Penny Dreadful (2 page)

Then he stood back up and headed off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Penelope to think sulkily that it hadn’t sounded much like poetry to her.

Even so, she was glad to have some advice to follow, and she took her father’s words to heart. From that day on, she tried to
do
things every single day. Since she had little experience with
doing
, and didn’t know where to begin, she turned to her books for help. Each morning
she stood in front of her bookshelf with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and ran a finger down the spines of the bindings, stopping whenever the mood struck her. Then she’d pull out that particular book, flip to a random page, and do whatever the people in that book happened to be doing.

In this way, Penelope succeeded in exploring her (dusty) attic, planting some (cucumber) seeds, inventing her own secret language, starting a diary, roller-skating up and down the halls of the Grey mansion, putting on a puppet show (though there was nobody but Josie, the housekeeper, to watch it), and a handful of other fun-sounding things.

One day, inspired by a book called
A Little Princess
, Penelope asked her mother to invite Jane (or Olivia, if Jane was busy; it didn’t much matter) over to spend the night. She requested that Chef fill the fridge with his special triple-deluxe chocolate cheesecake squares, in expectation of a candlelit midnight feast. But when, around midnight, Penelope tried to rouse Jane with a flashlight to tiptoe downstairs “like poor orphans,” Jane stared silently up at Penelope from her sleeping bag in a way that made Penelope feel instantly bad.

“What’s wrong?” asked Penelope. “What did I say?”

“I
was
an orphan, Penelope,” said Jane. “In Russia.
Before I came to America to live with my parents.” Then, without saying anything else, Jane buried her face in her pillow and went to sleep.

This left Penelope feeling terrible for Jane, and guilty about her blunder, but also bewildered that she’d known Jane for several years and never had any idea she was adopted. How had that happened?

Even with all her
doing
, Penelope remained bored. It was nice that on the nights when her mother was home to tuck her in, and she asked, “What did you do today, dear?” Penelope could answer her with something interesting, like “I made a piñata.” But it didn’t feel like enough.

The more she mulled the situation over, the more frustrated Penelope felt. In books kids did fun stuff, sure. But also big things happened. People died and were born. Fortunes were lost and found. Magic talismans turned up and houses disappeared in tornadoes, and Penelope could imagine no way to make any of that happen.

Yes
, Penelope decided.
It is going to take something enormous for me to become unbored. It is going to take an everything change
. For that she figured she’d just have to wait.

Then one day after her finger stopped on a book called
Magic or Not?
Penelope wandered out into the perfectly manicured lawn of her backyard, holding a
folded scrap of paper. There was a decorative wishing well of sorts in the middle of the Greys’ lawn, beneath a little red maple tree. The well had been designed by a famous architect, and a picture of it was in a book her mother kept on the coffee table.

Penelope didn’t think the well looked very wishable or magical. It was too fancy and nicely kept. Besides, she wasn’t sure she believed in wishes anyway, but her finger (and the book) had determined what she must
do
, and so she would
do
it.

With an unfamiliar flutter in her chest, Penelope unfolded the scrap of paper and read what she’d written one last time.

Penelope refolded her wish carefully and tossed it into the well. Then she leaned over and peered down after it.

The well was only about six feet deep. The cement floor had a small mesh grate set into it, and Penelope fully expected to see her wish sitting on that grate, but funnily enough, Penelope couldn’t see her wish at all anymore. The well appeared to be completely empty.

That’s odd
, thought Penelope, leaning over to examine all the shadowed corners of the well’s bottom. But the wish really did seem to have vanished, and after a few minutes Penelope straightened up and went inside, where nothing seemed any different at all.

So Penelope forgot about her wish. Mostly.

T
HE
E
VERYTHING
C
HANGE

A
bout a week later Penelope was sunk deep in a red leather chair in the library of the Grey mansion, quietly reading a book full of unfortunate events, when suddenly she heard the front door slam open in the foyer one room over.

Penelope looked up, dropped her book, and climbed out of her big chair. She ran to a set of open French doors. On the other side of them she found her father looking decidedly wild-eyed, leaning against a wall. He was clutching a cardboard box full of papers.

Dirk Grey dropped his box on the shiny floor of the foyer, where it made a thunderous noise as it hit the marble. “I’ve had it! I did it! I’m done!” he shouted in a ragged voice, which echoed against the polished stone. He didn’t seem to have noticed Penelope.

She started to head toward him, but then, for some
reason, she changed her mind. Instead, she ducked behind one of the doors and watched as Dirk ran his hands through his thick hair in a desperate kind of way. He shook his head from side to side so that the hair stuck out all over. It looked funny, but Penelope, hidden behind the smoked glass panel of the French door, did not laugh. She held her breath. There was something in her father’s posture, his strange glazed stare, that held her still and silent. She had no experience with this sort of situation, and no idea what to say. She could almost feel the questions hanging in the air, the
maybe
, the
what if?

