Petronella Saves Nearly Everyone

illustrations by Jen Corace

Sandpiper
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Boston • New York

Text copyright © 2009 by Dene Low
Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Jen Corace

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Sandpiper, an imprint of
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Originally published in hardcover
in the United States by Houghton Mifflin, an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Publishing Company, 2009.

SANDPIPER and the SANDPIPER logo are trademarks of Houghton Mifflin
Harcourt Publishing Company.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue
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The text of this book is set in Cochin.
The illustrations are pen and ink and ink wash on paper.

The Library of Congress cataloging-in-publication data is on file.

ISBN 978-0-547-15250-9
ISBN 978-0-547-32886-7 pb

Manufactured in the United States of America
EB 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
4500221930

To my wonderful husband and my children, grandchildren, and parents, who support me and are patient with me. To Mrs. Opal Owen, my sixth-grade teacher who started my writing career

THERE IS SOMETHING TERRIBLY WRONG
with Mr. Augustus T. Percival.

The wrongness can be traced to a particular occurrence at a specific time—12:47 and 32 seconds on May 26 in 1903, to be exact. (I had just looked at my watch.) The weather was unusually warm for the season, and so Mr. Percival—who is my uncle Augustus—a few select friends, and myself were gathered on the lawn in the south garden of my estate just outside London, enjoying a little nuncheon in honor of my sixteenth birthday.

At that precise time, Uncle Augustus laughed loudly at a rather mediocre joke—the one about the man with two heads who could eat only strawberry jam with one mouth and cheese curds with the other. At the very moment Uncle
Augustus opened his own mouth for a most unseemly guffaw (and Uncle Augustus is a very large man, so the rather moist open mouth made a massively large target), a beetle of enormous proportions flew into the orifice and was swallowed.

Unfortunately, we did not know what type or genus the beetle was, or a cure might have been effected. Uncle Augustus sat deathly still, with all signs of his former joviality banished. He set down his cup of tea undrunk, pushed away the plates piled high with crumpets and cucumber sandwiches, said "Perhaps I don't feel quite the thing after all," and departed to his room.

My other guests and I paused for an awkward moment, and then continued in polite conversation, just as those who occupy the upper echelons of society ought to do when faced with unusual circumstances. Then we, too, departed to our rooms for a nap to fortify ourselves for the evening's festivities.

***

NO ONE WAS
more startled than I, when, several hours later, I saw Uncle Augustus on his hands and knees, groveling in the newly turned earth of the east garden. Rushing to see if I might be of some assistance to my beloved relation, I was
horrified to see him pounce, then hold up a wriggling centipede. Before I could do more than gasp, Uncle Augustus dropped the squirming creature into his mouth—which I have previously described all too graphically—and swallowed the cartilaginous body with seeming relish (the emotion, not the condiment).

"Uncle Augustus..."

He beamed at me from his prostration in the dirt. "Ah, my dear Eunice. So good to see you again."

I considered his greeting rather imbecilic, considering that he was groveling in my garden and we'd only just parted company a few hours before. Besides, he knew I preferred to be called Petronella. Eunice is such an unfortunate name, and I cannot imagine what came over my dear but deceased parents when they gave it to me. Perhaps some sort of simultaneous apoplectic fit.

"Uncle Augustus," I said more severely, and pointed toward the garden bed, which Thomas the gardener had taken great pains to till in preparation for the dahlias I had hoped to plant on Saturday. "What are you doing?"

Uncle Augustus frowned. He tapped one finger on his chin, then waggled it at me thoughtfully. "I've been contemplating that myself. The question seems to be not so much what I am doing, but what I've
become.
It appears I have developed an enormous appetite—"

"Yes, well, that is common knowledge," I could not help but agree.

"Ahem. Let me continue uninterrupted, if you please. It seems I have an enormous appetite for all things of the insect and arachnoid varieties." He caught a passing fly in one swift movement of his hand, popped it into his mouth, and chewed happily.

I could do naught but stare. For the first time in my life I was at a loss for words. The sight of Uncle Augustus's enormous jowls expanding and contracting with disturbing regularity was enough to make anyone stare, but that was not the cause of my distress. Over the years that he had been my guardian, I had become inured to the sight of Uncle Augustus eating. No, I was contemplating that it was my moral duty to render assistance to Uncle Augustus through this trial. Blood will out, as they say, and he was my blood relative, brother to my dear departed mother, whom I missed terribly. The question was, how was I to help him?

"Oh, Uncle," I said finally.

"Do not fret yourself, my child. I have examined myself rather thoroughly, and seem to be in fine fettle, except for this compulsion to eat crawling creatures." He eyed the ground next to him for a moment and grabbed a spider that had the misfortune to have ventured forth from its lair. It quickly shared the fate of the fly.

"You cannot possibly desire to continue in this state," I protested, concerned for his well-being.

"And why not? I feel better than I have in years." He used both hands to pluck a series of ants from the retaining wall about the garden plot, his fingers darting from the stones to his lips so rapidly I could scarcely see them except as a blur. I had never known Uncle Augustus to move so quickly. Indeed, there was a glow of health about him that I had not seen before.

