Night Birds On Nantucket

by Joan Aiken

  They made haste with their tasks. Both were tired, wet, and hungry – though Dido grinned to herself as she thought how much hungrier Aunt Tribulation would be.

  ‘Done the fowls? Good. That’s the lot, then,’ she said to Pen as they met at the back door.

  ‘Oh, Dido,’ breathed Pen fearfully. ‘There’s a light in the kitchen. Do you suppose –?’

  ‘Ssh!’ Dido laid a finger on her lips and opened the kitchen door.

  The kitchen was warm and bright but had lost some of its cheerful atmosphere. For Aunt Tribulation, fully dressed, was sitting in the rocking-chair by the stove. She was no less formidable up than she had been in bed; although she had taken off her tinted glasses the grey eyes they had concealed were cold and singularly unwelcoming. She wore a brown-and-white checked gingham dress, and a brown shawl; an enormous brown brooch with enough hair in it to stuff a pincushion fastened her white fichu. Her grey hair was strained back into a tight knot behind her head. She looked hungry.

  ‘We found the sheep, Aunt Tribulation!’ Pen announced proudly, after a momentary check in the doorway.

  ‘So I should hope! You’ve taken long enough about it. Is the feeding done? Then hurry up and make my supper.’

  ‘Pen must change first,’ Dido said firmly. ‘Her dress is sopping and she’s got no stockings on.’

  ‘Make haste, then. And, pray, why were the larder and cellar doors locked, and what have you done with the keys?’

  ‘Oh dear, did you want them?’ Dido exclaimed innocently, drawing the keys out of her breeches pocket. ‘I locked the doors acos we found the kitchen window open this morning and I was feared that burglars or wild animals might get in and steal our vittles or frighten you, Auntie Trib! O’ course I never thought you’d be coming down for summat. I thought you was much too ill.’

  Supper was taken in baleful silence and as soon as the children had washed up the dishes they escaped to bed, Dido almost bursting with suppressed laughter.

  ‘Now tell me your adventures, Dutiful,’ she said when they were snug under the quilt and the candle blown out.

  ‘It was the strangest thing! After we lost each other I hunted for you, and I ran towards where I thought you had been standing, but I must have gone astray, for I ran on and on, a long way, and suddenly I found myself among high trees.’

  ‘Trees? Why, there ain’t but bushes and bits of scrub for miles.’

  ‘I must have been in the Hidden Forest, you see,’ Pen explained. ‘It seemed so mysterious in the mist! When I called to you, as I had been doing on and off all the time, my voice echoed back so boomingly that I was afraid and dared not do it any more. I became confused in the wood and, trying to return the way I had come, went on, I think, in quite the wrong direction. Then all of a sudden I found myself up against a strange kind of barrier.’

  ‘A fence, like?’

  ‘No, not a fence, nor yet a wall . . . It was about as high as my head and very thick, and round like a great iron pipe; yes, like an iron pipe as big as a great tree-trunk.’

  ‘That’s rum,’ Dido said. ‘What held it up, then?’

  ‘It was mounted all along its length – and it was very long, I never saw either end – on pairs of cartwheels.’

  ‘Sounds as if maybe someone gets their water through it,’ Dido suggested.

  ‘But there are no farms anywhere near the Hidden Forest! And that’s not the end of the story.’

  ‘No? Hurry up, then, Dutiful, my eyes is closing in spite of themselves.’

  ‘I thought I would feel my way along the pipe and so get out of the wood. But I had not gone very far when I bumped into a man.’

  ‘What sort o’ man? What was he doing?’

  ‘Oh, Dido, he was strange! He was tapping on the pipe with a hammer. He gave a great start when I bumped into him – I would have screamed, but that he seemed even more frightened! I said I was lost, and which way to Soul’s Hill? And he said, “Whisper”, laying his finger on his lips and looking all round, and then he pointed which way I should go and led me to the edge of the wood. Then he whispered something, and it took me such a long time to make out what he was asking – he spoke in such a strange, foreign way! At last I realized that it was boots he wanted – he showed me his feet in thin, foreign-looking shoes, all wet and torn and muddy. So I promised I would see, there might be an old pair of Papa’s sea-boots, and was that all he wanted? And he said – I think – that he had a great longing for something sweet, could I bring him any cakes or sugar or jam? To keep out the cold and damp. He said he would wait by the fork in the track every night from seven till nine.’

