Clementine Rose and the Famous Friend 7

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Lady Clarissa and Uncle Digby laughed.

  ‘Godfathers, Clementine. Elocution, not electrocution. It means learning how to speak properly. Given you’re so fond of all those silly poems Pertwhistle insists on teaching you, it would be a very good idea,’ said Aunt Violet.

  Clementine sighed with relief.

  ‘Aunt Violet, that’s a lovely thought but I’m afraid my budget won’t stretch to soccer, ballet and elocution at the moment. Why don’t you teach Clementine? I’m sure she’d enjoy learning some more poems from you as well,’ Lady Clarissa teased.

  ‘Clarissa, I’m no teacher and thank heavens for that,’ Aunt Violet said with a shudder. ‘You should hear some of the horrendous tales Mrs Bottomley has shared with me. No, Pertwhistle can keep instructing her and I’ll just correct them when necessary.’

  ‘Of course she will,’ Uncle Digby whispered. He gave Clementine a wink and she smothered a giggle.

  Clementine was trying to imagine Aunt Violet standing out the front of her class. She shivered just thinking about it.

  ‘Oh, Clarissa.’ Uncle Digby turned from where he was stirring a pot on the stove. ‘I’ve just remembered that we’re low on candles in the dining room. We’ll need them for Friday night. You might want to add them to the shopping list.’

  ‘Thanks, Uncle Digby,’ said Clarissa. ‘I think we’re almost out of chocolates too.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and dashed over to the sideboard to add the items to her never-ending shopping list.

  ‘Do you think I could tell the guests one of my poems at the special dinner?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Let’s just see how things go,’ Lady Clarissa replied. ‘Not everyone appreciates your poems as much as Granny and Grandpa and Uncle Digby and I do.’

  ‘What special dinner?’ Aunt Violet asked.

  ‘Aunt Violet, you remember that Uncle Digby suggested we offer a dining package with the family as part of a weekend stay?’ Lady Clarissa reminded the woman.

  ‘No! That sounds perfectly ghastly.’

  ‘You were there, Aunt Violet. You groaned about it when Mummy told you and you said that you’d rather eat in the kitchen with Lavender and Pharaoh than have to entertain any silly guests,’ Clementine said.

  Aunt Violet huffed. ‘Well, what of it?’

  ‘We’re having our first dinner this week,’ Lady Clarissa explained as she drained and mashed the potatoes.

  The old woman put the back of her hand on her forehead. ‘I think I can feel a fever coming on.’

  ‘Oh no, Aunt Violet, I don’t think so,’ Clarissa chided. ‘I need you to be there.’

  Aunt Violet sighed. ‘And what do I get out of it?’

  ‘A lovely dinner and the pleasure of our company,’ Lady Clarissa said with a grin.

  ‘And maybe a poem too,’ Clementine said with a smile.

  Aunt Violet rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, lucky me.’

  Lady Clarissa scooped the last of the mashed potato onto the fifth plate while Uncle Digby poured a trail of gravy over the top of the roast chicken and vegetables.

  He placed one of the plates onto a large tray, along with a pair of crystal salt and pepper shakers and a tall glass with a bottle of mineral water beside it.

  ‘Please may I help, Uncle Digby?’ asked Clementine. She rushed over to see what she might carry.

  ‘No, it’s fine, Clemmie. I’ll be back in a jiffy and we can have our dinner,’ he said, and set off upstairs.

  Clementine frowned. ‘Will I ever get to meet Miss Richardson?’

  ‘She’s very busy with her work, darling. I don’t want you to interrupt her and I’m sure you’ll get to meet her when she’s ready,’ said Lady Clarissa.

  ‘She’s no one special, Clementine,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘I told you that before. Don’t go thinking we’ve got anyone famous up there.’

  After dinner, Pharaoh and Lavender wandered over to Clemmie for their nightly tummy tickles. Both creatures rolled about on the flagstone floor, enjoying all the attention. Lady Clarissa had gone upstairs to run Clementine a bath.

  ‘Well, the washing up won’t do itself,’ Uncle Digby declared as he stood up to clear the last of the plates.

  Aunt Violet rose too. ‘You’ll have to manage it on your own, Pertwhistle. My head is pounding. It must be the thought of that wretched dinner.’

