The Unmapped Sea (11 page)

Constantin came running to knock Alexander off, but Alexander was quicker. In a single motion he was up and out of the way, and Constantin landed on his brother with his full weight. The two twins thrashed on the ground, a tangle of elbows and knees and chocolate-milk mustaches.

“Ow! My eye!” Boris yelled.

“Savages,” Master Gogolev remarked under his breath, and took a sip of chocolate. Truly, it was a delicious beverage.

“Natasha, you must discipline those boys,” Captain Babushkinov said to his wife.

She too was sipping the hot chocolate, though the expression on her face could have frozen over the sea itself. “They get their foul tempers from you, Ivan, not me—”

“Where is Maximilian?” Julia asked, suddenly anxious. In the confusion, the baby had wandered off. Everyone looked around, but outside the halos of light
cast by the torches and bonfire, all was pitch-dark, for the moon had not yet risen.

“There he is!” Penelope cried. Still in his skates, Max had toddled back onto the pond. He was tracing long, spiraling loops around the scarred ice, each one bringing him nearer to the center.

“What a big, brave boy, skating by himself!” his mother said, not bothering to get up from her chair.

“He is a Babushkinov, through and through. Strong. Fearless! Like bear cub,” the captain agreed, and turned back to the fire.

Then Maximilian fell, sprawled on his belly like a seal. He could not manage to right himself on the slick ice. He yowled in frustration, but there was no one to help him.

“Go fetch him, Julia.” Madame Babushkinov took a sip of chocolate and waved her free hand. “He is going to ruin his new coat, carrying on like that.”

Julia scowled and sighed, for she, too, was enjoying her chocolate and was loath to put it down. “Yes, madame. One moment, please; I must put my skates back on. . . .”

Meanwhile Max thrashed and tantrummed. He lay on his belly, red-faced, pounding and kicking. His fat baby fists did no damage, but the sharp blade tips of
his skates were like two pickaxes driving into the ice as he kicked, and kicked, and kicked some more.

“Lumawoo?” Beowulf frowned. “I hear crunching. I smell—water.”

“Water?” But a lump of fear had already formed in Penelope's throat. She looked around. Julia was still trying to find a pair of skates that matched, but the twins had made such a mess of things it was impossible. No one else was even paying attention—

Crack!

The sickening noise echoed through the dark. Then came a terrible ripping sound, like the roots of a falling tree tearing agonizingly from the earth as it heaves and topples to the ground. The pond's surface, perfectly smooth when they arrived, was now spiderwebbed with cracks, like a dropped mirror.

The pond's surface was now spiderwebbed with cracks.

“Waaaaaaaa!” Baby Max yelled. The ice beneath him rippled, and a hand's-width gap had opened near his feet. The sloshing water below was inky black.

“Man—I mean Max—overboard!” Alexander yelled. “Incorrigibles, ho!” In a flash he and his two siblings formed a human chain belly-down on the ice, hands gripping on to ankles. As the smallest and lightest, Cassiopeia served as the outermost link. Slowly, with great care, her brothers swung her out across the fragile ice
into the center of the pond. Max was too frightened to do anything but scream, and she had to dodge his razor-sharp kicks, but at last she managed to get a grip on the child.

“Pull!” she yelled to her brothers. “Pull!” His face hit the water just as Cassiopeia grabbed the back of his coat. “Swim, Maxawoo!” she yelled encouragingly, but he could barely move his arms, and his wet clothes were like lead.

“Hang on, Cassawoof! Hoist anchor, men!” Alexander commanded. With the captain and Master Gogolev aiding their efforts by grabbing Alexander's legs, the Incorrigible rescue chain managed to haul the soaked, frightened Baby Max out of the water and across the rapidly disintegrating ice. His lips were faintly blue, his eyes wide, and he was terrifyingly quiet.

“Call for a doctor!” his mother cried, finally on her feet. “Is there a doctor, please?”

“No, but there is a Swanburne girl.” Penelope had not taken Swanburne's required class in the rudiments of first aid for nothing. She rolled the soggy toddler onto his side and pried open his lips. Icy pond water trickled out of his mouth, and he began to cough.

“Excuse me, Max,” she said, to be polite. Then she crouched over him and blew a little puff of air into his mouth. He coughed again, and Penelope repeated the maneuver a few more times. Soon he was screaming robustly on his own.

“He is cold and frightened, not drowned. Take off his wet clothes and wrap him in a dry blanket.” Relieved, Penelope sat back on her heels. She was quite wet herself by now. “Keep him by the fire until he warms up. Someone—you,” she said, pointing at one of the gaping porters from the hotel. “Run back to the hotel at once and have a doctor sent for, so he can meet us there upon our return. Now, go!”