  ‘Was he a beggar?’

  ‘No indeed I am sure he was not! For he gave me money to pay for the boots – three English gold coins.’

  ‘English coins? How d’you know they were English?’

  ‘Because there is a picture of a king and the words Carolus II Rex Br.’

  ‘Good cats alive!’ Dido said. ‘An old guinea piece! There’s still quite a lot on ’em about, my pa used to get them for playing on his hoboy. D’you think the man was English, Pen?’

  ‘He certainly was not American. But he didn’t speak like you – his language was very queer. He was a sadlooking man with a face like a monkey, and big ears, and nearly bald. He said not to tell anyone that I had seen him, and if I came with the boots I was to croak like a night-heron. I think that was what he meant. And he said how glad he was that he would soon be back in Europe.’

  ‘Did he?’ Dido was more and more interested. If this man is really going back to Europe soon, she thought, and if I could make friends with him, and if I could get Pen fixed up somehow . . . Who can the man be?

  ‘We must look him out a pair o’ boots tomorrow, Pen,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind taking ’em to him if you’re scared to go back. There’s a deal of old boots up in the attic.’

  And one pair of salt-stained, bottle-green ones that ought not to be there, she remembered, just before she went to sleep. Was it possible that Aunt Tribulation and the veiled stowaway of the Sarah Casket were one and the same person?

  7

  Aunt Tribulation gets up – second trip to the attic – Dido’s in the well – return of Captain Casket – trip to the forest – the conspirators – the gun

  AUNT TRIBULATION HAD evidently decided that it was easier to keep an eye on the girls if she got up, for the next day, and all the days following, she was downstairs by seven conducting a close scrutiny into all that went on. Indeed, as Dido said, it was hard to believe that anything had ever been the matter with her at all, so active and vigilant was she now in pursuit of the children and in keeping them hard at work.

  ‘What does she take us for, perishing slaves?’ grumbled Dido.

  It was by no means so easy to circumvent Aunt Tribulation now she had come downstairs. She was large and strong, much larger than Dido, who remained small for her age, though wiry and healthy. After Dido had been rapped with a thimble numerous times, shut up in the grandfather clock, deprived of meals, and made to sit on the whale’s jawbone for two hours, she saw that cunning and strategy would be needed.

  ‘As well as learning you to stand up to her, Pen, we’ve someway got to make her humble, so she’s real sorry for her nasty nature and won’t never bother you no more,’ Dido said one morning when they were out hoeing the cornfield.

  ‘Do you think that would ever be possible?’ sighed Penitence.

  ‘Have you written the letter to your Pa yet?’

  ‘Yes, I have it in my chemise pocket.’

  ‘Now, the mischief is, how’re we going to get it to Nantucket to post it? No use to give it to old Mungo and ask him to take it to the mail office.’

  Market days had come and gone, but Aunt Tribulation had sternly vetoed any idea that Dido or Pen might go in with the farm produce and do some shopping. Mungo, as usual, was sent on his own with a written list of groceries needed, which the owner of the main store would check and supply.

  ‘If we c
ould give the boots to your monkey-faced friend, he might post the letter for us,’ Dido presently reflected. ‘The trouble is how to wheedle Aunt Trib outa the house so’s I can slip up to the attic and grab a pair. She never stirs except just into the yard.’

  ‘I could tell her one of the sheep was sick and ask her to come up to the pasture.’

  ‘She wouldn’t care,’ said Dido, who privately suspected that Aunt Tribulation knew little more about farming than the girls themselves. ‘No, I have it, Penny, you must pretend you think I’ve fallen down the well. She wouldn’t like that; no water, for one thing, and who’d do the work? She’d come out to help you grapple for me with a rope, and I could nip round to the back and climb up the willow tree and in our window.’

  ‘But if she found out?’ breathed Pen in horror.

  ‘We could say you made a mistake. I’ll drop my red shirt down, so’s it looks like me down there,’ said Dido. ‘Pity we couldn’t drop Auntie Trib herself down.’

  In pursuit of this plan Dido contrived that evening to smuggle out her red shirt hidden in a pile of cheese-cloths, and dangle it down the well on a loop of thread until it caught on a projection about thirty feet below. The weather favoured them; it was misty again, and dusk was falling. Dido beckoned to Pen, who was in the hen-house, and whispered:

  ‘Now, screech!’

