Alice Wetherby-Pimms had a peculiar penchant for pickles. Be they sweet, sour, or dill, the child was mad about brined cucumbers. Chips, chunks, cubes, finely chopped relishes, halves, slices, spears, sticks and whole, no matter their shape, Alice craved them all.
So given the mysterious disappearance of the Pimms’s famed horticulturist Horace Hornby, one would expect her new governess to have jumped at the chance to avoid a similar end with regard to the child’s transports of delight, instead of ignoring what Alice deemed the grand theft of a not so grand cuke. Indeed, the ruckus which ensued over a petit cornichon – an ordinary gherkin, at that – was hardly worth giving it the time of day. Or so it seemed. Continue reading