Clementine Rose and the Seaside Escape 5

by Jacqueline Harvey

  About the Book

  Clementine Rose and her family are off to the beach while the roof at Penberthy House is being fixed.

  Clementine is delighted to meet the other children staying at the guesthouse. Freddy is a lot of fun but his older sister, Della, takes a little more getting used to. Freddy takes Clementine exploring in the beach caves, where they discover a wonderful secret. But when Lavender escapes during a storm, it’s all hands on deck to get the teacup pig back safe and sound.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: A Minor Delay

  Chapter 2: A Tight Squeeze

  Chapter 3: Welcome

  Chapter 4: A Poem

  Chapter 5: Freddy

  Chapter 6: Endersley-on-Sea

  Chapter 7: Tied Up

  Chapter 8: Memories

  Chapter 9: To the Beach

  Chapter 10: New Friends

  Chapter 11: Beastly Creatures

  Chapter 12: A Thrilling Discovery

  Chapter 13: Fish and Chips

  Chapter 14: Escape

  Chapter 15: Stuck

  Chapter 16: Rescue

  Cast of Characters

  About the Author

  Books by Jacqueline Harvey

  Clementine Rose’s next adventure

  Collect the series

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the Book?

  For Ian, who makes me laugh,

  and for Nana and Grandad,

  and Mum and Dad, who gave me

  many great memories of seaside escapes

  Clementine Rose leaned between the front seats of Uncle Digby’s ancient Morris Minor. She looked up at her great-aunt Violet, who had insisted on travelling in the front.

  ‘Is it . . .’ Clementine paused. ‘Is it an old person?’ she asked with a frown.

  Aunt Violet turned and curled her lip. ‘Who are you calling old? Unless you mean him.’ She glanced at Digby Pertwhistle, who was in the driver’s seat.

  Clementine shook her head. ‘No.’

  Aunt Violet smiled smugly.

  ‘I meant both of you,’ Clementine said.

  The grin slid from the woman’s lips.

  Clementine’s mother, Lady Clarissa, was wedged in the back seat with Lavender and Clementine. Before Aunt Violet could erupt, she called out. ‘Is it the owl on Uncle Digby’s key ring?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Thank goodness that’s over,’ Aunt Violet harrumphed. ‘I’ve had quite enough of I Spy for one day.’

  ‘But it’s Mummy’s turn,’ said Clementine.

  ‘Godfathers! Can’t you just look at the scenery, Clementine?’ Aunt Violet protested.

  Clementine wrinkled her nose.

  The little car puttered to the top of another rise. They had been driving for a couple of hours now. They had passed green fields dotted with oak trees and sheep, lush forests, and now the landscape had opened up again.

  ‘Look!’ Clementine shouted, bouncing up and down in her seat.

  ‘Yes, yes, we can all see it,’ said Aunt Violet. But even she couldn’t suppress the start of a smile.

  The ocean spread out before them, twinkling in the afternoon sun. There was a pretty village dotted with whitewashed houses and a perfect crescent beach tucked in between a little harbour and a rocky headland. Further around, the green hills looked as if they rolled all the way to the sandy shore.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Clementine gasped.

  ‘It certainly is,’ said Digby. ‘And just as I remember it from when I was a boy.’

  ‘I’m surprised you can recall anything that far back,’ Aunt Violet teased.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Miss Appleby. I have a mind like a steel trap.’ Digby tapped his left temple and winked in the old woman’s direction.

  Aunt Violet rolled her eyes.

  ‘Can we go to the beach this afternoon?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Mmm, I think perhaps we should get settled and then take a walk around the village. Remember, we’ve got a whole week, Clemmie,’ her mother replied.

  ‘Do you really think those builders will have the new roof on in a week?’ Aunt Violet asked. ‘They looked an untrustworthy lot, if you ask me.’

  ‘Aunt Violet, I’ve known Mr Hubbard since I was a little girl and I thought you’d much rather have a holiday by the sea than be woken by builders in the rafters above your bed,’ Clarissa replied.

  Aunt Violet sighed. ‘Yes, yes, you’ve made your point. In fact, I don’t know why we couldn’t have stayed for two weeks. One seems a bit stingy, really.’

  ‘One is all I could afford,’ Lady Clarissa reminded her aunt.

