Journey to the River Sea - 10th Anniversary Edition (29 page)

But when Miss Minton tried to make him sail on through the night he put his foot down.

‘It’s dangerous and foolish,’ he said. ‘If we run aground we’ll never get her off.’

So Miss Minton lay down in the cabin and the professor lay down on the deck and as soon as the first light came, Miss Minton made black coffee so strong that it almost took the roof off their mouths – and then they were off again.

‘I was an idiot,’ she said, sitting in the stern with her hand on the tiller. ‘I should have stayed with Henry Hartington who pushed puppies through the wire mesh of tennis courts. Or Lavinia Freemantle who plucked the wings off butterflies. Goodness knows, I’ve had enough awful children to look after. But Maia ...’

They saw things the professor would have loved to stop for: a deserted humming bird nest with two eggs no bigger than peas, a scarlet orchid which was new to him – but Miss Minton could not bear him to halt the boat. Even if a giant sloth with long red hair had come lumbering down to the water’s edge, she would have insisted on going on.

But he did not let everything pass.

‘Do you have to go on calling me Professor Glastonberry?’ he complained when they had travelled for three days.

Miss Minton was steering, looking for signs of sandbanks or submerged rocks.

‘I don’t know your Christian name,’ she said.

The professor blushed. ‘It’s Neville,’ he admitted.

Miss Minton turned to look at him – oil-stained, unshaven, dripping with sweat – and woke up to what he was doing for her.

‘What’s wrong with Neville?’ she said.

After that she became calmer and more sensible. She opened some of the tins they had brought and made proper meals. She even allowed herself to see the beauty of the river and remembered how once she had hoped to make a living as a naturalist.

‘You won’t lose your job because of this?’ she asked. ‘Coming away so suddenly?’

The professor shrugged.

‘Probably not. But if I do it doesn’t matter much. I’d have to retire anyway in a couple of years and I have a bit of money saved.’ He put another log of wood into the firebox. ‘I used to go on trips with Taverner sometimes. I could make a living like this ... it’s not just collecting – people pay good money now to be shown the wildlife.’ He stared out over the water. ‘It was what I meant to do when I came out here, but my wife didn’t care for travelling.’

They turned into the Agarapi and soon afterwards saw a great snake, endlessly long, rustling through the leaves and dropping down into the dark water.

‘An anaconda,’ said the professor.

‘Is it dangerous?’ asked Miss Minton.

‘Not to us,’ said the professor. ‘It’s a good omen – the God of the Water making himself known.’

‘Then perhaps we’ll find her,’ said Miss Minton under her breath.

‘What do you mean to do with Maia when you do find her?’ the professor asked that night.

‘Take her back to the Keminskys and never let her out of my sight again,’ said Miss Minton.

‘She may not find it easy.’

‘Why on earth not? The Keminskys are the kindest people in the world.’

‘Yes. But she has tasted freedom.’

‘That’s neither here nor there,’ snapped Miss Minton, whose corset was sticking to her back. ‘I’ve tasted freedom too,’ she found herself saying. ‘But I have to go back and so does she.’

Now they had to remember the route Finn had meant to take, but lack of sleep and anxiety were beginning to make them clumsy. And there was another worry: the draught of the Carter boat was greater than that of the
Arabella
. What if the river became too shallow for them to go on?

By the fifth day Miss Minton had secretly given up hope and even the professor stopped trying to be cheerful.

Then, just a week after they had set off, they rounded a bend and heard the barking of a dog.

The children turned and saw the spinach-green boat coming towards them.

‘Oh no! Not the Carters!’ said Maia. She looked round desperately for somewhere to hide. ‘If I ran off into the jungle ...’

But it wasn’t the Carters. In a way it was worse, because from the woman who now rose from her seat in the stern, she would not have tried to hide or run away.

‘You’re mad!’ shouted Miss Minton across the narrowing gap between the boats. ‘You’re completely mad, Maia. What do you mean by this?’

