Clementine Rose and the Paris Puzzle

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Ready or not, here I come!’ Jules shouted.

  Clementine held her breath.

  Jules ran into the garden, his footsteps thudding on the grass. ‘I can see you, Will,’ he called.

  Clementine peered out from the bushes just in time to see Will make a dash for home. She watched as Jules lunged at the boy and missed.

  ‘Safe!’ Will called out gleefully.

  ‘Who’s next?’ Jules shouted, swivelling around. ‘Where are you, Sophie?’ he called in a singsong voice.

  Clementine could feel her blood pulsing. She looked at her feet and discovered that the little pig had disappeared. ‘Lavender,’ she whispered, glancing around, ‘where are you?’

  ‘Gotcha!’ Jules yelled, bursting through the bushes.

  Clementine screamed and shot out, racing to get home before Jules could catch her, but he was too fast. Jules tapped her on the back and Clementine stopped, letting out a loud sigh. Her heart was thumping.

  Sophie emerged from her hiding place. ‘You’re in, Clemmie.’

  ‘Did you see Lavender?’ Clementine asked, expecting to find the tiny pig charging about somewhere in the garden.

  Jules shook his head.

  ‘Don’t worry, she can’t get out,’ Sophie said. ‘The wall goes all the way around.’

  ‘Lavender!’ Clementine called. ‘She likes being in with me.’

  The children set off in different directions to try to find her. After they’d searched for several minutes with no success, Clementine began to worry.

  ‘That’s strange,’ Sophie said, biting her lip.

  ‘Maybe she’s under a bush,’ Will suggested.

  Clementine ran back to her hiding spot, calling Lavender’s name. It was then that she came upon an opening in the wall, where an old iron grate had fallen out. The others gathered around and peered at it in puzzlement. Clementine lowered herself flat onto the ground and began to wriggle through the hole.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sophie asked in alarm. ‘You don’t know where that goes.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Clementine called back. ‘I’ve got to find Lavender. She doesn’t know anywhere in Paris.’ The child’s legs disappeared.

  Jules was on his tummy next, pulling himself along on his elbows.

  ‘What’s over there?’ Will called.

  Jules gasped. ‘Wow! It looks like an enchanted forest.’

  That was all the encouragement Will needed. He quickly wriggled through the opening in the wall, followed by a reluctant Sophie.

  The children’s mouths gaped open as they stared up at the house. It looked like something from one of the not-so-nice fairytales. Surrounded by a border of thick hedges and an army of knobbly trees with twisted roots, it rose up from the ground three storeys high. Clementine’s eyes widened as she took in the large covered terrace on the ground floor and the open balcony above, accessed by two pairs of curved French doors. The third floor was set into the gabled roof with intricate windows and ornate timber work, although all of it had seen better days. Shutters with flaky paint hung at skewed angles from broken hinges and several roof slates were cracked with a couple missing altogether. But even in its sad state, the house was beautiful.

  ‘What is this place?’ Clementine puffed.

  ‘Do you think anyone lives here?’ Will whispered.

  ‘A witch,’ Sophie said, her voice wavering. ‘Or maybe you’ll find your ghosts after all, Clemmie.’

  ‘Look, there are faces in the windows!’ Will gasped, although he couldn’t see them clearly through the grimy glass.

  ‘I don’t think they’re real,’ Jules said.

  ‘Lavender!’ Clementine called out. She worried for her pet, who was probably feeling a bit scared by now, all alone in the overgrown garden.

  Sophie put a finger to her lips. ‘Shh!’

  ‘But I have to find her,’ Clementine said, charging through the dense foliage.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the others followed. Sophie felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck as they neared the house. She looked at the window set into the top of the back door and stopped in her tracks. ‘W-w-what’s that?’ she stammered.

  A clown’s head was nodding and its hand was waving as if to say hello.

  ‘Stop!’ Sophie pleaded. ‘The house is haunted.’

  ‘It’s just a puppet,’ Jules said. ‘Don’t be such a baby!’

