Night Birds On Nantucket (19 page)

Pen was now in terror lest Aunt Tribulation observe the damp state of the rocket or should take it into her
head to wind the clock. Fortunately she did neither of these things, but went upstairs. Seizing the chance Pen slipped out of the house, first cautiously reconnoitring to make sure that Mr Slighcarp had gone. He was visible in the distance, walking down the track to Sankaty at a great pace. Pen re-entered the house, making as much noise as possible, took a deep breath, and called up the stairs:

‘Aunt? Aunt Tribulation? Are you there?'

‘Penitence? Is that you?'

Aunt Tribulation – somehow Pen could not think of her as Miss Slighcarp – came downstairs, looking grim. To Pen's alarm she had exchanged her usual gingham for a black silk dress and a black, fringed shawl. She carried an awe-inspiring bonnet ornamented with small jet tombstones. She wore bottle-green boots.

‘Well!' she said. ‘What have you to say for yourself, miss? Where have you been all day? And where is your father?'

‘With Doctor Mayhew, ma'am, watching the pink whale. You were asleep when we left – we did not like to disturb you. Doctor Mayhew is keeping Papa on the shore a little longer but they – they thought I should come home. Is Dido not back yet?'

‘You can see she is not,' Aunt Tribulation remarked severely. ‘Well, child, don't stand gaping – there are plenty of tasks to be done. What's the matter?'

‘You are so fine, Aunt!'

‘I shall be going out by and by,' Aunt Tribulation said carelessly. ‘Hurry now – feed the animals and make some supper.'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

As Pen fed the pigs and hens she was filled with anxious calculations. If Aunt Tribulation did not go off to fire the gun till midnight, that was excellent, for it should give Nate and the Professor ample time to secure the rope, and for the pink whale to do her part. But what would happen when Mr Slighcarp returned to Sankaty lighthouse and found the captives had escaped? Almost certainly he would let off his rocket and Aunt Tribulation, alerted, would start out to fire the gun much earlier. Could she somehow be prevented from hearing or seeing the rocket? Pen hurried back to the house, leaving half the pigs screaming with rage because they had not been fed.

Aunt Tribulation was seated in the kitchen rocker, grimly swaying back and forth while she stared straight ahead; from the expression on her face she might have been enjoying the spectacle of St James's Palace blowing sky-high. Pen began clanking pots and pans, putting bacon to hiss and splutter in a skillet, pounding sugar to break up the lumps.

‘Don't make such a noise, child,' Aunt Tribulation said. ‘I can't hear myself think. No, don't draw the curtains yet, it is too stuffy, and not quite dark, leave them.'

Reluctantly, Pen obeyed. She served Aunt Tribulation a large bowl of chowder and, taking some herself, began to eat it noisily.

‘Don't gulp so, miss! You sound like a pig. And, talking about pigs, why are they squealing? I don't believe you can have fed them properly. Go and give them more to eat.'

While Pen was outside there was a short, sharp report
from the direction of Quidnet. A twisting snake of green light shot into the twilit sky and fell, scattering sparks. Oh my goodness! thought Pen. She hurried indoors.

Aunt Tribulation was hastily putting on her bonnet.

‘Oh, please, Aunt, where are you going?'

‘It's none of your business, miss. Mind you wash the dishes now.'

‘Oh, but please – before you go – I want to ask you how to make wedding-cake –'

‘Have you gone
mad
, child? Pass my umbrella – there, by the flour crock.'

‘I mean,' said poor Pen. ‘Not wedding-cake, I mean, please, would you give me some advice about my sampler? I should so like to do the sails in satin-stitch, but I do not know how. Would you be so kind as to show me, and then I can sew it after I have finished the dishes?'

Aunt Tribulation looked at her narrowly. ‘What's all this about? Wedding-cake – samplers –
are you concealing something from me, Penitence
?'

‘N-n-no, Aunt!'

Aunt Tribulation took a menacing step towards Pen, who winced back. But just at that moment the clock struck the half hour. Aunt Tribulation appeared to recollect that time was too short for questions.

