Eva Ibbotson - Journey to the River Sea

They wore straw hats, each with a different coloured ribbon round the rim, one pink, one blue, and the sashes round their flounced dresses matched their hats. Their fair ringlets, a little limp in the heat, touched their collars, their round cheeks were flushed, their light blue eyes were framed by pale, almost colourless lashes.

‘I’m Beatrice,’ said the one with the pink ribbon and the pink sash. She gave Maia her hand. Even so short a distance from her house, she was wearing gloves.

Maia turned from one to the other. Though they were so alike, down to the slight droop of their shoulders, she thought she would always be able to tell them apart. Beatrice was just a little plumper and taller; her eyes had a little more colour, her scanty ringlets had more body than Gwendolyn’s and she had a tiny mole on her neck. It was as though Beatrice was the mould from which Gwendolyn had been taken and she guessed that Beatrice was the older, if only by a few minutes.

But now Gwendolyn held out her hand. She had taken off her glove and her hand stayed in Maia’s a little longer than Beatrice’s had done.

Then they turned to follow their parents into the house. But Maia lingered for a moment, looking down at the palm of her outstretched hand. Then she shook her head, ashamed of her thoughts, and ran off after the others.

An hour later, Maia and Miss Minton sat on upright chairs on the veranda, having afternoon tea with the family.

The veranda was a narrow, wooden structure which faced the river but was completely sealed off from it by wire netting and glass. No breath of wind came from outside, no scent of growing things. Two fly-papers hung down on either side, on which dying insects buzzed frantically, trying to free their wings. On low tables were set bowls of methylated spirit in which a number of mosquitoes had drowned, or were still drowning. The wooden walls were painted the same dark clinical green as the house and the boat. It was like being in the corridor of a hospital; Maia would not have been surprised to see people lying about on stretchers waiting for their operations.

Mrs Carter sat at a wicker table, pouring tea and adding powdered milk. There was a plate of small, dry biscuits with little holes in them and nothing else.

‘We have them sent specially from England,’ said Mrs Carter, looking at the biscuits, and Maia could not help wondering why they had taken so much trouble. She had never tasted anything so dull. ‘You will never find Native Food served at my table,’ Mrs Carter went on. ‘There are people here who go to markets and buy the food the Indians eat, but I would never permit it. Nothing is clean, everything is full of germs.’

The word ‘germs’ made her mouth pinch up into a disapproving ‘O’.

‘Couldn’t it be washed?’ asked Maia, remembering the lovely fruit and vegetables she had seen in the market, but Mrs Carter said washing was not enough. ‘We disinfect everything in any case, but it doesn’t help. The Indians are filthy. And if one is to survive out here, the jungle must be kept at bay .’

The jungle certainly had been kept at bay. There were no plants on the windowsills — none of the lovely orchids and crimson flame flowers that had been on the balconies of the houses they had passed along the shore, and the garden was a square of raked gravel.

‘In England I always had cut flowers in the house,’ Mrs Carter went on. ‘Lady Parsons used to say that no one could arrange roses better than me, didn’t she, girls?’

The twins nodded in exactly the same way, once down, once up…

‘Yes, Mama,’ they said.

‘But not here.’ She sighed. ‘Lady Parsons is a relation,’ she explained. ‘A second cousin on my mother’s side.’

‘Do you have any pets?’ Maia shyly asked Gwendolyn, who was sitting next to her. There seemed to be no kittens, no dogs, no canary singing in a cage anywhere in the dark house. In the corner, propped up against a chair was a large flit gun full of fly spray.

Gwendolyn turned to Beatrice. Maia had noticed already that it was usually Beatrice who spoke first.

‘No, we certainly don’t have any pets,’ she said.

‘Pets bring in fleas and lice and jiggers,’ said Gwendolyn, smoothing down her spotless white dress.

‘And horrible worms,’ said Beatrice.

‘All right, girls, that will do,’ said Mrs Carter.

A maid came to bring more hot water; she had two gold teeth and the same sulky closed look as Furo the boatman, and when Maia smiled at her she did not smile back.

‘Did you bring us any presents?’ Beatrice asked, and Maia said, yes, and asked if she could get them from her case.

‘Oh, but those are made here; they’re market things,’ said the girls when she came back. ‘We want proper presents from England.’

Maia tried not to feel snubbed. Then she caught Miss Minton’s eye and said, ‘I wanted to bring some baby chicks,’ — and the twins shuddered.

‘Now, Miss Minton, if you will come with me, I will inform you of your duties,’ said Mrs Carter. ‘Beatrice and Gwendolyn will show Maia where she is to sleep.’

The Carters had built their bungalow on land which had belonged to the Indians. The main rooms faced the river: the dining room with a large oak table and button-backed chairs; the drawing room, furnished with overstuffed sofas, a marble clock and a large painting of Lady Parsons wearing a choker of pearls; and Mr Carter’s study. All the windows were covered in layers of mosquito netting and the shutters were kept partly closed so that the rooms were not only hot but dark.

From the front of the house two extensions ran back towards the forest. Maia’s room was at the end of one of these: a small bare room with a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, a wooden table. There were no pictures, no flowers. The smell of Lysol was overpowering.

‘Mama made them scrub it out three times,’ said Beatrice. ‘It used to be a storeroom.’

There was only one window, very high. But there were two doors; one which led out into the corridor, and one which was bolted.

‘Where does that door lead?’ Maia asked.

‘Out to the compound where the servants live. The Indians. You must keep it locked always. We never go out there.’

‘So how do you go outside?’ Maia asked. ‘To the river, I mean, and the forest.’

The twins looked at each other.

‘We don’t go out because it’s too hot and full of horrible animals. When we go anywhere we go in the boat to Manaus.’

‘For our dancing lesson.’

‘And our piano lesson.’

‘And you mustn’t go out either.’

Maia tried to take this in. It looked as though the Carters were pretending they were still in England.

‘The maid’ll help you to unpack,’ said Beatrice. ‘She’s stupid but it’s her job.’

‘What’s her name?’ Maia asked.

‘Tapi.’

‘Is she the one who brought hot water for tea?’

‘Yes.’

Remembering the heavy, sullen face of the woman, Maia said she could manage on her own.

‘All right. Supper’s at seven. There’s a gong.’

As they opened the door, Maia heard Mrs Carter’s voice raised loudly in the corridor. ‘Just remember this, Miss Minton: I shall always know. Always .’

The twins looked at each other and giggled. ‘She’s warning her not to remove her corset,’ they whispered. ‘Some of the other governesses tried to do it, but Mama can always tell!’

‘Oh but surely in this heat—’ began Maia, and bit off her words. She could imagine how uncomfortable those stiff, wired undergarments would be in this climate.

Supper in the dining room, under the whirr of a creaking fan, was not a cheerful meal. They ate tinned beetroot and tinned corned beef, both shipped out from England, followed by a green jelly which had not set and had to be chased over the plate with a spoon.