Clementine Rose and the Wedding Wobbles Page 2

  Violet Appleby’s eyes brimmed with tears, making her irises an even more brilliant blue than usual.

  Clarissa and Digby both raced over to see what the matter was.

  ‘Aunt Violet, are you all right?’ Clarissa asked. She snapped her fingers and offered the woman a tissue from her apron pocket.

  Violet continued to stare at Clementine as if she were gazing upon the most precious object in the world. She took the tissue and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Of course I’m all right,’ she whispered.

  ‘I think Aunt Violet needs a cup of tea, Uncle Digby,’ Clementine said. She slipped out of her chair and stood beside the old woman.

  Violet Appleby wrapped her arms around the child and squeezed her like a python. Clementine squirmed to get free.

  The odd scene was interrupted by the telephone ringing.

  Clarissa hurried over to answer it while Digby filled the teapot with boiling water. Seconds later, he placed a cup of tea in front of Aunt Violet and followed it up with two pieces of buttery toast.

  After Clarissa took a booking for two couples, the telephone didn’t stop ringing for the next half-hour. It turned out that quite a few people had watched Basil’s documentary and were dying to visit Penberthy House in person. Digby Pertwhistle set about preparing everyone’s breakfast, but Clarissa was up and down like a yo-yo, sipping her tepid tea between calls.

  ‘Godfathers! How are you to prepare for the wedding and look after all those guests at the same time, Clarissa?’ Violet tutted.

  Clementine surmised that the woman must be feeling better. Aunt Violet was starting to sound a lot more like herself.

  ‘We’ll manage,’ Clarissa said, finally sitting long enough to nibble on a piece of toast. ‘Besides, we’re closing for two weeks while we’re away on our honeymoon. I wouldn’t expect you and Uncle Digby to manage everything on your own.’

  ‘Where exactly are we going, Mummy?’ Clementine asked.

  Aunt Violet scoffed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Clementine. You won’t be going anywhere.’

  ‘But Mummy and Drew said that it was a familymoon,’ Clementine protested.

  Aunt Violet pursed her lips. ‘What a preposterous idea! Your mother and Drew need some grown-up time. Pertwhistle and I can look after you and Will.’

  ‘But I thought we were going somewhere at the seaside,’ Clementine said. She was beginning to feel quite hot and bothered.

  ‘Over my dead body,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘It’s far too dangerous. Need I mention what happened last time, when you and Freddy almost perished in that cave?’

  ‘Perhaps we should discuss it later, when everyone has had more time to think about it,’ Clarissa said, eager to avoid an argument.

  ‘But me and Will want to go and it’s the holidays,’ Clementine said, a tad louder than she had intended.

  ‘Will and I,’ Aunt Violet corrected. ‘One of these days, Clementine, you will learn to speak the Queen’s English and, no, I forbid it.’

  Clementine stamped her foot. ‘You can’t tell Mummy and Drew what to do!’

  ‘Clemmie!’ Clarissa said sternly, then immediately softened her tone. ‘Why don’t you take Lavender outside to play in the garden? We’ll see Mrs Mogg about your dress in a little while.’

  The front doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Digby offered. He smiled tensely at Clarissa before hurrying out into the hallway.

  ‘You’ll need to be careful of the bees in the back garden, Clementine,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘There must be a hive somewhere close by. I saw thousands of them yesterday and I’d bet my house on you being allergic.’

  Clementine ignored her great-aunt and slid off her chair. She stomped over to where Lavender was lying beside Pharaoh in their basket. ‘Come on, Lavender, I need some fresh air. It’s very stuffy in here.’

  She picked up the little pig and walked outside just as Digby poked his head around the door.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘am I right in thinking that the Sage Room is free this evening?’

  Clarissa hopped up to consult the register. ‘Yes. We’ve got a couple in the Rose Room, but the Sage Room is available.’

  ‘Are you happy for me to take the booking?’ Digby asked. ‘I’ll run up and make sure the room hasn’t befallen any strange happenings overnight before I show Mr Johansson upstairs. I’ll have him wait in the sitting room in the meantime.’

  Clarissa nodded. ‘Of course.’

