Alice-Miranda at Sea

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Shh.’ She raised her finger to her lips. ‘I’m hiding. Please don’t tell them I’m here.’

  Neville really hadn’t wanted to talk to her when he met her earlier and he especially didn’t want to talk to her now.

  ‘Come here.’ She waved her right hand. ‘If you hide too, then you won’t give me away.’

  Neville sniffed. He would rather have fled back to his cabin. There was a shuffling sound on the deck above and a boy’s voice.

  ‘I saw something – over there – come on, Sep,’ the boy shouted. 'I think Alice-Miranda’s up near the pool.’

  The two lads raced away and Neville, who had held his breath, let out a shallow sigh.

  ‘Come on,’ Alice-Miranda whispered again. ‘They’ll be back soon.’

  Neville clutched his case to his chest and made a dash across the open deck. He ducked in beside the girl.

  ‘Hello Neville,’ Alice-Miranda smiled at him. ‘I thought it was you. I recognised your case.’

  Neville gripped it tighter.

  ‘You must be very dedicated to your instrument,’ Alice-Miranda commented.

  Neville didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Isn’t this the most delicious party ever?’ she asked. ‘Would you like to join our game? We’re playing hide and seek and I think I might make a run for it back to “bar” in a minute. You can come too, if you want.’

  Neville shook his head.

  Alice-Miranda had a strange feeling about young Neville and his case. There was something that just didn’t feel right but now was not the time to investigate.

  ‘Oh, all right then, perhaps I’ll see you later.’ And with that Alice-Miranda stood up and sped along the open deck, up the nearest flight of steps and towards the stanchion the children had decided would be ‘home’.

  A sound like gunfire punctured the still night air and a starburst of silver rained from the sky, then another and another. Neville jumped like a startled cat. He promptly decided that he’d had enough fresh air and scurried back down to his cabin, where he changed into his pyjamas, dived into his freshly turned-down bed and fell asleep reading the latest edition of Scientific Scientist.

  Alice-Miranda and her friends had fallen into bed late that night after the delicious barbecue dinner followed by their energetic game of hide and seek. Poppy and Annie were feeling a little better and they, and almost all of Alice-Miranda’s distant cousins, had joined the group. They had even coaxed Shilly and Max to play too, until the game was interrupted by the spectacular fireworks display.

  In their suite the next morning, the girls were just beginning to stir.

  ‘Wasn’t last night wonderful?’ Alice-Miranda yawned and stretched her arms out behind her before sitting up in her bed.

  ‘Good morning.’ Millie rubbed her eyes and rolled over to face her friend. ‘Are you awake, Jacinta?’ Millie asked.

  But Jacinta’s bed was empty.

  ‘I wonder where she’s gone?’ Alice-Miranda asked. ‘I hope she’s all right.’

  There was a sharp rap at the bedroom door. It opened and Winterstone appeared. ‘Good morning, young ladies.’

  ‘Hello Mr Winterstone,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘How are you today?’

  Unaccustomed to being asked about his welfare, Winterstone was momentarily lost for words. In his job, it was usually he who did all the asking.

  ‘I am as well as can be expected for a man of my age and station,’ he replied thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, that’s good to hear,’ said Alice-Miranda.

  Winterstone drew back the heavy curtains to reveal sunlight dancing on a pond-like ocean, scattering diamonds on the azure water.

  ‘Oh, what a glorious day!’ Alice-Miranda leapt from her bed to take a closer look. Their cabin on the port side of the ship offered an excellent vista.

  ‘Have you seen Jacinta?’ Millie asked Winterstone.

  ‘Yes, miss, she passed me in the hallway and mentioned something about going for a run around the deck. Strangely, she didn’t feel the need to comment on my hair this morning,’ he said, raising his left eyebrow at Millie.

  ‘Oh, that’s good.’ Millie pushed back the covers and walked over to join Alice-Miranda by the window.

  ‘Do you know where we are, Mr Winterstone?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘Yes, I believe we are anchored off Nice. That’s the city over there beyond the beach.’

  ‘It’s so pretty!’ Alice-Miranda stared at the view. A long stretch of white sand joined the ocean to the shoreline with the buildings rising up behind.

