Clementine Rose and the Perfect Present 3 Read online

  About the Book

  Clementine Rose is thrilled! There’s a giant tent in the back garden and guests arriving by the car load. A wedding at Penberthy House is just the thing her mother needs to help pay for the much needed new roof. But amid the excitement Uncle Digby falls ill, an invitation goes astray and, to everyone’s horror, Aunt Violet is left in charge. All those beautifully wrapped wedding gifts give Clementine a great idea, but will she find the perfect present in time?

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title

  Dedication

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Cast of Characters

  About the Author

  Books by Jacqueline Harvey

  Clementine Rose’s next adventure

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the Book?

  For Ian, who is with me every step of the way, and for Chris and Kimberley and Anne, who work so hard to bring it all together.

  Clementine Rose stood on her tippytoes with her arms around her mother’s waist. The woman leaned down and kissed the top of the child’s golden head.

  ‘Have a wonderful day,’ Lady Clarissa said to her daughter.

  ‘I will.’ Clemmie let go and ran to the basket near the stove where Lavender, her teacup pig, and Pharaoh, Aunt Violet’s sphynx cat, were snuggled together. She knelt down and pressed her face between them. Pharaoh’s sandpaper tongue shot out and licked Clementine’s cheek.

  ‘That tickles, Pharaoh,’ she giggled.

  Lavender grunted, then closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

  ‘Run along, Clemmie. You don’t want to keep Uncle Digby waiting,’ her mother instructed, then turned and headed up the back stairs. She was on her way to check that all of the bedrooms were made up, ready for the full house they were expecting on the weekend. It would be the first time since Lady Clarissa had opened Penberthy House to paying guests that every single room was booked.

  Clementine wriggled into her coat and threw her backpack on her shoulders. ‘Bye Mummy.’ She sped towards the entrance hall.

  She glanced up at the portraits of her grandparents on the wall as she flung open the front door. ‘By Granny and Grandpa.’

  Clementine hadn’t noticed Aunt Violet standing on the third-floor landing.

  ‘Does she really think you could care less, Edmund?’ the woman said as she peered at the painting of her brother. She didn’t hear Lady Clarissa approach.

  ‘Who are you talking to, Aunt Violet?’ asked the younger woman.

  ‘No one!’ Aunt Violet snapped. ‘You must be hearing things, Clarissa.’

  Her niece grinned. ‘Has Clementine got you talking to the relatives too?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. The child clearly lives in fairyland,’ Aunt Violet said with a huff. ‘I was not talking to my brother or anyone else, for that matter.’

  ‘Well, there’s no harm in it, I’m sure,’ Clarissa replied. ‘Clementine seems to get on rather well with all of them.’

  ‘What a load of tripe.’ Violet harrumphed and strode off towards the bathroom.

  Meanwhile, Clementine Rose had met Uncle Digby and clambered into the car. The pair chatted away as they always did on the short run from Penberthy Floss to the school in Highton Mill.

  The little car sputtered down the lane, which was lined on both sides by low stone walls. They soon stopped outside Ellery Prep’s ornate gates and pretty hedge. Clementine leaned through the gap in the seats and kissed Uncle Digby’s cheek.

  He turned and grinned at her. ‘Have a good day, Clemmie.’

  ‘I will.’ She hopped out of the car and ran to join Sophie, who had just arrived too.

  Uncle Digby rolled down the top of his window. ‘Good morning, Pierre.’ His warm breath fogged up the cold glass as he called to Sophie’s father, whose van was idling on the other side of the road.

  ‘Good morning, Monsieur Digby. Please tell Lady Clarissa that the cake is almost finished and it looks beautiful.’ He squeezed his forefinger and thumb together and kissed them.

  ‘Good job, Pierre. I might pop around to the shop and have a quick look.’ Uncle Digby winked. ‘Just so I can put her mind at ease and let her know that it’s perfect.’

  ‘Ah, I think the cream buns will be ready too,’ Pierre replied. ‘I have some deliveries to make but Odette is there.’

