The Cuckoo Tree (26 page)

"Dere Yan, Were stuk in Sint Palls. Things is disey. Can yoo tell Home Seek to see Sint Palls is tide down tite as quik as poss. Then slope allong here fast for Them Hanno Veerins is agwine to Brake loose enny minnit. luv Dido.

"P. S. His Majesty sez this is troo."

"You sign it too, sir, then he can show it to Lord Raven and Sir Percy."

So the king signed Dido's letter, which was then, with the note about rope to Lord Forecastle, and the five passes, and a note from the Dean to Lord Raven asking that no more people be allowed into the cathedral, all placed together in an outer covering addressed to Mrs. Grissie Gusset, 4 Wardrobe Court, One ginny reward to him as Delivers this, and Dido's last guinea was enclosed, since neither the king nor the Dean had any money on them. The whole package was securely tied to the lump of stone.

"The foot of Saint Erconwald! The only piece of his
tomb left!" lamented the Dean.

"Wheesht, man! Ye'll get it back."

"Now, where's the best place to send it from?" Dido asked Tobit.

"Higher up."

So the whole party left the north gallery.

"Your Majesty had best remain out of sight," remonstrated the Dean; but the king said, havers, this was the daftest ploy he'd been engaged in since he was a sackless callant, and naething would gar him miss any o' the whim-whams.

They had to pass around the circular gallery in order to reach the southwest tower, which Tobit reckoned would be the best spot for his purpose.

Looking down over the balustrade into the nave, Dido let out a groan.

"Confizzle it! They're a-setting up that blessed theatre. Us'd best make haste."

"In my north aisle!" said the Dean, outraged. "Wait till I go and—"

"No, your Reverence! We
dassn't
start a row! Feel how the place sways."

The motion was even more noticeable now, and sometimes, when there was a sudden shift in the crowd below, the cathedral bells could be heard faintly jangling in the north tower.

"The rollers are uneven sizes," Tobit said. "I heard FitzPickwick complaining that Godwit had cast them in small batches and they were all different."

"The skrimping skellums," muttered King Richard.

They hastened on to the south tower, climbed up a steep, narrow spiral stair, past the works of the cathedral clock with its three massive bells, Great Tom, Great Paul, and Great Fred, on, up, to a high outer gallery from which half London could be seen, smoky and twinkling in the clear frosty twilight.

"By my certie," said the king, "yon's a braw parochine! Where do you aim, laddie?"

"Down yonder." Tobit showed him the tiny oblong of Wardrobe Court, easily to be recognized by its two plane trees. He inserted the stone foot of Saint Erconwald, with message attached, into his sling, took careful aim, and let fly. The projectile whirled away, soaring over the churchyard, over the rooftops, dropped, and was lost to view.

"Send it lands on the planestanes, and disna smash some citizen's losen-glass!" said the king anxiously.

They waited, peering, straining their eyes. One minute went by—two—five—seven.

"If there's no one about in Wardrobe Court," Dido muttered.

"If it lodged in a tree—fell in a window box—" Cris worried.

But then suddenly a figure appeared on the roof of a house that must, surely, be on the south side of Wardrobe Court. The light was too dim and he was too far off to be recognized, but he carried a long pole attached to the end of which was, without any shadow of doubt, Aunt Grissie's red chenille tablecloth. He waved the pole once, twice,
three times, and the watchers on the tower let out a unanimous gasp of joy and relief.

"Though dear knows we're nae oot o' the wanchancie business yet," remarked the king, as they retraced their steps down the spiral stair. "Let's see what yon skytes are abune the noo."

When they returned to the gallery and looked down they could see that a change had taken place in the random shifting and drifting motion of the great crowd assembled below. The crowd's attention was now focused on the puppet theatre which a figure in black fur, wearing a mask, had almost finished erecting in the north transept. Dido stared fixedly at this character. From his height she guessed him to be Colonel FitzPickwick—or was it Mystery come back? She could not be certain.

There was an upheaval going on in the crowd. People were pressing and massing in front of the theatre. With another fourteen long hours before the coronation ceremonies would begin, any promise of distraction was welcome as water in the desert.

