The Cuckoo Tree (21 page)

Lying on the wet stone floor Dido was cold already, but Sannie's tone made her feel even colder.

"Right; back to Petworth and pick up the puppets. What about the girl; should she not be gagged?"

"No need; old Sannie put her to sleep directly."

Oh no you don't, missus, Dido thought.

"Ten minutes, then." The Colonel left.

"Open eyes, dearie! Old Sannie knows you not be asleep."

Despite her intention not to, Dido opened her eyes.

She was in a curious little octagon room, quite bare and empty. It had small windows in each of its eight walls, and an iron pillar in the middle, to which she was tied. Beyond the open door she could see weeping willows, and the river flowing. But in front of her stood Mrs. Lubbage and Tante Sannie with their four eyes fixed on her like four glittering metal skewers.

"Now, miss!" The face of Mrs. Lubbage was red and shiny and gleeful. She looked as if she had been given a splendid birthday present. "Where's Cris and Tobit? You'd
best tell us or you'll be turble sorry, I can promise ee."

"
That
I won't!" said Dido stoutly. But her heart sank at the expression on their faces.

"You like spiders?" Sannie asked softly. "You like spiders come and climb on you?"

Spiders happened to be things that Dido particularly disliked. But she shrugged, in what she hoped was an indifferent manner.

Crouched in front of Dido, wrapped in her black-and-white blanket, old Sannie looked like the Queen of the Spiders herself. She reached out a tiny, bony, furry arm, flicking her fingers sideways in front of Dido's face, and Dido felt something tickle her cheek; a thread of spiderweb had caught and attached itself crossways. With her hands tied, she could not rub it away; she moved her head, trying to dislodge it.

"Now another!" whispered Sannie, and moved her hand upward; a thread crossed Dido's eye and stuck to her eyelash.

"Now one for the other eye," chuckled Mrs. Lubbage, and drew her hand across Dido's face so that five tendrils of sticky thread, one from each finger it seemed, clutched and clung simultaneously.

"Stop it, you old witches!" Dido shouted angrily.

"Weren't it for you," crooned Mrs. Lubbage, drawing another handful of spiderwebs along Dido's cheek and around the back of her neck, "weren't it for you, Miss Fine-Airs, we'd be sailing to Tiburon on a white ship this minute. You don't like spiders, eh?"

"I don't mind 'em, I tell you."

"Oh, so you don't mind 'em, dearie? Well—before your eyes is all matted over with black webs—jest you have a look by the wall there, eh?"

By the wall there seemed to be a heaving mass of things about the size of bantams' eggs, each with a pair of tiny red eyes, all looking at Dido.

"Take your nasty little cold claw off'n the back of my neck, will you, missus Sannie?" Dido said politely, quelling a horrible heave of her heart. "Yan, Tan, Tethera," she said to herself, "Methera, Pip, Sethera, Wineberry, Wagtail, Tarrydiddle, and Den! It's all a load of hocus-pocus. There's nothing by the wall but a pile o' dead leaves."

She looked at the wall again. Were they dead leaves—or were they hairy, wicked-looking spiders, beginning to scurry silently in her direction?

She stared and stared—so hard that she did not notice the shadow in the doorway, nor hear the patter of paws on the stone floor, until Mrs. Lubbage suddenly let out a wild screech of terror, which was echoed an instant later by Sannie. The two old women sprang away from Dido and bolted for the door, jibbering and wailing—struggled in the entrance a moment, each trying to get out first—then Sannie slipped ahead, Mrs. Lubbage followed her, and they were gone.

"Well!" Dido muttered, trying to get her breath—and the spiders
were
only dead leaves—"That was sudden, but I won't say it warn't a welcome riddance. Whatever put the old besoms in sich a fright, though?"

Whatever it was had gone around to the back of her; she could hear a sniffing and snuffling close behind, and feel warmth on her hands, tied to the metal post. With some difficulty she worked her head sideways against the pillar, so as to peer out of the corner of her eye, and saw quite a large tiger, all black and yellow stripes, with a head the size of a cider barrel, and eyes that blazed like marigolds.

"Oops!" said Dido.

"Yan," Tobit asked, as the crew of the
Gentlemen's Relish
sat in the galley eating supper (brown bread and fried ducks' eggs) "why ever did the ducks kick up such a row last night? They were quacking away for over an hour. What was the trouble?"

