Clementine Rose and the Famous Friend 7 Read online

  About the Book

  Clementine Rose is heading back to school, and this year she has a new teacher. Young Mr Smee is very different from Mrs Bottomley and he sets the class a special project.

  Clemmie can’t wait to get started! Meanwhile at Penberthy House, an intriguing guest has just arrived. Miss Richardson is staying for a whole month to write a book. Trouble is, she never comes out of her room and doesn’t seem to like children at all. Will Clementine discover who their elderly resident is and why she is so secretive?

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Mr Smee

  An Unexpected Guest

  The Writer

  A Project

  Smash

  Bossy Boots

  Dinner

  Surprise!

  Stories

  Projects

  A Poem

  A Letter

  Showtime

  Bitten by the Bug

  Cast of Characters

  About the Author

  Books by Jacqueline Harvey

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the book?

  For Ian, as always, and for

  Kimberley, for her unwavering support

  and superb editing – 18 books in

  four years must be some sort of record.

  I will miss you, KB!

  Clementine Rose sat in the front row of the assembly hall. Her schoolmates fidgeted and chatted as a stream of teachers took their seats on the stage. Poppy and Sophie were talking about their holidays but Clementine’s new friends, Tilda and Teddy Hobbs, were unusually quiet. The twins and their big sister, Araminta, had moved into the cottage at the end of Clementine’s road during the term break. Today was their first day at Ellery Prep and the start of a new school year.

  Clementine felt a tug on her sleeve. Tilda pointed at the man sitting at the end of the row of teachers. ‘What’s his name?’

  Clementine shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.’

  The man wore a smart grey suit and a purple tie with yellow flowers. His wavy, chocolate-coloured hair skimmed the back of his collar. He noticed the girls pointing and smiled at them.

  ‘I think he saw us,’ Tilda said with a giggle. ‘He looks nice.’

  Clementine nodded. ‘I like his tie.’

  Miss Critchley stepped up to the microphone. Clementine’s tummy fluttered but she wasn’t nearly as worried as she had been this time last year. This wasn’t her first day of Kindergarten – now she was one of the big girls.

  The head teacher beamed at the bright-eyed crowd. ‘Good morning, children.’

  Clementine thought Miss Critchley looked as beautiful as ever in her red dress and matching red heels. Her long brown curls were pulled back into a ponytail.

  ‘Go-ood mor-ning, Miss Critch-ley,’ the group chorused.

  ‘I hope you all had a lovely holiday and that you’re looking forward to a wonderful year.’

  Rows of heads bobbed up and down, like puppets on strings.

  ‘Now, I am sure you’re all eager to know who your teachers will be,’ Miss Critchley said. She looked at the front row of students. ‘I can hardly believe you’re in Year One – it only seems like yesterday that I was welcoming you into Kindergarten. Who can remember last year, when you met Mrs Bottomley?’

  ‘Who could forget Bossy Boots Bottomley?’ Joshua blurted.

  Laughter spread like a wave through the assembly hall.

  Angus Archibald poked Joshua in the ribs. ‘That’s my nan you’re talking about.’

  Miss Critchley gave them an icy stare. ‘Boys, that’s quite enough.’

  Clementine looked at the row of teachers and wondered where Mrs Bottomley was. She was probably getting things ready for the new Kindergarten class, Clementine decided.

  A hand shot up in the second row.

  ‘Yes, Nigel?’ said Miss Critchley.

  The boy pointed at the man with the purple-and-yellow tie. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘I was just about to introduce Mr Smee,’ said Miss Critchley. She motioned for the man to join her at the microphone. ‘Children, this is Mr Roderick Smee and he’s going to be teaching …’ She paused. ‘Year One.’

  There was a gasp from the children in the front row.

  ‘Yes!’ Joshua pumped his fist in the air. ‘A boy teacher.’

  ‘That I am,’ Mr Smee replied with a grin.

  ‘Mr Smee has lots of experience,’ said Miss Critchley. She looked straight at Joshua and Angus and wiggled her eyebrows. ‘So don’t go thinking that he’s a pushover just because he smiles a lot.’

