The Cuckoo Tree (12 page)

In a minute she heard a familiar voice.

"Arternoon, maidy! Larmentable thick weather, 'tis!"

"Right fretful," Dido agreed politely.

The speaker was a well-set-up young fellow in a shepherd's smock; he had curly dark hair, cut rather short, a brown weathered complexion, and very bright observant brown eyes; he gave Dido a friendly grin and jerked his head, indicating that she should follow him in an inconspicuous manner. Everyone's attention was fixed on the cockfight, now starting, so they slipped away. He did not lead her back into the street; they went up a flight of steps from the alley into a big, bare, barnlike upper chamber, where there were two or three long trestle tables and a quantity of benches and stools.

"'Tis the inn banquet hall, Yan explained. "My uncle Jarge, he owns the inn. There'll be grand junketings here, come Coronation Day."

He sat down on a stool and Dido perched on another; she noticed that he smelt powerfully of clove pinks and orange blossom.

"It be the perfume," he explained apologetically, noticing her sniff. "Do what us may,
some
of it leaks out. And the mischief is that they Bush officers are training special
hounds, now, to goo arter it; like truffle hounds they be."

"Couldn't you disguise it with onions or summat? Or strew pepper, to go up their noses?"

"Pepper costs terrible dear, lovie; but 'tisn't a bad notion. I can see my old gaffer's right—a nim, trustable little maid you be. So now, how can us Wineberry Men help ee?"

One look at Yan Wineberry in daylight had assured Dido that here was the right person to help her; she explained that she needed a letter taken to the First Lord of the Admiralty.

"Oh, no trouble about
that,
my duck. Us takes grog to old Lord Forecastle regular. Next trip Sunday night. He'll get it Tuesday maybe, Wednesday for sartin."

"Not before?"

"Us travels slow, you see, love; for one thing it 'on't do to joggle the grog, the old Crozier of Winchester created turble one time when the sediment got shook up in his pipe o' port wine; then there's deliveries along the way—us has a private way, slow and sure, what the Bush officers don't know about."

"Oh well, guess the Cap'll be agreeable, so it's Wednesday for sure. Could you come and see my old Cap? Just so he'll feel easy about it?"

"I'll need to wait till arter dark, then, lovie. I'll come Saturday night—Dog kennel Cottages, ben't it? Owd Mis' Lubbage, therealong, be a terrible untrustworthy woman, no friend o' mine. Dunked in Black Pond she'd a bin, long
agone, done she hadn't bin so thick wi' the Preventives and the Hanoverians."

"What are the Hanoverians doing mixed up with the Preventives?" Dido asked, puzzled. "I thought as how the Preventives were government revenue officers? And the Hanoverians are
agin
the government, surely? My pa used to be one; he was in a plot to blow up Battersea Castle; but he got found out and run off and no one's seen him since."

"Oh, it be simple enough," Yan said. "Nobody likes the Preventives—always clapping gurt dratted taxes on grog and twistycorks that honest folk has taken trouble to fetch over from France; and nobody likes the Hanoverians either, alius a-trying to blow up poor old King Jamie, and now his son, that's a-going to be Dick Four. So as nobody liked
either
lot, they just nature-ally set up together."

"I see. Now, how about the letter—will I give it you tomorrow night?"

"That'll be best," he agreed. "Now—if you wants to get in touch with me afore then—do ee know the Cuckoo Tree?"

"Yes I do."

"Well, if you wants me, just ee stick a twistycork in the Cuckoo Tree trunk and come back there the next noon or midnight arter—someone'll meet ee. Right?"

"Right."

"Us'd best leave by onesomes—I'll goo first and when you hear me whistle, you follow."

He gave her ear a friendly tweak and slipped down the
narrow steps, quieter than a shadow. Dido waited until she heard his soft all-clear whistle from the street, then silently followed him.

Even more silently, when she had gone, a tiny figure unfolded itself from under one of the trestle tables and stole away in a different direction: Tante Sannie, aged, bent, frail as a bunch of cobwebs, quick as a spider.

Dido went back to Godwit & Son, Ironmongers & Conspirators. Mr. Godwit had the crutches ready, neatly tied up with cord so that she could sling them on her back. She paid, and was leaving his shop when she heard a disturbance from the upper end of the square, where Miles Mystery had his Mysterious Mannikins. People were shouting, "Stop thief!" and a portion of the crowd had broken away and was racing up a small cobbled lane that led in the direction of the church.