  Will hung back beside Sophie, who was shaking all over and not just from the cold. The boy took her hand and she held onto him tightly.

  Inside the house, the woman was surprised to hear the high-pitched sound of children’s voices getting louder. It didn’t usually take much more than a dancing clown to be rid of them. In fact, she hadn’t seen a child out there for years now, not since a lad had run away screaming about a witch. It wasn’t that she had an aversion to youngsters, she just found them bothersome. She wondered where this lot had come from and what they were doing in her garden.

  A loud squeal sounded, causing the woman to drop the puppet in her hands. The noise did not belong to anything human – she was sure of it. She pulled aside the curtain on the back door and was stunned to find a tiny pig wearing a red coat.

  A blonde child in a matching coat raced onto the terrace and scooped the little creature into her arms. The girl looked up and, spotting her, smiled. The woman recoiled, dropping the curtain and pressing her back to the wall.

  She swallowed hard as the child knocked loudly on the door.

  Clementine stood on her tippy-toes and tried to see in through the lace curtain. She wondered why the lady didn’t open the door. ‘Hello?’

  Lavender nuzzled Clementine’s cheek.

  ‘Did you make a new friend?’ she asked the little pig. Clementine knocked again but there was no reply.

  Just as she was about to give up, the door opened ever so slightly. Clementine and Lavender peered into the room. An old woman with white hair pulled back into a neat bun was standing just inside. Her clothes were splattered with paint and Clementine noticed that her hands were too.

  ‘Bonjour,’ Clementine said. ‘I just wanted to apologise for Lavender wandering into your garden. We were playing hide and seek,’ she explained, motioning to her friends. Jules and Will were standing just off the terrace but Sophie had positioned herself further away under a pear tree, ready to make a speedy escape. ‘Lavender must have come in through the hole in the wall between Monsieur Rousseau’s garden and yours.’

  The woman’s brow wrinkled and she gazed over Clementine’s shoulder. She didn’t know her neighbour but there was something familiar about that name.

  ‘I’m Clementine Rose Appleby,’ the child offered. The old woman hesitated.

  ‘She probably doesn’t speak English,’ Jules said.

  ‘Clemmie, we have to go home,’ Sophie called out.

  ‘I am Madame Joubert,’ the woman said. Her voice was hoarse, as if she hadn’t used it in a very long time.

  ‘That’s a lovely French name,’ Clementine said, then realised how silly she sounded. ‘I suppose that’s because you’re French, of course.’ She giggled. ‘These are my friends Sophie and Jules and that’s Will,’ she said, pointing at the taller boy.

  The woman stared at the group, a bewildered look on her face. Lavender grunted and wriggled in Clementine’s arms.

  ‘Sorry to have bothered you, Madame Joubert,’ Clementine said finally, and turned to leave.

  ‘May I see your cochon?’ the old woman asked, opening the door a little wider.

  Delighted, Clementine turned back and stepped closer to the threshold. ‘You can hold her if you like.’

  Madame Joubert retreated and shook her head.

  ‘At least give her a pat. She doesn’t bite but she might lick you,’ Clementine warned. ‘She’s always tickling my fingers.’

  The timid woman was mesmerised by the miniature beast. Slowly, she reached out and touched Lavender’s bristly head. As she made contact, she pulled her hand away sharply and g
asped.

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ Clementine said.

  Madame Joubert placed her hand back on Lavender’s head and this time she left it there, gently stroking the creature. Lavender leaned her snout towards the woman and licked her fingers.

  ‘Incroyable,’ the woman said, a faint smile playing on her lips. ‘She is very beautiful.’

  Suddenly, a voice cut through the still air. ‘Jules! Sophie!’ Pierre called. ‘Come out, come out wherever you are!’

  Madame Joubert gasped and retreated behind the door.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Clementine said. ‘That’s just Pierre. He must think we’re still playing hide and seek.’

  She was about to say goodbye when she noticed the clown marionette lying in a tangle on the floor.

