Clementine Rose and the Perfect Present 3

by Jacqueline Harvey

  A stout young man looked up at the window. ‘It’s all right, ma’am. She’s not in the way and she’s very funny.’

  ‘Clementine, come away from those people at once,’ her great-aunt demanded.

  ‘What people?’ the young fellow said suspiciously. ‘Aren’t we good enough to listen to some poetry?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Aunt Violet fumed. ‘But I’ll be reporting your bad manners to whoever is in charge.’

  ‘That’s Mr Bruno.’ Clementine pointed at the short fellow in front of her. ‘He’s the boss.’

  Mr Bruno looked up at Aunt Violet’s scowling face and then back at Clementine. ‘Is she always so lovely?’ he asked the girl.

  Aunt Violet grumbled something under her breath and then slammed the window so hard that the panes rattled.

  ‘Oh no, she’s not lovely at all,’ Clementine replied. ‘She’s Aunt Violet.’

  By midday, Mr Bruno and his men had finished their tightening of ropes and hammering of pegs, and in the middle of the back lawn stood an enormous white tent. Clementine thought it looked like a giant wedding cake. Another group of people had arrived and set up lots of round tables, and stacks of chairs were being wheeled into place too.

  Clementine and Lavender were having a wonderful time exploring inside, when into the marquee blew the most extraordinary man Clementine had ever seen.

  ‘Oh my, oh my, there’s no time, no time, we must get to work. Places everyone, we need to get this show on the road,’ he burbled. ‘Chop, chop!’

  Clementine and Lavender watched from underneath a table. The man wore a bright blue suit, a red bow tie and matching red shoes. A red-and-yellow spotted handkerchief poked out of his blazer pocket. He flapped his hands about as if he were directing traffic at a busy intersection. A stream of people poured into the tent behind him, carrying all manner of things, from huge floral arrangements to rolls of shimmering fabric.

  Clemmie’s eyes were like dinner plates as she took it all in.

  The man clapped his hands together. ‘It’s not much now, but just you wait and see. Places everyone, let the magic begin.’

  Clementine wondered if he was going to put on a show. She scrambled out from under the table and jumped up in front of him.

  The man leapt into the air. ‘Good gracious, my dear. Where did you come from?’

  ‘Hello,’ said Clementine, ‘I like your shoes.’

  The man peered over the top of his stylish spectacles. ‘Oh, thank you. Who do we have here?’ His brow furrowed as he caught sight of Lavender, who trotted out and sat beside her mistress.

  ‘I’m Clementine and this is Lavender,’ Clemmie replied.

  ‘How darling.’ The man surveyed the child in her pretty ensemble and the pig in its matching jumper. He bent down to scratch the top of Lavender’s head. She leaned into his fingers and squirmed with delight. ‘Aren’t you the cutest little piggy in the world? And I just adore your matching outfits.’

  ‘Mrs Mogg made them for us,’ Clementine explained. ‘Are you a magician?’

  A row of lines puckered the man’s forehead.

  ‘You said, “Let the magic begin”,’ Clementine reminded him.

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose I am a magician of sorts.

  Just give me a couple of hours and this tent will go from drab to fab. This wedding is going to be perfect with some magic from Sebastian. That’s me, of course. Sebastian Smote at your service.’ He rolled his hand and made a bow.

  Clementine giggled. ‘You’re funny.’

  ‘I am here to entertain,’ Sebastian replied. ‘But dear little girl and dear little piggy, might I suggest that you pop outside to play? When you return, you will not recognise this place, I assure you.’

  Clementine would rather have stayed put and watched the magic happen, but she could hear her mother calling her.

  Lady Clarissa poked her head inside the entrance. ‘I thought you’d be here, Clemmie. Come along and let Mr Smote do his work. It’s time for lunch.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Clementine said with a wave. ‘I can’t wait to see what your magic looks like.’

  The man grinned at her, and then hurried away to direct the delivery of an enormous chandelier.

  ‘No, no, no!’ he called as there was a loud crash.

  ‘I love weddings,’ Clementine enthused as she and her mother walked back to the house, with Lavender a few steps behind. ‘Even though I’ve never been to one before.’