  The Year One students nodded.

  ‘Could you tell us a few things about yourself, Mr Smee?’ asked Miss Critchley. ‘It’s lovely for the children to get to know the teachers.’

  ‘Well, I play the guitar and I like making movies, and reading is just about one of the best things you can do,’ said the man with a big smile. ‘And I can’t wait to meet everyone in Year One.’

  The children watched him, wide-eyed.

  ‘He’s cool,’ said Joshua Tribble. It came out much louder than he had intended.

  Mr Smee winked. ‘Thanks, buddy.’

  Joshua’s ears turned pink and he covered his mouth.

  ‘I think you have some very excited students, Mr Smee. Year One, seeing that you know everyone else on stage, I’d like you to stand and follow Astrid outside. Mr Smee will meet you in a minute.’ Miss Critchley smiled at Astrid, who was sitting at the end of the row, nearest the door. The girl led the group out into the morning sunshine. In less than a minute the children had organised themselves into alphabetical order, with Astrid helping Tilda and Tom to find their places in the line.

  Mr Smee arrived and cast his eyes over the class. ‘Wow! You’re very well organised.’

  ‘We’re in alphabetical order,’ Clementine announced.

  ‘No!’ He frowned in disbelief.

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Clementine reassured him. ‘You can test us.’

  Mr Smee looked at the children, wondering how on earth a group of five- and six-year-olds had managed to arrange themselves into alphabetical order.

  He pointed to the curly-haired lad at the head of the line. ‘Okay then, what’s your name?’

  ‘Angus Archibald,’ the boy replied.

  Mr Smee then pointed at the girl behind him, Astrid, who was followed by Clementine. He could hardly believe his ears as he ticked off each child. He smiled broadly. ‘That’s amazing. But you don’t have to line up in alphabetical order for me. In fact,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m not really a big fan of lines at all.’

  The children suddenly stiffened, their backs straight and arms jammed beside their bodies.

  Mr Smee gawped. This was not the usual reaction to his little secret. Then he noticed that the children weren’t looking at him at all. He turned around to see Ethel Bottomley striding towards them, dressed from tip to toe in her trademark brown.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Bottomley,’ the class sang.

  ‘Good morning, everyone.’ The old woman cast a stern eye over the group.

  ‘Did you teach them to line up like that, Mrs Bottomley?’ Mr Smee asked.

  She nodded. ‘I certainly did. I think you will find that these are the most well-disciplined students in the school and I will thank you not to go ruining them with your hippy ideas.’

  She’d met the young man at the staff meeting the day before and was horrified to hear some of the plans he outlined for the children.

  Roderick Smee worked hard to smother a gri
n. ‘Of course not, Mrs Bottomley.’ It wasn’t entirely true, but there was no point upsetting her.

  He looked back to the students and gave the barest hint of a wink. ‘Come on, Year One. Time to get excited about learning.’

  ‘Excited?’ Mrs Bottomley could hardly believe her ears. ‘Mr Smee, I think you should choose your words far more carefully or these children will be running amok in no time.’

  Clementine held Tilda’s hand and gave it a squeeze. It seemed that Year One was going to be a lot more fun than Kindergarten.

  Clementine Rose clattered through the front door. She kicked off her school shoes and ran down the hallway to the kitchen, skidding along the polished timber boards on her socks.

  ‘Mummy, we’re home!’

  She pushed her way through the kitchen door and dropped her backpack by the sideboard.

  Lady Clarissa Appleby was stirring a large pot on the stove. The house smelt like warm apples and cinnamon. Clementine grinned. Her mother was probably making a pie. Aunt Violet was sitting at the table with her head buried in a fashion magazine.

  ‘Hello darling.’ Lady Clarissa smiled at her little daughter. Clementine’s blue eyes sparkled like sapphires and she wore a huge grin. ‘It looks like someone’s had a good day.’