  ‘Oh,’ faltered Pen, ‘I don’t believe I can!’

  ‘Consarn it, Pen, you’d screech fast enough if a wild bull was rushing at you! Let on that one is!’

  Pen gave a faint wail.

  ‘Louder than that!’ hissed Dido. ‘Here, I’ll do it!’ She let out a fearful scream and then quickly slipped away round the corner of the house. The back door flew open and she heard Aunt Tribulation’s voice.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh, Aunt T-Tribulation,’ Pen stammered, ‘I’m – I’m afraid Dido’s in the well.’

  ‘Blimey, she’d never get to Drury Lane,’ Dido groaned to herself as she rapidly shinned up the willow tree. ‘I never heard sich a rabbity bit of acting.’ She scrambled in at their chamber window and pulled the spare attic key out of her pocket.

  In a moment she had darted up to the attic and seized the largest and least worn pair of sea-boots; then, on a sudden thought, she tiptoed to the bundle of clothes behind the chest, pulled out a bonnet, and looked inside. It bore a London dressmaker’s label and a name: Letitia M. Slighcarp. So did the cloak. Dido did not dare wait to examine the rest of the clothes; she fled silently down the stairs again, relocked the door, and was out and dropping from the willow tree all in the space of half a dozen heartbeats. She could still hear voices and splashings from the direction of the well so she thrust the boots into a clump of fern, strolled nonchalantly round the corner, and remarked:

  ‘Hilloo? Dropped summat in the water?’

  It was as well she arrived when she did for Aunt Tribulation had tied a rope round Pen, who had a perfectly ashen face and was shaking like a leaf, and was apparently on the point of lowering her to the assistance of her companion.

  ‘You abominable girl! Where have you been?’ Aunt Tribulation exclaimed, dashing at Dido and boxing her ears.

  ‘Down the orchard, hanging up the cheese-cloths. Why, whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear us shouting? Penitence thought you were in the well.’

  ‘No, did she?’ Dido replied, and burst out laughing. ‘You are a one, Pen! You musta seen my shirt, that blew down when I was taking it to hang out. What a sell!’ And she began to sing:

  ‘Oh, what a sell,

  Dido’s in the well.

  Who’ll save her bacon?

  Auntie Tribulation!’

  Aunt Tribulation, perfectly enraged, exclaimed, ‘So you thought you’d make a fool of me, did you? Oh, you wicked little hussies, you shall have nothing but bread and water till the end of the week!’ and she flew at Pen, who was the nearer, and shook her till she whimpered:

  ‘It was Dido’s idea, Aunt Tribulation, not mine! P-p-please stop! It was Dido’s idea!’

  ‘Oh-oh,’ Dido said to herself. ‘Here we go again. Now we shall be in the suds.’

  But just at this critical moment an interruption occurred.

  By now it was thick dusk and they could see only a few yards. Sounds, however, carried clearly in the mist, and they suddenly became aware of voices and footsteps approaching up the lane.

  ‘Someone’s coming!’ breathed Penitence.

  Aunt Tribulation turned her head sharply, heard the voices, and hissed, ‘Go indoors, you girls! Make haste!’

  Astonished, the girls did as they were bid, but went no farther than the deep porch. They were too curious to know who the visitors might be, for no callers had come to the farm since their arrival. Was Aunt Tribulation expecting somebody?

  A voice – a boy’s voice – said, ‘Here we are, I b’lieve. Ain’t this the Casket place?’ Then, apparently seeing Aunt Tribulation, ‘Evening, ma’am. Would you be Miss Casket?’

  ‘Yes I am,’ she snapped, ‘and I don’t allow tramps and beggars on this land, so be off with you both!’

  ‘But ma’am –’ the boy began to protest, and then Pen gasped as a man’s voice said slowly and wonderingly:

  ‘Why, isn’t this Soul’s Hill? We’re home! However did we come to be here?’

  ‘Be off!’ Aunt Tribulation repeated.

  ‘But ma’am! He’s your brother! He’s Cap’n Casket, don’t you know him?’ the boy blurted out and at the same moment Pen cried, ‘Papa! It’s Papa come home!’ and Dido shouted, ‘Nate! Nate Pardon! What in mercy’s name are you doing here?’

