Clementine Rose and the Wedding Wobbles

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Stop right there, young lady,’ Aunt Violet demanded.

  Clementine peered in either direction but couldn’t see a single thing. The road was empty apart from a car already parked outside the shop. They stood there a minute longer while Aunt Violet watched and waited. She looked left, right and left again at least three more times.

  Clementine began to sway on the spot. ‘Aunt Violet, the road is clear,’ she said impatiently.

  ‘Oh, very well, Clementine,’ the old woman replied testily. ‘Stop your whining.’

  Violet Appleby promptly scooped up the girl and rushed her across the road, depositing her neatly in front of the shop with the tinkly bell.

  Margaret Mogg’s sewing room had been converted from a spare bedroom. It had racks full of fabric along one wall, a huge table for cutting patterns in the centre and a sewing machine and an overlocker too. Clementine hoped Mrs Mogg would give her sewing lessons when she was older.

  The baby-blue dress fit like a glove and Clementine loved it from the moment she looked in the long mirror. But Mrs Mogg was right. It was a little plain for a flower girl’s dress. The woman tried bows and appliqués and all manner of other adornments before Clementine suggested flowers. And it turned out that Mrs Mogg had just the thing.

  ‘What about something like this?’ she asked, pulling out two pink flowers made from the finest silk thread. ‘It won’t take long to make some more.’

  Aunt Violet nodded her approval. ‘Yes. Scattered across the bodice and skirt with a concentration around the waist.’

  ‘They’re perfect,’ Clementine gushed, clasping her hands together. ‘I’ll be a proper flower girl now. I can’t wait to tell Mummy.’

  ‘Why don’t you leave it as a surprise?’ Aunt Violet suggested.

  ‘Do you think Mummy would like that?’ Clementine frowned. She really wanted to tell her mother as soon as they got home.

  ‘I’m sure she would,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘In fact, your dress has confirmed precisely what type of flowers we need for the marquee. I’ll call the florist and change them first thing in the morning.’

  ‘But Mr Smote was checking the flowers with Mummy,’ Clementine said.

  Aunt Violet couldn’t help the look of contempt that flashed across her face. ‘Sebastian Smote has done quite enough. I’ll be taking over from now on,’ she harrumphed. ‘We don’t need him mincing about the house with his preposterous ideas. I don’t know why your mother puts up with him.’

  Clementine looked at Mrs Mogg and the pair exchanged a wry smile.

  Aunt Violet craned her neck, glancing around Mrs Mogg’s workroom. ‘I forgot to mention that Clarissa asked if I might take a peek at her dress to make sure it was all right,’ she said.

  Clementine looked at the woman. ‘But I thought Mummy wants it to be a surprise for everyone?’

  Margaret Mogg tsked and shook her head. ‘I’m afraid Clementine’s right. I’m under strict instructions not to show anyone.’

  ‘What a lot of fuss and bother.’ Aunt Violet wrinkled her lip and stood up to gather her things. ‘Come along, Clementine. We’d best be getting back. I have a million things to do and no doubt your mother and Pertwhistle will be completely snowed under with a house full of guests. Honestly, the place is crowded enough already and it is only going to get more so.’

  ‘Oh, there is something else.’ Mrs Mogg bustled over to her sewing table and picked up a length of pink fabric. ‘I’ve made a ribbon for Lavender. She is going to the wedding, I assume.’

  Clementine beamed. ‘She wouldn’t miss it. Thank you, Mrs Mogg.’

  ‘And would you mind taking the cushion? Will might like to practise carrying it for his ring-bearing duties,’ Margaret Mogg said. She handed Clementine a small bag containing the pretty white pillow.

  Clementine gave Mrs Mogg a hug and followed Aunt Violet out of the shop. Claws, the Moggs’ tabby cat, was lounging by the front door. Clementine bent down and gave him a rub on his tummy.

  ‘Be careful of that cat, Clemmie,’ Aunt Violet warned. ‘He is a vicious beast.’

  Clementine looked at the sleepy puss. She had no idea what Aunt Violet was talking about. Claws was just about the laziest creature she had ever met.