"What's it about?" Dido asked a fat man.

"Some lad nicked a couple o' goldfish off of the goldfish stall. Got caught red-handed—or rather, wet-pocketed," the man said, with a loud laugh at his own wit. "They're arter him now—they'll catch him soon enough." Too fat to run himself, he filled his lungs with air and shouted, "Stop thief! Catch the pesky ragamuffin. Stop thief!"

By now all the upper portion of the square had emptied; Mr. Mystery's theatre was empty and unattended. Dido took the opportunity for a quick examination of the puppets, which had been left, lolling and lifeless, on the stage. "They ain't bad," she thought critically, "but they're no better than what Pa used to make, when I was little."

She turned back in the direction of Middle Street; the ground hereabouts was white with the little twists of paper in which Joobie nuts had been wrapped. Suddenly her eye was caught by something familiar in the look of one of them: she picked it up and read her own handwriting: "Dere Simon. I doo hop yore ... I am all rug ... an hadd Grate Times." The paper had been torn into four; scuffling with her foot she found another piece. So much for the shravey Jem! No wonder her letter had not been answered. It had traveled no farther than Petworth Square. But how had it come to be wrapped around a packet of Joobie nuts?

"I jist hope Yan, Tan, and co are a bit more trustable," she thought, greatly cast down by this discovery.

She walked on feeling thoroughly uneasy, she could not think why. After all there was no reason to suppose that the boy who had stolen the goldfish—

But as she reached the top of New Street the hue and cry, which had swung in a circle around past the church and back toward the center of the town, came surging in her direction.

Ahead of the crowd, but only just, she was horrified to see Tobit, gasping and wild-eyed. Half a dozen yards from Dido he tripped and fell, as a tall man sprang forward and tackled him.

"Got the little varmint!" shouted the crowd.

Tobit was on his feet again, fighting frenziedly.

"I didn't take it, I tell you I didn't!"

"Ah, how did it come to be in your pocket, then? Why did you run off?"

"Little Tommy Tittlemouse
Went to the skittle-show
Lined his breeches
With other men's fishes!"

somebody sang derisively.

"Someone must have slipped it in my pocket."

"A likely tale! Tell that to the magistrate!"

A constabulary officer, conspicuous with his truncheon and top hat, was making his way through the crowd.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Why, it was I-like this, officer," said the man who had caught Tobit. Dido studied him curiously. He was very tall, very thin, with a long, flat face, not ill-looking but very yellow in complexion; his hair was dusty dark and his eyes, big, yellowish-gray, and slanting, were strangely like those of a goat. Dido noticed that his hands, though they retained a vicelike grip on Tobit, shook all the time; it seemed that he could not control their shaking. "I r-run the m-mannikin show in the square—Mr. M-Mystery, you know. I was just coming to the end of my M-Miller's Daughter play when, I-looking out at the crowd through a slit in the curtain, I s-saw this boy steal a couple of g-goldfish from the next stall and slip them into his p-pocket."

"That's a lie!" shouted Tobit. "I never did any such thing! Why, if I wanted, I could easily buy a goldfish—I've plenty of cash."

He brought out a handful as proof—it was wet, and bits of pig's bladder were mixed up with it.

"Stole the money too, like as not," somebody commented.

"Did anybody else witness this?" the constable asked.

"Yes, I did!" Somebody was shouldering his way to the front of the crowd; Dido was shocked to recognize Frill the footman. "With my own eyes I saw him," Frill went on sorrowfully. "Oh, Mas'r Tobit, how could ee do such a thing, boy, bringing down your poor old grandma's white hairs?"

"I never did, I tell you! Someone must have planted it on me."

"He's right!" said Dido, angrily coming forward. "It's all a plot against him, so he'll be sent to prison and won't come into his luck-piece.
You
know that," she said accusingly to Frill. "I bet your tale's naught but a pack o' lies." He gazed at her as if he had never laid eyes on her before.

"Oh, and did
you
see the occurrence, miss?" said the officer.

"Well, no, I didn't, but—"

"Just a-wanting to keep your playmate out o' trouble, eh? Well, my advice to you, maidy, is, don't poke your liddle nose into matters as don't consarn you, or you'll be in trouble too. Come along you," he said sharply, grabbing Tobit's arm. "We'll see if a night in the stone jug'll cool you down and make you more biddable—then tomorrow you'll go afore the beak."

The crowd followed as he hurried Tobit away. Frill and Mr. Mystery strode alongside.

