodos.”

“But how else are they to learn?” Alexander said. His siblings nodded, and all three cooed to their dodos even more adorably than before.

This strange yet tender scene was interrupted by a late arrival to the CAKE. She stomped along the path to the school with tiny, angry steps and anxiously twirled her parasol.

“Oh, how I dislike arriving in strange places all alone! It is enough to make one forget who one is. I keep glancing in my pocket mirror for reassurance.” Lady Constance Ashton prattled without stopping, as if she were trying to keep herself company. “Yet I suppose I am still the same person I have always been. Unless acquiring a new name turns one into a different person! Does it? Before I married my husband, I was Miss Constance Barbey, youngest of the Barbey children, and dare I say the favorite, but since my wedding day I have been Lady—
chickens?
” At the sight of the children, she stopped. “Why are you holding chickens? I thought this was the Sunburne School, not a poultry academy.”

“Good morning, Lady Chickens,” some girls from the welcoming committee chanted melodiously. One of them offered Lady Constance a handkerchief. She accepted it with suspicion.

“I am
not
Lady Chickens,” she retorted. “I am a lady who is surprised to
see
chickens.”

“Dodos,” Cassiopeia corrected. Then she remembered her manners. “Good aftawoo, Lady Ashton,” she said, and curtsied.

Lady Constance brightened. “Well, at least
somebody
around here knows who I am! And what is your name, small person?”

“I am Cassiopeia Incorrigible,” she answered, confused. “Don't you know?”

Lady Constance smiled indulgently. “What a peculiar coincidence! There is a little girl who lives in my house with that exact same name. But she is nothing like you, for you are a proper schoolgirl in a starched school uniform and neatly braided hair, and she is a half-savage creature who is as likely to growl and bite as to do what she is told. I wonder: What are the odds against two such wildly different girls being given the same clumsy, unattractive, and frankly unspellable name?”

A growl formed in the back of Cassiopeia's throat, for she was proud of her name and could spell nearly all of it, too. Meanwhile, the boys began to calculate the odds Lady Constance had proposed. It was a difficult problem, as they did not know how many girls were in existence. Swanburne alone was full of them, and that, they suspected, was only the tip of the iceberg.

Penelope stepped forward and put a hand on each of Cassiopeia's shoulders. “Lady Ashton, it is a surprise to see you here,” she said. That much was certainly true. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

“I am here for the CAKE, to which Fredrick and I were inexplicably invited.” Lady Constance paused. “I hope it is a chocolate cake! I much prefer chocolate to any other flavors of sweets.”