41
" Then came the day Maia had dreaded. The last of the provisions were loaded onto the Arabella--manioc flour and dried beans and oil for the Primus stove and gifts for the Indians.
That night Finn came to say good-bye to Furo and the others.
“You’re to look after Maia,” he told them. “Promise me you will not let any harm come to her.”
And Furo, who had been sulking because he, too, wanted to go with Finn, gave his promise, as did Tapi and Conchita. Only old Lila was inconsolable, weeping and rocking back and forth and declaring that she would be dead before he returned.
Watching from her window, Maia saw him come out of Lila’s hurt, and for a moment she thought he was going to leave without saying good-bye. Then he walked across the compound and stood under her window and she heard him whistle the tune that he had whistled on the night she came.
Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,
Blow the wind south o’er the bonny blue sea…
She ran outside then and hugged him and wished him luck, and she did not cry.
“You’re not to spoil it for him,” Minty had said, and she didn’t.
But when he had gone, she stood for a long time by the window, trying to remember the words of the song. It was a song begging the wind to bring back someone who had gone away in a ship, but she did not think it ended happily.
Well, why should it? Why should the wind care if she never saw Finn again? "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea
42
" 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. "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea
43
" 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 flypaper, 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.
Really, the likeness was extraordinary! The nose, the eyes, the mouth, the way his hair fell over his forehead--all of it was the same as in the boy who had come today.
It happened sometimes that a likeness skipped a few generations and then showed up stronger than ever, thought Sir Aubrey. That was the amazing thing about The Blood. "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea
44
" You wouldn’t believe what that would fetch. Of course the really valuable ones are the doubles, but they’re rare.”
“You mean two eyes from the same person? From someone who’s lost both eyes?”
Mr. Carter nodded. “I’ve got three pairs and they’re worth more than the rest put together.” He put out a hand toward a blue velvet box, then changed his mind. The doubles were too valuable to show a child. “I tell you,” said Mr. Carter, “if this house went up in flames, it’s my collection I’d save.”
“After you’d saved your wife and the twins,” said Maia.
He looked up sharply. “Eh? Yes. Yes, of course--that goes without saying. Now, what was it you wanted?”
“Miss Minton wondered whether you might have a map or a chart of the country round the house. It’s just to borrow for a little while.”
Mr. Carter sighed, but he got up and began to rummage in a number of drawers. “Here you are,” he said, returning with a rolled-up chart. “It covers ten square miles behind the house. Bring it back.”
Maia thanked him and left. She had never seen such a sad room or such a sad hobby. "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea
47
" 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 anymore.
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 good-bye 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. "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea
48
" 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 straightaway 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’s 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’s 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. "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea
50
" 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. "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea
59
" So when Finn sailed back down the Negro at dawn, he saw no flames and heard no roaring as the house was destroyed. Everything at first seemed to be as it had always been: the big trees by the river, the huts of the Indians, the Carters’ launch riding at anchor.
Then the dog, standing beside him, threw back his head and howled.
“What is it?” asked Finn.
But now he, too, smelled the choking, lingering smoke.
And as he sailed toward the landing stage, he saw it--the space, the nothingness, where the Carters’ house should have been. Not even an empty shell. Nothing.
He had thought that the news of his father’s death was the worst thing that had happened to him, but this was worse, because he was to blame. If he had taken Maia as she had begged…
He was shivering so much that it was difficult to steer the Arabella to the jetty and make her fast. There was no point in searching the ruins; it was so obvious that no one could survive such a blaze.
But there was one last hope. The huts of the Indians had been spared. Perhaps they had gotten Maia out; perhaps he would find her sleeping there.
He pushed open the door of the first hut and went inside…then the second and the third. They were completely empty. Even the parrot on his perch had gone, even the little dog. A broken rope in the run outside showed where the pig, terrified by the flames, had rushed back into the forest.
There was no doubt now in Finn’s mind. They had let Maia burn and fled in terror and shame.
What would it be like, Finn wondered, going on living and knowing that he had killed his friend?
The howler monkeys had been right to laugh when he said he wasn’t going back. He had turned downriver again almost at once to fetch Maia, and he had made good time, traveling with the current--but he had come too late. "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea
60
" Maia opened her eyes and saw a canopy of trees and, shining through the topmost leaves, a high, white sun.
She could smell the rich, heady smell of orchids and hear a bird whose single piercing cry came clearly over the puttering sound of an engine.
Then the overhanging trees disappeared. She was looking up at a pale, clear sky, and the light was suddenly so dazzling that she closed her eyes for a moment, because she did not want to wake up or to stop. She wanted what was happening to her to go on and on and on.
She was lying on a groundsheet on the bottom of a boat. They were moving steadily through the water, not fast, not slowly; the perfect speed to lull her back to sleep. She was covered by a gray blanket. She pushed it off and saw that her leg was bandaged. It throbbed but not unpleasantly…it seemed to belong to someone else.
She closed her eyes and slept again.
When she woke once more, it was to find that something was resting against her side, snoring gently: a dog the color of dark sand…
So then she turned her head and saw behind her Finn, sitting quietly in the stern, with his hand on the tiller--and knew she was on the Arabella and safe. "
― Eva Ibbotson , Journey to the River Sea