The Unseen Guest Read online

  “The roof of Ashton Place seems to have sprung a leak,” she thought, still in a deep doze. “I hear water dripping. I shall have to notify Mrs. Clarke at once, so she can arrange repairs.” Then she opened her eyes. Instead of a carved wooden bureau and a set of French doors leading to a balcony, she saw walls of rough stone. The only light came from the sunbeams that angled in at the cave’s arched mouth, some twenty feet away.

  She stared, fascinated, at the strange rock formations that furnished this stony room. “Why, those are stalactites and stalagmites,” she thought. “I recognize them from my Fundamentals of Geology class at Swanburne. They come in pairs: One grows up from the ground like a spire; the other hangs from the roof like an icicle.” But which was which? She could not for the life of her remember, for she had taken the class some years ago, and this was the first time the subject had come up since.

  She rolled onto her back and stretched out luxuriously on the soft quilt that had been her bedding for the night. “What a marvelous opportunity this would be for a lesson on cave geology! If only I had an encyclopedia handy to check a few important facts—but of course, one would be unlikely to find an encyclopedia in a cave…what? Wait!”

  Penelope bolted upright, eyes wide. For, as unlikely as it would be to find an encyclopedia in a cave, surely there ought not to be soft quilts either, or feather pillows, or dry kindling, or beeswax candles and matches to light them with, or any number of civilization’s comforts and conveniences. And yet, somehow, here all those things were, and more: The Incorrigibles were up and preparing breakfast, having already neatly made their beds (for there seemed to have been enough quilts and pillows for everyone). They had started a campfire just outside the cave’s entrance, and someone had put a box of matches and a short but perfectly usable candle stub in a holder not two feet from Penelope’s pillow.

  “Good morning, Lumawoo,” Cassiopeia sang out happily from near the cave’s entrance. She poured water from a jug into a small kettle and set it on the fire. “Making tea for you!”

  “Thank you, Cassiopeia. That is very thoughtful.” Penelope stood up warily and looked around in wonder. “This is a cave, to be sure, but a well-stocked and comfortable one. Look, there is even artwork on the walls.” She lit one of the candles so that she might examine the pictures more closely. “What extraordinary drawings,” she marveled. “They are childlike, yet graceful, depicting animals on the run. Perhaps these antelopes are fleeing a hunter. Why, this could well be a significant archeological discovery! These paintings may have been made here long ago, by primitive peoples, long before there even was an England….”

  “Made by Beowulf, actually,” Alexander said, pushing his brother forward. The bashful boy hung his head.

  (Note that the idea of caves whose walls were covered with paintings created by the primitive peoples of antiquity was a perfectly sound one, although Penelope was somewhat ahead of herself in thinking of it. In fact, it would not be until a few decades later that such caves would be discovered in Europe. The artwork within them was tens of thousands of years old and included animals that had long been extinct. The purpose of these pictures has been much debated by scientists; however, it is quite possible that those early cave dwellers, like Beowulf, simply liked to draw.)

  “I was little.” Beowulf shrugged. “Not my best work.”

  “Oh.” Penelope tried to conceal her disappointment. “Well, they are still quite good. And there are so many of them! It must have taken you a long time to do all of these.” Beowulf nodded. “Which would mean that you had some art supplies at hand, I suppose?”

  “Just chalk,” he said. “Some paints, too.”

  “And where did you get the chalk and the paints?”

  He pointed. “From the trunk.”

  She turned and held the candle forward so that she might see into the dark recesses of the cave. There, hidden by shadows, was a large, battered trunk, of the sort that people brought on long sea voyages.

  Shielding her candle with one hand so that it would not go out, she stepped closer, into the gloom. The trunk was large and rectangular, made of wood and trimmed in brass-studded leather, with a curved lid in the shape of a dome. The lid hung open. Its interior was covered with stickers depicting all the places its owner had been, and the trunk itself was lined with old newspapers.

  Penelope swiftly catalogued its contents: blankets and sheets. Candles. Matches. Boxes of chalk, some well used. A ball of twine and an ample supply of dry kindling, neatly cut to length. There were even rudimentary first-aid supplies: bandages, iodine, and so forth.