  Clementine looked up at her great-aunt. ‘Your head is always pounding when it’s time to do the washing up, Aunt Violet. Are you allergic?’

  Uncle Digby glanced over his shoulder with a knowing look.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Clementine,’ said the old woman. She stalked across the room and disappeared up the back stairs.

  ‘I’ll wipe up, Uncle Digby,’ Clementine offered. She ran off to wash her hands first.

  ‘Good girl,’ said Uncle Digby.

  Just as Clementine picked up a clean tea towel the front doorbell rang.

  Digby glanced at the kitchen clock. It was almost seven. ‘I wonder who that could be. Unless it’s our wine delivery. He should have been here hours ago.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Clementine offered.

  ‘No, you stay here.’ The old man took off his yellow rubber gloves and hurried from the room.

  A few seconds later another bell tinkled by the pantry. Clementine looked at the old-fashioned light box above the pantry door. Each light was labelled with the name of a room in the house. It could only be Aunt Violet or Miss Richardson ringing the bell. The light for the Rose Room was glowing. The bell rang again.

  Clementine ran out into the hall to find Uncle Digby. He was standing at the open front door talking to a man in overalls.

  ‘Sorry it’s so late but there was an accident on the motorway,’ the man said gruffly.

  ‘Why don’t you drive around to the garage and I’ll help you unload it,’ said Uncle Digby.

  He walked out the door and closed it behind him.

  Clementine frowned and scurried back into the kitchen to see if her mother had returned, but there was no sign of her. The bell rang again.

  There was only one thing to do. Clementine scampered up the back stairs and along the corridor.

  She tapped gently on the door of the Rose Room. There was no answer. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

  ‘Hello Miss Richardson?’ Clementine said. ‘May I help you?’

  ‘Who are you?’ a high voice wavered from deep inside the room. ‘Where’s Miss Appleby?’

  The Rose Room was the largest bedroom in the house with a four-poster bed in the centre and a small dining table for two in one corner. A roll-top writing desk with carved legs stood behind the enormous bed, by one of the windows. There was a huge wardrobe and an ensuite bathroom too. The Rose Room had received the most attention over the years and was by far the loveliest of all.

  Clementine couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. ‘Excuse me, Miss Richardson, but where are you?’ she asked as she walked into the room.

  ‘S-s-stop right there,’ the voice stuttered. ‘What is your name and why are you here?’

  ‘I’m Clementine and I live here.’

  ‘Nobody told me there were children. Are you the only one?’ The woman sounded nervous and a bit cross too.

  ‘Yes, except when I have friends over to play. Sometimes I have sleepovers with Poppy and Sophie, and Jules comes too,’ Clementine explained.

  ‘Why did you come? Where’s your mother?’

  ‘She’s running my bath and Aunt Violet has gone to bed with a headache, but that’s just because she didn’t want to do the washing up. Uncle Digby was answering the front door and helping the man with a delivery, so there was only me left,’ said Clementine.

  ‘Go away. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to see any children at all.’

  ‘Why?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘I have my reasons.’

  ‘Aunt Violet doesn’t like children very much either but I think I’ve grown on her – at least, that’s what Mrs Mogg said to Mummy,
’ Clementine said.

  ‘I didn’t say that I don’t like children,’ the woman said, her voice softening a little.

  Clementine frowned in confusion. ‘I just came to see what you wanted. If it’s a cup of tea you’ll have to wait for Uncle Digby because I’m not allowed to make it yet. But if you want a glass of water or a biscuit or a piece of cake, I could get that. So long as I don’t have to use the big knife.’

  She craned her neck around the nearest bedpost. At last she spotted the woman. Miss Richardson was sitting at the writing desk but Clementine could only see the top of her grey head.

  ‘I don’t want anything. Now off you go,’ said Miss Richardson. She still hadn’t turned around.

  Clementine was about to ask Miss Richardson about her book when she heard her mother calling her name.

  ‘What are you waiting for? Shoo!’ the old woman quavered.

  Clementine reversed out of the room and closed the door.

  ‘Clemmie, what were you doing in there?’ Lady Clarissa demanded. She had searched everywhere for the girl.