  While the girls admired the scene outside, Winterstone opened the wardrobe and selected three outfits, laying them carefully on each girl’s bed. ‘Would you like to have breakfast in your suite or would you prefer to join your parents upstairs in the Breakfast Room?’

  ‘I think we should go and see everyone upstairs.’ Alice-Miranda spun around. ‘Oh, Mr Winterstone, you don’t have to get our clothes ready for us.’ Alice-Miranda picked up her pants and top and held them against herself. ‘But you do have a lovely eye for putting things together. I’ve never thought of wearing this green top with these pants but they look good, don’t they, Millie?’

  Millie glanced over at her. ‘Yes they do, actually,’ she replied. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’

  Winterstone retreated to the sitting room where he set about pouring three large tumblers of orange juice from a jug on the sideboard.

  Alice-Miranda followed him into the room.

  ‘I took the liberty of arranging some fresh juice for you, miss. I thought you might be thirsty.’ At which point he flicked the retractable ruler from his jacket pocket and measured three spots on the coffee table before carefully placing each glass just so.

  ‘Gosh, you are precise, Mr Winterstone,’ Alice-Miranda complimented him. ‘When we have banquets at home, Mrs Shillingsworth gets her tape measure out and makes sure that every setting is exactly the same, but that’s only when we have loads of guests. Usually it’s much more haphazard. Especially when I’m given the job of setting the table.’

  ‘It’s my training, miss.’ He covered the leftover juice in the carafe with a dainty net cloth.

  ‘Do you have a family, Mr Winterstone?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  Again, unaccustomed to being asked anything much, Winterstone hesitated. What was it about this tiny child with her huge brown eyes, Winterstone wondered to himself.

  Alice-Miranda noticed his discomfort. ‘I’m sorry. I know I ask too many questions. Anyway, I think Millie is out of the shower so I’ll run along and get ready. Thank you for the juice,’ she smiled.

  Neville Nordstrom could not remember the last time he’d enjoyed such a good sleep. The gentle motion of the ship had sent him off almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. His mind was filled with dreams, which had fractured into a thousand tiny pieces as soon as he woke up – but he felt warm inside, like after a hot chocolate on a frosty day.

  ‘Good morning, Master Neville.’ Henderson knocked and opened the bedroom door. Neville clutched the covers and drew them to his chin.

  ‘Would you like something to drink? Perhaps a glass of juice?’ the steward asked.

  Neville barely moved his head. He seemed to have the uncanny ability of shaking his eyes up and down.

  ‘Very good, sir. I’ll leave you to get dressed then.’ Henderson retreated from the room and set about preparing a tray with some juice and a shiny apple.

  He was trying hard not to judge, but the boy was quite the strangest lad he’d ever encountered. And what was his obsession with that trumpet case? Henderson had to stop himself from laughing out loud when he noticed its outline under the covers at the bottom of the bed.

  Inside the bedroom Neville waited a couple of minutes before he pushed back the covers and hopped
out of bed. He walked across the room and peered through one of the portholes. From his cabin on the starboard side of the ship all he could see was miles and miles of endless ocean. He wondered for a moment what would happen if the ship struck an iceberg. Like the Titanic. He supposed that they would all die an icy death in the sub-zero temperatures of the Atlantic.

  Dismissing the thought from his mind, Neville pulled his kit bag from the bottom of the wardrobe, opened it up and located a clean pair of underpants and his favourite yellow polo shirt. He’d caught Henderson trying to unpack his bag and managed to find enough voice to object. He wanted to have everything in one place in case he needed to leave the ship in a hurry – like in the event of an iceberg or something.

  The lad pulled on his beige trousers and sat down to put on his shoes and socks. He stared at his grubby trainers. Neville’s mother had suggested they go and buy a new pair last week but he’d told her not to worry. Now he rather wished he hadn’t put her off. In the opulence of his cabin, they looked especially shabby.

  He emerged from his bedroom hoping that Henderson would have left him some juice and gone away. But he hadn’t. Neville stood clutching his case in the doorway.

