Clementine Rose and the Ballet Break-In 8

  About the Book

  Clementine Rose is over the moon. Her ballet lessons have finally begun, and Clementine’s class has been invited to dance at the reopening of the village hall. There is lots to learn, and Clemmie is eager to get onstage and twirl with her friends!

  But not everything is going to plan. At school there is trouble with Angus and Joshua, and on the day of the big ballet performance, disaster strikes! Will Clementine find a way for the show to go on?

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Surprises

  Shock

  Tickets

  The Longest Day

  First Position

  Stories

  The Stranger

  Swan Lake

  Oops!

  Concert Plans

  Tribble Trouble

  Missing

  A Plan

  Break-In

  A Goat in Wolf’s Clothing

  Cast of Characters

  About the Author

  Books by Jacqueline Harvey

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the book?

  For Eden, who loves to dance,

  and for Ian, whose dancing makes me smile

  Clementine Rose Appleby bent down to give the lazy tabby cat a scratch under his chin.

  ‘Hello Claws,’ she said.

  The beast rolled onto his back, closed his eyes and purred like a clattery diesel engine. Clementine tied Lavender’s lead to the bench seat.

  ‘Be a good girl. We won’t be long,’ Clementine said to her teacup pig and followed her mother through the door with the tinkly bell, into Mrs Mogg’s shop. Today it smelt like warm pies, musk lollies and chocolate cake.

  Margaret Mogg quickly put the caramel eclair she’d been nibbling onto a plate and under the counter. ‘Good afternoon, Applebys,’ she said, brushing her hands on her apron.

  ‘Hello Margaret,’ Lady Clarissa said as she headed to the far aisle to locate some baking powder and currants. ‘Be there in a minute.’

  ‘Hello Mrs Mogg,’ Clementine called, rushing towards the old woman. The little girl’s blue eyes were the size of dinner plates and she looked fit to burst. ‘Did you know that the hall is going to be ready for Monday?’

  Mrs Mogg smiled. ‘Yes, and I’m very pleased about it too. Mr Mogg can stop moaning about my quilting group taking up space in the lounge room. I’ve heard that the garden club has already scheduled their first meeting, and Mrs Tribble is starting a new book club. There’ll be Irish dancing classes on Wednesdays and the drama club on Thursdays.’

  Clementine nodded. ‘It’s going to be busy.’

  ‘And I saw Ana Hobbs there yesterday too, supervising something long and thin being delivered. I wonder what that could have been,’ Mrs Mogg said with a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Yes, I wonder,’ Lady Clarissa said as she placed her basket on the counter. She and Margaret exchanged knowing glances.

  Clementine jigged about. ‘It’s the barre for the ballet school, of course!’ she blurted.

  Ana Hobbs was a famous ballerina who had recently retired from the royal ballet. Known professionally as Anastasia Barkov, she was starting a ballet school in the village hall, which had just been rebuilt after a fire.

  Mrs Mogg leaned down and produced a red drawstring bag from under the counter. ‘It’s just as well I finished this yesterday.’

  ‘What’s that for?’ Clementine frowned. She didn’t need a new library bag.

  The two women grinned at one another.

  ‘I thought it might be useful to hold these.’ Mrs Mogg held up a pair of white tights. ‘And, oh, what else is down here?’ Her forehead puckered and she put her glasses on the tip of her nose.

  ‘My ballet shoes!’ Clementine clapped her hands as Margaret Mogg passed her a tiny pair of soft beige slippers.

  ‘I think they should go very nicely with this.’ Mrs Mogg held up the most beautiful tutu Clementine had ever seen. It was red with a stiff tulle skirt.

  ‘It’s lovely!’ Clemmie breathed. ‘Please may I try it on?’

  The women laughed. ‘That’s a very good idea,’ Mrs Mogg said. ‘Come around here and we’ll get you changed.’

  Clementine scooted to the other side of the counter, and a couple of minutes later she was dressed.

  Lady Clarissa smiled at the sight of her little ballerina. ‘Oh, darling, you look very sweet.’

  ‘Hold on a tick.’ Mrs Mogg disappeared through the door that divided the shop and the house behind and returned a minute later with a hand mirror. ‘I’m sorry, Clementine, but this is the best I could do,’ she said, holding it up.

