Clementine Rose and the Surprise Visitor 1 Read Online Free Page A

still looked confused.
    ‘Your great-aunt likes the finer things in life,’ her mother explained. ‘But you don’t need to worry about any of it, Clementine. I’m hoping that she’ll be gone tomorrow.’
    ‘I thought Grandpa looked a bit annoyed,’ said Clementine, nodding.
    ‘Did you think so, darling?’ her mother asked fondly.
    ‘Oh yes, he looked cross when I came inside,’ the child said.
    The walls in Penberthy House were lined with portraits of all the past owners and family members. A large painting of Clemmie’s grandfather hung in the entrance hall, along with one of her grandmother and, she now knew, Aunt Violet. Clementine liked to talk to them from time to time, and was certain that they changed their expressions depending on what was going on around the house. She was sure that her grandmother laughed the first time Lavender tried to walk up the stairs and kept on slipping back down. Her grandfather had a kindly smile and Clementine often chatted to him about this and that. She liked to practise her poems for them as well. Lady Clarissa would often hear her daughter telling tales to the family. She thought it was wonderful that Clementine had such a vivid imagination.
    The clacking of heels on the bare timber floor rang out a warning that someone was approaching.
    ‘Is the tea ready yet?’ Violet’s voice entered the room before she did.
    ‘Won’t be a moment, Aunt Violet,’ Clarissa said quickly and busied herself pouring boiling water into the teapot.
    Clementine looked at her great-aunt. She wondered what had happened to the beautiful young woman in the portrait.
    Violet stared back at Clementine.
    ‘Am I to take tea in here? In the kitchen?’ the old woman scoffed. ‘While your friends are waited on hand and foot in the sitting room?’
    Clarissa ignored Violet’s questions and placed a teacup and plate with a large slice of sponge cake on the table.
    Violet stared at the tea and cake. ‘Well, I suppose that’s your answer.’ She pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Is this Mother’s good china?’ The older woman lifted the plate and studied the underside.
    ‘Yes, Aunt Violet,’ Clarissa replied. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had to use what we’ve got over the years. I can’t afford to replace it.’
    ‘This was only ever allowed out of the cupboard on Christmas Day. Mother would turn in her grave.’ The woman shook her head. ‘I should have taken it and sold it when I had the chance,’ she whispered under her breath.
    ‘Do you have milk, Aunt Violet?’ Clarissa asked, hoping to steer her off the subject of the china.
    ‘Of course I do. I should think you’d remember, Clarissa,’ Violet snarled. She pointed at the cake. ‘Did you make that?’
    ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Clarissa said. ‘I haven’t had time today.’
    ‘Pierre made it,’ Clementine offered. ‘He makes the best cakes ever.’
    Violet tilted her chin upwards and gave Clementine a sidelong glance. ‘We’ll see about that.’
    ‘Would you like to hear a poem?’ Clementine asked.
    ‘A what?’ Violet sipped her tea.
    ‘A poem,’ Clementine replied. ‘I know lots of them by heart and I have some funny ones too.’
    ‘No, not particularly. In fact, I’d rather that you left the room,’ Violet snapped. ‘I need to speak to your mother. In private.’
    ‘But Lavender’s asleep,’ said Clementine seriously.
    ‘Who’s Lavender? Don’t tell me there’s another child I don’t know about?’ Violet asked.
    ‘Lavender’s my pig,’ Clementine said. ‘She’s a teacup.’
    The woman’s eyes widened and she stared at the teacup in her hand. ‘You have a dirty, smelly pig? And it’s called Lavender?’
    ‘Pigs aren’t dirty or smelly, Aunt Violet. Pigs are smart and cuddly. Lavender’s only as big as a cat, and she won’t grow any more,’ Clementine replied. ‘That’s why she’s called a teacup pig.’
    ‘What a load of nonsense,’ Violet scoffed. ‘I’ve never heard such tripe.