Molly looked around the table. Everyone had made an effort tonight. Forest had gotten home and was sitting on the other side of Miss Hunroe in a bright lime-colored sweater and a smart woolen green sarong with pineapples on it. His long, dreadlocked gray hair was tied in a braid. And he had a jungly bandana tied around his forehead. Micky sat beside her in a proper tailored turquoise blue shirt, opposite Rocky, who sat shivering in a thick navy coat. Molly was wearing a clean T-shirt. Her hair was fairly detangled, as she’d spent twenty minutes attacking it with a comb. Todson stood behind each in his smart butler’s uniform, holding the soup tureen for everyone to ladle themselves helpings of carrot soup.
“You smell of flowers or somethin’,” said Forest, obviously enamored by the beautiful new tutor. “Is it, like, um, narcissus?”
“No, it’s rose,” Miss Hunroe corrected him, smiling a pearl-toothed smile. “But good try.”
“I’m really sorry,” said Rocky, suddenly pushing back his chair, almost upsetting the soup tureen all over Todson. “Oh, I’m sorry, Todson. I’ve got to go to bed, you see. I feel terrible.”
“I’ve lost my glasses,” said Todson. “But I can still detect, Master Scarlet, that you look somewhat worse for wear. I’ll bring you some hot water bottles and a mug of hot lemon and honey.”
“Thanks, Todson.” Quietly Rocky plodded out of the room.
“It’s this terrible flu,” said Miss Hunroe. “People are falling like flies from it.” Outside, the wind battered the windowpane. Todson went around the table with a basket of bread. When he came to Forest, he tripped on the edge of the rug. Four pieces of white bread flew past Forest’s shoulder into his soup.
“Erm, so sorry, sir, lost my glasses,” muttered Todson. “I’ll get some more bread.” But Forest was so enchanted by Miss Hunroe that he didn’t notice.
“Yes, the flu, man, it’s bad,” he agreed. “It’s this weather. All this damp air. Not nice ’n’ warm like LA. If only we could control the weather, then we’d have far less of this kinda thing. I mean, peace to all creatures, man, but it would be kinda cool to stamp out the flu bug population.”
A small smile played on Miss Hunroe’s rose-shaped red lips, and then they twitched as though she was about to laugh but was controlling herself. She seemed to have a good sense of humor.
Molly couldn’t resist. She knew it was nosy and she shouldn’t probe, but she wanted to take a little look and see what their new teacher was thinking. No one would know she was doing it. No one would be able to point a finger at Molly and complain. Molly felt like a thief about to steal something, for she knew Miss Hunroe’s thoughts were her own; they weren’t for Molly to share. Yet Molly was determined to learn a little more about Miss Hunroe.
With butterflies in her stomach from the excitement of it, Molly focused her mind. She silently thought a question to their tutor, What are you thinking? Immediately, one of the hazy bubbles that always appeared when Molly wanted to know someone’s thoughts popped up over Miss Hunroe’s head. In it were pictures—various images that merged as Miss Hunroe’s mind wandered and flitted about. First Forest’s soup bowl, full of bread, shimmered into view.
“Yes, it is dreadful,” Miss Hunroe agreed. “The flu has no mercy. It forces people to bed for days and days. No mercy.” Then she laughed. “And I’d love to be able to control the weather, too. What a charming idea!” Above her head the bubble filled with a moving picture of Miss Hunroe standing on a hilltop with tall, teardrop-shaped stones all about her. She had a baton in her hand, and above her the sky flashed with lightning as she conducted the weather. “It would be fun, don’t you think, Molly?”
“Er, yes,” Molly stammered, feeling as if she’d been caught looking through a keyhole. She let the bubble above Miss Hunroe’s head pop. “Yes, um, snow and blizzards one moment, hot sun the next.” Molly nodded with a smile. “And it would be nice to make it rain in countries where they have droughts.”
Miss Hunroe leaned toward the table and sipped her soup elegantly from her spoon. Opposite her, Forest slurped.
“Man, this soup is very, er, bready! Must be a new recipe.”
And so the meal went on, a little stilted as everyone was on best behavior with the stranger in the house. But Miss Hunroe was good-natured, and as the minutes ticked by, the ice melted.
“So what are your plans for our education?” Micky asked as Miss Hunroe passed the peas to Forest. “I’m very good at physics,” he added matter-of-factly. “Well, I’m good at all sciences, really. My knowledge is more than up-to-date.” Micky paused as he saw Forest give him a raised eyebrow. Micky had been told that he was forbidden to let Miss Hunroe know that he was from the future. “But,” Micky went on, “my knowledge about the twentieth century and its history is full of holes. I would like to know more about this time.”
“Gosh! You sound like an alien who has just arrived from another planet!” Miss Hunroe observed.
“I’ve always been completely useless at school stuff,” Molly interjected, feeling that she ought to get things straight from the start. Miss Hunroe frowned. Molly crossed her arms and looked down at her plate of chicken, potatoes, and peas. “Sorry. But that’s the way I am. I thought you should know.” She looked up at Miss Hunroe, who was smiling at her. And her smile was so nice that Molly found herself promising, “I will try, though.”
Miss Hunroe put down her knife and fork. “Well, I do have a grand plan,” she began. “And it begins with a gentle entrance to the classroom. I have spoken to your parents, and they are both agreed that an educational trip to London would be a lovely way to start the school term. And so, tomorrow morning, we are going to London. We will come back the next day, and we are going to pack a lot in. The natural history museum, the science museum, art galleries. What do you think of that?”
Molly and Micky nodded, amazed.
“I’m afraid dogs aren’t allowed in museums, so your Petula will have to stay behind. But it looks like Rocky is ill, so they can have each other for company.”
“I’m sure Petula would prefer to be here,” Molly suggested, reaching down and massaging Petula’s firm neck.
“I’d love to go,” said Micky.
“Sounds like a brilliant idea,” Molly said, really relieved that Miss Hunroe wasn’t like the other old troutlike teachers that she’d known.
“Well, that’s settled, then,” said Miss Hunroe. “Pack your bags tonight. Your parents will let Ojas know to pack his. We will be staying in a nice place, by the way, but the location of that is going to remain a secret.” She winked conspiratorially.
“It sounds real cool, Miss Hunroe,” Forest remarked, stroking one of his dreadlocks. “Wish I was coming, too.”
“You’re most welcome to,” said Miss Hunroe.
“Maybe you should come,” suggested Molly.
“Yeah,” agreed Forest, “the bright lights of Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London. I’ve heard the queen throws groovy late-night parties!”
“Oh, yeah,” said Molly. “Forest, the queen has garden parties, daytime parties with cucumber sandwiches and scones and cream and smart guests with fancy hats—not late-night parties.”
“Hey, Mol, don’t tread on my daydreams!”
“Okay, Forest,” Molly said, smiling. “If you say so—the queen is a funky dude.”
“Well, it would be great,” said Forest, “but I have a feelin’ Miss Hunroe here needs to size you guys up. Besides, I’ve gotta do some big-time yoga tomorra.”
“Perhaps tonight, if there is time, we shall have a little music,” Miss Hunroe said, pulling a gold coin from her pocket and eyeing the piano that she could see in the drawing room next door.
When everyone heard Todson trip up the front stairs and heard a tray with breakable things on it smashing to the floor, Miss Hunroe made a goodness-gracious-me face.