  ‘I just hope it goes smoothly,’ said Lady Clarissa. She smiled tensely at her daughter. She’d had at least ten calls that morning from the bride’s mother, a pushy woman called Roberta Fox. The last call was about the colour of the soap in the bathrooms. Lady Clarissa had been wondering if she’d made the right decision about having the wedding.

  There was also the small challenge of Aunt Violet, who could always be relied upon to upset someone. Lady Clarissa had employed half the village to help with the arrangements and Mr Smote was in charge of making sure it all came together, so with any luck Aunt Violet would stay right out of the way. If it all went well, Lady Clarissa hoped she’d be able to pay for a new roof for Penberthy House without selling the Appleby family jewels after all.

  ‘When will the guests come?’ Clemmie asked.

  ‘Everyone’s due to arrive this evening,’ her mother replied. ‘I know you’re looking forward to it, Clemmie, but you must remember that we’re not guests. You can look from a distance but please don’t get in the way.’

  Clementine nodded. ‘I just want to help. And see the bride, of course.’

  ‘Yes, I know you do. It’s very important that we get this right. A wedding is one of the biggest events in anyone’s life and I want to make sure that the bride and groom have only happy memories of their special day at Penberthy House,’ her mother explained.

  ‘Well, you’d better keep Aunt Violet out of the way because she doesn’t make anyone very happy,’ Clementine said seriously.

  ‘I think she’s been trying harder, don’t you?’ her mother asked, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Maybe.’ Clemmie shrugged. ‘I like when she reads to me. But she was cross about Pharaoh sleeping in my room with Lavender. I told her that she could take Lavender’s basket and borrow them for the night and then she said “ick” and pulled a cranky face. But I think she’s only pretending. I saw her giving Lavender a scratch the other morning, but when I asked what she was doing she said Lavender was being a nuisance and she was shooing her downstairs.’

  Lady Clarissa stifled a grin. ‘Never mind, Clemmie. Now, I have lots of jobs to finish this afternoon. Let’s get some lunch and then perhaps you can play in your room for a while.’

  Lavender grunted as if to agree.

  ‘Okay,’ Clemmie replied and squeezed her mother’s hand.

  Clementine climbed onto a chair opposite her great-aunt at the kitchen table.

  ‘Hello Aunt Violet.’

  ‘Hmph.’ The woman didn’t look up from the newspaper she was reading.

  ‘Are you excited?’ Clementine asked.

  Aunt Violet ignored the child completely and kept on reading.

  Clementine pinched her forefingers and thumbs together and held them in the air. ‘Aren’t you just a l-i-i-i-i-ttle bit excited, Aunt Violet?’

  Violet Appleby sighed. She folded the newspaper in half and placed it on the table. ‘And what exactly should I be excited about? The fact that we’re about to be overrun by people I don’t care to meet or that there’s rain forecast for tomorrow? Mmm?’

  Clementine frowned at her great-aunt. ‘The wedding. I’m so excited about the wedding and seeing the bride in her beautiful dress. I’m not sure which dress I’ll wear tomorrow. I can’t decide between my favourite red one and the yellow one Mrs Mogg made me for Christmas last year.’

  ‘Clarissa, the child does realise that she’s not invited to this ghastly occasion, doesn’t she?’ Aunt Violet looked at her niece, who was standing at the bench cutting Clementine’s c
heese sandwich into triangles.

  ‘Of course, Aunt Violet. Clemmie’s just excited. We’ve never had a wedding at the house before and you have to admit, it’s always lovely to see a bride on her special day.’ Clarissa arranged Clemmie’s lunch on a plate and set it down in front of her.

  ‘I can’t think of anything worse,’ Aunt Violet said with a sneer.

  Digby Pertwhistle had been listening to the conversation while he filled the kettle at the sink. He turned and looked at Aunt Violet. ‘That’s strange, Miss Appleby.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought you must love weddings. Haven’t you had four of them?’

  ‘Four!’ Clementine looked at her great-aunt. ‘Have you been a bride four times?’

  ‘Frankly, that’s none of your business,’ snapped Aunt Violet. ‘And I’ll thank you not to bring up the subject ever again, Pertwhistle.’

  ‘You must have been beautiful, Aunt Violet,’ Clementine said. ‘Especially if you looked like the lady in the painting on the stairs.’