Everyone jumped to do as she said. Max protested loudly as his mother and Julia stripped off his wet clothes. Julia also wept, for was she not his nurse? How had her precious charge ended up alone on the ice? Was not the whole near catastrophe entirely her fault, and all because she was distracted by chocolate? Her hysteria only upset Max further.

“I will do it myself, Julia,” Madame Babushkinov snapped. “Let me care for my son! Surely you have shown enough negligence already.” The rebuke prompted a fresh bout of misery from Julia, who slunk off, sobbing, into the darkness. Master
Gogolev followed, perhaps to comfort her, but when he returned moments later, he looked in need of consolation himself.

All this anger and misery was in no way lessened by the fact that everyone except Max and Penelope now sported a chocolate milk mustache. The adults were so upset that even the twins forgot to keep fighting. Veronika performed a sad little dance alone near the fire, but no one cared, or saw. The Incorrigibles helped themselves to extra mugs of chocolate, and took one for their governess, too, to warm her. It was more than thanks enough for them, for they had only done what they thought right.

Now that his son was safe, the captain's mood turned violent. “In Russia, ice means ice!” he raged. “Frozen means frozen! What kind of place is this, where my children are sent to skate on water? Someone is going to pay!”

His wife came and handed him the baby, and spoke quietly and rapidly in their native tongue. If only Penelope had studied Russian at school, instead of French and Latin and a smidgen of Greek! It was a pity, as this was one of those rare cases where a bit of eavesdropping might have saved a great deal of trouble later on.

“The English governess is very capable, and her charges are clearly well trained. Did you see how our Julia wept with fear? While that pale, serious child—she is hardly more than a child herself—showed such pluck! If not for her, and her brave pupils, our sweet Maximilian would be . . . would be . . .” But Madame Babushkinov could not say it; it was too awful.

“You are right, beloved.” The captain hoisted the sleepy child from one arm to the other as if he weighed no more than a kitten. “It seems my friend the judge was right to praise English governesses. My mind is made up. The judge will know the legalities of it.”

“It was Providence that brought you and that judge together!” his wife said with feeling. “Truly, what are the odds that a man of such learning and wisdom would be in Brighton during the off-season?”

Together they looked up and took stock of the clever English governess. Penelope noticed she was being scrutinized and mistook the reason why, for of course she had not understood a word of the conversation between the captain and his wife. Embarrassed, she quickly dabbed her own chocolate milk mustache with a pocket handkerchief and smiled apologetically.

The remaining porter extinguished the bonfire and
torches, and the whole party began a somber march back to the hotel. Master Gogolev pushed the empty carriage, and the captain himself carried Max, who was alert and swaddled in as many dry blankets as could be found. For once the baby seemed content.

T
HE
S
EVENTH
C
HAPTER
Curiosities, antiquities, rarities—and more.

T
HE
R
IGHT
F
OOT
I
NN GOT
one thing right, at least: By the time the parade of bone-weary guests had reached the hotel, the abruptly summoned doctor was already on the premises. His silver hair was askew and he was dressed in his nightshirt and nightcap over tall winter boots. His medical bag overflowed with tinctures, ointments, bandages, tourniquets, and even surgical instruments, for he had not been told what sort of medical emergency he was about to confront, and came prepared for every eventuality.

Everyone spoke at once to tell him about Baby Max's mishap on the ice; once he sorted out the tale, he sprang into action. He gave the baby a thorough examination and declared him “a robust specimen, in perfect health. All the child needs is some warm milk and careful supervision. Someone ought to stand guard over this little adventurer!” The captain and his wife exchanged a knowing look at that.

Dr. Martell (for that was his name) insisted on examining Boris as well; by now one of the boy's eyes had swollen half shut. “Ice will take down the swelling, but he'll have a whopper of a black eye by morning. You'll be a matching set,” he said, ruffling Constantin's hair, for of course Constantin still sported a magnificent black eye of his own.

Curious, the doctor looked over the whole array of young people, Penelope and the Incorrigibles and the Babushkawoos, too. “Eight children,” he marveled. “A nice big family. You've got your hands full, madame!”

“Only these are mine, and the baby.” Madame Babushkinov drew in the air with one bejeweled finger; at once, Veronika and the twins dashed over and clung to her legs. Max had fallen asleep in his carriage.

“Ah, yes. Now I see the resemblance,” Dr. Martell remarked, but he was looking at Penelope and the
Incorrigibles when he said it. “It's unusual for the inn to have so many visitors in January. There's not much to do in Brighton this time of year. Perhaps you'd all like to visit my museum tomorrow?”

“A mew-eezum, hooray!” Cassiopeia cried, using her baby word for it.

“Does it have Ominous Landscapes? Mythic Figures? Overuse of Symbolism in Minor Historical Portraits?” Beowulf asked eagerly, naming some styles of painting he had seen and enjoyed in the past.