  Both girls rushed forward joyfully, but checked a little as they came in view of Captain Casket. He looked thin and dazed, older than when they had seen him last; in a few weeks his hair seemed to have become a great deal greyer. But he smiled dreamily at Pen and said, ‘Ah, Daughter, I am glad to see thee well.’

  ‘Nate, what’s happened?’ Dido said quickly in a low tone. ‘It’s not the ship – the Sarah Casket –?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Nate replied in the same tone. ‘Let’s get him indoors, shall we, before I tell you about it? He’s still not himself.’

  ‘Come in where it’s warm and dry, Papa,’ said Pen protectively, and took Captain Casket’s hand to lead him in. He looked about him, still with the same bewildered expression, and said:

  ‘So thee is living at home now, Penitence? I am glad of that. But who is this?’ pointing to Dido.

  ‘Why, Dido Twite, Papa. Don’t you remember her?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, passing a hand across his brow. ‘I am tired. I become confused. Then who is looking after thee?’

  ‘Papa, don’t you remember Aunt Tribulation? Here she is! She has been – has been looking after us.’

  ‘Ah yes, Sister Tribulation. She said she would come,’ he murmured.

  At this moment Aunt Tribulation, who had remained in the rear while these exchanges were going on, stepped forward, firmly took Captain Casket’s other arm, and said:

  ‘Well, Brother! Fancy seeing you home so soon! Deceived by the mist, and never thinking but that you were several thousand miles off, I almost took you for a tramp! This is a surprise, to be sure! What has become of your ship? Not a wreck, I trust?’

  She seemed less than pleased at seeing her brother; indeed, thought Dido, she seemed decidedly put out.

  Captain Casket looked at her in his wondering manner and murmured, ‘Can it really be Sister Tribulation?’

  ‘Of course it is I, Brother! Who else should it be?’ she exclaimed impatiently, leading him in.

  ‘Thee has aged – thee has aged amazingly.’ He sat down in the rocker, shaking his head.

  ‘We’re none of us getting any younger!’ snapped Aunt Tribulation.

  ‘He is still a bit wandering in his wits, ma’am,’ Nate explained in a low voice. ‘What he’s been through fair shook him up.’

  ‘What happened?’ Penitence inquired
anxiously.

  ‘It was the pink whale, you see.’

  Nate glanced towards the captain, who seemed to have gone off into a dream, rocking back and forth, soothed by his chair’s familiar creak and the homely things about him.

  ‘We sighted her about ten days outa New Bedford,’

  Nate went on, ‘and, my stars, did she lead us a dance! Round and round about, first north, then south, in the end we was nearer Nantucket than when we first started. At last we came right close to her, closer’n we’d ever been before; lots of the men hadn’t rightly believed in her till then, but there she was, sure enough, just about like a great big strawberry ice. Well, Cap’n Casket, he says, “No man goes after her but me,” he says, and he wouldn’t let any o’ the harpooners go in the boats. Just the one boat was lowered. He said I could be one of the rowers, because I had an eye for detail and a gift for language, and would be able to record the scene.’

  ‘Well, and so? What happened?’

  ‘She acted must uncommon,’ Nate said. ‘I never see a whale carry on so. Soon’s she laid eyes on Cap’n Casket she commenced finning and fluking and bellowing, she breached clean out of the water, she whistled, she dove down and broke up agin, she brung to dead ahead of us, facing us with her noddle end, and kind of smiled at the cap’n, then she lobtailed with her flukes as if – as if she was wagging her tail like a pup, she rolled and she rounded, she thrashed and tossed her head like a colt, she acted justabout like a crazy dolphin. By and by she settled and started in swimming to and forth under the boat, rubbing her hump on the keel, and that busted the boat right in half.’

  ‘She didn’t know her own strength,’ murmured Captain Casket as if to himself. ‘She meant no harm. It was only in play.’

  ‘What happened then?’ breathed Dido, round-eyed.

  ‘I don’t know what happened to the other rowers in the boat,’ Nate said. ‘We was all tossed out a considerable way. I just about hope they got picked up by the ship. I was swimming near Cap’n Casket in the water when we was both heaved up as if a volcano had busted out under us, and blest if it wasn’t old Rosie hoisting us up on her back! And you’ll never believe it, but she started to run, then, and she never stopped till she brung to and dumped us off Sankaty beach. Then she sounded and we never saw her no more. So we waded ashore and walked here – I reckon the cap’n had best be put to bed, ma’am.’