  ‘Will you be dining with your mother in the Breakfast Room this morning, sir?’ Henderson asked, holding back a grin.

  Neville shook his head. He wondered why Henderson mentioned his mother. She certainly wasn’t here.

  ‘Very well, Master Neville. Would you like me to bring you some breakfast then?’ Henderson was starting to wonder if there was really something amiss with this unfortunate kid.

  Neville moved his head ever so slightly. Henderson withdrew from the cabin and Neville sat down to look at the newspaper on the coffee table.

  On page three Neville was surprised to see a face he recognised smiling out at him. He checked the name and wondered what the article was about. He wished he’d paid more attention in his Spanish language classes – there were only a few words here and there that he understood and none of it made any sense.

  Neville checked the date on the paper. The pages didn’t feel like newsprint. And he wondered how they would get the paper out here in the middle of the ocean anyway?

  Neville thumbed through the rest of the paper, picking up the odd word here and there before flipping back to page three.

  Henderson returned with a breakfast tray laden with pancakes and maple syrup, bacon and eggs, several boxes of cereal, milk, fruit salad and more juice.

  ‘I hope everything will be to your liking, Master Neville.’ The steward sat the tray down on the small table for two which stood in an alcove at the end of the sitting room.

  Neville sat at the table and glanced warily at the steward. Henderson decided that Neville might be more comfortable attending to his own breakfast, so he moved over to the couch and began to plump the cushions. It was then that he noticed the newspaper on the coffee table.

  ‘I am sorry, sir; I’ve given you the Spanish newspaper. We have them printed from the internet and I must have picked that up by mistake. He’s a busy man.’ Henderson pointed at the photograph.

  ‘W-w-what does it say?’ Neville whispered.

  ‘Oh, he’s heading to Spain,’ Henderson replied.

  ‘W-w-when?’ Neville stammered.

  ‘I think he’s there tomorrow. A two-week tour – very unexpected – some business and then a holiday by the sea, it says.’

  Neville gulped. His eyes spun and his brain felt like it was packed tightly with cotton wool. Without warning he slumped forward and his head glanced off the corner of the cereal bowl and hit the table with a thud. A trickle of blood began to ooze from his eyebrow.

  ‘Are you all right, Master Neville?’ Henderson rushed to his side. But the poor boy was out cold.

  Alice-Miranda and Millie were seated with Millie’s parents, her grandfather Ambrose and Mrs Oliver for breakfast. Hugh and Cecelia were yet to appear. Charlotte and Lawrence were holding court at a long table with over twenty of their friends vying for the happy couple’s attention.

  Alice-Miranda had given them a wave when she and Millie had entered the room. She would catch up with them later when they weren’t quite so busy. Except that Alice-Miranda hadn’t yet found an occasion when they weren’t being mobbed by guests.

  Alice-Miranda waved to Poppy and Annie who were sitting at an adjacent table. Their mother, Lady Sarah, was still looking a little off-colour.

  ‘Gosh your mother’s cousin wears a lot of jewellery,’ Millie commented.

  ‘Mummy says Lady Sarah has one of the best collections in the world,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  ‘Those diamond earrings are enormous. I wonder if she’ll let me take a photo of her.’ Millie picked her camera up from the table.

  ‘I’m sure that the guests don’t need to be stalked by you and your camera, Millicent,’ her father tutted. ‘Please put it away for a while.’

  ‘But Dad, those earrings are the size of ping-pong balls – no one will believe me if I don’t . . .’ Millie began.

  Hamish was firm. ‘And Lady Sarah can wear earrings the size of bowling balls if she chooses – and she doesn’t need you pestering her for a picture. You are not the ship’s own paparazzo.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t think of it like that,’ Millie replied.

  Alice-Miranda giggled.

  ‘Imagine earrings the size of bowling balls. That would be like having three heads,’ Millie chuckled.

  Four waiters arrived and simultaneously deposited all manner of tasty treats in front of the hungry diners.

  ‘These look rather good,’ Ambrose McLoughlin-McTavish commented as he dug his fork into the mountain of scrambled eggs on his plate.