Evidently this commotion did not suit the puppeteer's purpose, for he could be seen to send out a sharp message; presumably that no performance was to be expected for a long time yet; a disappointed ripple passed through the crowd, which eddied back.

"Forbye, they're growing fretful and capernoited," muttered the king, knitting his brows. "Where be your laddies wi' the cakes, Dean?"

"There they go." The Dean pointed downward to where
a dozen choirboys in white surplices could be seen threading their way among the crowd, each carrying a big silver tray heaped high with macaroons. These were handed out liberally, and eagerly received; for the moment the puppet theatre was forgotten. Plainly this development did not meet with the puppet master's approval; he consulted with two shorter assistants, also masked—were they Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage?

"What'll they do?" Dido wondered. "They're as stuck as we are; they dassn't start a performance too soon."

At this moment, however, King Richard solved the puppeteers' problem, while adding greatly to that of his own supporters. Observing the giant necklace of citrus fruit that hung in swags around the balustrade, he reached down with his penknife to remove an orange and, by mischance, cut right through the cord; the entire necklace of fruit went cascading down on to the crowd in the nave, who naturally looked up to see what had caused this rain of oranges and lemons.

A great gasping murmur went up!

"The King! Granny, look, 'tis His Highness! Ma! look up there, it's His Majesty's own self!"

"Sir!" exclaimed Dido. "Duck! Don't let the Hanoverians see you!"

Too late! Plainly the puppet master and his two assistants had discovered the king's presence. Full of excitement and purpose, they were bustling about their theatre. And some smaller assistants were now making their way up
and down the nave carrying trays full of what were presumably Joobie nuts.

"Oh, croopus," Dido said. "Sir, you'll have to talk to the people. Now the Hanoverians know you're here I reckon it don't make much odds."

"I am e'en o' the same mind," agreed the king and, leaning over the balustrade, he called, in a voice that, though not particularly loud, was remarkably clear and carrying:

"Friends! Will ye leesten tae me a meenit? This is yer ain appointit king, Davie Jamie Charlie Neddie Geordie Harry Dick Tudor-Stuart, wishfu' tae hae a crack wi' ye. I came tae spend the nicht here, in seerious meditation afore being crownit tomorrow, and blythe I am tae see sae mony o' ye keeping me company. But, friends, I maun warn ye. There's unfriends amang us too."

"For
mussy's
sake, sir, don't mention the rollers!" Dido whispered urgently in his ear. "It'd start a panic—they'd all helter-skelter for the doors. It'd be murder!"

King Richard nodded reassuringly, while continuing to address the crowd.

"These unfriends, wha I willna scruple tae ca' by their richtfu' name, which is Hanoverians, are aboot tae gang aroond, offering ye nuts.
Dinna eat yon nuts!
They are a kind of poison, they will mak' ye sick, and in your sickness ye will see ghosties and hobgoblins and deil kens what! Drop the nuts on the floor, wamp them under foot!"

"No, no! Not on my tiles!" the Dean was heard to protest in agony.

"But, friends, if ye are hungry—and it's a lang watch till the morn—my gude friend, his Reverence the Dean here has kindly sent oot some almond cakies—those ye can eat a' ye've a mind to."

The crowd down below could be seen responding to this advice by dropping handfuls of Joobie nuts on the black-and-white tiles and scrunching them underfoot as instructed; the puppeteers were plainly angered and taken aback by this development; King Richard nodded with satisfaction.

"Now: anither thing, friends. Bear wi' me patiently and I'll not trouble ye much farther. These ill-deedy Hanoverians have also set up yon puppet theatre in the cathedral. They plan to distract yer minds with galdragonries and marvels! Weel, 'tis a free country—thank the Lord—I'll not forbeed ye tae look. But dinna tak it unco seeriously. (But dinna mistreat the Hanoverians either—we want nae rampauging in the cathedral.) Those that love me best, and loved my old dad, Jamie Three, will maybe not look at a'. For my part, I like plays and puppetries fine, but I jalouse they arena whit I'd wish tae watch the nicht afore I'm crownit. This nicht I aim tae spend in seerious thocht and hymn singing. And I'm aboot tae commence noo. Any friends wha care tae join in are kindly welcome!"

Without more ado, King Richard lifted his voice—a resonant baritone—in a tuneful rendering of Metrical Psalm 23.

