The Beekeeper's Daughter by Santa Montefiore

her mother died and his mother May, a distant cousin and her mother’s best friend, had stepped in to help her father raise her, Freddie had been like a brother to her. In the beginning, her grandmother had come up from Cornwall to live with them, but mother and son had soon clashed and Mrs Hamblin had been unceremoniously sent home on the train. After that her aunt had attempted to fill her mother’s shoes but she had only lasted six months before she was packed off back to Cornwall, too. That was years ago. Grace couldn’t remember her grandmother or her aunt; only May and Michael Valentine and her father had been constants in her life. She couldn’t remember a moment when Freddie hadn’t been around, either.
    ‘How does that feel? Not scared, are you, Freddie?’ she asked.
    ‘No!’ he exclaimed through gritted teeth. His face had gone very red, enhancing the indigo colour of his eyes.
    ‘You know, without bees to pollinate our world, humans would die out in four years.’
    ‘Fascinating,’ he replied sarcastically.
    ‘And bees have been around for thirty million years. Just imagine that!’
    ‘Can you take it off now? It’s going to crawl into my shirt.’ Freddie began to pant in panic.
    ‘Am I boring you?’ She laughed. ‘Well, I suppose you’ve earned a swim in the river now.’
    Just as she was about to lift it off his arm, the little bee must have sensed his fear for it lowered its abdomen and stung him. Grace paled. Not because Freddie gave out a yelp of pain, but because the sting had lodged itself in Freddie’s skin and as the bee pulled away, half of its insides were left behind. She stared at it in anguish. The insect tried to fly away, but it was too weak. It fell onto the grass where it made a pathetic attempt to crawl. Grace’s eyes filled with tears. She bent down and picked the creature up and placed it in the palm of her hand where she stared at it helplessly.
    Freddie was appalled. ‘You don’t care about me! You only care about your silly bees!’ he accused, his voice rising as the pain throbbed and his skin turned pink.
    ‘You’re not going to die, Freddie,’ she retorted crossly. ‘You shouldn’t have let her know that you were afraid!’
    ‘I wasn’t afraid. Bees sting and that’s all there is to it.’ He nursed his arm and tried to hold back the tears. ‘You and your silly game!’
    She glanced at his glistening eyes and softened. ‘I’m sorry, Freddie. I didn’t think it would sting you.’
    ‘That’s the last time I go anywhere near a bee, do you understand?’ He grimaced. ‘It bloody hurts, Grace. I hope you’re satisfied. I heard of a man who died of a bee sting!’
    Grace took a look at his arm. He had wiped the sting away, but the venom was making his arm swell. ‘Come, I’ll get you home and Auntie May can put some garlic on it.’
    ‘Garlic?’
    ‘Or baking soda.’
    He looked horrified. ‘You really are a witch!’
    ‘They both work a treat. Come on.’
    They hurried down the path into the lane. Freddie bore the pain bravely. He was determined not to cry in front of Grace. He didn’t imagine Lord Melville would have cried had he been stung.
    Freddie’s house wasn’t far from the church. It was down a narrow lane near the river and the Fox and Goose Inn, where his father went every evening after work to drink beer with his friends. They found his mother, whom Grace had always called Auntie May, in the kitchen, peeling potatoes at the sink. ‘Oh dear, what have you done to yourself, Freddie?’ she asked, taking his arm and looking at it closely.
    ‘A bee stung him, Auntie May,’ Grace told her. ‘Do you have any garlic?’
    ‘Garlic?’
    ‘To put on the sting. It’ll make it better quicker than any fancy ointment from the chemist.’
    May smiled. ‘You’re just like your father, Grace,’ she said, going to the cupboard to find some. ‘I bet it’s sore, Freddie. You’re being very brave.’ May squashed the clove on her chopping