The Unmapped Sea by Maryrose Wood Page A

enough to make a loud clack!
    â€œIt is a pleasure to meet you, Captain. I am Miss Penelope Lumley.” Penelope did her best to curtsy on the uneven slant of the beach. “These children are my pupils. May I present Cassiopeia, Beowulf, and Alexander Incorrigible.”
    All three children eagerly offered socially useful phrases, as they had been taught to do when being introduced to a grown-up.
    â€œHow do you do, Captain Walrus Mustache?” Cassiopeia said grandly.
    â€œEternally obliged for you putting on your clothes, sir!” Beowulf said.
    â€œAll hail the captain!” Alexander offered a crisp salute. They all tried to click their heels as CaptainBabushkinov had. It was no easy thing to do in the sand, and they nearly knocked themselves over in the attempt.
    â€œAlexander. Like the tsar. I approve of this name. But you two”—he gestured at Beowulf and Cassiopeia—“your names are too hard to say. I call you Boy and Girl instead.” The captain lifted one black eyebrow at Penelope. “So. You are teacher?”
    â€œYes, I am the children’s governess.”
    He lifted the other eyebrow. “You are here to teach them to swim?”
    â€œHeavens, no! It is much too cold. . . .” She stopped, embarrassed. “That is to say . . .”
    But he was already laughing that booming bass-drum laugh. “Ah. Ha. Hah. Too cold for you, maybe! I go back to hotel now. Cold swim makes hungry captain.” He bowed at the waist. “Do svidaniya.”
    The children tried to say it, which made him laugh again.
    â€œIs Russian. Means, ‘See you later.’” Still laughing, he strode up the beach. “ Do svidaniya. See you later!”
    â€œI ASSURE YOU, THERE ARE no Ashtons here, miss. We’ve no guests at all, not one. It’s not what you’d call a profitable state of affairs, but that’s the management’s business, not mine.” The hotel clerk leaned forward onthe reception desk and peered unhappily at the Incorrigible children. “Personally, I appreciate the quiet. Gives a man time to think.”
    â€œOr take a nap,” Penelope thought but did not say. It had taken nearly ten minutes for the clerk to respond to the brass bell that sat on the countertop, next to a sign that read WELCOME TO THE LEFT FOOT INN ! WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS. PLEASE RING FOR PROMPT AND CHEERFUL SERVICE. On the bright side, the lack of a quick response had given the children many turns each to ring the bell, which they greatly enjoyed (although, upon reflection, the incessant clang clang! Clang clang! may have partly accounted for the clerk’s ill temper).
    â€œI have no wish to disturb your contemplations, sir, but my instructions are clear.” Penelope glanced at the slip of paper Mrs. Clarke had given her. “We were told to meet our party at the inn on Front Street. The directions say, ‘Look for the sign of the’—after which there is a drawing of a human foot.” The inn fit the description perfectly, for the sign that hung above the door depicted a large bare foot sandwiched between the words THE and INN .
    â€œTerribly sorry to disappoint you,” the clerk said, sounding neither sorry nor disappointed. “As I said,the Left Foot Inn is vacant. Whoever you’re looking for is not here. If you insist on staying, I suppose we could accommodate you. Unless you intend to be demanding! That would never do, as there’s only me here this time of year, and a part-time housekeeper, and a cook on alternate Sundays. Frankly, we prefer to be left alone during the off-season.”
    Penelope turned and surveyed the hotel lobby. Other than the Incorrigibles and the clerk himself, there was not another soul in sight. “They should have checked in this afternoon,” she insisted. “A dozen household staff, in the service of Lord Fredrick Ashton.”
    â€œMaybe they got lost on the way from the