  Clementine spotted Will playing in the garden with Lavender as she and Aunt Violet neared the house. Bubbling with excitement, the girl ran ahead and through the rusty gate to tell him all about her dress fitting. She then handed over the ring cushion and explained what it was for to the bewildered boy. They decided to practise walking down the aisle later, but with fake rings, of course. They didn’t want to lose the real ones in the grass.

  ‘Hello darling,’ Lady Clarissa called from the back door. ‘How did you go with Margaret?’

  ‘I love my dress! I’d wear it every day if you’d let me,’ Clementine fizzed. ‘We added something to it that’s extra special, but Aunt Violet says it’s a surprise. She also tried to trick Mrs Mogg into showing us your dress, but she was a closed ship.’

  Violet Appleby rolled her eyes at the child. ‘I think you’ll find that’s a closed shop, Clementine.’

  ‘Aren’t you the cheeky one, Aunt Violet?’ Clarissa said, laughing. ‘You know I’m keeping it under wraps.’

  ‘I just wanted to make sure you aren’t going to look like some country bumpkin or worse,’ Violet replied. ‘Speaking of country bumpkins, has Pertwhistle made that cake yet?’

  Clarissa shook her head. ‘Poor Uncle Digby has been rushed off his feet. We’re actually not looking too bad, though, considering how many guests are booked in for tonight.’

  Aunt Violet glanced around to make sure Sebastian Smote wasn’t lurking about in the garden before she revealed her plans. ‘Now, Clarissa,’ she began, ‘I’m rethinking the flowers and I’ve decided to tweak the seating arrangements. It’s one of the riskiest things at any wedding. There’s always a second cousin thrice removed who can’t stand to be within reach of some other relative or there’s likely to be blood.’

  ‘You must have had lots of experience with that,’ Clementine said seriously. She often heard Uncle Digby joke about how many husbands Aunt Violet had gone through.

  The old woman tilted her chin upwards. ‘I have planned a few weddings in my time,’ she admitted, ‘but not just my own, Miss Smartypants.’

  After deciding that a picnic was in order, Clementine grabbed Will’s hand and the pair raced off inside in search of supplies. They sprinted up the back stairs to the top floor of the house, where the family’s bedrooms were located. Clementine pushed open the small door that led to the attic and hurried up the stairs while Will lagged behind.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ the boy heard Clementine say. ‘Are you lost?’

  Will reached the top and was surprised to see a man standing there. He had blond hair and wore dark-rimmed glasses.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the man said. He returned a photograph to an old wooden box and quickly closed the lid. ‘I took a wrong turn and ended up here. Then, I must admit, my curiosity got the better of me.’

  ‘There is lots to look at,’ Clementine agreed, ‘but Theodore’s my favourite.’ She pointed to the stuffed warthog that stood in one corner of the room. ‘We had a big clean-out a while ago and sold a load of things to raise money for the new village hall. Mummy says it’s a waste having stuff hidden away when other people could get some use out of them. But we couldn’t sell Theodore. He’s family.’

  ‘Theodore, you say?’ The man grinned. ‘He’s very handsome … for a warthog.’

  Clementine suddenly remembered her manners. ‘This is Will,’ she said, beckoning the boy forward. ‘He’s going to be my brother.’

  Will took a few cautious steps into the room and waved.

  ‘Hello there, it’s nice to finally meet you,’ said Mr Johansson.

  ‘Where are you from?’ Will asked, finding his voice.

  ‘Sweden,’ the man said. ‘I suppose you think my accent is strange.’

  ‘It’s very cold there,’ Will s
aid. ‘My dad was making a film in Stockholm and I got to go with him.’

  ‘I hope you enjoyed it.’ The fellow smiled. ‘Well, I should be heading back downstairs.’

  ‘Would you like to have a picnic with us?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘I think I had better do some work, actually,’ Mr Johansson replied. ‘And then perhaps I will go for a walk to the village. It seems a quaint place.’

  ‘Yes, it’s beautiful and Mrs Mogg sells really yummy lollies and cakes in her shop,’ Clementine said.

  ‘Do you like living here?’ he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

  Clementine nodded. ‘Penberthy House is the loveliest place to live in the whole world, especially now that the roof doesn’t leak.’

  ‘And your mother – is she kind?’

  Clementine nodded again. ‘Very. She’s the best cook too and everyone loves her. Well, maybe not Aunt Violet when she first came to stay, but she’s much nicer to Mummy now.’