Dr. Martell already had his coat on. Now he tucked his nightcap beneath a warm winter hat. “There might be a picture or two lying about, but it's more of a scientific collection. It's an oddities museum. You'll find some, well . . .
unusual
items there. It's closed during the off-season, but I'd be delighted to open the doors for you, since you're here. A museum is meant to have visitors.”

The Babushkinovs were indifferent, but the Incorrigibles expressed so much enthusiasm that the doctor's invitation was quickly accepted. “Splendid,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Don't arrive before eleven o'clock, if you please. It's been a late evening for me, and I do prefer early bedtimes, as you can see from my attire.” After waving away the profuse and weepy thanks of
Madame Babushkinov, and bravely enduring the bone-crushing handshakes and backslaps of the captain, the sleepy doctor took his leave.

By now the Incorrigibles were yawning, too, but the twins refused to say good night until they had done one vitally important thing. “You saved our brother's life!” Boris and Constantin declared. “We pledge to you our eternal friendship! Our lives and fortunes are yours!” They fell to their knees and bowed their identical heads, and Veronika wept and clutched theatrically at her heart.

It was one extreme or the other with these Babushkawoos, but eternal friendship was a far more pleasing notion than duels to the death. Gladly the Incorrigibles accepted these vows of loyalty and friendship, and offered appropriate promises in return.

“We shall paint your portraits and hang them on the wall!” Beowulf said with feeling.

“Our biscuits shall be your biscuits!” Cassiopeia swore.

Alexander closed his eyes in concentration, as if he wanted to offer something particularly memorable. “Our bond shall be unchanging as the moon!” he cried at last. However, despite being a spot-on example of iambic pentameter, this was a poor promise, for
of course the moon changes every day, as his siblings quickly pointed out.

Quickly he revised his vow to “Our bond shall be eternal as the moon!” And although the moon is not, technically speaking, eternal (as you know, only eternity can fairly lay claim to that), it certainly has lasted a long time and shows every sign of continuing to do so. This was deemed close enough. All were pleased with the sentiments expressed, and parted with warm cries of “See you tomorrow!” and
“Do svidaniya!”
and “To the mew-eezum we go!” and other, similar phrases of friendly farewell.

D
R.
M
ARTELL WAS RIGHT.
B
Y
morning, the skin around Boris's eye had turned purple as a grape. Constantin's bruised eye was on the left, and Boris's was on the right, but in practical terms it was now impossible to tell them apart, and no one made the attempt, not even their parents.

Unlike the Ashtons, the Babushkinovs took their meals together: parents, grandmamma, children, nurse, and tutor. This morning they asked Penelope and the Incorrigibles to join them, and now they all sat at the same long table in the dining room of the hotel. Julia's seat was empty and her food untouched; she was in
hot pursuit of Max, who would not sit still and toddled precariously around the room.

The captain was in good humor, his hair still damp from an early morning swim. “Savages!” he bellowed, addressing the twins. “One of you, pass the salt.” Both boys reached for the salt shaker at the same time.

“Excuse me, savage!” said one.

“Be my guest, savage!” said the other.

“Thank you, savage!”

“My pleasure, savage!” Clearly the nickname pleased them.

“My husband is a madman! He loves to swim in the cold sea,” Madame Babushkinov said, fondly patting his hand. Despite the near-tragedy of the previous evening, both Madame and the captain were in excellent spirits, and their attention seemed fixed on Penelope. Every time she glanced up from her food, one or the other of them would be looking at her, smiling and nodding.

She smiled and nodded in return, as was only polite, but she hoped the Babushkinovs would soon get over this excessive gratitude about the way she had used her rescue skills on Max. “Truly, I did no more than I was taught to do in the class I took at school, called A Swanburne Girl Is Good in a Crisis,” she thought as
she helped herself to a second piece of toast. “Any of my schoolmates would have done the same.”

It was Princess Popkinova who would not let the incident go. She watched, aghast, as the children dramatically reenacted the ice-skating catastrophe for her.

“Someone knew that the pond was not fully frozen.” The old woman poked a gnarled finger in the air for emphasis. “Someone
knew
. There is an enemy afoot. Be on your guard!”

“My mother-in-law likes to predict disaster,” Madame Babushkinov said lightly. But the princess's words reminded Penelope of the suspicious tale the porters had told about the man from the BIP, and of Madame Ionesco's warning, too.

“A bit of caution is always wise,” she said diplomatically. “As Agatha Swanburne once said, ‘Being careful costs nothing; being careless can cost everything.'”

“How true that is.” Master Gogolev pressed a hand to his heart. “I am not familiar with this Agatha Swanburne. Is she a philosopher? A poet? A scholar?”

“She is a flounder,” Cassiopeia said.

“A dead flounder, now,” added Beowulf.

