‘Are you really not coming with us, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine asked her great-aunt at breakfast on Monday morning. ‘It’s not too late to enter Pharaoh in a competition.’

Violet looked up from the toast she was buttering. ‘No Clementine, I won’t be attending and neither will Pharaoh,’ she said firmly.

Lady Clarissa glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. ‘Clemmie, you’d better run up and get Lavender ready,’ she advised. ‘We’ll be leaving in half an hour.’

‘She’s so excited, Mummy. I’m taking her tutu and ballet slippers for the dress-up competition,’ Clementine babbled.

Aunt Violet rolled her eyes. ‘I almost feel sorry for the ridiculous creature. A pig in a tutu is too, too much.’

Clarissa laughed at her aunt’s accidental joke.

‘Oh no, Aunt Violet, Lavender loves to dress up. Mrs Mogg makes her clothes too,’ said Clementine. She gave her mother a quick hug and sped off down the hallway.

‘Are you sure you won’t come along?’ Lady Clarissa asked her aunt. ‘It’s bound to be lots of fun.’

‘No, I’d rather eat cold brussels sprouts,’ Aunt Violet said with a shudder.

‘Well, if you change your mind, you’re very welcome.’ Clarissa stood up to clear the breakfast things. Digby Pertwhistle arrived in the room carrying a feather duster and cloth. He’d been up early to get a head start on some of the housework. ‘You’re coming, aren’t you?’ Clarissa asked the old man.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Clemmie’s so excited and I think Queen Georgiana’s fabulous.’ He winked at Aunt Violet.

Aunt Violet glared back.

An hour later the house was strangely silent. Aunt Violet was rattling around in her room when she decided to make herself some tea. As she descended the stairs she noticed a small black bag on the floor in the entrance hall. She marched over to pick it up and saw some pink tulle poking out.

She opened the bag to have a better look and found a pink collar and lead and a floral garland among the tiny tutu and four ballet slippers.

‘Urgh, it belongs to the pig,’ she exclaimed. She stuffed the contents back inside the bag and placed it on the hall table.

A moment later, a loose window shutter banged upstairs and Aunt Violet leapt into the air. She looked up towards the noise and locked eyes with her brother – or at least, the portrait of him hanging on the wall.

‘What are you looking at, Edmund?’ She didn’t like the way his eyes seemed to be following her. ‘No, I’m not going,’ she said decisively.

Aunt Violet shook her head. Obviously she’d been spending too much time with the little one, who believed that the portraits could speak to her. And besides, she was far too busy to go running into town for a silly pet show.

Aunt Violet stalked off to the kitchen to make her tea. But all the while there was a gnawing feeling in her stomach. She caught sight of the book she’d been reading with Clementine. She’d forgotten how much she had loved that story. She smiled to herself as she recalled sitting with her mother on the veranda many years ago. They’d been reading the exact same book and Violet’s beloved little terrier Hinchley was curled up on her lap. How she had loved that dog.

‘Oh, all right, I’m going,’ she muttered under her breath, before removing the kettle from the stovetop. She scurried up the back stairs to her bedroom, where she retrieved her handbag and car keys. Coming down the main stairs, she spotted Pharaoh through the double doors to the right. He was lying on the sitting room floor, basking in a shard of sunlight.

Aunt Violet looked back at her brother. ‘Are you happy now?’ She picked up the bag from the table. Checking that she had her house keys, the old woman strode to the front door. Her shiny red car was parked in the turning circle. She locked the house, walked over to the vehicle and opened the driver’s side door before she realised that she’d left her sunglasses on the dresser in her bedroom. Aunt Violet sighed deeply and shook her head, tutting at herself.

She headed back inside, leaving the door ajar. As she climbed the stairs, she didn’t notice a grey streak race out the door and towards the car.

Within a minute, Aunt Violet was speeding towards Highton Mill, the black bag on the passenger seat and her sunglasses perched on her nose.