  ‘Oh Mummy, it was the best ever. Our teacher’s name is Mr Smee and he’s very funny and he had a lovely tie with yellow flowers,’ Clementine babbled. She scurried into her mother’s embrace and the woman kissed the top of her golden head.

  Aunt Violet lowered her magazine and tapped her forefinger against her powdered cheek. ‘Don’t I get a greeting? Or are you too old, now that you’re in Year One?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Clementine raced around the table and leaned in to kiss Aunt Violet.

  Digby Pertwhistle arrived in the kitchen, holding Clementine’s school shoes in one hand and a shopping bag in the other.

  ‘Uncle Digby, what are you doing with those?’ Lady Clarissa took the offending footwear and looked at Clementine. ‘Darling, you know you can’t leave shoes lying about in the foyer. If one of the guests trips over them we’ll be in all sorts of trouble.’

  ‘Sorry, Mummy.’ Clementine took the shoes from her mother and set them down beside the back stairs. Lavender, her teacup pig, and Aunt Violet’s sphynx cat, Pharaoh, were sound asleep in Lavender’s basket in front of the oven. Clementine gave both pets a scratch under the chin. Lavender let out a loud grunt and Pharaoh began to purr, but neither creature opened an eye.

  ‘Would you like something to eat, Clementine?’ Uncle Digby offered as he unpacked the groceries on the bench.

  ‘Yes, please. I’m starving.’

  She had just clambered onto the chair beside Aunt Violet when she remembered something important and slid back down again. Clementine went to her backpack and took out a large pile of exercise books. She heaved them onto the table then climbed back onto the chair.

  Aunt Violet shook her head. ‘Are you a jack-in-the-box?’

  ‘No,’ Clementine said. ‘I just remembered that Mr Smee said we should cover all our books tonight.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to do it,’ Aunt Violet said, her lip curling.

  Clementine shook her head. ‘No. Uncle Digby’s much better at it than you. Remember last time when you tried? There were big air bubbles everywhere and we had to prick them with a pin. Mrs Bottomley got cross at me and said that it looked like a hippopotamus had tried to cover my books. But I told her it was just you.’

  ‘Pfft.’ Aunt Violet went back to reading her magazine.

  ‘Oh dear. I hope we have enough paper,’ Lady Clarissa said.

  ‘We’ve got plenty. I picked some up from Mrs Mogg,’ said Uncle Digby.

  ‘You’re a gem.’ Lady Clarissa smiled at the man, who was now busy making a glass of chocolate milk for Clementine.

  He set the glass and a plate with two honey jumbles in front of her. She took a large gulp of milk and then exhaled loudly, leaving a chocolate moustache on her upper lip.

  Aunt Violet blanched. ‘Do you have any manners, young lady?’

  Clementine wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Aunt Violet shook her head.

  Lady Clarissa laughed and sat opposite her daughter. ‘So, tell us about Mr Smee.’

  ‘Oh Mummy, he’s amazing. He taught us songs and played the guitar and he doesn’t like lining up. I don’t think Mrs Bottomley was very happy about that,’ Clementine explained.

  ‘Poor Ethel,’ said Aunt Violet. ‘That woman worked hard to get your class shipshape last year. I’m sure she’ll be very upset if this upstart comes along and undoes all her good work.’

  Clementine ploughed on. ‘We don’t have rows any more, either. There are lots of big tables instead. My table has Poppy and Sophie and Tilda and Teddy and Angus and we’re called the Warthogs.’

  ‘Warthogs! That’s dreadful,’ Aunt Violet scoffed.

  ‘No, that’s what we wanted to be. Tilda and Teddy told everyone about Theodore and they all agreed that it would be cool to be the Warthogs,’ Clementine explained. Theodore was the stuffed warthog that used to live in the Penberthy House library but was now safely tucked away in the attic. ‘The other tables are called Flamingos, Wildebeests and Cheetahs. We’re all named after African animals.’

  The conversation was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell in a box near the pantry.