  ‘I suppose it’s for the best. I couldn’t bear to leave Pharaoh for longer. I do hope that cat of Mrs Mogg’s doesn’t lead the dear boy astray,’ said Aunt Violet. ‘I’ve heard Claws is a bit of a traveller too.’

  Pharaoh was Aunt Violet’s sphynx cat. He was quite possibly the strangest creature Clementine had ever seen, all wrinkly and hairless. But he and Clementine’s teacup pig, Lavender, had fallen madly in love, and Clementine adored him too. The only problem was that Pharaoh had a terrible habit of escaping. Aunt Violet had thought about taking him along for the week but, after he’d gone missing for an entire day yet again, she decided it was safer to leave him with the local shopkeeper. Mrs Mogg vowed to keep him under lock and key.

  Penberthy House had been in need of a new roof for some time but a recent heavy downpour confirmed that it could wait no longer. Clementine, her mother, Uncle Digby and even Aunt Violet couldn’t find enough buckets to collect the drips. As luck would have it, Lady Clarissa had hosted two beautiful weddings in recent months, which had given her enough money to have the roof replaced, as well as a few other minor repairs. The holiday was a lovely bonus.

  ‘What will our hotel be like?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Watertight, I hope,’ Aunt Violet smirked.

  ‘Of course it will be,’ Clarissa laughed. ‘And it’s a guesthouse, not a hotel. So I imagine it will be almost like staying with friends. Mrs Dent sounded lovely on the telephone.’

  ‘What’s the difference between a guesthouse and a hotel, Mummy?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Not much, darling. It will just be a lot cosier,’ Clarissa replied.

  Digby Pertwhistle crunched the gears as the little car coughed and sputtered on the narrow road to the village. There was one last hill before they would begin their descent.

  Aunt Violet shuddered at the noise. ‘I don’t see why we couldn’t have taken my car.’

  Digby wrestled the gears again. ‘I think that had something to do with you not getting the registration paid in time.’

  Aunt Violet pursed her lips and went strangely quiet.

  Suddenly there was a loud bang and the little car slowed down. Digby just managed to steer it off the road and onto the grass verge before it rolled to a halt.

  ‘Uh-oh.’ Clementine looked at her mother. ‘That didn’t sound good.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Aunt Violet grouched. ‘I might have guessed something like this would happen.’

  Digby opened the door and walked to the front of the car. He lifted the bonnet and thick steam poured from the engine bay.

  ‘You stay here, darling,’ said Lady Clarissa before she hopped out to join him.

  Aunt Violet wound down the window. ‘Hurry up, Pertwhistle. I’m dying of thirst in here!’

  Clementine leaned forward again. ‘Are you excited?’ she asked her great-aunt.

  ‘About what? The prospect of having to walk the last couple of miles to the village or the fact that we’ll
be staying in a fleapit of a guesthouse that will be altogether too hot and probably smell like boiled cabbages.’

  Clementine frowned. ‘I meant are you excited about having a holiday by the sea.’ She had no idea why her great-aunt thought the house would smell like cabbages. Penberthy House never did.

  ‘I might be, if we ever get there,’ the woman replied.

  Clementine thought Aunt Violet was a complicated person. The two of them hadn’t exactly hit it off when they first met and they’d certainly had their fair share of run-ins. But more recently the woman had seemed to soften a little, although she was still the grumpiest person Clemmie knew.

  ‘Do you want to hear a poem?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘No, not particularly,’ Aunt Violet replied, craning her neck to see what was going on in front of the car.

  ‘But it’s about you,’ Clementine said.

  ‘About me?’ Aunt Violet eyed the girl suspiciously.

  Clementine nodded. ‘It’s a limerick. Uncle Digby taught me how to do them. I’ve just made up one about you in my head.’

  ‘Well, get on with it,’ said Aunt Violet.

  Clementine frowned in confusion. ‘But . . . you said you didn’t want to hear it.’

  ‘And now I’ve changed my mind.’

  Clementine began:

  ‘There once was a lady called Vi

  Who accidentally swallowed a fly

  It tickled and buzzed

  And prickled and fuzzed

  ’Til she coughed it back into the sky.’

  Clementine leaned forward to watch her great-aunt’s reaction. ‘Did you like it?’

