Page 1 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)
It was all the fault of that blasted mouse!
Clementine Honeywell stared down at the word square game she had drawn out with satisfaction.
It was a perfect construction. None but her family knew that she was Mr Benedict Civil, the mysterious word game setter for Little Valentine’s own newspaper.
She varied the games, from riddles to anagrams and the occasional acrostic poems. To be fair, newspaper was a rather grandiose appellation for what truly amounted to a few pages of local news, adverts and the odd bit of scurrilous gossip.
Still, the construction of a word square or a riddle was, to Clementine’s orderly mind, the ideal blend of cleverness, creativity and just a little bit of diabolical slyness that had people tearing at their hair.
The theme she had chosen for this latest offering to the Valentine Morning Star was the seasons.
She already had Vivaldi’s Winter, and Autumn by Samuel Johnson.
Coming up with the clues was something she would enjoy setting her mind to later and wondered if she might somehow include Johnson’s famous quote, great works are performed not by strength, but by perseverance .
She still had ages to work on it, as she always had a game or two in hand to give herself enough time.
Gathering up her papers, she put them neatly away in the drawer of her father’s desk which he had given over to her, seeing as she spent far more time at his desk than he did.
Arranging the quills, ink, and pounce pot and straightening everything to her satisfaction, Clementine darted a pained look at the table to her right, where her father kept his correspondence, his books, invoices, and any sermons or papers he was working on.
It was a masterpiece of chaos and made her twitch with the desire to tidy it.
However, she knew better than to do so. Her papa, Reverend Honeywell, insisted he knew where everything was and refused to let her rearrange things.
A lenient and doting father, it was the only thing he ever got tetchy about.
So, resolutely turning her back on the unsettling mess, she closed the study door and made her way to the breakfast parlour, where the sound of the Honeywell family gathered together was as raucous as usual.
Breakfast in the Honeywell residence was a lively affair.
It wasn’t just the chatter, Clementine thought with a patient smile as she took her place, though there was plenty of that.
Mrs Adie bustled in and out, setting dishes on the table and taking empty ones away, scolding Beatrice for not eating and Isabelle for bringing a book to the table.
Their father was preaching to the family, practising his Sunday sermon and breaking off at intervals to scratch his head and glower because he couldn’t read his own writing.
The family divided their time between listening and making suggestions, sharing their plans for the day, eating and keeping the children entertained.
Reverend Honeywell seemed to revel in the chaos, although the sermon would not come together properly until Clementine had helped her father by writing it out again in a legible hand.
Clementine smiled fondly at her papa, who was an absolute darling and a man with a keen understanding of human nature.
Unfortunately, as his busy brain was always occupied with the problems of his parish and how to solve them, he could be a tad absentminded.
Keeping him on schedule and in the right place at the right time was no small achievement.
“More jam, Clemmie?”
Clementine turned to her little cousin, four-year-old Caspar, and smiled. “What do you say?”
“ Pleee-ase! ” he exclaimed, drawing the word out and grinning at her.
Clementine laughed and obligingly gave him another piece of bread and jam as his little sister, Daisy, squealed and tried to take it from him.
“No! S’mine!” Caspar objected, stuffing it hurriedly into his mouth.
“All right, you too,” Clementine said, finding a piece for Daisy, who bounced excitedly in her chair. She handed it over, delighting in the happiness something as simple as a bit of bread and jam could bring the child.
The Honeywell family had seen their fair share of tragedy, for their mama had died almost ten years ago when Clementine was fourteen years old.
It had shattered their father, who had adored his wife, and the whole family had been shaken to the core by her loss.
But Papa was too good-hearted and too optimistic to allow them to fall into gloom.
Besides, he truly believed they would be reunited again in the next life, and that comforted him.
More recently, their aunt, Mama’s sister and her husband, had been taken by a fever that had carried them both off within days of each other.
Thankfully, their children were spared, and Papa had at once gone to fetch them and bring them home.
That had been over a year ago, and Clementine could hardly imagine what life would be like without the two little children in their midst.
Not that it had been easy, especially the extra expense of a nanny for them, for Papa refused to touch a penny of the money their parents had left upon their deaths.
