The Mysterious Howling (20 page)

P
ENELOPE CLOSED HER EYES
, for she felt suddenly drowsy. “New things become familiar with time, and familiar things become strange. It is very curious and”—
yawn
—“tiring to think of.”

Already the train was having its inevitable nap-inducing effect. The three Incorrigibles were out cold, nestled in a heap on the seat, and Penelope was ready to follow their example. As the train wheels
clickity-clack
ed along, Penelope's head slowly leaned back against the seat. Her eyelids grew heavy until finally they fluttered closed.

The copy of
Hixby's Guide
began to slip from her loosening grasp. Now it lay in her lap, jostled back and forth with every lurch of the train. From there it would soon fall to the floor with a
thud
—

Grrrrrrrrrrr!

Penelope startled awake to behold a most unexpected
scene, in which all three Incorrigibles played prominent roles. Alexander's teeth were bared to the molars. Beowulf was growling like a mad thing, and Cassiopeia's jaws were locked on to the sleeve of a man in a long black coat, who was trying unsuccessfully to shake her off.

“I beeg yer pardon!” the man said heatedly. “Miss, could you call uff your cheeldren? The gurl is aboot to draw blood.” His accent was hard to place.

“Children, whatever is going on?” Penelope cried.

“Man steal book,” Alexander said in a fierce, low voice. His eyes were fixed on the intruder. The fellow was tall and rotund, with a misshapen nose and a hat pulled low over his eyes.

Penelope glanced down at her lap. Her
Hixby's Guide
was gone. Frantically she looked around the seat and floor. Then her eyes traveled upward to the man's arm, still held fast by Cassiopeia's teeth buried in the coat sleeve. The book dangled between his fingers.

“I will take that back, thank you,” she said curtly, snatching the book away.

“It was falling to the floor, miss. I only mint to kitch it and put it on the zeet next to you while you sleeped,” he said in his inscrutable accent. “The flur is so dirty and demp, it would be have been rooned.”

“Thank you kindly for your trouble.” Out of the
corner of her eye Penelope noted that the children were still on high alert. What animal instincts did they have, she wondered, that made them know when danger was present?

“Is ridikalus book in any case,” the man pressed on. “Full of mistikes and out of deet. If you like, I will geev you my copy of
Parson's Pictorial Pamphlet Depicting the City of London and Environs, Second Edition,
and tek this worthless tome off your hends.”

“A moment ago you were afraid it would be ruined. Now you say it is worthless. I find your arguments somewhat contradictory.” Penelope smiled in a way that was not at all friendly; it was a trick she had learned from Lady Constance but had never before had reason to use. “I thank you again for your trouble. Good day.”

“Good day,” Alexander repeated through bared teeth; as a result the phrase, while socially useful, was not very well pronounced.

“
Grrrrrrr
day,” said Beowulf, most unpleasantly.

“Let go of the man's sleeve, dear,” Penelope instructed. Cassiopeia obeyed with reluctance. There was a small rip and a half-moon-shaped wet spot in the fabric where her mouth had been. Under different, friendlier circumstances Penelope might have offered to have the coat mended, but these circumstances were
not those. Penelope drew the children close to her and regarded the man with what she hoped was a stern and fearless gaze.

The man lingered briefly, as if he would say more. With a parting glance at the
Hixby's
Guide
—did Penelope imagine it, or was it a longing, greedy, covetous sort of glance?—he left.

Cassiopeia wiped her mouth on the hem of her dress. A tiny, bright green feather came unstuck from her lips. She held it between two fingers, then blew it into the air. They all watched as the downy tuft wafted hypnotically back and forth, back and forth, until it disappeared under the seat.

“Yukawoo,” Cassiopeia remarked before curling up next to her brothers once more. “Taste like pillows.”

The three children quickly drifted back to sleep. Penelope did not. She remained anxiously alert for the rest of the trip, holding tight to her
Hixby's
Guide
and ready, frankly, to pounce.

“London, Euston Staaaaaaayshun!”

“Hold hands, children, hold hands!” The passengers stampeded out of the train like a herd of cows that were late for a very important milking appointment. Penelope clutched her carpetbag with one hand
and Alexander's sweaty fingers with the other. Alexander held tightly to Cassiopeia, and Cassiopeia held just as tightly to Beowulf. In this white-knuckled way, the three groggy children and their nervous governess snaked through the crowd, searching for an exit.

Penelope could not help trying to catch a glimpse of the strange man who had tried to steal her
Hixby's Guide
. She did not see him, but in such a large crowd it would have been nearly impossible to find anyone. The thought made her squeeze Alexander's hand so tightly that he yelped.