  ‘Is that a puppet?’ Clementine asked. She looked further into the room and saw there were lots of puppets. They were hanging from high cupboards, from the backs of chairs and even from the range. There were princesses in beautiful gowns, animals of all shapes and sizes, jesters and jugglers, clowns and witches.

  The woman nodded.

  ‘We’re going to a puppet show,’ Clementine told her. ‘The star is a little pig called Capucine. She looks just like Lavender.’

  Madame Joubert’s eyes narrowed and a fierce look clouded her face. ‘Non!’ she snapped and, to Clementine’s great surprise, slammed the door.

  Clementine blinked. She wondered what she had said wrong. Paris was such a lovely place but she didn’t understand why all the old ladies were so cross.

  The children wriggled back through the opening in the wall and into Monsieur Rousseau’s tidy garden. Clementine felt as though they’d stepped out of the pages of a fairytale and back into real life.

  Pierre watched the children reappear one by one from the bottom of the garden – Jules with dirty trouser knees and Sophie’s face a ghostly white. Will’s beige coat was smattered with leaves while Clementine, carrying Lavender in her arms, seemed to be sprouting twigs from her beret.

  ‘Where ’ave you lot been?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry, Papa. Lavender escaped into the neighbour’s yard,’ Jules explained. ‘There’s a hole in the bottom of the wall where a grate has fallen out.’

  Pierre’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘You are braver than me. When I was a boy, my friends and I were terrified of the witch next door. Let me tell you, we lost many footballs to ’er garden. Legend ’ad it that you didn’t go into that garden because you might never come out again.’

  Sophie shivered. ‘I told you that house was haunted.’

  ‘Come along,’ Pierre said. ‘Odette and your parents ’ave made plans to do some sightseeing, and I must get to work or else poor Emmanuelle will think I ’ave abandoned ’er.’

  ‘I hope we’re going to the Eiffel Tower,’ Clementine said as the children charged up the steps and into the warm house, soon forgetting all about the strange old lady on the other side of the garden wall.

  The group of family and friends wandered along past a boulevard of shops, taking their time to have a proper look around. They were on their way to visit Notre Dame Cathedral and the Louvre, which Clementine and Will had circled on the map as places they wanted to see. Clarissa had promised they would visit the Eiffel Tower tomorrow or the next day, when they had more time.

  Clementine loved looking in all the windows and trying to work out what each of the shops sold. Outside one of them, a pungent odour much like that of sweaty socks thwacked her in the nose.

  Clementine pinched her nostrils and tried to read the sign on the window. ‘From-a-ger-ie. What’s that?’

  Sophie smiled. ‘It’s a cheese shop and they have the stinkiest, mouldiest cheese in the world,’ she replied.

  ‘A whole shop just for cheese?’ Clementine’s eyes widened. ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘No, that’s delicious,’ Aunt Violet interjected.

  They moved on to the next shop, which left Clementine completely confused. ‘Why is there a shop for poison?’ she asked.

  Sophie shook her head. ‘They sell fish.’

  Clementine reeled. ‘Do people eat poisonous fish in France?’

  Jules overheard the conversation and chuckled. ‘Not on purpose. It’s poisson, with a pwah sound, not poison. It means fish.’

  ‘Oh.’ Clementine sighed with relief as she gazed at the buckets full of slimy sea creatures.

  Will pulled a face. ‘They stink too,’ he said, hurrying away.

  As they passed Etienne’s Patisserie, Pierre waved at them through the window. The group stopped to wave back, then continued down onto Boulevard St Germain towards the Latin Quarter. Traffic buzzed along the streets and there were lots of people walking around too.

  Clementine felt a warm shiver run through her bones. It was so exciting to be in Paris. ‘Do you like living here?’ she asked Sophie.

  Her friend frowned. ‘It’s fun but school is hard. Even though Jules and I speak French, it’s different to Ellery Prep,’ she explained. ‘I can’t understand some of my teachers very well.’

  ‘Is there anyone like Mrs Bottomley?’ Clementine asked. After meeting Madame Delacroix and Madame Joubert, she thought her Kindergarten teacher would fit right in with the cranky old ladies of Paris.

