Journey to the River Sea

Sir Aubrey, on the other hand, saw the grandson of his dreams. Clovis’ eyes were very blue, his hair was thick and golden; he bowed low over the hand stretched out to him. (The Goodleys had been very keen on proper bowing.)

‘Well, my boy, here you are at last. What made you hide away so long?’

Clovis had thought of the answer to this one.

‘Because I was afraid I was not ... worthy to fulfil my role.’ He looked at Sir Aubrey to see if he had overdone it but he hadn’t.

‘Nonsense. You’ll soon learn, my boy.’ And then: ‘You’re not at all like your father. Not at all.’

‘I believe I take after my mother, sir,’ said Clovis. Since he had never seen his mother, who had dumped him in an orphanage as soon as he was born, he felt quite safe in saying this.

‘All the same, you remind me of someone. Now, who can it be?’

Clovis waited nervously.

Then: ‘I know,’ said Sir Aubrey. ‘Yes. Your great-great uncle Alwin. He was an admiral in Nelson’s navy. Went down with his ship at the Battle of the Nile. There’s a portrait of him in the gallery; I’ll show it to you later.’

Clovis then asked what had happened to the head of the man who was strangling a snake and Sir Aubrey said that Dudley had blasted it with a shotgun.

‘He was after some poachers,’ he said, and fell silent, looking very sad. ‘Splendid chap, Dudley. Ask anyone.’

Clovis said that he had heard from his father how strong Dudley was, and tried to think if he had heard anything nice about Dudley, but he hadn’t. Fortunately, since Sir Aubrey was looking very upset, the butler announced Mrs Smith and her three older daughters. The youngest daughter, Prudence, was still in nappies and did not go out to dinner.

Again Clovis had no difficulty in recognizing Mrs Smith as the Basher, and her daughters as the ones who were no use to Sir Aubrey because they were the wrong sex.

‘How do you do, Aunt Joan,’ said Clovis, smiling winningly and hoping that the Basher had settled down since her marriage.

‘Well, you led us quite a dance,’ brayed Joan, and introduced her daughters.

The girls were very thin and frail with straight fair hair and woebegone expressions, like banshees. Hope, who was eleven, had buck teeth; Faith, who was nine, had trouble breathing through her nose; and Charity was so frightened of her mother that she stammered, but they were nice girls all the same.

All three of them looked anxiously at Clovis. Their mother had said that one of them would have to marry him when they grew up so that their family could get a share of Westwood. The girls knew that Bernard had been mad and had run away from home and talked to housemaids and to rats, so the idea of marrying his son made them feel very frightened. But now, as Clovis smiled and shook hands with them, they felt better. He did not look like a boy who ran away from home and talked to housemaids.

The butler now announced that dinner was served. Clovis offered his arm to the Basher (which he knew was correct because of all the plays with dinner parties that he had acted in) and they crossed the gallery and went down the great carved stairway to the dining room.

As soon as he saw the table with its snow-white cloth and smelled the faint, warm smell of fresh rolls and roasting meat, Clovis knew it was going to be all right. He remembered the Hotel Paradiso and all the other places where he had eaten vile food, and a smile which made his face look very beautiful passed over his face. Even his foster mother couldn’t have cooked a better meal. The asparagus soup was delicate and creamy, the roast beef was brown and crisp on the outside, and just a little pink in the middle, the potatoes melted in the mouth. And for dessert, they had bread and butter pudding with dollops of cream ...

Clovis ate, and as he did so he decided he could probably hold out for a week, or even two, before he gave himself up. Finn would be glad of the extra time and it would be a pity not to stay for the other things: ginger pudding, and boiled mutton with capers perhaps ... and there’d be proper crackling on the pork.

As for the little banshees, when they returned home they too were satisfied.

‘I wouldn’t mind marrying him,’ said the eldest, Hope.

‘I wouldn’t either,’ said Faith.

‘Nor me,’ said Charity. ‘I w-wouldn’t ... mind too.’

Then they sighed. ‘Mother will tell us which one it’s going to be,’ said Hope. ‘As long as it’s not Prudence.’

Prudence was still in nappies and far too small to be in the running, but she had curls and a dimple and her sisters hated her.

As for Clovis, he lay freshly bathed in a linen nightshirt between cool and spotless sheets. No mosquito netting, no fly paper, no beetles ... yes, he would definitely hold out for at least a week. He had promised Finn and he would do it.

But Sir Aubrey was not yet in bed. He had limped up to the Picture Gallery at the top of the house and stood for a long time looking at the portrait of Alwin Taverner in his naval uniform.