  Violet Appleby’s lips quivered. ‘As a matter of fact, Clementine, I thought it was rather . . . clever.’ The old woman’s mouth stretched into a smile.

  ‘Uncle Digby told me that Vi was short for Violet, because sometimes he calls you that. So I rhymed “Vi” with “fly”,’ the girl said with a grin.

  ‘Well, I certainly hope I won’t be swallowing any flies on this holiday,’ said Aunt Violet. ‘And Pertwhistle can stop calling me Vi behind my back too – the cheek of him.’ She stuck her head out of the window. ‘For heaven’s sake, what’s taking so long?’

  Just as Aunt Violet was grouching and gasping, a beaten-up tow truck with faded letters on the side pulled off the road ahead of them. A man of sizable proportions slid down from the driver’s seat.

  He doffed his pork-pie hat towards Lady Clarissa and Uncle Digby. ‘Looks like you could do with a hand.’

  Lady Clarissa beamed at him. ‘Oh, your timing couldn’t be better.’

  ‘It’s the fan belt,’ said Digby, as he held up the rubbery remains. ‘And the old girl’s overheated too.’

  The man nodded. ‘Don’t think I have one your size in the truck.’

  ‘We’re going to Endersley-on-Sea,’ Lady Clarissa explained. ‘We could almost walk from here.’

  Aunt Violet opened the passenger door and stalked around to the front of the car. ‘Well, you could but I’m certainly not!’

  The man doffed his hat towards Aunt Violet. ‘I can give you a tow, but you’ll all have to squash in with me, I’m afraid,’ he explained.

  Violet Appleby looked at the truck and shuddered. ‘I’m not going in that thing.’

  ‘I can send the taxi back for you if you’d prefer.’ The man grinned. ‘But I know Old Parky’s been a bit busy so it might take a while for him to get here. He’s the only one in the village.’

  Clementine hopped out of the car too.

  ‘Hello there, young lady,’ the man said and smiled at her.

  ‘Hello. Are you going to fix our car?’ she asked.

  ‘I will when we get it to my workshop. Is anyone else in there?’ He already thought there was a surprising number of passengers for such a small vehicle.

  ‘Only Lavender,’ Clemmie replied.

  Mr Phipps frowned.

  ‘She’s my teacup pig. She’s not very big at all.’ Clementine ran to the back door of the car and retrieved her pet. ‘Here she is.’

  Lenny tickled the little creature and said, ‘Well, it’s going to be a tight squeeze, but I’m sure we can all fit in.’

  Clementine was almost bursting at the thought of riding in the front of a tow truck.

  ‘Wait until I tell Angus that we got to go in a proper truck,’ she said, dancing about.

  ‘If we’d driven a proper car, we wouldn’t be going anywhere near that thing you’re calling a truck,’ Aunt Violet muttered.

  Lady Clarissa ignored her. ‘Thank you very much, Mr . . .?’ She hesitated, waiting for the man to introduce himself.

  ‘The name’s Lenny, Lenny Phipps.’

  Within a couple of minutes, the little Morris Minor was hooked up to the back of the truck and the family was jammed in along the bench seat. Clementine sat on her mother’s lap nursing Lavender, with Aunt Violet beside her next to Mr Phipps. Uncle Digby was squeezed in by the passenger door. With some fiddling about, everyone was strapped in, and soon they were on their way.

  It wasn’t long before Mr Phipps pulled up outside a pretty whitewashed townhouse in the middle of the village. It was right opposite the harbour, three storeys high with wide bay windows. Out the front was a small garden with neatly clipped hedges and a colourful bed of petunias.

  ‘Is that where we’re staying?’ Clementine asked. She tried to sound out the name on the front gate. ‘En-der-sley-on-Sea Guesthouse.’

  Clarissa nodded. ‘This is it.’

  Digby studied the building. ‘I have a feeling I might have stayed here when I was a boy.’

  ‘I hope they’ve updated things since then,’ said Aunt Violet, ‘or we might as well have stayed at home and dodged the builders.’

  Lenny Phipps and Digby Pertwhistle opened the truck’s doors. Aunt Violet and Lady Clarissa breathed out. Clementine gave a big sigh and Lavender grunted loudly.

  ‘I’ll help you with your things,’ Mr Phipps offered as he hopped out and walked around to Digby’s little car.

