The Unmapped Sea: Chapters 4–6

Every few minutes she reached in to make sure it was still there, much the way Lord Fredrick fretted over his almanac.

Would the London Postal Service live up to its sterling reputation?

Child-sized suitcases in hand, the three Incorrigibles clambered down the metal stairs and stood on the platform.

She could scarcely hide her excitement as she paid for the postage, affixed the stamp (which bore a charming portrait of Queen Victoria in her youth), and handed her letter to the postal clerk.

“London takes one day, no more and no less. But ‘Devotees of Thespis, care of the Theatrical Firmament’...let me check.”

How staunch and unflappable were the employees of the postal service!

“By means of a bit of stagecraft and costuming, we shall convince Great-Uncle Pudge that Simon is the admiral! Simon is a man of the theater, after all; I expect he will relish the chance to give such a performance.”

In this pleasant way, Penelope and the children found so much entertainment on their walk that it came as a shock when they turned yet another corner to find, not more charming houses and shuttered storefronts, but a wide, wooden-planked promenade, beyond which lay—the sea!

The waves rolled with a slow and ceaseless undulation, like an enormous carpet being shaken out by tireless giants.

“Perhaps the greatest of the earth’s mountains would come close,” Penelope said with reverence, for she, too, was awestruck.

“It is a remarkable world, that has the sea and the moon and art, and spring flowers, new babies, and tasty biscuits, too,” Penelope interjected, to keep peace among them.

“How invigorating!” she declared.

The beach was empty, save for the shrill-voiced gulls wheeling overhead and whatever snails and hermit crabs might have lurked among the rocks.

"My goodness! Let us avert our gazes,” Penelope instructed, for now it was too late to leave, and the man might yet need help, or a hot cup of tea at the very least.

“Maybe something ominous happened,” Beowulf suggested.

The man looked at her askance.

“Even pirates have the sense not to holiday at the beach in the off-season. If you’d come in July, we’d be full up. I’d have to turn you away, and wouldn’t that be a pleasure! But Brighton, in January? Empty as a pauper’s bank account.”

“Horrible Babushkinovs!” he said, in a tremulous voice.

After all, it was not so very long a go that the Incorrigibles themselves learned the difference between a salad fork and a fountain pen, or how to curtsy and bow and say a friendly hello when being introduced, rather than growl and hide in a corner. Such minor lapses in a person’s education were easily corrected, given a bit of time and patient instruction.

They each tried to click their heels while standing on one leg, but the sound of one foot clicking proved elusive, as they swiveled in vain on their sole remaining soles.

Penelope lost her balance as surely as if she had been standing on the deck of a ship in a squall.

Jasper looked dubious, but Penelope was, after all, a governess.

It was a cozy room, clean and tidy—shipshape, one might say—with a pleasingly nautical theme.

Nor, despite some vigorous sniffing, did they detect any smell of bears.

She unfurled a bejeweled claw and crooked it at the twins, who gulped and fell silent.

In friendlier circumstances, the Incorrigibles would have offered their pocket handkerchiefs, but in a situation so fraught with confusion it seemed better to wait.

“Veronika is a talented dancer, and the twins are full of pep,” Penelope conceded, when the Incorrigibles asked her what she thought of their new acquaintances.

Their tutor, Master Gogolev, was an odd duck too, dour and sharp-tongued, but Penelope could hardly blame the man for having a touch of weltschmerz about him.

He was deeply curious about how such a large, flat sheet of ice might catch and reflect the moonlight, and pondered how an artist like himself might represent such ethereal loveliness in paint.

Cassiopeia teasingly began calling him the Tsar of Love, but Beowulf was more sympathetic to his brother’s plight.

With Penelope’s watchful eye upon them, they conducted themselves with impeccable sportsmanship.

Master Gogolev ran his hands through his unkempt hair.

“She belongs in a HAP,” Alexander quipped.

Like Max, she was dressed for the Arctic winter, and (as was about to become evident) like Boris and Constantin, she had no qualms at all about hurting people’s feelings.

“No, my dear Gogolev. Your skull suits you the way it is. Free, and unencumbered. But I warn you, if you get sick we shall be in the mar-
ket for a new tutor.”

“How could I manage without my dear pupils? I live for your children, as you know. They are sweetness incarnate.”

She knew she ought not to be eavesdropping, but really, she could not recall ever being privy to such a fascinating conversation!

Penelope had not taken Swanburne’s required class in the rudiments of first aid for nothing.

The rebuke prompted a fresh bout of misery from Julia, who slunk off, sobbing, into the darkness.

The rebuke prompted a fresh bout of misery from Julia, who slunk off, sobbing, into the darkness.