Eva Ibbotson - Journey to the River Sea

‘You don’t want to arrive in a country unable to make yourself understood. Everyone speaks Portuguese in Brazil. Even the Indians mix it with their own languages.’

But the lessons did not go well. Miss Minton had found a book about the family of Senhor and Senhora Olvidares and their children Pedro and Sylvina who did all the things that people do in phrase books, like losing their luggage and finding a fly in their soup, but fixing their eyes on a page when the boat was heaving made them feel definitely queasy. Trying to read when you are being tossed about is not a good idea.

Then on the second day of the storm, Maia made her way to the main state room, where the passengers were supposed to sit and enjoy their drinks and have parties. Miss Minton was helping the Portuguese ladies and Maia wanted to get out of the way.

It was a huge room with red plush sofas screwed to the floor and long gilt-edged mirrors lining the walls, and at first she thought it was empty.

Then she saw a boy of about her own age, peering into one of the mirrors on the far wall. He had fair hair, long and curly, and was dressed in old-fashioned clothes — velvet knickerbockers and a belted jacket too short in the sleeves — and when he turned round she saw that he was looking unhappy and afraid.

‘Are you feeling sick?’ she asked him.

‘No. But I’m getting a spot,’ he said, pointing to his chin. His voice trembled, and to her amazement Maia saw that his big blue eyes had filled with tears.

‘It’s not chickenpox,’ said Maia firmly. ‘We just had chickenpox at school and it doesn’t look like that.’

‘I know it isn’t chickenpox. It’s a spot because I’m growing up. There’s another one starting on my forehead.’ He lifted his blond curls to show Maia, but at that moment the boat tilted violently and she had to wait till the boy was level with her again to see the small red pimple over his right eye. ‘And the other day my voice suddenly cracked. It went down a whole octave. If it happens on stage, I’m finished.’

‘Of course. You came with those actors, didn’t you? The Pilgrim Players,’ said Maia. She remembered now seeing a whole crowd of oddly dressed people getting on at Lisbon, talking at the top of their voices and waving their arms. ‘But surely the spots wouldn’t show under your make-up?’

‘I can’t wear make-up on my voice. If it cracks in Little Lord Fauntleroy they’ll throw me out.’

‘They won’t do that,’ said Maia firmly. ‘You’re a child. People don’t throw children out like that.’

‘Oh, don’t they?’ said the boy. He looked at Maia: her neat, expensive clothes, her carefully braided hair. ‘You don’t know what it’s like—’

The boat lurched again, throwing the children against each other, and they struggled towards a sofa fastened to the floor.

The boy’s name was Clovis King. ‘It’s not my real name. My real name is Jimmy Bates but they changed it when they adopted me.’

‘Who did? Who adopted you?’

‘The Goodleys. Mr and Mrs Goodley. They own the acting company and they play most of the leads. Then there’s Mrs Goodley’s daughter Nancy — she’s awful — and Mrs Goodley’s sister, and Mr Goodley’s nephew. He’s the stage manager and does the box office. And old Mrs Goodley does the costumes, but she can’t see too well. They found me when they were on their way to York. I was playing cricket on the village green with my friends and they said they’d teach me to act and play juvenile leads — you know, all the children’s parts and the pageboys and all that. Because I had a good voice and could sing and looked right.’

‘Didn’t your parents mind?’

‘I don’t have any parents. I was living with my foster mother. She cried and cried when I went but the Goodleys said it would be a good chance for me — I could make a lot of money and come back rich and famous. But I don’t make any money because no one ever gets paid, and we’re always in debt and we just trail about from one awful hot place to another.’

‘But isn’t it fun — the acting and the travelling?’

‘No, it isn’t. We stay in beastly hotels full of bedbugs and the food makes me feel sick. My foster mother used to be a cook in a big house: she made toad-in-the-hole and treacle pudding and custard and I had a clean vest every day,’ said Clovis, and once again his eyes filled with tears. ‘We haven’t been back to England for four years and if they throw me out I’ll never get back there on my own because I haven’t any money.’

Maia did her best to comfort him, but later when she was alone with Miss Minton she said, ‘Could they do that? Could they throw him out?’

‘Unlikely,’ said the governess. ‘It depends on whether they adopted him legally or not.’

But when the sea became calm again and the passengers came out on deck, they weren’t so sure. The Goodleys were not exactly nasty, but they behaved as if no one existed in the world except themselves.

Mr Goodley was tall with a red face, white hair and a loud braying voice. Mrs Goodley’s hair was dyed a fierce red and she wore layers of scarves and boas and shawls which got caught in things, and Nancy Goodley, who was nineteen, simpered and minced and ordered everyone about. As well as the Goodleys there was an Italian couple, the Santorinis, who did the music and the dancing, and a very old man whose false teeth were so white that one wanted to blink when one looked at him.

‘He’s got another set of teeth for when he plays villains; they’re yellow with black holes in them and they’re terrifying,’ whispered Clovis.

The first thing Mr Goodley did when all the actors had piled onto the deck was to move away the other passengers who were trying to read or have a game of quoits.

‘We must be quite undisturbed for at least two hours,’ he said.

Then they started doing their acting exercises. Mr Goodley had invented these and he was very proud of them. He had even written a book about them but nobody would publish it.

First everybody threw out their chests and made the air go from the bottom of their spines to their throats in an ‘ Aaah ’ sound. Then they flopped forward and wiggled their shoulders and one of Mrs Goodley’s scarves came off. After that they threw their arms out towards the sea and cried ‘Merry to the Right’, while their faces became violently cheerful, and then they threw them in the other direction and cried, ‘Merry to the Left’.

When they had done ‘Merry to the Right’ and ‘Merry to the Left’, they did ‘Wretched to the Right’ and ‘Wretched to the Left’ and their faces stopped being cheerful and became extremely sad.

Clovis had to join in with the others but whenever he could, he came over to talk to Maia and Miss Minton and asked them questions about England.

‘Do they still play conkers?’ he wanted to know, ‘and make a Guy on Bonfire Day? And what about snowmen? Has there been a lot of snow?’

‘Yes, it was good last year,’ said Maia. ‘We always run out when the first flakes fall and try to catch them on our tongues. The first snow tastes like nothing else in the world.’

Clovis agreed, but the thought of tasting things set him off on what he missed most from England: the food.

‘Did you have semolina bake for pudding? The kind with squelchy raisins in it? And what about jam roly-poly… and plum duff with cornflour sauce?’

Maia said, yes, they had all those at school, but she couldn’t help being sorry for Clovis who was so homesick for the stodgy puddings she hoped never to eat again.

When they had finished their exercises, the company started rehearsing scenes from the plays they were going to do. One of these was the sleepwalking scene from Macbeth . Mrs Goodley was Lady Macbeth of course and Maia thought she was very stirring, tottering about all over the place and muttering ‘ Out damned spot ’ with a terrible leer. So she was rather hurt when Miss Minton, who had been reading, closed her book and got ready to go below.