The Cuckoo Tree

by Joan Aiken

  Dido stopped a man and asked him in which street the magistrates’ court was to be found. He gave her a blank stare and replied,

  ‘What’s the use o’ that, pray? It’s gone. No use locking the stable door arter the horse has skedaddled,’ and strode away.

  When she inquired of another he replied, ‘They sat early. The court’s closed now.’

  ‘Why? They was due to sit at ten; ’tis only quarter to, now.’

  But the man had not waited; he was roaming up the street, peering into every cranny as if he expected to find an emerald brooch there. Dido noticed a remarkable number of constables about, too, whose behaviour was of the same wandering kind: they stopped, they started, poked with their staves in flower-beds and window-boxes, rummaged in the baskets of goods exhibited for sale outside shops.

  Out of patience at last, Dido went to the apothecary’s, bought a pound of spermaceti and a gallon of treacle, and asked Mr Pelmett what the mischief was the matter with everybody, and why had the magistrates’ court sat early?

  ‘Constabulary was needed elsewhere,’ Mr Pelmett said curtly. He looked, Dido thought, put out about something – had a face as long as a rolling-pin.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Every man jack of them’s out looking for the Tegleaze Heirloom.’

  ‘W-what?’ gasped Dido. ‘You mean – ’

  ‘It’s been stolen.’

  ‘But I thought the glass case was burglar-proof?’

  ‘It was cut by a diamond. Expert cracksmen have been at work.’

  ‘My stars,’ muttered Dido. ‘Here’s a fine flummeration. I s’pose that perishing Mystery decided he better get his paws on it right away, without waiting for any more hocus-pocus over grandchildren. I’d dearly like to know who that Mystery is – a-calling of himself Tegleaze and a-reckoning to polish off heirs right, left and rat’s ramble – it’s plain he’s close connected with the family someway.’

  There was no sign, today, of Mystery’s puppet theatre. The whole of the fair had been expeditiously tidied away.

  Dido could get no information from anybody about what had happened at the court session, and she did not dare linger in Petworth asking questions for fear the doctor should arrive before she returned. She urged Dapple back at what he considered a most unreasonable speed for an animal with a gallon can of molasses banging about on his withers.

  In fact the doctor did not arrive until half past eleven and Dido was becoming wildly impatient before his cob drew up at the gate. Furthermore, he seemed very reluctant either to come in or, when he did enter, and saw the Captain’s condition, to advise anything at all helpful.

  In answer to all Dido’s questions as to whether the patient needed new medicines, or new treatment, or new diet, he merely reiterated,

  ‘Tranquillamente – lusingando – amabile – poco a poco! Only the utmost care will save him.’

  ‘But can’t you advise anything, doc?’

  ‘Non troppo – I think not,’ replied the doctor, casting a hunted glance in the direction of Mrs Lubbage’s quarters.

  ‘Don’t you reckon it’d be a good thing to shift him from here?’

  ‘Largamente – yes. Yes, I do think so.’ Dr Subito made this answer in an undertone, finger on lips, and the moment after took his leave, going off so fast that he forgot to pocket the five-shilling fee Dido had laid ready for him on the table. Oh well, he had hardly earned it, she decided.

  It wanted but twenty minutes to noon by the captain’s chronometer. Dido flew to Mr Firkin’s cottage, swept, mopped and set all to rights; laid out his groceries on the dresser where he could feel them over; and then, telling him she would be back as soon as possible, ran off in the direction of the Cuckoo Tree. No time to take a roundabout way; she hoped that she was not observed.

  Behind the little tree, stretching away round the far side of the Down, was a thickish yew wood. As Dido approached the Cuckoo Tree from one side, a figure slipped quietly through the wood on the other, and they met by the Cuckoo Tree trunk, from which Dido’s corkscrew still protruded.

  ‘Well, love, what be the trouble?’ said Yan Wineberry.

  ‘Old Ma Lubbage has overlooked my Cap’n,’ Dido gulped out. ‘He’s struck speechless, so there ain’t much sense in you coming to see him tonight. And I dunno what to do about him.’

  ‘Humph,’ said Yan. ‘Things is tolerable troublesome all round then, for I found out that the magistrates had a private session this morning and sentenced that young Tobit to ten years’ transportation. which is as much as to say a lifer.’

