Clementine Rose and the Surprise Visitor 1 by Jacqueline Harvey

C lementine Rose was delivered not in the usual way, at a hospital, but in the back of a mini-van, in a basket of dinner rolls. There was no sign of any mother or father.
    Pierre Rousseau, the village baker, had made several stops that morning before his last call at the crumbling mansion known as Penberthy House, on the edge of the village of Penberthy Floss. As Pierre’s van skidded to a halt on the gravel drive at the back door, he thought he heard a faint meowing sound.
    ‘Claws, that better not be you back there,’ Pierre grouched. He wondered if he had yet again managed to pick up Mrs Mogg’s cheeky tabby when he stopped to make his delivery at the general store. Claws had a habit of sneaking on board when Pierre wasn’t looking and had often taken the trip around the village with him.
    But Claws did not reply.
    Pierre hopped out of the van and walked around to the side door. A faded sign in swirly writing said ‘Pierre’s Patisserie – cakes and pastries of distinction’. He grabbed the handle and slid open the panel.
    ‘Good morning, Pierre,’ a voice called from behind him.
    ‘Good morning, Monsieur Digby,’ Pierre called back. ‘You must ’ave a full ’ouse this weekend, non ?’
    ‘No, Lady Clarissa just likes to be prepared in case there’s a last-minute rush,’ said Digby.
    But there never was a last-minute rush. Digby Pertwhistle had been the butler at Penberthy House for almost fifty years. He had started working for Lord and Lady Appleby as a young man and when they both passed away over twenty years ago their only child, Lady Clarissa, had taken charge. Digby loved Lady Clarissa like a daughter.
    As well as the house, Lady Clarissa had inherited a small sum of money from her parents. But Penberthy House had sixty rooms and a roof that leaked in at least sixty places. Soon the money had all been spent and there were still more repairs to be done. So to help pay the bills, Lady Clarissa had opened the house to guests as a country hotel. Unfortunately, business wasn’t exactly booming. Penberthy Floss was a very pretty village but it was a little out of the way.
    Although Lady Clarissa didn’t always have the best of luck with the house, she had the most incredible good fortune with competitions. It had started years ago when she was just a child. With her mother’s help she had sent off an entry to the newspaper to win a pony. Three days before her ninth birthday, a letter had arrived to say that she was the winner of a shaggy Shetland, which she called Princess Tiggy. Her love of contests had continued and everyone in the village knew of Lady Clarissa’s winning ways. Mrs Mogg would put aside newspapers and magazines and make sure that she marked all of the competitions available.
    Over the years, Lady Clarissa had won lots of different things that helped her keep the house running. There were electrical appliances, a kitchen makeover and even several holidays which she gave to Mr Pertwhistle in return for his hard work. She often gave prizes she didn’t need to her friends in the village too. They frequently protested and said that she should sell her winnings and pay for the upkeep of the house, but Lady Clarissa would have none of it. If Penberthy House was a little chilly from time to time, or they had to keep a good supply of buckets to set around the place whenever it rained, it didn’t matter. Just as long as the people she cared about had everything they needed.
    But that’s all quite beside the point. This morning there was a delivery that would change Lady Clarissa’s life more than any prize could.
    Pierre Rousseau and Digby Pertwhistle were standing beside the delivery van chatting about the weather when Pierre put his forefinger to his lips.
    ‘Shhh, did you ’ear that?’ he whispered.
    ‘What?’ Digby replied. The old man cocked his head and frowned.
    ‘That noise, like a kitten,’ Pierre explained.
    ‘No, I don’t hear anything but I’d better take those rolls