  Digby waved goodbye and eased the little car onto the road. He could have walked the short distance to the shop but the wind was chilly and he hadn’t been feeling quite himself the past couple of days. He didn’t want to get sick before the weekend. Lady Clarissa would have too many guests to manage without his help.

  Clementine and Sophie bounded across the playground and straight to the classroom to drop off their bags. Poppy was already there talking with Astrid, the cleverest girl in the class. If anyone could be relied upon to know the answer to a difficult question it was her.

  The girls greeted one another and decided to play hopscotch before the bell.

  ‘Are you going to Angus’s party?’ Poppy asked the group as she threw a cold stone onto the asphalt.

  Sophie and Astrid nodded. Clementine’s tummy twinged and she wondered what they were talking about.

  ‘I don’t really want to but Mummy says that it’s unkind not to go, especially since he wrote the invitation himself and even put it in the mail,’ Sophie explained. ‘What about you, Clementine?’

  ‘I didn’t get invited,’ she replied, frowning.

  ‘Maybe the postman is running late at your house. My invitation only came yesterday,’ Astrid offered.

  Clementine nodded. That seemed reasonable enough. They didn’t have the mail delivered every day. Her mother or Uncle Digby had to go to Mrs Mogg’s store to collect it.

  Angus and Joshua raced past the girls.

  ‘You’d better get me good presents,’ Angus called. ‘Otherwise I’ll tie you up and feed you to the dragon.’

  ‘Yeah, you’d better,’ Joshua yelled. ‘His dragon is really mean.’

  Clementine wrinkled her nose. ‘I bet his dragon is bossy too, just like him and his Nan.’

  Sophie looked at Clementine and coughed loudly.

  Mrs Bottomley was standing right behind the group. ‘What was that, young lady?’

  The child spun around.

  ‘Nothing, Mrs Bottomley,’ Clementine lied. As the teacher also happened to be Angus’s nan, Clementine hoped she hadn’t heard her.

  ‘I’ll have you know that my daughter is going to a lot of trouble for this party. Even though I told her it was a ridiculous idea to have it after school, when the children will be tired and grumpy. I’ve been asked to make the cake, which I trust will not be eaten by some ghastly cat this time.’ Mrs Bottomley was referring to the last sponge cake she’d made, which had been nibbled by Aunt Violet’s cat, Pharaoh, at the pet day and then completely ruined when Mrs Bottomley fell into it. ‘I suggested that she leave some of the students who might not be able to behave themselves properly off the guest list.’

  Mrs Bottomley arched her eyebrow at Clementine and walked away.

  Clementine felt another twinge in her tummy. What if she really wasn’t invited? Did Mrs Bottomley think she couldn’t be tr
usted at a birthday party? That wasn’t true at all. There were plenty of other kids in the class who were naughty – Joshua, for a start. He was always in trouble, especially with Miss Critchley, the head teacher.

  Sophie pulled a face. ‘She’s so mean.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Clementine. If you’re not invited I’ll tell Mummy I don’t want to go either,’ Poppy said.

  ‘I don’t want to go to Angus’s stupid party anyway,’ Clementine declared.

  But that wasn’t true at all. By morning tea time Clementine had learned that the whole class had been invited. Every – single – one. Except her. There was even a dress-up theme: kings and queens, princes and princesses. Angus said that he was only having the queens and princesses so that the kings and princes could capture them and feed them to the dragon that lived in the cave at the bottom of his garden. Astrid said that was rubbish because everyone knew dragons weren’t real. Clementine wasn’t so sure but she hoped Astrid was right.

  Clementine loved to dress up. She even had the perfect outfit, which Mrs Mogg had made for Clemmie’s own princess party the year before. It was a pink gown with lace, and a hooped skirt underneath to make it stick out, just like a proper princess dress. She had a silver tiara with pink stones in it and her mother had found a long pearl necklace and a pearl bracelet in one of the trunks in the attic. Deep down, Clementine hoped that when she got home that afternoon, the invitation had arrived.