That would be kept safe for Caspar’s education and Daisy’s dowry, not that it was enough to cover either of those things with any comfort.
Still, Mrs Mabbs had been a godsend, even if she did bicker with Mrs Adie occasionally.
The running of the household, over which Clementine had long ago taken control, had become increasingly challenging when their finances were so stretched, but she did not mind, especially when the children were such a joy to them all.
Clementine had decided not to marry, for how would Papa go on without her?
This way, she assured herself, it felt like she had been blessed with children, even if they were not her own.
Mrs Adie was about to place a fresh rack of toast on the table when a blood-curdling scream reached their ears from the kitchens. Mrs Adie jumped in shock, sending the toast flying in all directions, one piece landing on the reverend’s scrawled notes and another hitting Bea in the eye.
“Lord preserve us!” Mrs Adie cried, one hand pressed to her capacious bosom as she turned to Clementine in exasperation. “It’s that dratted girl again! I tell you, she’s driving me distracted, she is. Lawks, what has the harum-scarum creature been up to now?”
Clementine groaned inwardly but got to her feet, hurrying after Mrs Adie, who looked ready to do murder to their new maid of all work. Polly was a sweet girl, but even Clementine had to admit she wasn’t the shiniest pebble on the beach.
Mrs Adie burst into the kitchen ahead of Clementine and then screamed herself, moving with astonishing speed as she leapt onto a chair, and then onto the table beside a quivering Polly.
“It went that way!” Polly shrieked, clutching at Mrs Adie, who had buried her face in her apron.
“Oh, good heavens, Mrs Adie!” Clementine said with a sigh. “It’s only a mouse.”
“Not a mouse, mice!” Polly squealed. “I saw two of the little devils. Them traps you put down ain’t caught a single one. The cheese you put with ’em is all gone too. They’re clever and sly and they’ll be in the pantry and eating everything if you don’t kill the lot of ‘em.”
“Rats,” Clementine said, dejected now.
“Rats!” Mrs Adie exclaimed, her complexion ashen now. “I ain’t staying in no house with rats!”
“I beg your pardon, Adie, a poor choice of words,” Clementine said, cursing herself. “But I really don’t think there is any need to stand on the table. The little creatures must be more afraid of you and all that noise than you are of them.”
“Oh, but where there’s two, there’s more. Hundreds of ‘em, you mark my words,” Polly said, groaning and hiding her face in her apron.
Clementine muttered a bad word under her breath but could not fault Polly’s reasoning. “Very well,” she said. “There’s nothing for it. If the traps don’t work, I must get a cat, a good mouser, and the problem will be solved in a trice.”
“A cat?” Mrs Adie objected, scowling at the idea. “In my kitchen?”
“It’s either a cat or mice,” Clementine said firmly. “You may take your choice.”
Mrs Adie looked somewhat mutinous, her jaw tight, but she nodded, which was good enough for Clementine. Hurrying to fetch her bonnet and spencer, she informed her sisters she was going out on an errand, kissed her father, who didn’t notice, and bustled to the front door.
Clementine let out a breath and stood outside for a moment on the doorstep.
The roses were in bloom, cascading around the porch, and the decadent scent surrounded her, the early morning sun warm on her face.
A perfect day, she thought with a smile.
Well, except for the dratted mouse. Mice.
Never mind. It was a lovely day for a stroll, and the Misses Brumley would be pleased to see her.
Striding out, Clementine made her way through the front garden, making a mental note to ask the gardener to oil the squeaky gate, and then out onto the lane.
She bade the occupants of the graveyard a good morning as she cut through, past her father’s church and out onto the footpath that crossed the stream and led on towards Honeysuckle Cottage.
Poppies and cornflowers studded the fields and the frilly lace caps of wild carrot waved as she made her way along the narrow path.
The pungent scent of wild garlic tickled Clementine’s nose, and she wished she had thought to bring a basket with her.
Still, she doubted that sharing a basket with a bundle of smelly weeds would endear her to the cat she intended to buy.
She did not doubt that Miss Dotty would have a cat, for she had many feline friends, much to the despair of her sister, Edith, who was always trying to find suitable homes for them.