"Could you please stop that ... that ... inhaling of those odious bugs and talk sensibly to me?"

Uncle Augustus paused and fixed his gaze on me most consideringly as one of his hands seemed to move of its own volition toward a pile of stones. He caught it with his other hand and held it tightly. Both hands shook with the effort of keeping still, and, for the first time, he seemed a trifle alarmed. "Why, no. I don't seem to be able to."

"Be able to what? Stop? Or talk sensibly?"

"Stop, of course. Nor do I see any reason why I should stop. And I feel that, under the circumstances, I am conversing quite rationally." He began sorting through the pile of stones. When he found a fat slug, he held it up triumphantly and then lowered it toward his gaping maw.

I could not watch him further, and so I turned my back, pressing my eyes shut in horror at the loud slurping noise
that followed. "Uncle Augustus," I said through gritted teeth. "I cannot imagine that your behavior is at all socially acceptable. Surely that is a reason to want to stop gorging yourself on creeping crawling things."

"My dear Eunice—"

"Petronella!" I said.

"If you must ... Petronella. Although your dear mother loved the name Eunice."

"Well, I do not—and neither did my father, which is why Petronella is my first name."

"Very well, then, Petronella. You have always been more concerned with the conventions of society than I have—"

"Unfortunately, that is so."

"Except when you interrupt. I must say this penchant you have for interrupting is most uncivil."

I was mortified to realize he was correct. "I apologize, dear uncle. My concern for you overwhelmed me to the point of rudeness."

He did not answer immediately, and when he did, he sounded as if he had just swallowed something. I shuddered to think what it was. "Apology accepted, dear child. However, I can see that my current state could be something of an embarrassment in polite company, which is especially problematic because my presence is required at this evening's event."

I swung around to face him, my mouth open in a perfect O of consternation. "Tonight! Oh, Uncle Augustus. This would have to happen today of all days, just when I am about to attend my coming-out party. James will be so disappointed." My hand flew to cover my mouth. "I mean,
Jane
will be so disappointed, and so will all the other guests."

Uncle Augustus seemed not to have heard my slip of the tongue—one that Dr. Freud would have made much of, if I understand his theories correctly—for my cherished relative seemed intent on going about his hunting. "And why should your little friends be disappointed?"

"We cannot possibly hold the party if you are in such a condition."

Pausing only long enough to fix me with a thoughtful gaze, Uncle Augustus said, "Fear not, dear Eunice, er ... Petronella. We shall not deprive your friends of your company. I have thought of a plan."

"
AVOID THE STRAWBERRY TRIFLE. IT
is exactly the same shade as the Countess of Wilberforce's tresses, and I cannot recommend it," said James in my ear as he passed close to my shoulder.

I could just hear him over the buzz of hundreds of partygoers in the tent Uncle Augustus had hired to grace the grounds of my estate for my coming-out party. The guests looked resplendent under the lamps hanging from the tent poles, around which flitted numerous moths. I hoped Uncle Augustus would not disgrace himself, and me in the process, with those flying insects. His plan was to bandage his hands to keep himself from seizing bugs, but I was not confident of the efficacy of this method. Unfortunately, my fears proved well grounded. For at that moment, I saw my uncle's head
bob above the crowd three times in succession near the farthest tent pole. All the moths near that light were then gone. I turned quickly to James, hoping he had not noticed.

I said to James, "Lord Sinclair, old thing. How perfectly rude of you to remark on the countess's tresses and yet say nothing of how well you like mine." I arched my neck to show off my curls piled artfully on top of my head, as befitted a young lady who no longer was considered a schoolgirl. I simpered at him most seriously, although I did have to cut off a laugh as I caught sight of the Countess of Wilberforce holding a plate of strawberry trifle that was indeed the same shade as her hair. Wicked James.

James's eyes twinkled, and his mouth curved in a smile that had smitten me since I was five and he was nine. If only he were not Jane's brother—brother of my bosom friend—he might consider me as more than a younger sister. But fate plays cruel games with hearts and shows no remorse. If I were to have him notice me at all, it should have to be as a sister, and I should have to be content with that or nothing, and to have nothing of James would be the cruelest fate of all.

I suddenly remembered Uncle Augustus. I looked about and thought I saw the top of his head bouncing above the crowd. In fact, I was sure of it when I saw that where several moths had been flitting about a lamp in the general direction
of the lights near the orchestra, now there were none. Oh, rubbish. Uncle Augustus had promised that his plan was foolproof. If anyone noticed, I would be ruined.

James hooked his arm through mine and propelled me toward the refreshment table. "Allow me to escort you, Miss Arbuthnot. I do believe my sister, Jane, is hovering disconsolately by the punch, awaiting the chance to speak with you," he said so all around us could hear. Then, in my ear, James whispered, "And you have said nothing about my hirsute splendor. Your curls, by the way, are ravishing, and if I were not currently enamored of a chit playing the part of Isabelle in the West End, I would be in danger of losing my heart. Sixteen suits you."