“She was the founder of my school,” Penelope clarified. “The Swanburne Academy for Poor Bright Females. That is where I lived and studied before
coming to work for the Ashtons.”

“Yes, the elusive Ashtons! When shall we be introduced to your employers, Miss Lumley?” Madame Babushkinov's eyes glittered with interest. “I long to meet these Ashtons of yours, and find out what brings them to Brighton at this time of year, but they have hardly left their rooms. Is there some mystery afoot?”

“No, no! There is no mystery about the Ashtons,” Penelope answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Lady Ashton is with child. She was sent here on doctor's orders, to take the sea air; perhaps she is still recovering from her travel.”

Privately she marveled at how well the servants were managing to play along with Lady Constance's unfortunate misunderstanding about Italy. So far it seemed to be going well, according to Jasper. “We're all complaining about the cold and winking, and then we let m'lady overhear us talking about pasta recipes and sunburn remedies and so on,” he had explained earlier when she had sought him out for an update. “This pretending to be pretending business is not so bad, once you get the hang of it!”

“If Lady Ashton is here to take the air, perhaps she ought to try going outside,” Master Gogolev quipped.

His remark caused some unkind laughter at the
table, but Penelope hardly heard it, for she had spotted Margaret. The young housemaid stood in the entrance to the dining room, making wild gestures and exaggerated facial expressions. Luckily, Penelope had always been a whiz at charades, and even at a distance she could glean the gist of it: first, that Penelope's presence was needed at once, and second, that Margaret was much too terrified of the Babushkinovs to set even one foot the dining room.

“Excuse me. It appears I am being summoned.” Penelope touched her napkin to her lips and placed it neatly on the table. “Children, come along. . . .” But all three Incorrigibles were deeply engaged. Alexander listened raptly as Veronika told the plots of all her favorite ballets, and Cassiopeia and Beowulf had just begun a four-way staring contest with the twins.

“Leave your charges with us, Miss Lumley,” Madame Babushkinov urged. “They will be no trouble. Master Gogolev shall watch them as if they were our very own.”

This was hardly reassuring, given Max's recent misadventure on the ice. Yet Margaret's performance in the doorway grew more urgent by the minute. Now she was squinting while holding her hands in front of her lips. If this were truly a game of charades, Penelope would have guessed the young housemaid was playing
a flute in a darkened room. But what might that have to do with Penelope?

“Only if Master Gogolev does not mind,” she said, rising from the table. She spoke in her most respectful tone, as befits one educator addressing another.

“It will be a pleasure to supervise your pupils,” he replied. “Such well-behaved young people are a rarity in this ill-mannered world.”

“No doubt they are a credit to their governess. Careful, Master Gogolev, or you will compliment yourself out of a job!” said Madame Babushkinov merrily.

“Ah. Ha. Hah!” laughed the captain, and took another helping of sausage and eggs.

“T
HANK GOODNESS YOU UNDERSTOOD WHAT
I meant! One of the porters asked if I'd been stung by a bee, as if bees would be buzzing out and about in January! Even those wee creatures have the sense to stay in their hives until spring.” Margaret sailed across the lobby like a skiff caught in a strong current. Penelope had to throw in a few skips and hops in order to keep up with her long-legged guide.

“Who is it that wants to speak with me?” she asked, breathless.

“Lord Fredrick, of course. Didn't you see me acting
out being nearsighted and smoking a cigar? Whoops! Good morning, Your Lordship.” Margaret dropped seamlessly into a curtsy, for they had rounded a corner and nearly careened into the man himself, pacing in the hall. “Here's Miss Lumley, sir. Will there be anything else?”

He squinted until he got Penelope in view. “Ah, yes. There you are. That will be all, Margaret. Miss Lumley, come in.”

The young maid slipped away, and Lord Fredrick ushered Penelope into the nearest room. On this, more expensive, side of the hotel, the view through the porthole-shaped windows overlooked the sea. The bed had been removed and replaced with a desk and a pair of wing chairs; the rest of the furniture had been arranged so that the room might serve as Lord Fredrick's private study for the duration of their stay.

He closed the door behind them but did not sit. “I understand you've given the servants some instructions regarding my wife,” he said without preamble. “You've told them to humor her fantasy of a surprise trip to
bella Italia
, as it were. Bit complicated, but I think I follow it.”

That Lord Fredrick might have an opinion about this plan had not occurred to her previously, and she
wondered if she had made a grave mistake. “I did suggest that, sir. Given Lady Constance's delicate condition, I thought it would be best to avoid delivering any bad news, and as you know she is utterly convinced we are going to Italy. I ought to have asked your permission first, of course,” she added hastily, “but it was quite unplanned. I only thought of it when I was in the midst of speaking to Jasper. I was speaking extempore, as one would say in Latin.”