Journey to the River Sea

But finding a time to do it was not easy. The next day Sir Aubrey was shut up with his bailiff and the day after that he was driven into York for a checkup with his doctor.

But on the third day after Clovis had seen his foster mother, Sir Aubrey suggested a little walk round the park. He took his stick and a pair of binoculars and put on his deerstalker and they set off.

‘Time you got to know the estate,’ he told Clovis.

But before they crossed the courtyard, Sir Aubrey stopped by the statue with the severed head. He touched the neck stump with his stick, then ran it over the battered forehead and nose of the head lying on the ground.

‘Something I wanted to ask you, my boy,’ he said. ‘About this statue. Could you leave the head the way it is after I go? Because of Dudley. Something to remember him by?’ He sniffed and blew his nose.

‘After you go, sir?’

‘After I pop my clogs. Turn up my toes. Die, you know, what. When everything in the place is yours.’

Clovis took a deep breath. Now was the time. He couldn’t go on with this lie.

‘Actually, sir,’ he began, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ He flushed, but went on resolutely. ‘You see—’

A thunderous, braying voice interrupted him. The Basher, mounted on an enormous black horse, came galloping across the Home Paddock towards them. Behind her, looking cold and worried, came the three banshees on their ponies.

‘Came to ask the boy to tea,’ brayed the Basher. ‘The girls want him to play charades.’

So that was the end of the first confession.

The next time he was alone with Sir Aubrey was after dinner, when they were served coffee in the drawing room.

The fire was drawing nicely; Sir Aubrey looked sleepy and amiable. Perhaps he wouldn’t be too angry?

‘Sir Aubrey, I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘Grandfather. Told you to call me Grandfather, boy.’

‘You see there’s been a mistake – a muddle. The crows – I mean Mr Trapwood and Mr Low – thought I was someone else and—’

He began quickly to tell his story, looking down at the fireside rug. When he had finished he lifted his head, waiting for the explosion.

Sir Aubrey lay stretched out in the chair; his arm hung limply by his side and from his chest there came a deep and rumbling snore.

He hadn’t heard a word that Clovis had said.

Clovis almost gave up after that. Only the thought of what his foster mother would say if he did not tell the truth kept him going. And at the beginning of his third week at Westwood, he managed it.

He was with Sir Aubrey in the picture gallery. The old man often took him there, and in particular he liked to stand Clovis next to the portrait of Admiral Sir Alwin Taverner in his cocked hat, and point out to Clovis how alike they were.

‘Look at the nose, boy; the way it turns up, just like yours.’ Or: ‘See the cleft in the chin – exactly the same.’

This time Clovis felt he couldn’t stand this, and before Sir Aubrey could take him to see a picture of what was supposed to be another of his great-great uncles, he took a deep breath and began.

‘Sir Aubrey, I have to tell you—’

‘Grandfather,’ interrupted the old man. ‘I’ve told you to call me Grandfather.’

Clovis was getting desperate. ‘Yes; but you see you’re not really my grandfather. There’s been a mistake. I’m really—’ And this time, very quickly, he managed to tell his story.

Clovis had often imagined what would happen after he owned up and told the truth. He had imagined Sir Aubrey ragingly angry or icily cold or even hurt.

But never in his worst nightmares had he imagined anything as terrible as what happened next.

Chapter Eighteen

The twins still hadn’t decided how to spend the money and they still wouldn’t take it to the bank. They had sewn two calico pouches to keep it in, which they wore round their necks even when doing their lessons. The pouches came down quite low over their stomachs and every so often they patted them to make sure the money was still there.

‘Like kangaroos with indigestion,’ said Maia.

But what upset Maia was the way Miss Minton was behaving. She had taken to going off on her own and when Maia asked her where she was going, she gave answers that weren’t answers at all.

And had she been packing her trunk?

The twins, of course, missed no chance to taunt Maia.

‘Your precious Minty’s got a secret, and we know what it is,’ jeered Beatrice.

‘But we aren’t going to tell you,’ said Gwendolyn.

‘Only you needn’t think she’s going to stay with you.’

Even so, it wasn’t till Minty lost her temper with the twins that Maia realized that something was seriously wrong.

They were doing an English Exercise in Dr Bullman’s book.

‘Beatrice, can you give me an example of alliteration?’ asked Miss Minton.

‘No, I can’t,’ said Beatrice.

‘What about you, Gwendolyn?’

Gwendolyn shook her head. ‘I can’t either.’

Miss Minton’s corset was troubling her but she kept her patience.

‘Read what Dr Bullman says again, Beatrice. At the top of the page.’