  The three Incorrigibles gathered around her. Cassiopeia handed her a small tin mug of tea. “No milk,” she said apologetically.

  “Thank you.” Penelope took the mug and continued to stare in amazement at the contents of the trunk. There was no milk, perhaps, but there were cups, spoons, a tin of black tea, even some sugar. The labels plastered across the inside of the trunk’s lid included many midsized European nations, as well as places with names such as Tiki-Tiki, Maui-Maui, Ahwoo-Ahwoo, and other exotic destinations she had never heard of before.

  Penelope walked slowly back toward the entrance of the cave and put the candle down on a flat stone. She sat on a rock and drank her tea, thinking all the while. When she was finished she put down her tea, sat up straight, and folded her hands, just as she did when beginning the morning’s lessons back at the nursery. All three Incorrigibles immediately scampered over and lined up at attention. They gazed at her expectantly.

  “Children, thank you for building a fire and making tea,” she said. “And for fashioning such cozy beds on short notice. That was very resourceful of you. Agatha Swanburne would be proud. ‘Whatever will do in a pinch, will do,’ as she liked to say.”

  The children beamed at the praise, although the boys began giggling and pinching each other as soon as they heard the word “pinch.” Penelope stopped them with a glance and went on. “Now, if you will forgive my curiosity, I would like to ask you some questions about this lovely cave you have brought us to.”

  “You mean a quiz?” Alexander asked eagerly, for he was the sort of student who enjoyed puzzles and tests of all kinds. “Like spelling words?”

  Penelope could not help smiling at the notion. “Yes, like a quiz. But any one of you can reply to any question, and if the answer is satisfactory, you will all receive credit. Now. I take it this is the cave you lived in before you came to live at Ashton Place.” Realizing she had not put it in the form of a question, she quickly added, “True or false?”

  “True!” Beowulf called out. The other children murmured in agreement. Cassiopeia took a step to the right so she could scratch her back against one of the stalagmites (or was it a stalactite?). “We like our cave,” she said appreciatively as she scratched.

  “It is very comfortable, to be sure, thanks to the contents of that trunk.” Penelope glanced back at the mysterious luggage, hidden in the shadows. “Next question: Has the trunk always been in the cave?”

  The children nodded. “Easy questions,” Beowulf whispered to his brother. “I will get A.”

  “I will get A plus,” Alexander bragged back.

  “A plus plus plus for me,” Cassiopeia crowed.

  “You will all get very high marks, never fear.” Penelope smiled reassuringly, but inside she was aflutter with curiosity. “Here is a more difficult question for you: Who, exactly, put all these useful items in the trunk?”

  The children fell silent. Beowulf shrugged.

  “None of the above?” Cassiopeia guessed.

  Penelope shook her head. “The candles, the kindling, the blankets, the chalk…someone must have put them inside, surely?”

  “They are just there,” Alexander explained.

  “Like the sandwiches.” From behind his back Beowulf produced a sandwich; a large bite had already been taken out.

  Penelope was so surprised she nearly slipped off her rock. “Sandwiches! Beowulf, where did you get that?�
�

  He pointed. Growing near the mouth of a cave was a type of fern known as a wicker fern, named so because its fronds had the densely woven appearance of wicker. This made it an ideal place to conceal a wicker picnic hamper with a lid, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be exactly what was hidden there.

  Penelope opened the hamper and looked inside. “By Jove—there are sandwiches in the cave,” she exclaimed. There were ham sandwiches on crusty brown bread, and cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches on white bread with the crusts trimmed off. There were even a few of Penelope’s exact favorite type of sandwich: cheddar cheese with thinly sliced apple and a dab of mustard. Each was wrapped in a clean linen napkin. Mrs. Clarke herself could not have packed them up more neatly.

  “Do we get A’s?” Beowulf asked with difficulty, as he was in the midst of chewing.

  “Yes, of course. A pluses for everyone.” Penelope lowered the lid and looked around, flummoxed. There was the picnic hamper of sandwiches, the trunk full of supplies, the cave walls full of Beowulf’s childish scrawls. “This is all quite curious,” she said finally. “For the three of you to survive as you did, caring for yourselves in the wild, has always seemed miraculous—but it appears as if someone was well aware of your presence here in the forest. Someone who went to great trouble to make sure you were warm, and fed, and had the tools you would need to survive. But who was it?”