Then she disappeared into the cabin where – for the first time since Maia had been lost in the fire – she burst into tears.

But the relief of seeing Maia safe soon took a different turn. On board the
Arabella
she complained about Maia’s tangled hair, her bare feet, her strange clothes. She had brought a toothbrush – even a hairbrush – but as she said, it would take days to get Maia to look civilized again. She berated Finn for taking Maia off, she enquired nastily about his Latin, and wanted to know how often they took their quinine pills. By the time she had finished nagging and finding fault, Maia was almost ready to wish that Minty
had
deserted her.

Later, the children went over to have supper on the Carters’ launch. The professor, who turned out to be an enthusiastic cook, had opened a tin of corned beef and made a splendid hash with wild onions and peppers.

Finn, who had always admired the professor, had brought over some specimens for him to identify – and it was now that they heard what had happened to the Carters.

‘It’s rather an amazing story,’ said Miss Minton. ‘Lady Parsons actually cabled and offered them a home! You can imagine how pleased the twins were – going off to live with a proper Lady!’

Maia was surprised. ‘She always seemed such a fierce person in the painting – that square face, and her choker of pearls.’

‘Well, she’s certainly done her duty,’ said Miss Minton. ‘They sailed just before we came away.’

‘Did Mr Carter go too?’ asked Finn.

Miss Minton shook her head. ‘He has to stay in hospital for a while. He’s probably not sorry because what faces him when he comes out will not be pleasant.’ And she explained about the trial and what would happen if he was found guilty.

But soon the talk turned to the Keminskys.

‘I’m sorry you never got my note that night,’ said Minty. ‘I was arranging for us to go and live with them. You’ll like that, won’t you?’ she asked Maia.

Maia was silent, looking down at her plate.

‘Of course she will,’ jeered Finn. ‘Sergei will be able to kneel at her feet like a person in a book.’

Miss Minton quelled him with a look. ‘The Keminskys have been kindness itself. They’ve prepared a room for Maia at the top of the house with a view of the river.’

But Maia did not want to look at the river; she wanted to be on it. The grand house, the rich food, the Russian babble meant nothing to her now. She wanted to be with Finn, and free ...

‘Do I have to go back?’ she asked quietly.

‘Yes. First thing tomorrow morning,’ said Miss Minton. ‘Bring your belongings as soon as you’ve washed.’

Knowing it was her last night on the
Arabella
, Maia fought against sleep. She must remember it all – the lapping of the water against the side of the boat, the white moths, the fireflies ...

Finn too was awake. ‘When we’re grown up I’ll come back for you, I promise. No one can stop us then.’

But she wasn’t grown up and nor was he, and Finn was going on alone. The professor had tried to persuade him to come back with them, but Finn only said, ‘I promised my father I’d go and find the Xanti. I promised.’

Now though, lying in the dark, he realized how much he hated the idea of going on by himself. He wasn’t afraid exactly; he knew he could do it – but it suddenly seemed utterly dismal to go on without his friend.

‘We could still run away into the forest,’ said Maia.

But Finn said no. ‘Minty really cares about you. The professor told me she nearly went mad when she thought you’d been killed in the fire. You can’t play tricks on her – or on him. They’re good people. It’s just ... oh, why can’t grown-ups understand that we might know what is right for us just as well as they do?’

The children slept at last – but on the boat without a name, Miss Minton lay awake.

After a while she got up and went out onto the deck. Everything had turned out as she had hoped. She had found Maia, and Maia was safe and well. Not only safe and well, but happy – at least she had been. Finn too – they had kept the boat tidy, labelled their specimens properly, taken their quinine. Bernard would have been proud of his son.

So why did she feel so ... uncomfortable?

Behind her, the professor stirred in his sleep.

‘Are you awake?’ she asked him.

He opened his eyes. ‘I am now,’ he said.

‘I need to talk to you,’ Miss Minton said. ‘I’ll go and make us some tea.’