  Digby Pertwhistle scurried away, leaving Clarissa pondering whether she might have bitten off a little more than she could chew.

  Outside, Clementine and Lavender had wandered around to the front of the house. Clementine had decided the fastest way to get over her stoush with Aunt Violet was to make up a poem, which she was now reciting loudly on the porch while Lavender snuffled about in the garden.

  ‘There once was a meanie called Vi, who swallowed a big fat fly. It tumbled and turned and rumbled and churned till she spat it back out in the sky,’ Clementine said, raising her arm dramatically into the air. She thought for a second, then added, ‘And she got a big fat tummy ache, which she totally deserved.’

  Clementine was startled to hear someone clapping.

  ‘That was very good,’ said a voice filled with laughter.

  Clementine turned to find a man standing there. He was tall and slim with a head of thick blond hair. ‘Hello,’ she said with an embarrassed smile. ‘I didn’t really mean it about Aunt Violet getting a tummy ache.’

  ‘I won’t tell her if you don’t,’ the man promised with a wink.

  Clementine grinned. She liked the way the man’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘Are you staying here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I hope so,’ the man replied. He sat down on the top step and looked at the child. ‘You don’t happen to know Clementine Rose, the girl who was delivered in a basket of dinner rolls, do you?’

  Clementine laughed. ‘That’s me! I know it’s not how most children find their mothers, but I think it was the best way for me. Anyway, I’d better go. Mummy’s getting married and we have to see Mrs Mogg about my dress.’

  ‘Married?’ the man said in surprise.

  Clementine nodded. ‘To Drew. And I’m getting a brother called Will.’

  ‘It’s very special to have a brother, but how do you feel about that?’ the man asked.

  ‘I can’t wait. I love them both,’ Clementine said. ‘Bye!’

  She waved and darted back in through the front door, where she almost bumped into Uncle Digby.

  ‘Ooh, careful, Clementine,’ the old butler said. ‘By the way, did you see a fellow out there? It seems our new guest has gone walkabout.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a very nice man and he’s on the porch,’ Clementine called as she dashed down the hall with Lavender tripping along behind her. ‘He asked me about the dinner rolls.’

  Digby Pertwhistle spun around. ‘Why ever would he do that?’ he wondered aloud, then went off in search of his missing guest.

  Clementine poked her head around the kitchen door, wary that Aunt Violet may have lingered after break fast. She let out a little sigh of relief when she saw her mother standing alone at the sink, up to her elbows in soap suds.

  Clementine skipped into the room with Lavender beside her. ‘Hello Mummy. What time are we seeing Mrs Mogg?’ she asked.

  Clarissa looked up from her task and glanced at the clock above the door. ‘Oh dear, we’re due there in twenty minutes.’

  There was a shuffling sound and Aunt Violet emerged from the butler’s pantry, loaded up with what looked to be the ingredients of a cake.

  Clementine recoiled at the thought of her great-aunt baking, then considered asking the woman to let her lick the beaters.

  The telephone rang for the umpteenth time that morning.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Clementine sang, and hurried over to answer it.

  Aunt Violet rolled her eyes. ‘Good heavens, when is it going to stop?’

  Clementine used her best telephone voice and a
sked if the person would mind holding for a moment. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and informed her mother that it was someone who wanted to make a booking for that night.

  Clarissa peeled off her rubber gloves and took the phone. After what felt like an eternity, she finally hung up. ‘That’s it,’ she declared, collapsing into a chair. ‘It’s a full house this evening and every single person wants to have dinner. I hadn’t realised that Basil’s film would have such an instantaneous effect. I’m going to have to put off visiting Margaret until tomorrow afternoon.’

  Clementine’s shoulders drooped.

  ‘I’ll take Clemmie to see her,’ Aunt Violet volunteered as she finished sifting the flour, sugar and cocoa powder for the cake into the giant mixing bowl.

  Clementine blanched.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Clarissa asked.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘Let’s face it, Clarissa, I’ll know immediately if the dress is right or not. I have a far better idea of what suits the child.’

  ‘I know what suits me,’ Clementine said crossly.

  ‘Of course you do. You’re …’ Aunt Violet hesitated. ‘An Appleby.’

  Clementine eyed the ingredients on the bench. ‘What about your cake?’