  Long ago, even before Aunt Violet was born, the house had been full of servants. A series of buttons throughout the house had allowed the occupants to summon the servants whenever they wanted anything. Lady Clarissa had recently had the bells and buttons restored. They were strictly for the use of guests, although Aunt Violet had tried them out several times when she was after a cup of tea and couldn’t be bothered to walk downstairs.

  The bell rang again.

  ‘Is someone staying?’ Clementine asked, surprised that there was a guest at the beginning of the week. The hotel was always busiest at the weekends.

  ‘Yes, darling,’ her mother replied, pushing her chair out.

  ‘She seems an odd little woman if you ask me,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘Is she really staying the whole month?’

  Lady Clarissa nodded. ‘Miss Richardson has paid up-front. She didn’t have to, but she insisted. She said that she might stay longer if things suit her.’

  ‘That’s a long time,’ said Clementine. She finished her last bite of honey jumble and pushed her chair out too. ‘Can I come and meet her, Mummy? I could bring Lavender.’

  ‘No, darling. Why don’t you stay down here and help Uncle Digby get started with your books? I’ve got some lovely labels in the second drawer of the sideboard. I’ll be back soon.’ Lady Clarissa rushed away up the back stairs.

  ‘Why did you say the lady was odd, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine asked. She wondered if the woman looked strange or if she talked to herself. The other week Clementine had seen a man in the village with a glass eye. She’d gasped and hidden behind her mother’s skirt. The man had explained that it wasn’t anything to be worried about and in the end Clementine thought it was amazing.

  ‘She’s come to write a book,’ Aunt Violet replied, ‘but I don’t imagine she’ll find Penberthy Floss very inspiring.’

  Clementine’s face lit up. She loved stories and was getting very good with her reading. At the moment her favourite book was by a lady called Agnes Wells. She’d been taking turns reading a chapter each evening with Aunt Violet, who seemed to be enjoying the story just as much as Clementine was. She said that it reminded her of things she’d read as a little girl, but Clementine didn’t think it was old-fashioned. It was a great adventure. ‘What sort of book?’ Clementine asked.

  Aunt Violet flicked her hand. ‘Some historical tome. I’d never heard of Abigail Richardson and you know I’m very widely read. It all sounds dreadfully dull to me.’

  But Clementine didn’t think it was dull at all. She couldn’t wait to meet the lady who was writing a book in her very own house.
<
br />   When Lady Clarissa returned from upstairs, she and Clementine walked to the village to collect the mail. They stopped to look at the progress on the village hall, which had recently been destroyed in a fire. Clementine was excited to see that there was already a floor and a frame. That meant that Tilda and Teddy’s mother, Ana, would be able to start her ballet school soon. Clementine couldn’t wait to have lessons. Mrs Mogg was going to make her a red tutu.

  By the time they arrived back, Uncle Digby had covered most of Clementine’s books and dinner was well underway. Aunt Violet had gone upstairs to have a rest, complaining that she had a headache coming on.

  Clementine settled down to colour in the title page in her writing book. Her pencils spilled out of their pretty pink polka-dot case all over the kitchen table.

  ‘Clemmie, can you pack your things away and set the table for me, please?’ Lady Clarissa asked as she strained a large saucepan of vegetables.

  ‘Is the writer lady having dinner with us?’ Clementine asked as she bundled up her pencils. She hadn’t seen Uncle Digby set the table in the dining room, which was where the guests usually ate their meals.

  ‘No, darling. Miss Richardson has asked to have dinner taken up to her room,’ Lady Clarissa replied.

  ‘She’s a bit ’sterious,’ Clementine said.

  Aunt Violet walked down the back stairs into the kitchen at that moment.

  ‘“Mysterious” is the word you’re looking for, Clementine,’ she said as she strode over to the table. ‘You’re a big girl now. You need to start pronouncing your words correctly or I’ll enrol you in some elocution lessons.’

  Clementine stopped in her tracks. ‘Electrocution lessons! What’s that?’ Clementine’s mother and Uncle Digby had always told her to stay away from electricity because it was dangerous.