The children slept late, and washed and dressed almost in silence. Both of them were afraid to speak.

Maia packed her belongings in an old canvas bag and stroked the dog.

‘I’ll come over in a minute and say goodbye,’ said Finn.

The Carters’ boat was ready to leave, breakfast tidied away, ropes coiled. The professor was riddling the firebox and feeding in fresh logs. Miss Minton, sitting in the stern, had a parcel wrapped in sacking on her knees.

‘I’m ready,’ said Maia trying to keep her voice steady. She mustn’t cry; above all, she mustn’t sulk. ‘Finn’s coming over to say goodbye.’

‘No need,’ said Miss Minton.

‘He’d like to.’

‘All the same, there is no need.’

Maia looked at her governess. Miss Minton seemed different ... Softer? Rounder? More at peace?

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why is there no need?’

‘Because we’re coming with you. We’re going on. Get back on the
Arabella
and tell Finn we’ll follow three lengths behind.’

As Maia turned to go, hardly believing that there could be such happiness, she heard a loud splash. Miss Minton was leaning over the side, watching the parcel she had held on her knee floating away downriver.

‘What was that?’ asked Maia.

Miss Minton straightened herself.

‘If you
must
know,’ she said, ‘it was my corset.’

‘Now, Beatrice!’ boomed Lady Parsons. ‘How often have I told you that Kiki’s jacket must be buttoned up right to his little neck? You don’t want the little doggy to catch a chill, do you?’

Beatrice glared at the shivering animal, standing on the hall table getting ready for his afternoon walk.

Beatrice did want him to catch a chill. She wanted him to catch a chill and then pneumonia and then die.

But she said nothing, and did up the top button of the tartan waistcoat that he always wore for his afternoon walk, since he did not have enough hair, or enough sense, to keep warm.

‘Now the lead,’ ordered Lady Parsons, and Beatrice fetched the lead and clipped it on, while Kiki snapped at her fingers.

‘There you are, my little treasure,’ said Lady Parsons to the dog. And to Beatrice: ‘Now you’re to take him at least three times up and down the Promenade; I shall
know
if you’ve only taken him twice because Mrs Tandry will be looking out of the window. And he must
not
be allowed to sniff at other dogs.’

It was a grey, windy day; the waves beat drearily on Littleford’s shingle beach. But there was nothing to be done. Since they had arrived in England, Beatrice had had to walk Kiki every afternoon and Gwendolyn had to walk him every morning.

While Beatrice tugged the little dog sulkily along the windswept beach, Gwendolyn was in the pantry pouring boiling water into Lady Parsons’ stone hot-water bottle, ready for Lady Parsons’ afternoon sleep. When she had finished, she carried it upstairs to the big bedroom with its Turkey carpet and lace-covered tables, and the pictures of Sir Hector Parsons who had been shot by mistake in Kenya while trying to shoot lions. If she hurried downstairs now she could get half an hour to look at a comic she had found in the kitchen drawer before it was time to lay the tea.

‘Gwendolyn!’ came Lady Parsons’ angry voice from her bedroom. ‘Come back at once! How many times have I told you that the bottle
must
be wrapped in my shawl. Do you want me to burn my feet?’

Gwendolyn did want it, she wanted it just as much as Beatrice had wanted the little dog to get pneumonia, but after nearly a month in Lady Parson’s house she knew she was helpless. The Carters were penniless; there was nowhere else to go.

‘I hope I don’t have to tell you which of my shawls the bottle must be wrapped in?’

‘No, Lady Parsons. It’s the violet crochet one in the second drawer down.’

‘Well, if you know, why don’t you do it straight away?’ said Lady Parsons. ‘And tell your mother to hurry up with turning the collar on my blue velvet. I’m going to wear it for my bridge party tonight.’

But as the girl left the room, Lady Parsons leant back on her pillows with a satisfied sigh. The girls were slow and they were stupid, but they could be trained and so could their mother. She had been right to take them in.