"Well, I don't rightly know," said Yan. "I was in a rare puzzle myself about it. When I heard them kick up all the ruckus I thought there must be Bush officers a-tracking us, but Pip and I had a good sharp look-around, up the cut and down the cut, and there wasn't a soul for miles. Then it seemed as if the paddlequacks was a-fussing about summat
on
the boat, so we had a look-see all around the cargo, in case anyone had got down there that shouldn't."

"Yes," Cris said softly. "I thought it was something down in the hold that was upsetting them. I had Lady Webb and her children with me in my bunk, and they all acted the way chickens do when there's a rat in the nesting box, stealing the eggs."

"Oh well," Yan said, "maybe it was a rat. Rats never yet
took to eating orris root and eau de cologne and corkscrews, not as
I
heard of. A rat aboard won't do us much harm."

Dido was still gazing over her shoulder at the tiger, and the tiger was still sniffing thoughtfully at the back of her neck, when a huge gray shadow obscured the door and four windows of the octagon room, as if a battleship had berthed outside.

Dido heard a kind of scuffling slither, a gentle voice said, "Stand, if you please, Rachel," and a gentleman entered the room.

"Dear me," he said. "Sunflower, come here."

The tiger—Sunflower was its name, apparently—padded around, rubbed its head against the gentleman very lovingly, and sat down beside him. Dido studied him with interest. He really
was
a gentleman, she decided—as opposed to a Gentleman. He wore black small-clothes, white silk stockings, black shoes with silver buckles, a black velvet jacket, and a snowy white stock, beautifully tied. His hair, what little there was of it, was also snowy, like very clean thistledown. His face looked as if he sat indoors a good deal, reading, but the eyes behind goldrimmed pince-nez were a very clear bright blue. On one hand he wore a silver ring with a large pink stone in it.

"Dear me," he said again. "That waygoing fellow gave me to understand that there were picnickers, and he was quite right, evidently. When
will
the public learn that this is private property? Not that I mind in principle, you understand—they do little real damage beyond leaving orange peel and bits of marrowbone pie on the ground—but it is frightening for the animals to have strangers about. But people will do it—they come up the river in boats—"

Shaking his head he crossed to Dido, absently surveyed the rope that tied her to the pillar, drew from his pocket first an inkhorn, then a snuffbox, finally a small silver penknife with which he cut the cord—

"Eat their lunch in my gazebo, play ring-o'-roses in my park, and then go on without saying so much as good afternoon or thank you," he continued sadly.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Dido. "I didn't come here a-purpose. I was fetched."

She rubbed her wrists to get the stiffness out of them; then her face. There were no cobwebs on it. "My name's Dido Twite," she added.

"Lord Sope," said the gentleman.

"Soop?"

"You spell it s-o-p-e and pronounce it soup—confusing, I agree. What can I do for you, Miss Twite?"

"I suppose there ain't a dapple-gray horse outside?" she said hopefully.

He looked out, and drew his head in again to say, "Not a
horse,
not at present. You have lost a horse?"

"I was supposed to be taking an urgent message, you see, to some chaps a-going up to London. But I was stopped and tied up in here, and I spose that mardy lot have gone off with my Dapple. D'you reckon I could hire a nag at the White Hart, sir? Mister? Lord?"

"You need a horse? I could accommodate you with one I imagine—I am almost certain I have a horse."

Dido stood up, and nearly fell down again from weakness. It suddenly seemed a terribly long time since her last bowl of soup at The Fighting Cocks. Yesterday? The day before?

"You are a little enfeebled," said Lord Sope. "Allow me." He took her arm and piloted her from the gazebo, the tiger padding behind them. Just outside stood an elephant, with a kind of opera box on its back, from which dangled a rope ladder made of red silk cord.

"After you, Miss Twite."

Rather shakily, Dido climbed the rope ladder and sat on one of the red velvet chairs. Lord Sope followed and took his place beside her.

"Home, if you please, Rachel," he said. The elephant started, at a deceptively smooth stroll which carried them rapidly across an open grassy park to a handsome gray stone mansion. On the way Dido observed a couple of giraffes, a small group of zebra, and a lynx rolling about on its back and playing with some dead leaves, watched in a vaguely puzzled manner by a flock of sheep.

"Doesn't some of 'em chase the others?" asked Dido.

"I teach them not to, of course," Lord Sope replied.