What happens now?
she wondered. With prickles on the back of her neck, Penelope tried to breathe without making a sound.

Just then Penelope’s mother, Delia, emerged from the kitchen at the back of the house. “Done what, darling?” she called out in a lilting voice as her heels clicked across the marble floor. In a second she had joined her husband, holding a cookbook. Delia Grey didn’t like to cook, but she was very good at planning meals. (Chef took care of the rest.)

When Delia saw the state her husband was in, her cookbook fell to the floor with a
thwop
. “Darling?” she asked, rushing over. “Are you—all right?”

“I’m better than that!” said Dirk, looking at her with a strange gleam in his eyes. “I’m great! I’m free! I quit my job!” he shouted, though there was no need to yell anymore since Delia was standing right in front of him. Dirk reached out for her hands and danced her around on the slick floor in a manic way, so that
her
usually perfect hair stood on end too. “Isn’t that wonderful? Hurrah! I’m free! Let’s celebrate. Where’s the champagne? Chef!” Chef didn’t appear.

Penelope watched through the gap in the French doors as Delia extricated herself from the unexpected polka to step back and stare at her husband. She spit out a mouthful of her dark blond hair and whispered in a worried way, “Dirk—you aren’t
serious
?”

“Serious as a heart attack,” he said with a wide smile. “A heart attack I won’t have to have anymore since I quit my job!”

Penelope listened intently through the doors. This was by far the most interesting thing that had ever happened. Even better than the time all the power went out and they had to light candles in the bathrooms. This, now, might just be her
everything change
! Penelope remembered her wish and felt chills run down her spine, exactly like in all the books. She stared at her parents as though they were acting out the last scene in a very good movie.

Delia frowned. “What exactly do you mean by
quit
?”

“What does it sound like I mean?” said Dirk. “I mean
that I went to work today like usual, but then I changed my mind. I hate Grey Investments!” He scowled.

“Now. Dirk. Dear. I think you’re overreacting,” said Delia in a cool tone. She planted a calm hand on her husband’s arm. “You don’t hate it. Maybe you find it tedious some days, but you don’t really hate it. You’ll feel differently tomorrow.”

Penelope watched as her father considered this for a second.

“Nope,” he said with certainty. “I
hate
it. I have for a long time. I just kept my mouth shut until now. I didn’t see any need to concern you, didn’t want to make any waves. But today—today I snapped. I couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer. I hate everything about that place. It’s boring and cold, and—and heartless.”

Heartless!
Penelope hung on every word.

“But, Dirk,” said Delia, “even if you don’t exactly love the job, it’s your family’s company. You can’t just walk away from—”

“Family, shmamily!” cried Dirk, exasperated. “If my parents—God rest their souls—are really watching me from heaven above, don’t you think they want me to be happy? They probably understand better than anyone how soul-crushing that place is. Can’t
you
?”

Soul-crushing!
Silently, Penelope cheered for her father.
She
understood! Penelope didn’t know much about her father’s job, and she didn’t exactly like the idea of her parents fighting, but she did know a thing or two about dull. If her father’s job was as bad as he said it was, Penelope didn’t see why he
shouldn’t
quit.

Dirk ran his hand through his hair again and continued. “Besides, I was no good at the job anyway.” Dirk looked at his feet sadly as he said this, before gazing up at the vaulted ceiling with a wrinkled forehead. “Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Pop. I didn’t mean to let you down.”

Penelope’s mother seemed to melt. She reached out a hand to smooth her husband’s hair. “Oh, darling, you haven’t let anyone down,” she said. “You’re a wonderful success! You’re president of the company, after all.”

Penelope was glad to see her mother soften, but Dirk didn’t seem to appreciate it. He looked over and flashed his wife a wry smile. “It’s called
Grey
Investments, Delia, and I’m the only Grey left. I don’t think my natural aptitude has much to do with my distinguished title.”

Delia frowned slightly at this. She planted her fists firmly on her hips. “I was
trying
to be nice. Are you just determined to feel bad today?”

“No,” said Dirk gruffly. “In fact, I was feeling excited. Until I started talking to you. Humph.”

Delia glared crossly at Dirk, who glared right back.
For a while neither of them said anything, and the room was full of a strange silence. Penelope frowned. She wished she could tell her father that
she
understood, but it seemed a bad time to interrupt.

Finally Delia made an exasperated face. “Well, I’m
sorry
, Dirk. But how did you expect me to react? You come home and tell me you’ve quit your job of nearly twenty years when it happens to be our only regular source of income. It’s something of a shock.”