  The old woman dusted her hands and set about fixing herself a quick cup of tea. ‘I’ll pick up where I left off this afternoon, or Pert whistle can make it. He seems to like whipping things up.’

  ‘What am I whipping now?’ the man said, sweeping into the room with a basket of dirty laundry and a cheeky grin on his face.

  Aunt Violet flushed and glared at him.

  ‘Uncle Digby, I’m afraid you won’t have time to do any washing today. We’ve got a full house as of a few minutes ago,’ Clarissa informed him.

  Digby frowned and put down the hamper. ‘I thought we were full on the last call I took.’

  Clarissa rushed over to consult the reservations book. ‘Heavens,’ she gasped. ‘I’ve double-booked the Rose Room! My head is a complete muddle.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve got too much to think about,’ Aunt Violet scolded. ‘The wedding is just around the corner, Clarissa. What were you thinking taking in all those guests tonight? I hope you’ve struck a line through next week.’

  Clarissa seemed to wilt on the spot. ‘I suppose I was caught up in everyone else’s excitement about the house,’ she sighed. ‘We’ve never had so many enquiries at once before. What a pity Basil didn’t make the documentary years ago. We’d have been able to renovate from top to bottom by now.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Clarissa. We’ll manage,’ Uncle Digby said. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Would you like me to call the last people and let them know we’ve made a mistake?’

  Clarissa shook her head. ‘You don’t have to do it. I’ll apologise profusely and offer them a discount if they reschedule. Perhaps there might be a room at the Rose and Donkey. They’ve started offering accommodation again recently.’

  ‘Hello, hello, where’s my favourite bride-to-be?’ a shrill voice echoed through the hall.

  Sebastian Smote’s face appeared around the door, soon followed by the rest of his nattily dressed figure.

  Clementine brightened at the sight of the man. ‘I love your tie, Mr Smote,’ she said with a wave.

  ‘Godfathers, what’s next? Dive-bombing penguins?’ Aunt Violet mumbled.

  ‘Oh, Miss Appleby, you know me too well.’ The man laughed heartily. ‘I have the sweetest white tie with the tiny black-and-white birds all over, but it doesn’t go with this gorgeous green jacket. It was flying pigs today – there was simply no other choice.’

  Aunt Violet rolled her eyes and buried her face in the recipe book, pretending to see what she needed to put into the cake mix next.

  Sebastian Smote, wedding planner extraordinaire, was one of the most fabulous people Clementine knew. He had become a frequent visitor to Penberthy House over the past year or so, since they had started hosting weddings. When he found out that Clarissa and Drew were getting married, he’d insisted on helping with the planning free of charge. The only trouble was, Sebastian Smote and Aunt Violet didn’t often see eye to eye.

  ‘Look, Mr Smote, I’ve been practising my walk,’ Clementine said. She took three very slow and deliberate steps, then stopped and pretended to scatter rose petals before taking another three measured paces.

  ‘You’ll have to speed it up, Clementine, or we’ll be waiting an hour for you to get down the aisle,’ Aunt Violet said.

  ‘No, no, no, that’s absolutely splendid,’ Sebastian insisted. ‘Your aunt doesn’t know anywhere near as much about weddings as I do,’ he whispered loudly.

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ the old woman muttered under her breath.

  Uncle Digby stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop himself from laughing, but Clarissa was feeling a little overwhelmed by her visitor. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her composure. ‘I hadn’t realised that you were coming this morning, Mr Smote.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, there is plenty to do. First up, we need to confirm the flowers and the music. I’ve got some lanterns outside I want to show you and there’s the aviary, which I’m going to fill with doves on the back lawn, and a cherub fountain for the front garden.’ The man grinned.

  Violet Appleby’s lips quivered. ‘I’m sorry, Clarissa, but I simply must intervene. We can have flowers and music, but we are not having any of that other nonsense. Clarissa’s wedding,’ she said, turning to Mr Smote, ‘is to be a classy affair.’

  Sebastian batted his hand at the woman. ‘But of course. My weddings are nothing but class, Miss Appleby. There’s no need to worry about that. There’s just so much to do and so little time, but I could murder a cup of tea first, and you must tell me who that handsome fellow was I passed in the hallway.’