The elephant reached the house by climbing on to a terrace.

"Just wait outside here a short time if you please, Rachel," Lord Sope instructed it, and politely assisted Dido down the ladder.

Passing through a pair of french windows into a library, he took down a speaking tube from a hook on the wall, said into it, "Lunch, if you please, Diggens," and replaced it.

"Pray sit down," he said to Dido, "and excuse me one moment."

Left alone in the library, Dido gazed rather blankly at the leather and gilt volumes, and the numerous paintings of wild animals that covered the walls. She felt tired, and hungry, and sad. Too much had been happening; she was suddenly shaken by a small, dry sob.

"I wisht Pa hadn't gone off like that and left me," she thought.

Lord Sope returned, followed almost immediately by a footman in a beautifully powdered wig, who arranged dishes on two small tables beside Dido and his master, and then withdrew.

"Frumenty," said Lord Sope. "And I think this note must be for you: the waygoing character who told me about the picnickers left it."

The note, simply addressed to DIDO, said, "Dear Daughter, maybe you were right. Things is somewhat Sticky, so I am going to Cut and Run. If I was you, I would
do Similar. But I reckon you will be Alright; you always was a Clever Chick. See you some Turpentine Sunday. Your loving Pa."

Frumenty seemed to be a kind of porridge made with wine and spice; after two spoonfuls Dido felt wonderfully better. It was followed by apple pie, with cheese, and a jam-lined omelet, which was very good but difficult to eat politely.

"Now—you say you require to go to London quite fast?" said Lord Sope, removing his jammy stock, throwing it into the fire, and receiving a clean one from the footman who had come back to clear away the dishes.

"Yes. It's to do with the coronation. An urgent message may have gone astray," Dido explained, licking a blob of jam off her elbow.

"In that case, without a doubt, the best thing I can do is to put Rachel at your disposal. She is quicker than any horse, and very reliable. Also, she is well acquainted with the route, for I nearly always take her when I go up to my club."

"Croopus; I mean—that's ever so kind of you, mister—lord. Will she go for me, d'you reckon?"

"She is particularly partial to being ridden by a young female."

"I need to call at three pubs on the way—the Rose, the Ring o' Bells, and the Rising Sun."

"There will be no difficulty about that. Rachel is quite accustomed to wait for me outside places of refreshment. In fact she will stop automatically at such places."

"Well, I
am
obliged to you, sir—lord," said Dido. "If you really means it, I'd best be on my way directly. Oh—please can you tell me what day it is?"

"It is Monday, Miss Twite. You do not wish to wait for the two old ladies whom I observed making off at some speed as I approached the gazebo?"

"No, thank you, lord. They wasn't really friends." She put Mr. Twite's note in her pocket and went out on to the terrace, where the wigged footman was just descending the red cord ladder after placing a hamper in the box seat on top.

"I thought you might be glad of a few provisions on the way," Lord Sope explained. "I usually reckon that it takes nine or ten hours to reach London—with the usual pauses for refreshment, of course. Now, Rachel, you are to stop at the Rose, the Ring of Bells, and the Rising Sun—and anywhere else the young lady requires, naturally. Is that perfectly clear? Capital. Allow me, Miss Twite."

He helped her up the ladder.

"I'm
ever
so obliged," Dido said again. "I'll bring her back directly after the coronation."

"Such a lot of extravagant fuss and display," sighed Lord Sope. "Still, kings have to be crowned, I understand. On your way, Rachel."

He raised his hand in farewell, Dido settled herself in the red velvet seat, and Rachel rolled off smoothly across the park.

It was plain that when Lord Sope and Rachel went to London, they followed a direct, cross-country route;
Rachel ambled through fields and woods, over streams and rivers, by copses and commons, but seldom went near a road. Presently it began to rain; Dido discovered that various capes and covers were provided against this contingency, waterproof on the outside, lined with camel fur. She wrapped herself up snugly and, lulled by Rachel's smooth-flowing motion, went to sleep.

An hour or so later she woke because Rachel had stopped. Night, she found, had fallen; they were halted outside a small, cheerful-looking public house situated by a canal lock; its sign, illuminated by a lantern, showed a red rose.

"Crumble me—thanks, Rachel," muttered Dido, yawning and scrambling to her feet. "I'd never awoken if you hadn't stopped. Just hang on a minute, will you, while I pop in and inquire."