  ‘Can I have my hair in a bun for my first lesson?’ Clementine asked, twirling around and admiring her reflection.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Lady Clarissa replied. ‘I’ve put some red hair clips and a ribbon in your ballet bag,’ Mrs Mogg said. ‘Oh, and one last thing.’ She pulled out a tiny matching tutu from under the counter.

  Clemmie gasped. ‘Is that for Lavender?’

  Mrs Mogg nodded. ‘We couldn’t leave her out, could we?’

  ‘Oh, Margaret, you do spoil her,’ Lady Clarissa said. ‘Thank you so much. I could never have put this together myself.’

  ‘I love it! We’re going to be proper ballerinas.’ Clementine put her hands above her head and spun around until she wobbled and almost fell over. ‘Oops!’

  Mrs Mogg caught the child just in time.

  Clementine looked up and smiled. ‘Thank you so, so much,’ she said, hugging the old woman around her squishy middle.

  ‘It’s a pleasure, dear. I look forward to your first concert.’ Margaret Mogg smiled. She helped Clementine back into her dress and stowed the ballet clothes in the red bag.

  ‘Is there any mail for me today, Margaret?’ Lady Clarissa asked.

  Mrs Mogg checked the pigeonholes, where each household in the village had a slot. She handed Lady Clarissa a sizable bundle. ‘Here you are, dear.’

  Clementine looked at the pile. She hoped there weren’t any nasty surprises. Her mother was always worried about how she would pay for things. ‘Not more bills, Mummy?’ Clementine asked with a frown.

  ‘Not too many.’ Lady Clarissa stopped at an envelope that she thought looked interesting. She slid her finger under the flap and pulled out a letter. Lady Clarissa scanned the contents and smiled.

  ‘Have you won something?’ Mrs Mogg asked. Everyone in the village knew about Clarissa Appleby’s uncanny knack for winning competitions.

  ‘What is it, Mummy?’ Clementine asked. ‘I think I’m going to keep this a mystery until we get home,’ her mother replied with a wink.

  ‘Ooh, that sounds exciting,’ Margaret Mogg said and wiggled her eyebrows.

  ‘Please can you tell us now?’ Clementine asked.

  Lady Clarissa shook her head. ‘I think you’ve had enough surprises for one afternoon.’

  ‘Enjoy your lessons, Clemmie, and don’t worry if it takes a while to get the hang of things,’ Mrs Mogg said. ‘I did ballet when I was little and I’m afraid I was about as coordinated as a three-legged goat. I’m sure you’ll be much better than I was.’

  Clementine giggled, imagining a three-legged goat in a tutu. She held tight to her new ballet bag and followed her mother through the door with the tinkly bell.

  On the way home, Clementine chattered non-stop about her beautiful red tutu. She couldn’t wait for her very first ballet lesson on Monday.

  ‘Do you think we’ll get to do a show?’ Clementine asked her mother.

  ‘Maybe later in the year, darling,�
� Lady Clarissa replied. ‘After you’ve had some time to practise.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Clementine said. ‘Can I show Uncle Digby and Aunt Violet my tutu?’

  ‘Yes, of course, sweetheart,’ her mother replied.

  The little girl raced off across their back garden and into the house, with Lavender running along beside her.

  ‘Hello Aunt Violet!’ Clementine yelled, kicking off her shoes by the door. She ran into the kitchen, only to find her great-aunt’s chair empty and the room smelling of burnt onions. She unsnapped Lavender’s lead, and the little pig trotted off to drink from her water bowl. Clementine was about to rush upstairs when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘Why are you fizzing like a shaken bottle of pop?’

  ‘Oh!’ Clementine gasped. She turned from where she was standing on the bottom step. ‘Are you all right, Aunt Violet?’

  The old woman wiped her hands on a blue striped tea towel. ‘Why? Do I look unwell?’ she asked.

  Clementine shook her head. ‘No, but you’re wearing an apron.’

  ‘Yes, and why is that such a surprise?’ Aunt Violet pursed her lips.

  ‘Because you never wear an apron and you’re never near the stove and you don’t know how to cook.’ Clementine’s blue eyes widened.