  Sophie nodded. ‘Madame Marceau. I think she’s even meaner than Mrs Bottomley but she wears nicer clothes.’

  ‘It’s a lot different at school without you,’ Clementine said.

  ‘What’s the new girl like?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Mummy says she’s challenging but Aunt Violet says she’s despicable,’ Clementine said, then launched into a long explanation of what had happened at their barbecue and the school Grandparents’ Day. ‘Her father can’t make cream buns the same way your dad does either,’ she added.

  ‘That’s horrible. I hope we can come home soon,’ Sophie said, squeezing Clementine’s hand.

  ‘Me too,’ Clementine agreed. ‘You have to be back in time for the wedding. It wouldn’t be the same without you there.’

  Just as Clementine mentioned the wedding, the group walked past the most beautiful bridal salon she had ever seen. Inside, sparkling crystal chandeliers glinted against the polished woodwork. A sign with swirly writing hung above the doorway.

  ‘Mummy, look at that,’ Clementine gasped.

  Clarissa stopped and turned to see what her daughter was admiring this time. In the window was a breathtaking gown. It had a delicate lace bodice and full tulle skirt.

  ‘It’s a lovely dress,’ Clarissa said, her cheeks flushed, ‘but I’m far too old to wear anything like that.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Aunt Violet scolded. ‘It’s your wedding, Clarissa, and you should wear exactly what you want and be as extravagant as you like. You’re only going to get married once.’

  ‘What sort of dress did you have, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘I think you mean dresses, Clemmie,’ Uncle Digby added cheekily.

  Aunt Violet glared at the man. ‘Oh, do be quiet, Pertwhistle. At least someone wanted to marry me. I haven’t exactly noticed a queue for your hand.’

  Digby Pertwhistle’s face fell and Clementine couldn’t work out if he was play-acting or if Aunt Violet had really hurt his feelings this time.

  ‘I’m sure there are lots of ladies who would love to marry you,’ Clementine said quietly.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ Uncle Digby replied. ‘Somewhere out there, the woman of my dreams is missing out on an expert washer-upperer and silver polisher.’

  Clementine slipped her hand into his. ‘You’re really good at making beds too.’

  The adults grinned.

  ‘Come on, everyone. We’ve got plenty of time to sort out my dress when we get home,’ Clarissa said, eager to move on.

  Soon enough, the group found themselves wandering along the river Seine, and in the distance they could see the enormous cathedral. As they crossed a narrow bridge, the children were stunned to find thousands of padlocks attached
to the side railings.

  ‘What are they for?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘They are love locks,’ Odette replied. ‘Couples write their names on them and attach them to the bridge as a symbol of their eternal love. The problem is, they are causing the bridges to come apart. They’ve already taken down the locks from the Pont des Arts because it was in danger of collapsing under all that weight.’

  ‘It’s a bit silly,’ Will said. ‘People don’t need a lock to prove they love each other.’

  Drew wrapped an arm around Clarissa and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

  ‘There’s the Eiffel Tower!’ Clementine yelled, peering over the rail and pointing. ‘Please can we go today?’

  ‘Tomorrow, Clemmie,’ her mother replied. ‘I promise.’

  Clementine sighed. She wondered if they’d ever get there.

  ‘Let’s take some photographs, shall we?’ Drew pulled the lens cap off his camera. ‘How about one of your modelling poses, Aunt Violet?’

  The old woman smiled. ‘I suppose. We are in Paris after all.’ She spun around with her hand on her hip and pouted like a professional.

  The Rousseaus and their guests visited Notre Dame Cathedral, where the stained-glass windows were every bit as spectacular as Will had said.

  ‘Eight hundred years old!’ Clementine exclaimed, her voice echoing around the cavernous building. ‘But that’s even older than our house, Uncle Digby.’

  A stern-looking lady shushed her, wagging a finger crossly.

  Clementine clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘Keep your voice down, Clemmie. We are in church, you know,’ Aunt Violet admonished, only to have the stern woman give her the hairy eyeball too.