Clementine Rose called Lavender to come inside. As soon as she heard her name the little pig ran towards her and the two of them headed off to find her mother.

‘Hello Uncle Digby,’ Clementine said, as she almost bumped into him. He just managed to steady the tea tray he was carrying.

‘Ooh, ooh, careful, Clementine. Good afternoon, Lavender. Your mother tells me Aunt Violet has arrived a day early. I’m afraid it’s not a surprise. She never was very reliable. Have you met her yet?’ the old man asked.

‘Yes, just a little while ago. I think I said the wrong thing,’ Clementine said with a worried frown.

‘My dear girl, no one ever says the right thing to that woman,’ the butler said with a smile. ‘But don’t worry. We haven’t seen her in years and I suspect that as soon as she’s upset your mother to her satisfaction, she’ll be off and we won’t see her again for another ten years. I’d best get this tea to the guests in the front sitting room. Your mother is in the kitchen.’

‘She’s got a sphynx,’ Clementine informed him.

Digby frowned. He looked at Clementine patiently and waited for her to explain further.

‘It’s in a bag and it hissed at me,’ Clementine said. ‘I hope it’s not dangerous.’

Digby hoped so too.

Clementine skipped off to the kitchen with Lavender tripping along behind her. Lady Clarissa was pulling teacups and their matching saucers down from the dresser.

‘Hello Mummy,’ the child said as she and Lavender entered the room. ‘Where’s Aunt Violet?’

‘Upstairs.’ Clarissa turned and Clementine noticed she was frowning. ‘I had planned to put her in the Blue Room on the third floor but she insisted on having the Rose Room on the second with the bathroom attached. I’d kept that for the guests arriving this evening. I can’t possibly charge the same rate for the other room. It’s much smaller and not nearly as nice.’ She bit her lip. ‘And now the guests will have to share their bathroom, which they specifically asked not to.’

‘Mummy, why don’t you like Aunt Violet?’ Clementine Rose asked as she pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table. Lavender lay down underneath and settled in for a snooze.

‘It’s a very long story but she was horrible to Grandpa and to me.’

‘What about?’ Clementine asked.

‘Money,’ her mother replied as she fetched the teapot from the stove.

‘But we don’t have any, so we don’t have to worry about it,’ Clementine said. She’d heard her mother say that to Uncle Digby lots of times.

Clarissa laughed. ‘Yes, and I suppose that’s the problem. Aunt Violet and your grandfather fought about money. You see, he inherited Penberthy House from his parents and Aunt Violet got a small allowance and nothing more.’

‘But why didn’t she get the house too?’ Clementine asked.

‘That’s just how things worked then, I’m afraid. The eldest son got the house. But Grandpa and Aunt Violet had been very close when they were children and he always felt badly about it too, so over the years he gave Aunt Violet as much as he could. He even bought her a cottage so she’d have a home but Aunt Violet sold everything to pay for her expensive clothes and holidays.’

Clementine 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. Everyone knows that pigs are huge and disgusting and they live outside in sties. Off you go. Your mother and I need to talk. About you, among other things.’

‘Aunt Violet, please don’t speak to my daughter like that.’ Clarissa spoke in a voice barely more than a whisper.

‘But I can’t go,’ said Clementine with a scowl. ‘I told you already. Lavender’s asleep.’ She was becoming more certain that her great-aunt was hard of hearing.

‘Where is this so-called teacup pig?’ asked Violet. ‘I suppose you keep it in the kitchen, do you?’

‘She’s under my chair,’ Clementine replied.

Aunt Violet gasped. She looked towards Clarissa, who nodded, then back at Clementine. The child pointed under her chair. Violet knelt down to look. Clementine Rose knelt down at the other end of the table. Their eyes locked underneath.

‘There she is,’ Clementine whispered, and pointed. ‘Please don’t wake her up because she’s very tired.’ She put her finger to her lips.

Violet settled back into her chair.

‘What sort of circus are you running here, Clarissa?’ the old woman demanded. ‘First a child, then a pig in the house and those friends of yours in the sitting room had the hide to ask me if I could get them some more soap for their bathroom – what do I look like? The hired help?’ Violet placed her teacup on the table with a thud.

‘I can explain,’ Clarissa began.

Digby Pertwhistle entered the room, carrying the tea tray full of dirty cups and saucers. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Appleby,’ Digby said with a nod towards her. ‘Welcome back to Penberthy House.’

‘I can’t believe that you’re still here. I thought you’d have shuffled off years ago,’ the woman snarled.

‘And it’s lovely to see you too.’ Digby winked at Clementine as he went to the sink and began to unpack the tray.

‘The place is falling down around your ears, Clarissa, and you still insist on having Pertwhistle here,’ Violet hissed. ‘I can’t imagine how you pay the man.’

‘Mummy wins things,’ Clementine said.

Clarissa had hoped Clementine wouldn’t bring that subject up.

‘What do you mean?’ Violet demanded.

‘Mummy wins lots of competitions. She won that coffee machine and this whole kitchen and new beds for upstairs and even a holiday to Tahiti that Uncle Digby took last year,’ Clementine explained. ‘She won Lavender at the fair too, which was very lucky because teacup pigs cost a lot of money.’

‘Well, aren’t you just the fortunate one, Clarissa,’ Violet said through pursed lips.

‘How long are you staying, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine asked.

‘I haven’t decided,’ the woman replied.

Lady Clarissa and Digby Pertwhistle looked at each other, horrified at the thought of having to put up with the woman for any longer than a night.

‘Mummy’s very good at looking after people,’ Clementine announced.

Clarissa and Digby gulped in unison. It was another of those times they both wished Clementine wasn’t quite so honest.

‘Clementine, why don’t you take Lavender upstairs and put her in her basket?’ her mother suggested. ‘I’m sure you can do that without waking her up.’

Clementine peeked at the sleepy pig. Digby lifted the chair and Clementine picked her up, cradling her like a baby.

‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen in my life,’ Violet huffed, then shooed Clementine as if waving away a pesky fly. ‘Well, hurry up then, off you go.’

When Aunt Violet wasn’t looking, Clementine wrinkled her nose at the beastly woman.