  ‘Godfathers, Clementine! If Pertwhistle can do it, it can’t be that difficult,’ Aunt Violet replied.

  Clementine didn’t think that was a very nice thing to say about Uncle Digby. She wondered if Aunt Violet’s new-found interest in cooking might have something to do with her mother giving Ana Hobbs some cooking lessons. Ana and her family had recently moved into the cottage at the end of the road, and Clementine was in the same class at school as the Hobbs twins, Tilda and Teddy. They had a big sister, Araminta, and their father, Basil, made films. He was due to start a film very soon about the history of Penberthy House, where Clementine and her family lived.

  ‘Goodness!’ Lady Clarissa exclaimed as she walked into the room.

  ‘What now?’ Aunt Violet rolled her eyes. ‘Haven’t you seen anyone cook before?’

  Lady Clarissa sniffed the air, then walked over to the stove and peered into the large frying pan. ‘Oh, those onions look perfect,’ she said, sighing with relief. She had expected to see a blackened mess.

  ‘Of course they’re perfect. Frying onions is hardly brain surgery, Clarissa,’ Aunt Violet retorted. She slammed the lid on the bin, where her first three attempts were hidden from view.

  ‘Would you like me to take over?’ Lady Clarissa offered. ‘I gather Uncle Digby isn’t back from the doctor’s yet.’

  ‘No. I’ve started it and I’ll finish it. But I don’t like to cook with an audience, so why don’t you take Clementine upstairs and she can do her home readers or something equally dull.’ The old woman turned back to the bench, trying to remember if she was supposed to put the meat or the tomatoes in next. She’d thrown a tea towel over the cookbook and wasn’t planning to consult it again until her niece was out of sight.

  Lady Clarissa unpacked the groceries from her basket and placed the mail on the sideboard. She’d hoped to make herself a cup of tea and have Clementine do her homework at the kitchen table but she didn’t want to upset Aunt Violet. Having her help out in the kitchen could be useful, particularly when they were busy with guests.

  ‘Would you like to see my tutu, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine asked. ‘Lavender has one too.’

  ‘Not now, Clementine. Can’t you see that I’m busy?’ the old woman snapped.

  Clementine turned away and pulled a face. ‘Mummy, can I show Uncle Digby when he gets home? He’s never too busy.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Aunt Violet might even be finished with dinner by then, so you can show her as well. I’m sure she’d love to see it,’ Lady Clarissa said loudly.

  But Aunt Violet wasn’t listening. She was peering under the tea towel and wondering how long it was going to take to cook five hundred grams of minced steak.

  Digby Pertwhistle peered at the plate in front of him. Spirals of pasta floated between chunks of meat in red sauce. There were some unidentifiable white-ish lumps too, which he hoped were cheese. The man leaned over and inhaled deeply, then coughed and spluttered. He reached for his glass of water.

  ‘It smells … delicious,’ he said, although he had his doubts after he’d noticed Pharaoh, Aunt Violet’s sphinx cat, and Lavender bypass some stray drops of sauce on the floor.

  Uncle Digby cleared his throat and glanced at Clementine, who had just caught an overpowering whiff of pepper too.

  Aunt Violet stiffened. ‘Eat up, everyone. You don’t want it getting cold.’

  Lady Clarissa, Uncle Digby and Clementine all dug in.

  ‘Mmm, this is yummy,’ Clementine said loudly as she chewed on the rubbery pasta.

  Earlier, while banished upstairs, she and her mother and Uncle Digby had all agreed that they would praise Aunt Violet’s efforts no matter what. It was a huge step that she had voluntarily cooked a meal and, even if it wasn’t the best, she could get better with practise. In the past couple of months Aunt Violet had turned a corner and, instead of expecting to be waited on hand and foot, she’d been helping out quite a bit, much to everyone’s delight.

  Lady Clarissa and Uncle Digby looked at one another, their mouths full.

  Aunt Violet picked up her fork and plunged it into the swirls. She was chewing slowly when all of a sudden she spat the whole lot into her napkin. ‘Godfathers, that is disgusting!’ Aunt Violet wailed. ‘What did you do to it, Pertwhistle?’