“It was an unpleasant incident, nothing more,” she thought bravely. “I ought not to make too much of it, for pickpockets and rogues are a commonplace in London. We must stay on our toes, that is all.”

With that settled, Penelope turned her attention to a more immediate concern: finding her way to Number Twelve Muffinshire Lane, which was the address of the house Lord Fredrick had rented. She knew that London was a large, bustling, and confusing city, and that one wrong turn might send them wandering down dark cobblestone streets that dead-ended at smelly slaughterhouses and riverfront establishments of ill repute. However, there was a foldout map in the back of her guidebook, and the children were skilled
trackers—at least when in a forest.

Once the foursome had elbowed their way out of the station, Penelope tried to get her bearings by holding the map open and spinning it 'round until it resembled the maze of streets that crisscrossed before her. The sidewalks outside Euston Station were even more crowded than the interior of the station had been. Passersby jostled Penelope this way and that, making it difficult to keep the book open to the correct page. Not only that, but the foldout map was so charmingly decorated with pretty alpine meadows, it was impossible to read the street names.

“Excuse me,” Alexander said pointedly as people kept bumping into them and pushing past, often while making rude remarks. “Pardon me. I beg your pardon.”

“I quite agree, Alexander,” Penelope said, making a final, futile effort to read the map before putting it away. “There is a distinct lack of good manners on display—yet there is no need to growl quite so loudly, Beowulf. Someone might take it the wrong way.”

Penelope was still not entirely sure in which direction they needed to go. Herding the Incorrigibles before her, she moved toward the nearest intersection. Omnibuses hurtled down the street at alarming speed,
and a line of hansom cabs waited at the curb. The drivers prowled the sidewalk, angling for customers.

“Need a cab, miss?”

“Where ya going, miss?'

“Give ya a lift, miss? Half fare for the children.”

Penelope thought she might have enough money in her purse to pay for a cab, although she had no idea how much they charged, as she had never taken one before. But the drivers seemed somehow menacing to her, with their fake friendliness and huckstering offers of a ride. Perhaps it was some lingering disquiet from that unpleasant incident on the train; she found herself backing away from the line of hansom cabs and clutching the children even more tightly than before.

“We shall walk,” Penelope announced to the Incorrigibles. “I am sure it cannot be very far to Muffinshire Lane. And there will be so many interesting sights along the way.”

At that moment a gusty wind kicked up and nearly blew the four of them in front of a speeding omnibus. Penelope waited until the wind died down before continuing, this time with one hand holding on to her hat. “As Agatha Swanburne once said, ‘Assuming that one is on dry land, the best way to see the sights is on foot. Otherwise, use a canoe.' Come along, children.”

MARYROSE WOOD
is the author of five books (so far!) in this continuing series about the Incorrigible children and their governess. Maryrose's other qualifications for writing these tales include a scandalous stint as a professional thespian, many years as a private governess to two curious and occasionally rambunctious pupils, and whatever literary insights she may have gleaned from living in close proximity to a clever but disobedient dog. You can visit her online at
www.maryrosewood.com
.

JON KLASSEN
grew up in Niagara Falls, Canada, and now lives in Los Angeles, California. He is the Caldecott Award–winning author and illustrator of
I Want My Hat Back
and
This Is Not My Hat,
as well as the illustrator of
Sam and Dave Dig a Hole
and
Extra Yarn
by Mac Barnett;
The Dark
by Lemony Snicket;
House Held Up by Trees
by Ted Kooser;
Cats' Night Out
by Caroline Stutson; and the first three books in the Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place series. You can visit him online at
www.burstofbeaden.com
.

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“It's the best beginning since
The Bad Beginning
by Lemony Snicket and will leave readers howling for the next episode.”

—
Kirkus Reviews
(starred review)

“How hearty and delicious. Smartly written with a middle-grade audience in mind, this is both fun and funny and sprinkled with dollops of wisdom (thank you, Agatha Swanburne). How will it all turn out? Appetites whetted.”

—ALA
Booklist
(starred review)

“With a Snicketesque affect, Wood's narrative propels the drama. Pervasive humor and unanswered questions should have readers begging for more.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Jane Eyre meets Lemony Snicket in this smart, surprising satire of a nineteenth-century English governess story. Humorous antics and a climactic cliff-hanger ending will keep children turning pages and clamoring for the next volume, while more sophisticated readers will take away much more. Frequent plate-sized illustrations add wit and period flair.”

—
School Library Journal
(starred review)