  ‘I am glad it worked out in the end. Well, enjoy your picnic and I hope to see you later.’ The man smiled and left the children to it.

  ‘Don’t you think it was a bit weird that he was up here?’ Will whispered, once the man had disappeared downstairs.

  Clementine shrugged. ‘I think he was just lost. It is a big house, after all,’ she reasoned as she opened a cupboard door and pulled out a blanket and some cushions. ‘Which bedroom are you going to have after the wedding?’ she asked.

  Will looked over at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you have to pick a bedroom because Mummy and Drew will share,’ Clementine said. ‘Isn’t that what married people do?’

  Will gulped. It hadn’t occurred to him that he and his father would have to move. ‘But my room has stars on the ceiling,’ he said.

  Clementine stopped and thought for a second. ‘I’ve got an idea. Aunt Violet should move into Crabtree Cottage and you can have the Blue Room. We can paint the ceiling so it’s exactly the same as the one you have now. I’m sure Aunt Violet would rather live there than here with us. She hates the bathroom, and Crabtree Cottage has two brand-new ones.’

  Will’s brow furrowed. ‘But why can’t you come and live at Crabtree Cottage with us?’ he asked.

  ‘Because Mummy has to run the hotel,’ Clementine replied. ‘She can’t be rushing back here from the village every time a guest needs something.’

  ‘Uncle Digby and Aunt Violet could look after them,’ Will said.

  Clementine’s neck felt hot and prickly. ‘No, it’s Mummy’s hotel and she’s in charge.’ She picked up the blanket and hurled it over the balustrade and down the stairs, then catapulted the cushions after it.

  A loud shriek sounded from below. Clementine and Will looked at each other, their eyes widening. Then they both ran down and leaned over the railing. At the bottom of the stairs, a blanket-clad ghost was wriggling about, trying to get free.

  Clementine’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Will asked.

  ‘It’s me!’ the ghost barked as it wrestled the blanket off its head.

  Clementine winced. ‘Sorry, Aunt Violet.’

  The old woman strode up the stairs. ‘What are you two doing up here? Causing mischief, I gather.’

  ‘We’re going to have a picnic on the back lawn,’ Clementine explained. ‘What are you doing up here? I thought you hated the attic.’

  ‘I remembered we once had a lot of lovely old cut-glass vases that we might be able to use for the flowers at the reception,’ Aunt Violet replied. ‘Unless, of course, your mother sold them at the fete.’ Violet Appleby noticed the box on the table. ‘Why did you have that out?’

  Clementine looked at the box. ‘We didn’t.’

  ‘It was that man who was up here,’ Will said. ‘He had it open.’

  ‘Which man?’ Aunt Violet demanded. ‘Guests aren’t supposed to be in the attic.’

  ‘The nice man from Sweden who asked me about the dinner rolls,’ Clementine said.

  Violet Appleby’s heart began to pound. Sweden. Pertwhistle hadn’t mentioned their guest was from Sweden. What was he doing nosing around?

  ‘Are you all right, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine asked.

  The woman shook herself and stood up straight. ‘I don’t like the idea of guests rummaging through our belongings,’ she said, walking over to the row of old wardrobes. She began opening and closing doors in search of the vases.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Will agreed. ‘But Clemmie thought he was lost.’

  ‘Lost, my eye.’ The woman turned and looked at the children with her hands on her hips. ‘The man was snooping and I, for one, don’t like snoops.’

  Clementine thought that was a very funny thing for Aunt Violet to say. When the woman had first arrived at the house, she’d spent all her time sneaking about looking for Granny’s jewels. As far as Clementine was concerned, Aunt Violet had proven to be the biggest snoop of all.

  Clementine was dressed and ready for school earlier than usual on Monday morning. She’d had a very bad dream and had woken up thinking about it. To make matters worse, Aunt Violet snored like a tractor. Even Lavender had retreated downstairs to sleep in Pharaoh’s basket.

  Clementine and Will’s picnic the day before had been disappointing, to say the least. They had tried to practise their wedding march, but Will had kept walking too fast, and the lollies she’d tied to the cushion fell off and Lavender ate them, which is exactly what Clementine had warned would happen. Then Will got stroppy and said he didn’t want to practise anymore. When Clementine asked him what the matter was, he refused to say a word and wandered around the garden in a sulk. The only bright note was that she had spent the rest of the afternoon collecting lady beetles, which seemed to have invaded the garden in their thousands.

