Journey to the River Sea

Then the count and countess came out of the drawing room to greet them. The count looked like a picture from a book about the Russian steppes, with a high-necked embroidered blouse, wise, dark eyes and a black beard. The countess was a beautiful, untidy woman who wore a priceless emerald pendant slightly askew over her dress and enfolded Maia in a warm embrace.

‘The children have told me so much about you,’ she said, and held out her arms to the twins, who backed away. The twins did not get hugged. They always made that clear from the start.

Mademoiselle Lille came to lead Miss Minton away, and soon the party was in full swing.

Afterwards Maia thought what a wonderful evening it would have been if she had been just an ordinary guest with nothing to do except enjoy herself. The Keminskys were the most amazing hosts – rose-water was served to the dancers in crystal goblets; in the dining room the food laid out on a white damask cloth was like food in a fairy tale; Russian piroshkis, rare Brazilian fruits, a three-tiered cake for Olga’s birthday – and the count had found proper gypsies to play for them.

But she was working to a timetable. Clovis would be safe in the museum by ten o’clock. The crows were already back in the Pension Maria. Between ten and dawn the following morning, when the Bishop pulled up her anchors, she had to betray Clovis’ hiding place to the twins.

And she had to make sure that they would act.

If only everyone hadn’t been so nice to her, whisking her off to dance, to drink lemonade or go into the garden. Not just Sergei and Olga and Netta, everyone.

But at least it wasn’t difficult to keep track of the twins. If she couldn’t see them in their flesh-pink dresses or hear the tinkle of their bracelets, she could smell them, for they still moved in a cloud of their mother’s ‘Passion of the Night’.

Ten o’clock struck on the big grandfather clock in the hall. Time to begin.

Maia excused herself from the next dance and went to the big window which looked out towards the docks.

The twins, who were not dancing, watched her.

Maia came back, circled the floor once with a Brazilian boy, then stopped and went back to the window.

The twins were still watching her. Oh please, let Clovis be right, she prayed.

For the third time she returned to the window, and yes, Clovis was right. The twins followed her.

‘What are you looking at?’

Maia swung round, startled. ‘Nothing . . . I mean . . . I just wondered when the Bishop is sailing. It is tomorrow morning? They haven’t put it off?’

‘Yes, it is. Why do you want to know?’

‘I don’t really . . . I just wondered. Mr Low and Mr Trapwood are going to be on her, aren’t they? They’re definitely going back to England?’

The twins exchanged glances.

‘What does it matter to you?’

‘It doesn’t.’ Maia was beginning to look very flustered and guilty. ‘It doesn’t at all.’

She made her way slowly to the door and left the room, allowing herself only one anxious glance at the twins. Don’t keep turning round, Clovis had said; don’t overdo it.

Beatrice and Gwendolyn were now definitely suspicious. ‘Do you think she knows where the Taverner boy is after all?’

‘If she doesn’t, why is she so jumpy?’

‘There’s still time for the reward.’

‘I’m not going to let her out of my sight,’ said Beatrice.

‘And I’m not either,’ said Gwendolyn.

Maia had paused on the landing. The Keminskys had placed an icon there; a Holy Picture with a lamp burning underneath.

The picture was of St Theodosius, a very thin saint with huge black eyes. Maia had never prayed to a Russian saint before, but as she heard the twins coming, she fell to her knees.

‘Please,’ she gabbled aloud. ‘Please keep him safe. Please don’t let the crows find his hiding place before they sail. Please.’

The twins had stopped on the stairs to listen. Now, as Maia got to her feet, they followed her downstairs and into an empty cloakroom where the children had left their outdoor things when they arrived.

Careful not to look back, Maia went to her sponge bag. As well as her hairbrush and her shoes, she had hidden a packet of nuts and a sandwich wrapped in greaseproof paper. She took them out.

‘Who are they for?’

Beatrice had come up behind her. Now she wrenched her arm back and Maia dropped the nuts.

‘You’d better tell us.’

‘No one . . . For me.’ Maia was getting more and more flustered.

‘Don’t be silly. The house is full of food. You were going to give them to someone, weren’t you? The boy you’re hiding.’

‘No. No. Oh please . . .’

Beatrice had taken Maia’s arm and was twisting it.

‘You’re hurting me. Stop it.’

There wasn’t any need to act now. Beatrice was really hurting her. And now Gwendolyn took her other arm and jerked it back.

‘Let me go!’

‘Not till you tell us where he is. Not till you admit you know.’

Real tears came to Maia’s eyes as the twins, one on either side, yanked her arms still further back.

‘It’s only . . . oh please . . . You don’t want him to be caught – he doesn’t want to go back to England. He’s only a boy and he’s so afraid.’