  “Mama Woof?” Cassiopeia suggested.

  Mama Woof? Penelope could barely contain her excitement—was it possible that the Incorrigibles’ mother was living someplace nearby? “I would like to meet this Mama Woof person,” she said. “Where might I find her?”

  “We will call,” Alexander replied. The three children climbed upon some nearby rocks and cupped their hands to their mouths.

  “Ahwoooooo!”

  “Ahwoooooo!”

  “Ahwoooooo!”

  From distant hilltops came the answering howls:

  “Ahwoooooo!”

  “Ahwoooooo!”

  “Ahwoooooo!”

  With a rapidly sinking heart, Penelope realized her mistake. “Cassiopeia, when you said ‘Mama Woof’—did you by any chance mean Mama Wolf?”

  “What I said. Mama Woof,” the girl repeated. She bared her teeth and howled once more, face to the sky. “Mamahwoooooooo!”

  “Oh dear.” Penelope’s voice rose until it squeaked, much as the housemaid Margaret’s might have done. “Oh my, oh dear! Perhaps—perhaps I was too hasty in asking to meet Mama Woof. Perhaps another day would be more convenient. Come, children. Let us go hide in the cave—that is to say, get out of this sun before we break out all over in freckles.” Shooing the Incorrigibles before her, she stood as tall and narrow as she could and positioned herself behind a stalagmite (or it might have been a stalactite), as if somehow the thin spire of rock could hide her from the eyes, and nose, and teeth, and claws, of their soon-to-arrive visitor—

  Sudden as a snuffed candle, a shadow fell across the mouth of the cave. Someone—or something—had blocked all the light. Which meant that this something—or someone—must be exceedingly large, indeed.

  The children yapped with joy and ran outside to greet their guest.

  “Wait,” Penelope cried, forgetting her fear and chasing after them. For no matter how adept they were with wild creatures, the Incorrigibles had been living among humans for nearly a year. There was no guarantee that the animals of the forest would remember them—or still consider them friendly, if they did.

  Breathless, Penelope pushed ahead of her three pupils and skidded to a stop at the mouth of the cave. Before her stood the largest, most terrifying wolf she had ever seen (and you may rest assured, the fact that Penelope had never seen a real live wolf before in no way minimizes just how large and terrifying the beast was). It was nearly the size of a pony, although there was little about it to suggest that it might someday become the beloved, beribboned best friend of some wolf-loving fictional heroine. Its snout was long and tapered. Its fur-covered ears were sharply pointed and tilted forward, toward Penelope and the children. Its mouth hung open, dripping slimy trails of saliva. Its breath came in hard pants, and its staring, close-set eyes were yellow as two tiny bowls of lemon custard.

  Despite her shaking knees Penelope managed a curtsy, for she knew that good manners always went a long way toward easing a tense situation. “Mama Woof,” she squeaked, “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  The wolf’s gaze lingered on Penelope for a long moment. Then it threw back its head.

  “Ahwoooooooooooo!”

  AS YOU DOUBTLESS KNOW BY now, Miss Penelope Lumley was a great fan of books. Countless were the times she had read of people caught in frightening circumstances; when things seemed at their most dire, inevitably these unlucky people would be described as having “a shiver run down their spines.” Until now Penelope had assumed this was merely a neat turn of phrase that authors used to show that someone was well and truly panicked. Apparently there was more to it than that, for the wolf’s mournful cry sent an actual cold shiver trickling from the base of her neck downward, as if some mischief maker had slipped a shaving of ice down the back of her dress at a picnic.

  What should she do? Should she run, or fight, or cower helplessly in the hope that the wolf would take pity and leave them alone? The beast could easily outrun, outleap, and outclimb them; that much was clear. Nor did they stand a chance in a fight, for the wolf was protected by its rough, impenetrable fur and armed with fangs and claws, while she and the children were sheathed in soft human flesh, with only their weak fists and a dog-eared hardcover book of poetry as weapons. The verse was exceedingly melancholy, to be sure, and certain passages never failed to reduce Penelope to a state of misty-eyed reverie, but even the saddest German poems (in translation) were unlikely to be a match for a wolf.

