Journey to the River Sea

She looked up quickly and shut the lid, but for the first time Maia felt she was interrupting something private.

‘I’m putting some of these away. I’ve found some ants in the Shakespeare.’

‘They must be really tough ants,’ said Maia, ‘to hold out against Mrs Carter’s sprays.’

‘Ants are tough,’ said Miss Minton, and changed the subject.

But Maia continued to feel uneasy, for she had the feeling that what Miss Minton had been doing was packing.

Oh, Finn, thought Maia, I know I should be glad you’re free and happy, and I am glad. Only I really don’t know what to do here any more.

But Finn wasn’t happy. Both he and the boat seemed somehow sluggish – and he couldn’t quite get rid of the knot in his stomach.

He had moored by a huge dyewood tree. The water flowed quietly in a deep channel; nowhere better could be found.

So why? He’d had his supper of beans and roasted maize; the deck was piled with chopped wood; the dog had gone ashore to find his own supper and came back with a smug expression and blood on his jaws.

Everything was fine.

A group of howler monkeys came swinging through the trees, making their evening racket, half-screech, half-laughter, and stopped when they saw the Arabella.

‘Perhaps I should have gone to Westwood,’ thought Finn. ‘They’d have knocked all this rubbish out of me. Foreseeing disasters ...’

What did he think could happen to Maia in the Carters’ bungalow? The whole point about the Carters’ bungalow was that nothing happened in it. It was the most boring house in the world – and the Indians had promised to look after her. ‘No harm will come to your friend,’ Furo had said.

So why did the unease get worse all the time?

He remembered saying goodbye to Maia. She had come out of the house in her dressing gown; she ran so lightly, but when he’d hugged her she felt wonderfully solid.

No, Maia would be all right.

‘I’m not going back,’ said Finn aloud – and in the trees, the monkeys threw back their heads and roared with laughter.

Chapter Seventeen

One of the things Clovis had been most afraid of was being forced to ride. He had seen the horses in the stables and they looked large and twitchy. If Sir Aubrey put him in the saddle, Clovis meant to confess straight away and take the money Finn had given him to run away to his foster mother.

But the week after he arrived at Westwood, Sir Aubrey asked Clovis to come into the library because he had some bad news for him.

‘Now I want you to be brave about this, my boy. I want you to take this like a man and a Taverner.’

Clovis’ heart began to thump. Could someone have died – Maia perhaps, or his foster mother – and if so, how did Sir Aubrey know? Or was it just that he had been found out?

‘I won’t hide from you the fact that the Basher – your Aunt Joan, I mean – disagrees with me. She was all ready to teach you. She had picked out a fine mettlesome filly to start you on; nothing sluggish or second-rate. A real thoroughbred. You’d be going over jumps in a couple of weeks. But I’m afraid I cannot allow it.’

‘Can’t allow what, sir?’ asked Clovis.

‘Can’t allow you to ride. Can’t allow you to go on a horse. You can imagine what it cost me to come to this decision; the Taverner children have always been up in the saddle from when they were two years old. But after Dudley’s terrible accident ...’ Tears came into Sir Aubrey’s eyes. He turned away. ‘If there was anyone else to inherit Westwood, I would let you take your chance, but with Bernard and Dudley both gone ...’ He pressed Clovis’ shoulder. ‘You’re taking this very well, my boy. Very well indeed. You’re taking it like a man. I confess I expected arguments, even tantrums.’

‘Well, it is a disappointment,’ said Clovis, wondering whether to break down and cry, a thing all actors learn to do at the drop of a hat. But in the end he just gave a brave gulp instead. ‘I had of course been looking forward ...’ He looked out of the window to where the Basher, mounted on a bruising chestnut, was galloping across a field. ‘But I do understand. One must always think of Westwood.’

Sir Aubrey nodded. ‘You’re a good lad. Of course no one will ever take Dudley’s place but ...’ He took out his handkerchief and blew into it fiercely. ‘There’s another thing. About your schooling. Bernard was very weedy about his school, but then Bernard was weedy about everything. All the same, I think you’re a bit old to be sent away now. Boys usually leave home at about seven or eight, you know, and you’d feel out of it. So I’m going to engage a tutor for you. He’ll come next month when you’re settled in.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Clovis. And then: ‘I’m afraid I’m not very clever.’

Sir Aubrey looked shocked. ‘Good heavens, boy, I should hope not! The Taverners have never been bookish. Except your poor father, and look what happened to him.’