  ‘I didn’t touch it,’ Uncle Digby protested.

  ‘It’s just a little bit salty, that’s all,’ Lady Clarissa said kindly. She had been doing her best to keep eating.

  ‘Don’t try to make me feel better, Clarissa. If that’s only a little bit salty, then I’m only a little bit stylish – and we all know that’s a lie.’ Aunt Violet pushed back her chair and marched over to the kitchen bench, where she flipped open the recipe book and scanned the ingredients.

  Meanwhile, the others gulped down water and nibbled on bread rolls to get rid of the terrible taste.

  ‘The recipe must be wrong,’ Aunt Violet blustered. ‘I did exactly what it said.’

  ‘May I have a look?’ Lady Clarissa asked.

  Aunt Violet plonked the book on the table. ‘See for yourself.’

  Lady Clarissa ran her finger down the list of ingredients and stopped at the salt. ‘Half a teaspoon of salt,’ she read aloud.

  ‘Yes, I know. Half a tablespoon of salt,’ Aunt Violet repeated.

  Lady Clarissa and Uncle Digby looked at each other and smiled.

  ‘What are you smirking at?’ Aunt Violet demanded.

  ‘Mummy said “teaspoon”, Aunt Violet, and you said “tablespoon”. Everyone knows that’s much bigger than a teaspoon,’ Clementine pointed out.

  ‘Let me see that!’ Aunt Violet snatched the recipe book out of her niece’s hands and peered at the list. ‘Here it is. It says t-s-p, which is short for –’ Aunt Violet pressed the heel of her hand on her forehead – ‘teaspoon.’

  ‘See, Mummy was right.’ Clementine’s eyes widened.

  Aunt Violet picked up her and Uncle Digby’s plates, stomped over to the bin and up-ended their contents.

  ‘Aunt Violet, please don’t be upset. I’m sure that if it was a little bit less salty it would have been absolutely perfect,’ Lady Clarissa said, trying to calm her aunt.

  The old woman walked back to the table and took Clementine’s and her mother’s plates, dumped the pasta in the bin and the plates in the sink then dusted her hands. ‘Looks like eggs for dinner,’ Aunt Violet said.

  ‘Would you like some help?’ Uncle Digby asked.

  ‘No,’ Aunt Violet replied. ‘Because I’m not making another thing.’ She stormed over to the table and sat down.

  ‘Maybe you can have some cooking lessons with Ana,’ Clementine suggested.

  Aunt Violet shook her head. ‘No, Clementine. I’ve said
it before and I’ll say it again. Some people were born to cook and others were born to eat, and I fall into the latter category.’

  Uncle Digby stood up. ‘Well, who’d like googy-eggs and soldiers?’

  ‘Yes, please!’ Clementine nodded. ‘But not too much salt.’

  Aunt Violet glared at the child.

  An uneasy silence settled over the table. A few seconds later Clementine remembered something. ‘Mummy, what was that letter about at the shop?’ She pointed at the envelope that was propped against the vase of camellias on the sideboard.

  ‘Why don’t you go and get it?’ Lady Clarissa said, grateful for the distraction.

  Clementine sped to the sideboard and handed her mother the envelope.

  ‘Well,’ Clarissa said, ‘it seems I’ve won a competition.’

  Clementine clapped her hands together. ‘Is it a cruise?’

  ‘Not this time.’

  ‘Is it a new car? You could give it to Uncle Digby,’ Clementine suggested.

  ‘Steady on there,’ said the old man. ‘What’s wrong with my car?’

  ‘It breaks down, Uncle Digby, and it’s got a funny steering wheel.’ Clementine held her hands out wide, pretending to drive the ancient Morris Minor.

  ‘I hope it’s that new wardrobe of clothes for me,’ Aunt Violet said, remembering the competition in the fashion magazine her niece had entered on her behalf. She was already imagining a row of new trousers and blouses hanging in her wardrobe. And shoes – oh, how she would have loved some new shoes!

  Lady Clarissa shook her head. ‘You can stop keeping us in suspense,’ Aunt Violet snapped.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re all wrong. It’s two tickets to see the Royal Ballet’s production of Swan Lake,’ Lady Clarissa announced.