  Penelope’s mind whirled in desperation. What would Agatha Swanburne do? What would Edith-Anne Pevington do? What would Simon do? What would sweet, brave Rainbow do? At least Rainbow had hooves to kick with, but Rainbow would always rather make friends than fight.

  There was no time to think. “Nice wolfy,” she cooed. “Nice, pretty, wolfy-wolfy-woo. What a fine, furry coat you have.” Then, just to be clear about her intentions, she extended her two hands, palms up, and added, “We come in peace.”

  “Grrrrrrrr.”

  The answering growl was like a deep rumble of thunder, or the roar of a steam engine approaching the station, or the sound of a snowy avalanche on some distant alpine peak. However you might choose to describe it, it was not a friendly sound.

  “Alexander. Beowulf. Cassiopeia. Stay behind me, please,” Penelope whispered hoarsely. “Move slowly. Be. Very. Quiet.”

  The three Incorrigibles had other ideas, though. They had already put down their mugs of tea and half-eaten sandwiches. Now they sank down onto their haunches. One by one, each child yowled a greeting.

  “Ahwoooooooo!”

  “Ahwoooooooo!”

  “Ahwoooooooo!”

  The wolf pulled its black-rimmed lips back into a horrid grin that bared every one of its wet, razor-sharp teeth. Then it pounced.

  In a useless, frantic gesture, Penelope threw her arms wide to protect the children.

  “Stay back, wild creature!” she called. “Stay back, I say! For these children are my pupils, and you shall not harm them—oof!”

  The bounding wolf flew past her and knocked her flat on her back, with a whoosh of hot wolf breath and dank fur smell. Scrambling to her feet, Penelope saw:

  The wolf, crouched over Alexander, growling and snarling not six inches from his face.

  Alexander, pinned beneath the enormous beast, grinning, growling, and snarling right back.

  Beowulf, straddled upon the wolf’s back as if it were, in fact, a pony.

  And Cassiopeia, with a look of deepest contentment on her sweet little girl’s face, wrapped ’round the creature’s neck like a fox fur stole.

  “Lumawooo!”
she called gaily. “Meet Mama Woof!”

  The wolf lifted its head and turned to Penelope. It blinked its cold, custard-yellow eyes.

  Not knowing what else to do, Penelope threw back her head. “Ahwooooo?” she said, in a tremulous voice.

  The wolf reared onto its hind legs. Penelope shrieked.

  “Giddy-yap, giddy-yap!” Beowulf yelled, clutching the thick gray fur. Upright, the wolf was a good deal taller than Penelope. She could feel its hot, panting breath and see the scarlet roof of its toothy mouth. Cassiopeia swung from its neck in bliss.

  The wolf placed its huge, hairy paws on Penelope’s shoulders. It lowered its head until it was eye to eye with the petrified governess.

  “Woof,” said the wolf. Then, with a mighty slurp, it licked its long, wet tongue along the full length of Penelope’s face.

  “Lumawooo!” she called gaily. “Meet Mama Woof!”

  THE CAVE ALREADY HAD COZY quilts, beeswax candles, and an art collection. And now it had a sofa, too—a warm, furry, and occasionally growling sofa. For the wolf was so large that when she lay on her side, curved neatly against one wall of the cave, all three Incorrigibles could nestle cozily against her.

  There would have been room for Penelope, too, but she politely declined. It had taken all of her willpower not to wipe the wolf slime from her face until she was sure Mama Woof was not watching. Even now she longed for a washcloth, a basin of hot water, and some strong soap, so she could give herself a proper scrubbing.

  While the children enjoyed this strange but happy reunion with Mama Woof, Penelope fetched the picnic hamper and offered more sandwiches all around, for it seemed prudent to make sure their guest was not hungry. The wolf did not care for the cucumbers, but she did enjoy the bits of cheddar cheese Penelope offered, once the mustard had been carefully wiped off, of course.

  Afterward the children played happily with their old friend, tugging on her fur and pulling her by the ears while she gently nipped and rolled them around between her massive paws. “Raised by wolves, indeed,” Penelope thought, amazed. “But not only wolves. Someone knew all along—and still knows, judging by the freshness of the sandwiches—that there were three children living in the forest.”