  ‘Yes, I must agree,’ Mrs Oliver praised.

  ‘Really?’ Alice-Miranda stared at Dolly Oliver across the table.

  ‘And why ever do you say that, young lady?’ Several rows of lines puckered on Mrs Oliver’s forehead.

  ‘Because you hate having other people cook for you. Whenever we’ve been away before, you nearly always commandeer the kitchen by the second day,’ Alice-Miranda informed the group. ‘I’m surprised you’re not downstairs.’

  There really wasn’t anything Dolly Oliver didn’t know about cooking. She’d been the Highton-Smith-Kennington-Joneses’ family cook for the past ten years and with the Highton-Smiths for another thirty years before that. Dolly was renowned for her amazing food and her incredible scientific work too. Her product, Just Add Water Freeze-Dried Foods, was being shipped around the world, making important inroads into malnutrition. But just recently, since Dolly had been reacquainted with Millie’s grandfather, Alice-Miranda had noticed a change in her. Almost as though, for the first time in her life, she was happy letting other people look after her – well just a little bit, anyway.

  ‘That’s not entirely true, young lady.’ Mrs Oliver looked over at Alice-Miranda. ‘I didn’t go near Prince Shivaji’s chef, Amir, when we were in Jaipur last year,’ she said.

  ‘Well, that’s only because he insisted on keeping a basket of spitting cobras beside the stove,’ Alice-Miranda reminded her. ‘I wasn’t going anywhere near that kitchen, either.’

  Mrs Oliver snorted and turned to the rest of the table. ‘Oh dear, I do remember that. Amir’s father was a snake charmer and he often had his son mind his serpents overnight. I was having a tour of the kitchen, wanting to learn all about the wonderful spices he was using when I got a little bit nosey and lifted the lid on the basket. You can only imagine my reaction when a full-grown cobra reared up and looked me in the eye.’

  Everyone laughed at the thought of poor Mrs Oliver and the snake.

  ‘Well, I dare you to try and get a job in the kitchen on the Octavia, Mrs Oliver,’ Millie challenged.

  ‘Why do you say that, dear?’ the old woman quizzed.

&n
bsp; ‘We met the Head Chef, Vladimir, yesterday and he’s fierce. His men are terrified of him,’ Millie reported.

  ‘What a pity,’ Mrs Oliver replied. ‘I so enjoyed that marinated lamb we had last night. I was planning to pop in and ask if he might share the recipe.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ Millie offered.

  Jacinta appeared at the entrance to the room.

  ‘Would you like to sit with your mother and father this morning, miss?’ a young crewman offered.

  ‘Are they here?’ Jacinta looked perplexed. It wasn’t at all like her mother to be out of bed before noon, let alone up and eating breakfast at the ungodly hour of 8 am.

  ‘Over there, miss.’ The young man pointed towards Hugh and Cecelia, who had slipped into the breakfast room a few minutes beforehand.

  ‘Oh, they’re not my parents,’ Jacinta felt a sharp stab deep inside her stomach.

  ‘I am terribly sorry, miss,’ the crewman replied, his cheeks turning red.

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ Jacinta whispered. ‘It’s all right, I’ll sit with my friends.’ She looked towards the adjacent table where Alice-Miranda was holding court.

  Neville’s eyes opened and he wondered for a moment where he was.

  ‘Are you all right, Master Neville?’ Henderson leaned over the boy who was lying on his back on the king-sized bed in his suite. ‘I’ve called for the doctor.’

  Neville sat up. His gaze darted around the room, like a mosquito in search of a bare limb, before he realised that his case was in fact sitting on the bed beside him.

  ‘I know you’re awfully attached to that instrument, sir, so I brought it back in for you.’

  Neville swallowed hard and managed to mumble a soft thank you.

  ‘You’re welcome. Now, how are you feeling?’

  Neville rubbed his forehead and wondered why there was a towel wrapped around his head. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what had happened.

  ‘We were just talking about J. Gatsby Grayson and then the next thing I knew you were face-down in your cereal. It was lucky I was here or you might have drowned,’ Henderson went on, exaggerating somewhat as Neville’s head had actually come to rest on the table.