  ‘Miss Richardson rang the bell and Uncle Digby had gone to see who was at the front door and Aunt Violet had gone to bed so there was only me.’

  ‘Did you find out what Miss Richardson wanted?’ Lady Clarissa asked.

  Clementine shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. I don’t think she likes children much.’

  ‘Oh dear. Go upstairs and hop into the bath while see what I can do here. I’m sure that Miss Richardson has her reasons for not wanting to talk to you. You just have to remember that not all grown-ups are fond of children,’ said Lady Clarissa.

  Clementine nodded. ‘I know that. I live with Aunt Violet.’

  By Friday morning Clementine hadn’t seen any more of the mysterious Miss Richardson. She had tried to accompany her mother or Uncle Digby to deliver trays of food or freshly washed clothes to the woman, but she was sent away each time. As the week wore on more guests came to stay, so Lady Clarissa and Uncle Digby were kept very busy. Aunt Violet was left in charge of getting Clementine to and from school each day.

  ‘Do you think there’s something wrong with Miss Richardson?’ Clementine asked from the back seat of Aunt Violet’s shiny red car as they sped towards school on Friday morning. ‘Maybe she’s allergic to sunshine or something.’ Clementine gasped. ‘Maybe she’s a vampire!’

  Clementine had heard of vampires only recently. Tilda and Teddy were so disappointed that there were no ghosts at Penberthy House that Teddy decided there might be vampires instead. Clementine didn’t believe it. She’d never seen any bats in the house.

  Aunt Violet tutted as her eyes met Clementine’s in the rear-vision mirror. ‘A vampire? What nonsense are you talking about now? I suspect she’s simply suffering from a bout of self-importance.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ the child asked.

  ‘Well, she came to write a book, didn’t she? She must think it’s frightfully important for her to stay in that room working all day and night. I don’t think it’s very healthy and certainly not at all sociable, and as for the number of times she rings that bell of hers – she’s had us all running up and down those stairs like mad monkeys.’ Aunt Violet pouted and pulled into the kerb at the front of the school. ‘Have a good day, Clementine.’

  ‘You know you’re not supposed to park here,’ Clementine said, pointing at the NO STOPPING sign.

  ‘I’m not parking. I’m dropping. Now hurry up and get out,’ said Aunt Violet.

  Clementine leaned forward between the seats and pecked her great-aunt’s powdery cheek. ‘See you this afternoon.’ She hopped out of the car, shut the door with a bang and raced away.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to slam the door!’ the old woman yelled.

  Clementine and her fellow Warthogs tumbled into the classroom after lunch and went straight to their desks. They couldn’t wait to hear what Mr Smee had in store for them. That morning he’d taught them a new song, they’d had a run around the obstacle course on the oval and finished two pages of sums. The work was definitely harder than in Kindergarten but Clementine couldn’t remember loving school as much as she had in the past week.

  ‘Year One, I have to give it to Mrs Bottomley, she certainly has taught you well,’ Mr Smee said as he looked out at his eager students. ‘I’ve decided to set you a project. It will be challenging, but I think you’ll find it fun. And school should be fun, shouldn’t it?’ he asked with a smile.

  The students looked at one another in delight. Mrs Bottomley had never mentioned ‘fun’ in the classroom.

  Angus Archibald raised his hand. Mr Smee nodded.

  ‘What’s a project?’ Angus asked.

  ‘Does anyone know?’ Mr Smee scanned the room. Hands shot up all over the place. ‘Yes, Teddy?’

  ‘It’s when you do research,’ said the boy.

  Mr Smee nodded. ‘Very good.’

  ‘What’s research?’ Joshua called out.

  ‘Did you forget something?’ Mr Smee looked at the lad closely. Joshua quickly put his hand up. Mr Smee grinned. ‘Yes, Joshua?’

  ‘What’s research?’ the boy asked.

  ‘Would anyone like to explain?’

  Astrid’s hand was already in the air. The teacher pointed to her. ‘Research is where you find out facts about things. Then you have to write a report or do a presentation with those facts. That’s the project part,’ she answered.

  Mr Smee nodded. ‘Very good. I want you to think about someone you admire. It might be a person who has invented something or plays sport or your favourite author or someone in the community who makes a difference. They don’t have to be famous but it’s probably simpler if they are, because then it will be easier to look them up. Once you have collected some interesting facts about your chosen person, you will give a talk pretending you’re that person.’