‘Make haste then,' she said. ‘Fetch the sampler.'

Relieved, Pen ran up to her room, unaware that Aunt Tribulation followed behind with swift, silent steps. As Pen knelt to take the canvas from its tissue in her bottom drawer, she heard the key turn in her door. She had been locked in.

Darting to the window she saw Aunt Tribulation
walk into the yard and attempt to let off the damp rocket. After some struggles and furious exclamations, she finally abandoned the attempt. Putting the bundle of matches in her reticule, she set off with rapid strides for the forest.

‘Be-e-e-eh!' bleated Dido in Nate's ear. ‘Hallo! All rug?'

‘Nearly done!' he whispered. ‘We made fast, the prof's just taking a last look. I think he can't hardly bear to say goodbye to his gun. It was lucky we'd covered the rope with leaves and bits o' brush as we went – we'd hardly finished when two of those deadbeats came sloping past going towards Sankaty; on their way to drop our poor bodies over the cliff, I reckon. Wonder what they'll do when they find we're gone?'

‘Get lickety-spit to blazes outa there I should think,' guessed Dido.

She added uneasily, ‘Hope they don't run up agin Cap'n Casket and the doc, though. Here's old man Breadno. All hunkydory, professor?'

‘Ja. Is fastmakingness,' he said sadly.

‘Then we'd better be fast making tracks. Give the signal, Nate.'

Nate gave two vigorous tugs on the rope, to indicate to Doctor Mayhew and the captain at the other end that the gun was now attached.

‘Now, scarper, cullies – follow me!' Dido said. ‘We want to be well away from the rope after they fix it to old Rosie, or we're liable to have our feet scorched from under us. But keep low.'

Crouching under their sheepskins they hurried over the scrubby ground as fast as they dared to the hollow
where Dido had left the mule-cart. Just as Nate was untying Mungo they were surprised by the report of a rocket, and its green light climbing up the sky illuminated their startled faces as they stared at one another.

‘D'you suppose that's
them
?'

‘Dunno, but whatever it is, we'd best hurry,' Dido muttered. ‘Give Mungo a prod, Nate.' They scrambled into the cart and Mungo, who was not used to rockets, bolted away down the track towards Sankaty. They could see the lighthouse beam clear ahead of them.

‘Shouldn't be far now,' Dido said. ‘Wonder when old Rosie will start? They seem to be taking a pesky long time tying the rope to her tail. Oh,
Nate
– s'pose she acts up and won't have it, and skaddles off out o' reach?'

‘Nonsense,' he said more stoutly than he felt. ‘She'll do anything for Cap'n Casket, eat outa his hand.'

Just before they reached the lighthouse they heard a choking, panting voice which called to them from the side of the road.

‘Dido! Nate! Is that you? Oh, stop, please stop, it's Pen!'

‘Why, Penny!' Dido jumped out of the cart and lifted her in. ‘Are you all right, Pen? What's happened?'

‘She – Aunt Trib – she's started for the forest –' gasped Penitence. ‘I can't – couldn't – stop her –' She had run so far and fast that her chest was heaving painfully; she pressed both hands against it but could not speak for several moments. ‘Climbed out to tell you –' she got out presently – ‘rocket – meant – fire –'

‘Oh, poison,' Dido said. ‘That rocket was their signal, you mean?'

Pen nodded, gulping in air. The others exchanged glances of dismay at this confirmation of their fears. ‘So, any minute now –' said Dido. ‘Croopus, what in tarnation's Cap'n Casket –'

But as she spoke her words were drowned by a vast, prolonged, ear-shattering bellow that seemed to make even the lighthouse tremble to its foundations. They heard the rope twang like a banjo-string as the slack was suddenly drawn up. They heard a shrill whistling hiss, like the whine of wind in rigging, as the rope flew over the uneven ground, cutting through sand, slicing off shrubs and sea-grass. They heard a wild shout of warning from the dory, which came in sight at this moment, Captain Casket and Doctor Mayhew rowing frantically for land. The tide was full and the waves struck at the very foot of the cliff.