Dido started after, but a hand on her arm checked her.

"You'll never do no good that way, lovie," said a warning voice. "Best not get imbrangled."

She looked up into the eyes of Yan Wineberry.

"But it was all a put-up job—" she began indignantly.

"Whisht! O' course it was. That Amos Frill is as crooked as one o' my twistycorks. But no sense in making a potheration now, or what'll come of it? You'll be run in too, for nabbling at a constable in pursoot o' his dooty."

"What'll I do then?"

"Best tell old Lady Tegleaze first. The magistrate's a friend o' hers—old Sir Fritz FitzPickwick. Reckon she'll be able to put matters right wi' him."

"D'you reckon so?" Dido said doubtfully. "What if that don't work?"

"If that don't work us Wineberry Men'll see what we can do."

Somewhat comforted by this assurance, Dido fetched out her nag, mounted him from the steps in front of The Fighting Cocks Inn, and made for home as fast as possible. But Dapple had no great turn of speed, and as she passed through Duncton in the misty twilight she was overtaken by a trap bowling rapidly along. It was driven by Frill, who passed her without a sign of recognition; the trap's other passenger, bundled up like a sackful of shadows, was not visible to Dido.

"Blame it!" she thought. "Now he'll get home first and tell his tale."

She delivered the crutches to Captain Hughes, who was delighted with them, gave him a hasty summary of the
afternoon's events, including the satisfactory interview with Yan Wineberry, and explained that she must hurry on to Tegleaze Manor.

"That you must," agreed the Captain. "Not a doubt but the boy's been framed, by the sound of it; makes one's blood boil. Why, when I think how I'd feel if my own boy, Owen, got into such a fix—I've a good mind to come along with you and talk to this Lady Tegleaze."

However his indignation and the effort of attempting to leave his bed made his head swim so badly that Dido was alarmed and begged him not to overexert himself.

She prepared him a hasty meal, explained her intentions to Mr. Firkin, who promised to keep the Captain company and, observing that Mrs. Lubbage's house was in darkness, remounted the dismayed Dapple and continued on her way.

As she neared Tegleaze Manor she saw one faint glimmer of light in an upstairs window, and when she pounded on the door, Gusset presently appeared with a candle.

"Oh, Missie Dwighto Tide!" he exclaimed dolefully. "There be desprit tidings of Mas'r Tobit—caught a poaching goldyfishes and clapped in clink!"

"I know, I was there! But it's all a pack o' lies, you know, Mister Gusset—he didn't do it." As she said this, though, a sudden doubt assailed her. Tobit was such an unaccountable, impulsive boy—supposing he had done it? But no, why should he? "I've come to tell Lady Tegleaze the truth," she went on stoutly.

"Oh, that's good, that's good, Missie Dide—I'll take ee
to her directly," Gusset quavered, and escorted her upstairs so slowly and shakily that he scattered great drops of candle grease on every step.

In Lady Tegleaze's dim, dusty bedroom, Dido found a conclave assembled. Frill was there, looking thoroughly hypocritical; the corners of his mouth were turned down as far as they would go, and his hair had been parted in the middle with a wet comb. Dr. Subito was there with a finger on the pulse of Lady Tegleaze, who lay on a couch looking pale and haggard; Sannie, wielding a large ostrich-feather fan; old Cousin Wilfred in his dressing gown, holding a bottle of smelling salts and looking somewhat bewildered; Pelmett stood with an untouched plateful of nut cutlets; and another member of the group, greatly to Dido's astonishment, was Mrs. Lubbage, whose solemn expression did not disguise a gleam of excitement and malice in her twinkling little eyes. Tobit's big white dog Lion had crept in and was lying in the middle of the room with his head on his paws, flattened out, like a thick white fur rug; every now and then he let out a mournful whimper.

"Who is
that?
" demanded Lady Tegleaze as Dido entered; then, recognizing her, added fretfully, "Why, it's that quarantine child who forced her way in once before. I daresay she began all the trouble, putting ideas in the boy's head. Tell her to be off, Subito; she is not wanted, specially at such a time as this."

"But my lady," pleaded Gusset, "she be come about Mas'r Tobit; says as how it be all a pack of lies that he took the fish."

"Nonsense, man! Frill himself saw the incident. A devoted family servant would hardly lie, would he? Oh! to think I should have to suffer such a blow. My own grandson convicted of poaching, three days before his coming of age. Such a vulgar crime, too. It is crushing—entirely crushing."