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

café, then a long, looping stroll that would take them past both Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, London Bridge, and St. Paul’s Cathedral. Their walk would conclude at the brand-new British Museum, where they would spend the remainder of the afternoon touring the galleries and perhaps pop in on a lecture or two.
    It was an ambitious plan, to be sure—in particular, a lecture at the museum might be pushing their luck—but Penelope was raring to see the collection of Overuse of Symbolism in Minor Historical Portraits that the Hixby’s Guide recommended so highly, and wanted to squeeze it in somehow. And with so many wonderful places to visit, how could any of them be put off until tomorrow?
    Penelope thought she had planned the day from top to bottom, but she had not planned that the children would be in a funk, and so, she realized, her plan must be altered. She took a deep breath and said:
    â€œWho wants breakfast?”
    All three Incorrigibles perked up slightly at the suggestion, but they were still too grumpy to reply.
    â€œWell, I certainly do.” She rose and walked to the door. “I will go downstairs and fetch some. When I return, I expect all three of you to be out of bed, haircombed, faces washed and fully dressed. If you are ready before I return, please practice your cursive letters. I have already tacked a helpful diagram on the wall.” This was another example of Penelope’s optimism, for the two younger Incorrigibles were sloppy printers at best; Cassiopeia struggled mightily with the spelling of her own name, and even Alexander was prone to mixing up his p’s and q’s.
    Yet Penelope believed that the best approach was to set a high standard and encourage the children to jump for it. It was the way she herself had been taught, after all. As Agatha Swanburne once observed, “When a big leap is required, a running start makes all the difference—so get moving!”
    She left without waiting for a reply. Penelope had no idea what she might find in the kitchen; she had not seen Mrs. Clarke, and all the servants were frantically preparing the house for the arrival of Lord and Lady Ashton. “But even if there is no breakfast made,” she thought determinedly, “surely a lane called Muffinshire will be equipped with a charming little bakery somewhere close by.”
    Down the stairs she went, from the servants’ and children’s quarters upstairs, past floor after floor of parlors and sitting rooms, dark-paneled libraries, andextra bedrooms for guests. There was a whole floor for the private use of the lord and lady of the house, with spacious bedchambers, dressing rooms, and the most newfangled lavatories imaginable, including actual flush toilets and slipper-shaped tubs that could heat up their own bathwater.
    Finally she reached the bottommost floor, which was the domain of the cook, the scullery maids, and the laundresses. Although the cook was nowhere in sight, she discovered a big pot of porridge keeping warm on the kitchen hearth. She filled the bowls herself, sprinkled each with cinnamon and sugar, and since she did not know how to work the dumbwaiter, carried the meal all the way back up those many stairs on a tray.
    To her great relief, the children were waiting for her in her room. They were dressed, though still looking glum. Alexander had stubbornly kept his blanket wrapped around him like a cape, and no one had taken a stab at the cursive letters. Penelope waited until the Incorrigibles had finished eating their porridge before speaking.
    â€œWasn’t that delicious?” she said, stacking the empty bowls on the tray. “I do so love the taste of cinnamon. Now wash your hands and put on your coats, quickquick! We have an exciting day in store.”
    There were whimpers of protest. Penelope paid them no mind. “In the first place I wish to send a note to Miss Mortimer, letting her know that we have arrived in London and