  Aunt Violet sniffed. ‘Yes, well, I suppose I was rather an attractive young woman.’

  ‘Can you tell me about your dresses?’

  Clementine asked. ‘Did you wear a white gown?’

  ‘Several, I should think,’ Uncle Digby muttered under his breath. Lady Clarissa nudged him.

  ‘Clementine, we are not talking about it. Eat your lunch,’ Aunt Violet ordered.

  Clementine reluctantly turned her attention to the sandwich on her plate. After a couple of bites she looked up and saw that Aunt Violet was staring at her.

  ‘Would you like some?’ Clementine held out a triangle.

  ‘Heavens no. I’ll have my own, thank you. That’s if anyone could be bothered making me one.’

  ‘What would you like, Aunt Violet?’ Clarissa asked.

  ‘Ham and a hint of mustard and some tomato and cheese. Oh, and some of that lovely egg mayonnaise that you make so well.’

  ‘It won’t be long,’ Clarissa sighed. Her patience for Aunt Violet and her demands was wearing thin, particularly as Clarissa had so many things to do before the guests arrived. ‘Aunt Violet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Digby and I have a lot of jobs to finish this afternoon. Would you mind popping down to Mrs Mogg’s and getting a few things for me? And I haven’t collected the mail from yesterday, either.’

  ‘I’ll come too. We can take Lavender for a walk. She loves going to the village,’ Clementine added.

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m awfully tired. I was planning to have a rest this afternoon,’ Aunt Violet replied bluntly.

  ‘It’s all right, Clarissa. I’ll go.’ Digby patted the young woman on the arm. He hadn’t been feeling one hundred per cent himself, but it didn’t seem fair for Lady Clarissa to have to run this errand.

  ‘You’ve got more to do than I have,’ Lady Clarissa protested. ‘Really, Aunt Violet, we’ve all got to pitch in.’

  ‘You don’t have to use that tone with me, Clarissa,’ Aunt Violet barked. She pressed her palm to her forehead. ‘I can feel one of my headaches coming on.’

  The old woman stood up.

  ‘Where are you going, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘To my room. Not that it’s any of your business.’ She walked towards the back stairs. ‘You can bring my lunch up when it’s ready, Clarissa. And I’d like some tea too. Come, Pharaoh.’

  Aunt Violet’s sphynx cat had been sleeping in the basket in front of the fire. He arched his back and meowed loudly, before padding over to where Lavender was sitting. He began to lick the side of the little pig’s face.

  ‘Urgh. I said come.’ Aunt Violet glared at the cat, which ignored her completely. ‘Have it your way, then. I think you’ve been infected by that ghastly pig.’

  She stomped upstairs and out of sight.

  ‘Lavender’s not ghastly,’ Clementine whispered as she disappeared. ‘You are!’

  Her mother and Uncle Digby remained silent, but they were both thinking exactly the same thing.

  After lunch, Digby Pertwhistle met Clementine and Lavender at the back door. A chill wind had sprung up and Clementine had put on her favourite pink coat and long snuggly boots with lamb’s wool lining.

  Uncle Digby grabbed his scarf and coat from the rack beside the door and the trio set off for the village, armed with Lady Clarissa’s list.

  ‘Don’t forget the mail,’ she called after them.

  The garden was quiet but inside the marquee was a hive of activity, with Mr Smote and his assistants in the midst of their decorating. Two large stone lions now guarded the entrance to the tent.

  ‘Look at those!’ Clementine gasped. ‘How did they get there?’

  Uncle Digby pointed to a little tabletop truck with a crane on the back. ‘I think that’s how.’

  ‘People go to a lot of trouble for weddings, don’t they?’ Clementine marvelled as she hung back, trying to get another glimpse inside the marquee.

  ‘Come along, Clemmie, we’d best hurry up. I still have some polishing to finish when we get back.’ The old man lengthened his stride and Clemmie and Lavender ran to catch up.

  Even though she’d almost put Angus’s party completely out of her mind, Clementine couldn’t help wondering if there might be some mail for her at the store.

  By the time they crossed the stream and passed the church to arrive at Mrs Mogg’s store, Uncle Digby was completely out of breath.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Clementine asked as he sat down heavily on the bench outside.