  Clementine hoped things would be better between her and Will this morning. She packed her schoolbag and walked down the back stairs as the clock in the entrance hall struck seven.

  Her mother was lifting two boiled eggs out of a saucepan and into egg cups. Clarissa turned and smiled at her daughter. ‘Hello darling, you’re up early.’

  Clementine nodded. ‘I had a bad dream and Aunt Violet is snoring so loudly even Granny and Grandpa can hear her.’

  ‘That’s no good, but it’s a new day and the sun is shining,’ Clarissa said cheerfully.

  Clementine wrinkled her nose. ‘Mummy, what’s that smell?’

  ‘It’s caviar paste.’ Clarissa gestured to the pink worms she’d squeezed onto a small dish. ‘It’s a sandwich spread made from fish eggs.’

  ‘I hope that’s not my breakfast,’ Clementine said as she marked off another day on the calendar. Unlike every other time she had done so, Clementine didn’t feel nearly as excited. She walked back to the table and poured herself a glass of milk. ‘Where’s Uncle Digby?’ she asked, just as the man walked through the swinging door.

  ‘Good morning, Clemmie. How are you today?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Clementine said a little glumly. She had her elbows on the table and was resting her head in her hands.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like it,’ the man said. He handed Clarissa a piece of paper from the top of his notepad. ‘Two fried eggs and bacon for Mrs Swizzle and a serve of nut porridge for her husband. They’ve dashed upstairs to pack as they’ve got to catch an early train, but they’ll be back down in ten minutes. I’ll take that to Mr Johansson now.’

  Clarissa quickly removed her apron and hung it up on the hook beside the stove. ‘I’ll take it. I’d like to have a quiet word while he’s still on his own.’

  ‘He’s very nice,’ Clementine said, drawing invisible pictures on her glass of milk with her finger. ‘I don’t think Aunt Violet likes him, though. She got very cross when she found out he’d been in the attic yesterday.’

  Clarissa blinked. She hadn’t a clue why the man would be pottering around their attic, of all places. She suspected he wasn’t actually on holiday. Determined to
get to the bottom of the matter, she picked up the plates and headed to the dining room, where their mysterious guest was flicking through the newspaper.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Johansson.’ Clarissa smiled at the man, who looked up and smiled back. ‘How are you enjoying your stay?’

  ‘Oh, I am having a marvellous time,’ he replied warmly, taking off his spectacles. He set aside his newspaper and placed his napkin on his lap.

  ‘Are you here for long?’ Clarissa asked, setting his breakfast down in front of him.

  ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps I will stay a while,’ he said. ‘As long as you have the room.’

  The man spread some of the fish paste onto a slice of bread and cut it in half. Then he knocked the tops off his soft-boiled eggs and waved his knife in the air as if he were conducting an orchestra.

  ‘I was wondering something about your daughter, Clementine,’ he said. ‘She is a most delightful child, although she was quite upset with her great-aunt yesterday morning. Does that happen a lot?’

  Clarissa gulped, caught off-guard by such a curious question. ‘I can assure you Aunt Violet adores Clemmie and the feeling is completely mutual. Clemmie was just annoyed about something silly. Nothing to worry about at –’

  A bloodcurdling shriek sounded from the hallway.

  ‘Clementine!’ Aunt Violet thundered, her voice reverberating around the walls. ‘There are bugs in my hair!’

  Clarissa cringed. She excused herself and raced out of the room to find Aunt Violet at the top of the stairs. She was in her dressing-gown and slippers, and clawing at her silver mop.

  ‘Aunt Violet, please calm down,’ Clarissa whispered loudly. ‘We have guests.’

  Clementine barrelled through the kitchen door with Uncle Digby hot on her heels. The old butler wouldn’t have missed this sight for all the world.

  ‘My lady beetles!’ Clementine exclaimed. ‘I must have forgotten to put the lid back on the bug-catcher. There were so many in the garden yesterday and they were so pretty …’ She looked up at Aunt Violet, who was less than impressed. ‘They’re supposed to be good luck too,’ she said. Although they didn’t seem to be good luck for her right at the moment.