  Angus’s face scrunched up. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Joshua butted in. ‘How can you be someone else?’

  ‘Put up your hand if you’ve ever pretended to be another person? Maybe a superhero or a king or a queen?’ the teacher asked.

  Twenty hands shot into the air.

  ‘Ooh. Batman!’ Joshua called out.

  Mr Smee stared at the boy, who raised his hand too.

  ‘Well, instead of just imagining what it’s like to be someone else, this time you have to find out some important things about the person you choose. Then you can dress up like them and give a short talk pretending that you are them,’ Mr Smee said. ‘Yes, Astrid?’

  ‘If I chose Queen Georgiana, I could dress up like her and say, “Good evening, royal subjects”.’ Astrid spoke with a funny posh voice and the children giggled. ‘Is that what you mean?’

  Mr Smee smiled. ‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

  ‘Can I be my mum?’ asked Tilda.

  ‘She’s not famous,’ Joshua scoffed. ‘She’s just a boring mum.’

  Clementine turned around and faced the boy. ‘Mums aren’t boring and Tilda’s mum was a ballerina.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t,’ the boy retorted.

  ‘It’s true. Mummy was a famous dancer,’ said Tilda.

  ‘I think you’ll find, Joshua, that Anastasia Barkov was the principal dancer with the Royal Ballet for many years,’ said Mr Smee.

  Joshua looked from Tilda to the teacher. ‘But I thought her mum’s name was Mrs Hobbs.’

  ‘That raises an interesting point, doesn’t it?’ said Mr Smee. ‘Some famous people use different names for their work. Writers do that a lot and so do actors.’

  ‘That’s stupid,’ Joshua declared. ‘When I’m a movie star I’m going to be Joshua Tribble.’

  ‘Well, it’s a name no one will forget,’ Mr Smee said with a grin. ‘So … choose your person over the weekend and on Monday we’ll start researching. I’ve asked Miss Critchley if Year One can be in charge of assembly the week after that. We’ll invite your parents in and you can present your work to the whole
school.’

  ‘Oh!’ the children gasped.

  ‘Mrs Bottomley only let us sing a song once at assembly last year and it was really boring,’ Joshua said. ‘It was about parsley and sage and someone called Rosemary who couldn’t tell the time.’

  Mr Smee laughed. ‘Do you mean “Scarborough Fair”?’

  The children nodded.

  He remembered singing that when he was a boy. ‘That’s a lovely old song,’ he said, almost feeling sorry for Mrs Bottomley. Perhaps he could give her some newer material that the children might know.

  ‘We’ll be famous,’ Angus blurted.

  ‘Well, famous at Ellery Prep,’ said Mr Smee.

  ‘Cool,’ Joshua said. ‘I’m Batman.’

  ‘Batman’s not real, Joshua,’ Teddy called.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ the boy snapped.

  ‘It’s okay, Joshua. I can help you with some ideas,’ Mr Smee offered.

  ‘This is going to be fun,’ Clementine announced. The rest of the Warthogs nodded.

  ‘I have a note for you to take home tonight so you can talk to your parents about your famous friend,’ Mr Smee concluded.

  ‘Is that what we’re calling the project?’ Astrid asked.

  ‘You know, Astrid, in the past I’ve called the project “My Hero”, but I really like “My Famous Friend”. Let’s put it to a vote.’

  Mr Smee hadn’t noticed Ethel Bottomley standing in the doorway. She was listening intently and watching the man’s every move.

  ‘Who’d like to call our special project “My Famous Friend”?’ the teacher asked.

  Most of the children raised their hands.

  ‘Who votes for “My Hero”?’

  Joshua, Angus and three other students put their hands up.

  ‘That’s it then,’ said Mr Smee. ‘My Famous Friend it is.’

  ‘Oh,’ Joshua whined. ‘Heroes are much better. Like Batman.’

  Mrs Bottomley had seen quite enough. She knocked loudly on the doorframe.

  The children immediately sat up straighter and folded their arms in front of them.

  ‘Hello Mrs Bottomley,’ Mr Smee greeted her. ‘What can I do for you?’