ICAP 2 - The Hidden Gallery (12 page)

“Who goes there?” Baron Hoover called, turning to the door. “What's this? I'm afraid you have taken a wrong turn, miss, quite a wrong turn indeed.” Then he looked again. “Why, it's that governess person, isn't it? And aren't those Ashton's famous wolf children?”

“Good day, Baron Hoover.” Now all the gentlemen had stopped playing and were looking at Penelope, their expressions a mix of annoyance and curiosity. “I am sorry to disturb your game. The children and I came to deliver this.” She held out the almanac. Lord Fredrick seized it at once.

“My almanac! Blast this thing, I'm always losing it.” He patted it and promptly tucked it in his pocket. To
the men, he shrugged and joked, “One must stay a step ahead of the weather. Wouldn't do to be caught in the rain without a bumbershoot, what?”

“Pardon me.” Penelope spoke quickly, before she lost their attention. “I was told Judge Quinzy would be here. Is he expected?”

“He's here, all right. He just stepped outside for some air,” the Earl of Maytag snapped, for it was his turn at billiards and he was impatient to resume playing. “What do you want to bother Quinzy about?”

Penelope willed her voice to sound calm. “I am in need of some legal advice.”

“Don't get caught. That's all the legal advice anyone needs.” Maytag took his shot and dropped a ball in the side pocket with a neat
click
.

“Har, har! And possession is nine-tenths of the law,” added Baron Hoover, relighting his pipe.

“In other words, finders keepers! Speaking of which, what is the condition of those Incorrigible pups these days?” Lord Fredrick squinted in the direction of the children, who huddled in the doorway. “Still howling and whatnot?”

“Pups? Don't be rude, Freddy. At Christmas they were spouting Latin, as I recall. An impressive trick, I must say.” Maytag applied chalk to the tip of his cue.
“Tell us, children, what have you been studying lately?'

“I am in need of some legal advice.”

The children stepped forward to answer.

“Peloponnesian War,” mumbled Alexander.

“Bears,” said Beowulf, sounding defiant.

“Moon, moon, moon, moon,” Cassiopeia counted. The child opened her mouth in a way that let Penelope know she was about to let out a howl of anxiety; she clapped her hand over the girl's face and said, “We have been enjoying the cultural sights of London. Today we hoped to have a tour of the theater district, but I fear our guide may have been detained by the police. If so, it is all a misunderstanding, for he is a perfectly nice young man. That is why I wish to speak to His Honor.”

“Surely you do not mean Mr. Harley-Dickinson?” Judge Quinzy entered the room in three long strides, bearing a snifter of some dark, syrupy liquid. “Is our young playwright in trouble with the law? I am disappointed to hear it. He hardly seemed the type.”

“The theater attracts all sorts of shady characters. Always has,” Baron Hoover observed.

Alexander nodded. “Aristophanes.”

“Gesundheit.” Baron Hoover replied, waving his pipe in the other direction. “Sorry about the smoke; I'll ring for someone to open a window.”

Alexander was about to explain that Aristophanes
was the famous Greek dramatist who wrote satirical plays about the Peloponnesian War, but Penelope spoke first. “As I said, it is a misunderstanding. Do you remember the velocipede I was riding yesterday?”

Judge Quinzy settled himself in a leather club chair and swirled his drink. “It would be hard to forget,” he said wryly, “seeing as how you crashed it into my carriage.”

“I am sorry about that.” Penelope hoped no one noticed her blush. “Mr. Harley-Dickinson used the velocipede to run an errand, but there is a chance it may be stolen property, and now I fear he is being held by the authorities.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because he did not show up for our appointment this morning.”

“And it did not occur to you that he may have simply found something better to do?”

“No, sir. It did not.”