  Digby poked his head back inside the cabin. ‘Clarissa, dear, why don’t you take everyone inside and I’ll sort the rest.’

  Lady Clarissa nodded.

  ‘I hope they make a decent cup of tea,’ Aunt Violet grumbled. ‘I’m parched.’

  Clementine picked up Lavender and held her tight. The tiny pig was wearing her sparkly red collar and lead.

  ‘I love this place already,’ said Clementine.

  Her mother looked at her. ‘Already?’

  ‘Yes, because I don’t think there are many guesthouses where you can bring pigs.’

  Clementine was right about that. Lady Clarissa had called more than a dozen guesthouses and hotels along the coast before she had found this one. The owner, Mrs Dent, said she was happy to have four-legged guests as long as they behaved themselves and were house-trained. Clarissa had mentioned that Lavender was a teacup pig, expecting the woman to change her mind. But Mrs Dent had been delighted by the idea.

  The ladies and Clementine made their way through the front gate as Lenny Phipps waved goodbye to them.

  Clementine followed her mother into the front hall. There was a small reception desk with a bell, which Clarissa let Clementine ring.

  A voice tinkled from down the hallway. ‘Hello, hello?’

  A woman appeared. She was short and round, with a tummy that looked as soft as a pillow. She reminded Clementine of Mrs Mogg.

  ‘Hello,’ said Lady Clarissa. ‘You must be Mrs Dent.’

  ‘I am indeed, dear. Rosamund Dent at your service. And you must be Clarissa Appleby.’

  Clementine liked Mrs Dent’s rosy cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke.

  ‘Oh my goodness, is that little Lavender?’ She rushed towards Clementine, who was nursing the animal, and leaned down to nuzzle her face against the tiny pig.

  Lavender grunted and snuggled Mrs Dent back.

  ‘Oh, she’s precious.’ Mrs Dent rubbed Lavender’s head.

 
Clementine smiled. ‘She likes you.’

  ‘This is my daughter, Clementine, and my aunt, Violet Appleby,’ Lady Clarissa explained.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Aunt Violet.

  ‘Hello,’ said Clementine. ‘Uncle Digby is outside with Mr Phipps. Our car broke down so we had to get it towed.’

  ‘Oh, dear me, what a dreadful way to start a holiday,’ said the old woman.

  ‘Yes, you can’t imagine –’ Aunt Violet began to grizzle. She was all set to continue when Mrs Dent stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘How about I show you to your rooms and then I’ll pop the kettle on. And I hope you like strawberry sponge cake.’

  ‘Yes, please!’ Clementine clapped her hands together.

  ‘Do you have a full house at the moment?’ Lady Clarissa asked as the woman walked around the reception desk.

  ‘No, dear, there’s just your group, and my grandchildren, who are visiting. Their parents have gone away for a couple of weeks, so they’re all mine. You picked a good time to come – things will get much busier towards the end of the month.’

  Clementine’s eyes lit up. ‘How old are your grandchildren?’

  ‘Freddy is almost eight and his sister Della is ten,’ Mrs Dent replied. ‘And I’m sure they will love having an extra playmate for the holidays. I’m a bit boring, you see. I’m good with making cakes and reading stories but when it comes to the beach, I’m not much fun at all.’

  ‘Like Aunt Violet,’ Clementine replied. ‘She’s good at stories too, but I don’t think she’ll take me swimming.’

  Violet peered down at the child. ‘Says who?’

  ‘Well, you said that you don’t like sand, and the beach is covered in it,’ Clementine explained.

  Aunt Violet raised her eyebrows. ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Mrs Dent picked up three keys on large wooden key rings and handed them to Lady Clarissa. ‘Mr Pertwhistle and Miss Appleby have their own rooms and there’s another for you and Clementine.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Lady Clarissa.

  ‘I’ve put you all together on the first floor.’

  Clementine looked around her. The house was freshly painted, with pretty blue wallpaper and lots of white furniture, but she didn’t think it was as lovely as her own home – even with the drips and peeling paint. There were no portraits, either. Clementine thought about the pictures of her long-departed grandparents on the walls in the grand entry at Penberthy House. She hoped they wouldn’t be too lonely without her chatting to them and practising her poems.