  ‘Yes, yes, just a bit tired. Must be old age catching up with me.’ He smiled reassuringly at Clementine as she tied Lavender’s lead to one of the chair legs.

  Uncle Digby pushed open the door and the little bell tinkled. Clementine skipped in ahead of him to the toasty warmth of the shop. Today it smelt like hot pies and cinnamon. The old man pulled Lady Clarissa’s shopping list from his coat pocket while Clementine went straight to the counter.

  Margaret Mogg walked through from the flat that was attached to the back of the building.

  ‘Hello there, Clementine,’ she greeted the child warmly. ‘And what can I do for you today?’

  ‘Hello Mrs Mogg. Uncle Digby has a list and Mummy asked if I could collect the mail,’ Clementine said importantly.

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Mogg turned to the pigeonholes behind the counter. Everyone in the village had their own little cubbyhole for the mail, as there was no postman in Penberthy Floss. ‘Well, that’s odd.’ She peered into the empty space. ‘Nothing here at all, Clementine.’

  Clemmie frowned. She didn’t want to think about Angus’s stupid party any more. She wasn’t going and that was that.

  Mrs Mogg thought it was very unusual. In fact, she couldn’t remember a day when there’d been no mail for Lady Clarissa. The woman was always winning competitions and seemed to get an awful lot of bills too.

  Mrs Mogg walked back to the counter and looked over at Clementine. ‘How are things coming along at the house?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. The marquee is up. That’s a fancy name for the tent,’ Clementine explained. ‘And Mr Smote is decorating it inside and he’s even put two giant lions at the entrance to stand guard.’

  Mrs Mogg gasped and put her hand to her mouth. ‘Lions?’

  ‘Oh, they’re not real. They’re made of stone. Uncle Digby said that it’s probably got something to do with the man who’s getting married. He’s from another country, and they have lions on their flag,’ Clementine explained.

  ‘Ah yes, your mother said that he was Sri Lankan, so that makes sense. I wonder if the bride will wear a white gown or a sari,’ Mrs Mogg said.

  ‘What’s that?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Saris are beautiful, Clemmie. They’re sort of like a wraparound dress but far more complicated and with thousands of sparkles on the fabric,’ said Mrs Mogg.

  ‘Can you make one for me?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘I don�
��t think so, dear. They’re very specialised.’

  Clementine was disappointed. She liked the idea of a dress with thousands of sparkles on it.

  The doorbell tinkled and Clementine was surprised to see Joshua from school and his mother.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Tribble,’ the shopkeeper called.

  ‘Oh hello, Mrs Mogg,’ the woman replied. Joshua raced to the counter, his eyes scanning the lolly jars, which contained all manner of treats. He didn’t even notice Clementine standing beside him.

  His mother reached the counter too. ‘I was wondering if you had any cardboard. I have to make his royal highness here a crown for Tuesday.’ Mrs Tribble glanced at her son, who was attempting to lift the lid on the container of red frogs.

  ‘It’s for Angus’s party,’ Joshua said. ‘I’m going to be a king.’

  Clementine felt as if she’d been slugged in the tummy. She decided to go and find Uncle Digby before Joshua noticed her.

  ‘Are you going too, Clementine?’ Mrs Mogg asked.

  Clemmie quickly shook her head.

  ‘Oh, that’s a pity. It must be for the boys,’ the old woman said.

  ‘No. It’s for girls too. Everyone’s going.’ Joshua looked at Clementine, and then poked out his tongue at her.

  He didn’t realise that his mother was watching. She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. ‘Joshua Tribble, last time I looked you were a boy, not a lizard. Apologise at once.’

  This time Joshua’s mouth stayed closed.

  His mother tightened her grip.

  ‘Ow!’ Joshua complained. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  The woman leaned down and whispered something into his ear.

  ‘Sorry,’ he spat.

  ‘I didn’t hear you,’ Mrs Tribble said through gritted teeth.

  Joshua folded his arms and said with a scowl, ‘Sorry, Clementine.’

  Clementine said nothing.

  Mrs Mogg rubbed her hands together. ‘Ahem. Right then. The cardboard is just over in the school supplies.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Mogg.’ Mrs Tribble grabbed Joshua’s hand and headed for the middle of the shop.