  ‘I imagine that was Mr Johansson,’ Uncle Digby said, fetching the kettle.

  ‘He was the man with the sparkly eyes I met outside before,’ Clementine added. ‘He made me laugh and he asked me if it was true I came in a basket of dinner rolls.’

  The butler’s forehead wrinkled in surprise. ‘Ah, I didn’t realise that’s what you meant earlier, Clemmie. How curious that he asked you about that.’

  ‘Well, it’s none of his business,’ Aunt Violet huffed.

  ‘He seems a nice enough chap,’ Uncle Digby said. ‘He told me he stayed at the pub last night and was looking for more comfortable accommodation.’

  ‘Oh, that sounds ominous,’ Clarissa said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t mention the Rose and Donkey to the double-booked guests.’

  ‘Why don’t you offer them my room and Clementine and I can bunk in together?’ Aunt Violet suggested.

  Clementine almost choked on the glass of milk she’d just poured for herself.

  Digby and Clarissa looked at each other.

  ‘No, of course we won’t have you do that,’ Clarissa said, wondering at her aunt’s sudden generosity.

  ‘I’d prefer you keep the guests happy and, besides, Clementine and I will make cosy room mates,’ Aunt Violet said.

  Clementine wasn’t so sure about that. The woman snored even louder than Uncle Digby and sometimes she talked in her sleep too.

  ‘If you’re certain,’ Clarissa said, sounding far from convinced herself.

  Aunt Violet nodded. ‘Pertwhistle can move some of my things while I take Clementine to see Margaret. Could you call her, Clarissa, and say we’re running late?’

  Clementine was confused, and she wasn’t the only one. It wasn’t like Aunt Violet to be so helpful.

  Mr Smote whipped out his notebook. ‘Now that’s sorted, shall we make some decisions? Roses and peonies, or irises and violets? What’s it to be, Clarissa?’

  ‘How come we’re walking?’ Clementine asked as she and Aunt Violet set off across the field to the village. Aunt Violet hardly ever walked anywhere.

  ‘It’s safer,’ the woman replied.

  Clementine nodded. ‘Everyone says you drive
too fast.’

  ‘I beg your pardon. There is nothing wrong with my driving, thank you very much,’ Aunt Violet sniffed. ‘It’s all those other maniacs on the road one simply can’t trust.’

  The pair emerged by the rectory, where Father Bob was busy trimming the roses in his front garden. He waved and walked over to the low stone wall. ‘Congratulations on last night, little one,’ he said, handing Clementine a beautiful pink bloom.

  But before she could accept it, Aunt Violet snatched it from the man’s hand. ‘What were you thinking, Father?’ the woman said, waving the flower in his face. ‘There are thorns on this stem. Clementine could have cut her finger or worse!’

  She handed the offending bloom back to him as Clementine watched on in dismay.

  ‘I – I didn’t realise,’ the man stammered, trying to see where he’d missed a barb.

  ‘Next time you give someone a rose, you need to ensure it isn’t a deadly weapon,’ Aunt Violet tutted, shaking her head.

  Adrian, the minister’s dribbly bulldog, was sitting under the pear tree nearby. He suddenly expelled a thunderous gust of wind, which shrouded the trio in an eye-watering stench. Clementine held her nose and burst out laughing. Father Bob, although sheepish at first, did too.

  ‘Good heavens, Father!’ Violet sputtered. ‘Perhaps you should lay off the ginger beer. With gas like that, you could set fire to the entire village.’

  The man’s face reddened. ‘You don’t think that was me, do you, Miss Appleby?’

  ‘Well, I can’t imagine Clementine is capable of producing such an evil concoction and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of your dog,’ the woman said.

  Sure enough, Adrian had scampered away at exactly the wrong moment.

  Aunt Violet took hold of the girl’s hand. ‘Excuse us, Father. We’d better go and see Mrs Mogg or she’ll think we’re not coming.’

  The child waved goodbye to Father Bob with her free hand as her great-aunt led her to the kerb. The woman looked left and right, then left again. Seeing that the roadway was clear, Clementine stepped off the kerb only to feel herself jerked backwards.