“I see.” Judge Quinzy looked vaguely amused. “Miss Lumley, I am afraid that legal problems are never as simple as they may first appear. Before I render a verdict, let me consult my colleagues.” He addressed the men at the billiards table. “What say you, gentlemen? A man is found riding a velocipede that turns out to
be stolen, but he claims he is not the thief. Opinions?”

The Earl of Maytag did not hesitate. “Caught with stolen property? Hang him! No honest man scoots around on pilfered wheels. He's obviously guilty of something.”

Lord Ashton shook his head in disagreement. “Finders keepers, I say. A velocipede belongs to the person who's riding it. Case closed, what?”

Baron Hoover paused to take a shot, which missed, and straightened from the table with a grunt. “Now, Freddy, that's a bit unfeeling, isn't it? What about the poor chap who owned the velocipede to begin with? Doesn't he deserve some justice? Chances are he left it outside a shop and someone rode off on it. Or maybe the ‘thief' thought it was abandoned and free for the taking. Could've been an honest mistake. I say more investigation is required.”

Judge Quinzy leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “You see how difficult the work of a judge is, Miss Lumley? Three men, three different opinions.”

Penelope was flummoxed; to her the situation had seemed quite straightforward, until now. And why had Maytag found it necessary to mention hanging in front of the children? “Your Honor, Mr. Harley-Dickinson was with you yesterday, at the zoo. Surely you would
be able to explain to the police that he could not have done anything wrong?”

Judge Quinzy shook his head. “Unless we know exactly what time the property was stolen, and from what address, an alibi is irrelevant.”

“But what if we found the true owner of the velocipede, and returned it? Wouldn't that solve everything?”

“In a city the size of London?” Judge Quinzy smiled. “It would be no more possible to determine the rightful owner of that velocipede than it would be to determine the origins of those three remarkable pupils of yours.”

“Respectfully, I disagree.” Her fear made Penelope bold. “For how can one say something is impossible, if one has not tried?”

For a tense moment, it was as if Penelope and Judge Quinzy were the only two people in the room.

“Have you tried to discover their origins, then? Do tell us what you have learned,” he murmured.

“You mean, the children's?” she blurted. “Why, no. I was talking about the velocipede…”

“A far more interesting topic, I quite agree,” the Earl of Maytag interjected. “First we must determine: Was the velocipede lost, abandoned, or stolen? In my view it makes all the difference. For if it was lost or abandoned,
then I agree with Ashton. Finders keepers.”

“Hear, hear,” Lord Ashton said absently; he was busy thumbing through the almanac.

“But if stolen—hanging's too good for him. Unless Miss Lumley can point us in the direction of the real thief, of course.”

Penelope thought of the little urchin boy. Perhaps he had stolen the velocipede—she had assumed as much—but she could not know for certain, could she? And with all this talk of hanging, how could she dream of accusing a poor waif of a child, who likely had no one to teach him right from wrong to begin with?

Or perhaps Judge Quinzy was right. Perhaps Simon had simply found something better to do this morning. Even as she considered this, she did not believe it. Call her optoomuchstic, but she did not think Simon would have broken his word.

“So which is it, Miss Lumley?” Judge Quinzy held out his hands. “Lost, abandoned, or stolen?”

“I cannot say for certain where the velocipede came from, Your Honor,” she replied. “I am sorry. I see now that I should not have troubled you with this matter.”

He nodded, as if he had known that would be her conclusion all along.

Baron Hoover chuckled. “My advice is to not get
tangled up with the law to begin with. Once you do, it's a sticky wicket, that's for sure! Not easy to extricate oneself, har har.”

“Spiderweb,” Beowulf observed, but Alexander shushed him gently.

“Should you ever see Mr. Harley-Dickinson again,” the judge said smoothly, “do tell him I wish him all the best, and trust this incident will serve as a valuable lesson. By the way, are you feeling well, Miss Lumley?” He paused. “Your complexion seems rather pale today. I hope you are not coming down with a cold.”

