Clementine Rose and the Treasure Box 6 by Jacqueline Harvey Page B

from her chair. ‘It’s ready!’
    â€˜Hold on, Clemmie,’ said Clarissa, as she reached for a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven door. She pulled the shelf towardsher and plunged a skewer into the middle of the cake. It came out clean.
    â€˜All done,’ Clementine sang.
    Lady Clarissa placed the tin on the cooling rack on the bench. ‘We can mix the icing now. Then when we’re finished, the cake should be just about cool enough to decorate.’

    A little while later, Clementine finished shaking sprinkles onto the chocolate icing while her mother searched the pantry for a cake box.
    â€˜Are you coming to meet the neighbours, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine asked the old woman, who had wandered into the kitchen in search of a cup of tea and was now reading the newspaper.
    She shook her head. ‘You can meet them first. And don’t go inviting them for dinner or any such nonsense, Clarissa. We don’t know anything about them. Probably not our sort of people at all.’
    Clementine wondered who their sort of people were but decided not to ask. Aunt Violet was in a bit of a scratchy mood already.
    Lady Clarissa told Clementine to run along and fetch a cardigan and give her hair a quick brush. The child scampered up the back stairs and returned a couple of minutes later.
    â€˜Can we take Lavender?’ she asked, as she walked over to give the little pig a rub. Lavender and Pharaoh, Aunt Violet’s sphynx cat, were in their usual position: snuggled together in Lavender’s basket in front of the cooker.
    â€˜No, darling. We should see if the new family has any pets first. We wouldn’t want to take Lavender and have her upset anyone, would we?’ her mother replied.
    Clementine nodded. That was probably the best idea.
    A few minutes later the pair set off. It was about half a mile to the cottage. The pretty lane was bounded by a low stone wall on oneside and open fields on the other. A trio of black-and-white cows grazed in the field. One looked up and mooed at Clementine, who mooed back.
    â€˜What if they’re not home?’ Clementine asked.
    â€˜Well, we can just leave the cake on the doorstep. At least we’ve had a nice walk.’
    â€˜But what if a sheep eats the cake?’
    â€˜A sheep? Which sheep?’ her mother asked.
    â€˜Any sheep.’ Clementine said. ‘Sheep eat cake, you know. Just look at Ramon, the ram at Poppy’s farm. He loves chocolate brownies.’
    Her mother laughed. ‘Clementine, sometimes you do say the strangest things.’
    Clementine looked up at her mother and shrugged. ‘It’s true.’
    They rounded the bend at the bottom of the road and, sure enough, the silver station wagon that had driven past the day before was parked in the driveway.
    Clementine opened the front gate and ran down the path to the little porch. She looked at the door. There was no bell, only a brass lion’s head knocker. She reached up and banged three times.

After a few moments, the door opened and a tall, thin man with a pointy brown beard and black-framed glasses looked at Clemmie. He had curly brown hair and wore checked pants and a dark-blue waistcoat over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
    â€˜Hello,’ he said, glancing from Clementine to her mother.
    â€˜Hello, I’m Clarissa Appleby and this is my daughter Clementine Rose. We live just up the road in –’
    â€˜Penberthy House,’ the fellow finished. He had a huge grin on his face.
    â€˜Yes,’ Clarissa said, smiling. ‘Welcome to Penberthy Floss.’
    â€˜We’re thrilled to be here,’ the man said, nodding. ‘And we’re thrilled to meet you.’
    Clementine pointed at the box in her mother’s hands. ‘We made a cake.’
    â€˜You must come in and have tea,’ he said.
    â€˜We don’t want to interrupt,’ Lady Clarissa said. ‘You must be terribly busy