  ‘Angus is having a party, Mummy,’ Clementine told her mother when Lady Clarissa picked her up from school.

  ‘That’s nice, Clemmie,’ her mother replied distantly. She was mentally checking off some of the jobs she still had to get done before the weekend.

  ‘Everyone’s invited –’ Clementine began.

  ‘That’s very kind of Mr and Mrs Archibald.’

  ‘– except me,’ Clementine finished sulkily.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s no good,’ said Lady Clarissa. She glanced between the road and Clemmie’s crestfallen reflection in the rear-vision mirror.

  ‘Were there any letters today?’ Clemmie asked hopefully.

  ‘Not that I remember, darling. But we can check when we get home. When’s the party?’

  ‘After school on Tuesday. But I don’t care.’ Clementine wiped a hand across her eye. ‘Angus is horrible.’

  ‘I thought you were getting on better with him,’ her mother said calmly.

  Clementine shrugged. ‘Mrs Bottomley said that she told Angus’s mum not to invite any troublemakers and then she looked straight at me.’

  ‘Never mind, Clemmie. I could phone Angus’s mother and see if there’s been a mistake, if you like,’ Lady Clarissa suggested.

  ‘No! Then he’ll just say that I’m a crybaby. I don’t want to go.’

  ‘If that’s how you really feel, I’m happy not to interfere. There’s so much to do at home and I certainly need your help this weekend.’ Lady Clarissa smiled in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Poor Uncle Digby is run off his feet and Aunt Violet’s being her usual unhelpful self.’

  Clementine decided not to think about Angus and his party again. There were much more interesting things going on at home.

  When her mother first told her there was to be a wedding at the house, Clementine had been bursting with excitement. She couldn’t stop talking about it. She’d never been to a wedding before.

  ‘But where will everyone sit?’ Clementine had asked her mother at the time. Penberthy House was big but the dining room could fit only twenty people at the most.

  ‘We’re going to put a tent in the back garden,’ her mother had explained.

  ‘A tent? But that’s even smaller than the dining room.’ Clementine wondered if the people getting married were tiny, like pixies or elves.

  ‘Oh no, Clemmie, this tent will be enormous,’ her mother had reassured her.

  ‘Like the circus?’ Clementine had asked. Her mother and Uncle Digby had taken Clemmie to the circus the last time it came to the showground at Highton Mill.

  ‘A little bit like that,’ her mother had replied.

  ‘But without the elephants or the lions,’ Clementine decided.

  It had all seemed so far away when her mother first mentioned it. It was before Aunt Violet had come to stay and before Clemmie had started school. And now there was only one more day until the men would come and put up the tent and then the guests would begin to arrive. Every room had been booked by the wedding party and their families.

  Lady Clarissa turned into the driveway and Clementine spotted Mrs Mogg’s car parked next to Uncle Digby’s.

  ‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ Lady Clarissa exhaled. ‘Margaret said she’d pop over and help Uncle Digby with some of the cleaning this afternoon.’

  Clementine thought she could ask Mrs Mogg if she’d brought any letters too. She didn’t really care about Angus and his party, of course. But she’d check anyway, just to be sure.

  On Saturday morning, Clementine Rose sat on the back steps of the house. She was watching the men hammering a line of long metal spikes into the ground. A large sheet of canvas was spread across the lawn like a giant white blanket. She couldn’t wait to see it transform into the tent. Lavender was sitting beside her, dozing in the wintry sun. Both girl and pig were wearing matching pretty blue jumpers, which Mrs Mogg had knitted a few weeks earlier.

  Friday at school had been awful. Everyone had been talking about their costumes for Angus’s party and Angus had demanded all sorts of presents. Clementine’s invitation had never arrived, so she decided that she would just ignore the other kids and think about what was happening at home.