Penelope adjusted her hat to cover as much of her hair as possible, for she knew the dark hair made her face look sallow by comparison. “I am quite well, I assure you. Good day.”

Desperate to leave, she turned and shepherded the children toward the door. But as she did, Judge Quinzy's words rang in her head.

…those three remarkable pupils…

Have you tried to discover their origins?

Lost, abandoned, or stolen?…Lost, abandoned, or stolen?

Could the Incorrigibles have been stolen? Not lost in the woods while being neglected by the world's most careless parents, or abandoned there by the world's
most cruel and unfeeling parents, but actually
stolen
from what must surely be the world's most worried and heartbroken parents?

It was such an awful thought she could not prevent herself from exclaiming, “Oh, my!”

Baron Hoover was on his feet. “What is it, my dear?”

If Penelope were to answer honestly, she would say, “I just realized that I had formed a poor opinion of two people whom I have never met, and now I wish to apologize but cannot, because I don't know who they are.”

But instead, she blurted, “I just remembered that the children have not yet taken their naps. We must be on our way. Good day.”

At this, the Incorrigibles began to protest.

“Not sleepy, Lumawoo!”

“Awake awake awake-
ahwoo
!”

“No nap! Mew-eezum!” begged Cassiopeia.

“We will discuss it outside, children. This way, please.” As she hurried them out of the billiard room, the door ever so slowly closed behind them. As it did, she overheard:

“Those wolf-children of yours are positively mad.” It was the Earl of Maytag's voice. “Can't imagine why you bother with them, Freddy. They must be a dreadful
expense to feed. And the noise! All that barking and yapping and
ahwooi
ng. Why not give them to the zoo?”

“Finders keepers!” Lord Fredrick crowed. “Let's play more billiards, shall we?”

 

“G
IVE THE CHILDREN TO THE
zoo!” Penelope fumed. What sort of people were they, who could talk in such a callous way? And was it truly possible that the Incorrigibles themselves might be, in a sense, contraband?

It was a spiderweb indeed, and Penelope felt as if she were trapped in one of those frightening dreams that everyone has now and then, in which a miniature Penelope was pinned to the sticky middle of the web, with a giant, black-robed arachnid bearing Judge Quinzy's face scuttling ever nearer. It was an unpleasant image, to say the least, and she quickly dispelled it by concentrating on her surroundings.

The only other people waiting for the omnibus were a mother with two babies in one of the new wheeled perambulators that could be pushed from behind. The babies were at the age when they could sit up quite well and enjoy the scenery. They were dressed alike and appeared to be twins; their mother entertained them with a variety of rattles, plush toys, nursery rhymes, games of peek-a-boo, and amusing little songs
about farm animals. The babies laughed and clapped their chubby hands, while the Incorrigibles watched, mesmerized.

Penelope found it a fascinating scene as well—what a clever idea, making a miniature carriage to push babies in!—but soon realized that it was the mother's loving, singsong attentions that had so thoroughly captured the Incorrigibles' attention, just as it had the babies'.

“Never fear, somehow we will figure out who your parents are,” she so dearly wanted to tell them. But she did not, for she would hate to make such a promise and not be able to keep it. Penelope had the unshakable confidence of a Swanburne girl about most things, but when it came to finding missing parents—well, put it this way: She had not had much luck with it in her own life, so far.

And, frankly, since she still needed to rescue Simon and sort out the business of the stolen velocipede, the mystery of the peculiar guidebook, and the case of the missing soothsayer, it seemed best to postpone tackling any further mysteries for the time being. “One conundrum at a time,” she concluded, “and none on an empty stomach.” Or, in the words of Agatha Swanburne: “First, eat.”

At last the omnibus arrived. Alexander and Beowulf
were delighted to hold the two babies as Penelope helped the woman lift her carriage aboard. During the ride Cassiopeia entertained the infants with her own doggy-themed version of the farm animal song, in which every animal either barked or howled. The babies found it hilarious.