‘Great candles!' cried Dido. ‘There she goes!'

As they strained their eyes seawards they had an instant's glimpse of the pink whale flashing across the lighthouse beam, half out of the water, arrow-straight and wild-eyed, with her flukes streaming behind her like pennants. Then she was gone, into the dark, heading north.

‘Oh
dear
!' said Pen. ‘I didn't think she'd like it! Supposing she doesn't forgive us and never comes back? Poor Papa will break his heart.'

‘Don't let's worry about
that
yet,' said Dido. ‘He can go arter her when things has calmed down and feed her some cream buns or corn-dodgers – the main thing is, now, will the rope hold? And where's Auntie Trib?'

Two minutes later her questions were to be dramatically answered.

With a low rumbling, which increased as it approached to a clamorous clattering din, the huge gun rattled into sight, lurching over the rough ground on its innumerable pairs of wheels, tipping and swaying like a log in a torrent but, by a miracle, remaining upright. ‘Look,
look
!' gasped Penitence. ‘There's somebody on it!'

The light from the rising moon showed a wild figure clinging to the gun-carriage – Aunt Tribulation, astride the chassis, mad with rage, fiercely striking match after match on the breech in a last relentless effort to fire the gun as it was dragged along. Not one of the wet matches would light.

‘She'll be over the cliff if she don't take care!' Nate exclaimed.

Aunt Tribulation heard him. Observing for the first
time how near to the sea the gun had been dragged in its headlong course she abandoned the matches and flung them from her with a curse. Shaking her fist at the party on the cart, screaming imprecations, she leapt with frantic agility up on to the breech itself, and ran, balancing like a tightrope walker, along the barrel of the gun.

‘She's got a knife!' cried Nate.

‘She's going to cut the rope!'

‘She'll never do it!'

‘Yes she will, by thunder!'

But even as she sawed furiously at the tough five-inch manila rope there came a last crazy lurch of the gun; the muzzle dropped, the breech reared up into the sky and remained poised for an instant on the edge of the cliff – then the gun and its wild rider plunged over and down, disappearing without a sound into the white foam below.

DIDO WOKE SUDDENLY,
and lay blinking in astonishment, not quite sure where she was. The sun was blazing in at the window, and somebody was perched on her chest, repeating over and over again in a patient voice:

‘Your ladyship's bath is growing cold.'

‘Mr
Jenkins
!' Dido exclaimed, coming to with a jerk. ‘Why, you funny old bird, how did you get here? Is the
Sarah Casket
in port, then?'

‘Your Grace's wig needs a little powder,' Mr Jenkins replied. Dido jumped out of bed and began dressing. ‘Wake up, Penny!' she said, thumping the mounds of quilts on the other side of the bed. ‘Look who's here! Wake up, we've got visitors to cook breakfast for!'

But when they hurried downstairs they found that the visitors were already doing for themselves. Nate had been out feeding the pigs, Professor Breadno wandered in with a hatful of eggs and a heron feather, while Doctor Mayhew was scientifically thumping away at a bowl of beaten biscuit mixture.

‘Look who's come!' Dido cried. Mr Jenkins left her shoulder where he had been sitting, and launched himself like a loving rocket at Nate's head, crying, ‘Oh, your Excellency, I am afraid your sword has got caught in the carriage door.'

Captain Casket's eyes lit up. He had been sitting in the rocker, looking a little sad and downcast, the only member of the party to do so; but now he brightened. ‘Why, Nate! Thy bird has come back to thee! That must surely mean that the
Sarah Casket
has returned. We must set off for Nantucket town at once.'

‘Ay, that we must,' Doctor Mayhew said. ‘My patients will be wondering if I've gone underground. And there is much to organize – a service of thanksgiving for having been saved from Atlantic City, and a civic banquet for our noble preservers –' He chucked Pen under the chin, pulled Dido's ear, and tweaked a lock of Nate's red hair. ‘Then we must send a warning about the
Dark Diamond
to the British navy. Those miscreants must be caught.'