There was a moment's pause, then a gale of sound followed him. The entire congregation had joined in.

"Saints save us!" breathed Dido. "Don't I just hope the noise ain't enough to upset the rollers."

The Dean, terribly agitated, glanced around him at his beloved building, waiting for the landslide to start. But the sound of the singing, though tremendous, was steady and ordered. The cathedral vibrated like a chimney in a storm, but it kept its position.

"Good boy, good boy!" murmured the Dean. "Ah, he'll make a decent king, if we're all spared. Only, does he know enough hymns to keep them going all night?"

The Dean bustled off to find a hymnbook. Dido, seeing that for the moment King Richard had the situation under control, turned back and climbed the spiral stair to the outer stone gallery below the dome, and looked down to see what was happening in the streets.

What she saw filled her with amazement and thankfulness.

On the north side of the cathedral the crowd had scattered to a considerable extent and the reason for this was that Yan, mounted on an elephant, presumably Rachel, was riding in and out, unrolling as he went what seemed an endless reel of rope. Each time he came close to the cathedral he tossed a loop of this rope to another of the Wineberry Men—Dido could not see which—who stood waiting to receive and make it fast; then the elephant dashed away to the outer perimeter of the open space around the cathedral, where another Wineberry Man stood ready to receive another loop of rope and tether it to whatever was at hand.

"Pegging it down just like a tent, bless 'em," muttered Dido, and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. "I might a known they'd do the job decent and seamanly. They surely never got the stuff from old Lord Fo'c'stle, though; I can't believe he'd come through with it so quick."

Yan, having secured St. Paul's at about forty different points on the north side, took a turn of rope completely around the cathedral and disappeared lickety-spit northward in the direction of Newgate, presumably to pass the rope round the block formed by Paternoster Row and Ivy Lane.

"Just so long as the rope holds," said Tobit anxiously. He had followed Dido on to the stone gallery. "I bet the cathedral's pretty heavy, once it starts to slide."

Cris ran out and caught Tobit's hand.

"Come quick! Things aren't so good inside."

They dashed at top speed down the shallow spiral stairs and back to the inner gallery.

When they looked down they saw that the puppet master had started his play. It was not, from where they stood, possible to see the puppets themselves, but, judging from the behavior of the audience, what they were doing was very sinister; remembering the Miller's Daughter, Dido knew how wild and strange they could be, even when acting something comical. The people standing near were gaspingly attentive; every now and then, at some bit of action, a portion of the crowd would jump nervously back.

"Blame it," Dido said. "It won't do to have much o'
that.
"

As if to underline her words, there was an uneasy surge of the crowd at some startling occurrence, and the cathedral rocked on its unstable foundations.

Meanwhile the king, steadily singing, beating time as he sang, was still carrying a good half of the congregation with him, at the same time keeping a wary eye on the activities of the Hanoverians.

"Some o' the daft fules ate the nuts in spite o' the warning," he told Dido between two verses. "That's why they're sae nairvous and rintheroutacious."

It seemed that events on the puppet stage were approaching a climax. The light from the theatre shone blue and evil.

"I wonder what Sannie and co. plan to do if they start the church a-sliding?" said Dido.

"Oh, I heard that," Tobit told her. "They reckon it'll slide south, that's why they put the theatre near the north door—as soon as it starts to move, they slip out the back way."

"Not so easily now, they can't." Dido grinned, thinking of Yan's network of rope. "I'm a-going down," she went on. "I want to see these here mannikins."

Cris and Tobit followed her. The stairs were beginning to fill up, as early-comers were crowded out of the nave and transepts; it was hard to squeeze their way down, but people were kind about letting them through; everybody was singing, even on the stairs, and there was a general atmosphere of cheerfulness and good will.

Out in the nave it was different.

About three quarters of the huge crowd now assembled in the body of the cathedral were singing. Those who could see the king were taking their time and tune from him, and the rest were following
them
(with some exceptions: Dido distinctly heard one old lady singing "O where and O where is my little dog gone," looking around her with a melancholy expression, which was certainly justified if she had brought her little dog into the cathedral). But the crowd, several hundred strong, directly in front of the puppet theatre were not singing; they were following the action on the stage with strained attention.