  But a sick feeling returned to the bottom of her tummy whenever anyone mentioned it. Even Angus had asked her about his present. She definitely wasn’t getting him anything if she wasn’t invited.

  The weather had turned much colder in the past few days, and with the last autumn leaves scattered across the ground, Clementine thought the garden looked a bit sad and scruffy. She wondered if the tent would be warm enough, but her mother had assured her that this wouldn’t be any ordinary construction. Clementine thought it was looking a lot bigger than the little triangle in which she and Sophie played in Sophie’s backyard.

  Digby Pertwhistle emerged from the house and stood on the step beside Clementine and Lavender. ‘Hello there, you two.’

  Clementine looked up and smiled. ‘Hello Uncle Digby. Do you think the tent will be finished soon?’

  The old man frowned. ‘I hope so. There’s still a lot to do. At least when the marquee is up, there’ll be one less thing for your mother to worry about.’

  ‘What’s a marquee?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘It’s just a fancy name for the tent, Clemmie,’ Uncle Digby replied. ‘I don’t think brides like the idea of having their weddings in a common old canvas tent.’

  Clementine felt an excited shiver run through her whole body. She couldn’t wait to see the bride in her dress.

  ‘It’s a big job,’ Clementine declared.

  ‘Yes, it certainly is,’ Uncle Digby said. He could recall only one other wedding at the house. It was when a very young and beautiful Violet Appleby had married her first husband. Sadly, the fellow left her and took a lot of her money with him a couple of years later. At the time Uncle Digby was just a young man, and had only started working as the family butler a year before.

  ‘Can Lavender and I help with anything?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Mmm.’ Uncle Digby tapped his forefinger against his lip. Most of the remaining jobs involved polishing and cleaning, and letting Clementine loose with a feather duster was not the best idea. Last time she’d helped she had accidentally knocked over one of the family’s heirloom vases, chipping the top.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Uncle Digby. ‘Why don’t you practise one of your poems and then perhaps you can entertain the guests when they arrive later?’

  Clementine nodded. ‘I’ve got that new one you taught me. I could tell it to Mr Bruno and his men. They must
get a little bit bored hammering pegs into the ground.’

  Uncle Digby smiled at Clementine. ‘Just don’t get in the way.’

  ‘I won’t.’ She stood and walked down the steps. ‘Come on, Lavender.’

  The little pig opened her eyes and scrambled to her feet.

  Clementine marched into the garden and climbed onto a bench ready to begin her recital.

  One of the older gentlemen working nearby had learned the exact same poem when he was a lad, and soon enough he was saying it along with her.

  ‘You’re a clever girl. What’s your name?’ the man asked when she had finished and taken a bow.

  ‘Clementine,’ she replied.

  The man grinned at Clemmie. ‘Have you got another one for us?’

  Clementine loved nothing more than an audience. She knew several poems by heart; her favourite was by a man called Mr Dahl and it was about an anteater. All of the men listened this time. Above the clanking of their hammers, all that could be heard was Clementine and the odd grunt of approval from Lavender.

  Upstairs in the house, Aunt Violet was fiddling with some knick-knacks on her dressing table, when she heard Clementine’s voice outside. She wondered what the child could possibly be up to.

  The old woman peered through the window. She was horrified to see Clementine nattering at the workmen who’d been stomping about the garden since yesterday afternoon.

  Aunt Violet pushed the window up further and poked her head outside. ‘Clementine, what are you doing? Those men are here to work, not to listen to your gobbledegook.’

  ‘Oh, hello Aunt Violet,’ Clementine called back. ‘I’m just practising.’

  ‘You should find somewhere else to do it,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘Those men don’t have time to stand about.’

  ‘But I’ve no one else to practise with,’ said Clementine. She thought of the portraits in the entrance hall. ‘Except for Granny and Grandpa, and they don’t laugh as much as these men do.’

  ‘Your grandfather didn’t laugh much when he was alive, Clementine. I can’t imagine the old trout has changed a jot since he’s been dead,’ Aunt Violet sneered.