  ‘But that’s wicked!’ Dido said horrifed. ‘How could they – with no one there to speak up for him?’

  ‘Well, they did.’ Yan was sombre. ‘But,’ he added more cheerfully, ‘that’s no skin off’n our nosen, for we’re a-going to break into Petworth Jail ’sevening for to fetch out Pimp, my number five, who got hisself buckled up by mistake, and we’ll fetch out young Mas’r Tobit at the same time.’

  ‘Oh, Yan, that’s prime!’ Dido hugged him. ‘Can I come too? So Tobit knows it’s friends?’

  ‘But what about your Cap’n?’

  ‘Yan, is there any lodgings in Petworth where I could get him fixed up? I jist can’t a-bear leaving him alongside that old fiend any longer.’

  ‘Well, reckon Uncle Jarge might have him,’ Yan said, scratching his head. ‘That is, if he’s not a Scotchman – Uncle Jarge can’t abide them.’

  ‘No, he ain’t a Scotchman; he told me he comes from Pennygaff in Wales, and has a boy there called Owen. Is that your Uncle Jarge as owns The Fighting Cocks pub?’

  ‘That’s right, lovie. My Aunt Sary, she’m a wonderful comfortable woman. I dessay she’d take tolerable good care of the Cap’n if he be that sick; She’m a famous nurse.’

  ‘How could we get him there?’

  Yan seemed to have unlimited relatives.

  ‘My cousin ‘Tholomew, over to Benges – guess he’d lend his haycart. Put the Cap’n on a bit of hay, he won’t feel the jounces so bad.’

  Dido could hardly speak, the idea of getting the Captain away from Dogkennel Cottages was such a relief. She picked a sprig of yew and carefully stripped off all the tiny dark-green leaves. When she had her voice under control she said,

  ‘What time should I have the Cap ready to shift? When are you breaking into the – ’

  ‘Hush! Who’s that?’

  They had been speaking very softly, but now he dropped his voice to a breath and laid a finger on her lips. Above them a voice began to sing:

  ‘Dwah, dwah, dwuddy, dwuddy, dwee,

  I can’t see you but you can see me – ’

  ‘Cris!’ exclaimed Dido. ‘What in the Blue Blazes are you doing up there?’

  A silence followed, then a timid voice said,

  ‘Dido? Is that you?’

  ‘Well, o’ course it’s me, gal! But why the plague are you here, ‘stead of up at the manor, eating your dinner with a silver spoon? I call that downright ungrateful!’

  There was another long pause, then Cris slid down the trunk. Her face was pale, and there were traces of tears on it. She had the old sheepskin jacket huddled over her velvets.

  ‘Aswell won’t come to me at the Manor,’ she said miserably.

  ‘Oh, botheration,’ Dido muttered.

  ‘Who be this, then?’ Yan asked in an undertone. He had been even more startled than Dido by Cris’s sudden appearance.

  ‘Tobit’s twin sister,’ Dido explained in the same tone. ‘Old Ma Lubbage had her hidden away all these years in her attic, ready for a bit o’ blackmailing tick-tacks when Tobit got put away.’

  ‘Have you been up yonder tree afore, ducky?’ Yan asked Cris.

  ‘Many times. More than I can count,’ she told him.

  ‘Then that explains a power o’ puzzlement. Some o’ my Wineberry Men would have it that there was a liddle Pharisee lived up the tree,’ said Yan, grinning.

  ‘But listen, Cris,’ said Dido, who was anxious to get back t
o the Captain. ‘You can’t run off from Tegleaze Manor, you gotta give it a fair trial. Why, gal, you’re in clover there, in the lap of thingummy – all found, four square meals a day – ’

  ‘It’s lonesome!’

  ‘Oh, crumpet it – ’

  ‘It would be different if my brother was there.’

  ‘Well, we’re a-going to rescue him from quod this very arternoon. Though what us’ll do with him then – ’

  ‘Are you?’ Cris’s face lit up. ‘I’ll come too!’

  Disconcerted, Dido and Yan stared at one another. At that moment another voice broke in.

  ‘Well!’ it said gloatingly. ‘So I found ye out at last, did I? This is where ee went skrimshanking off to outa my loft, was it? The old Cuckoo Tree, eh?’

  Mrs Lubbage stood before them, arms akimbo, her face red with hurry and triumph.

  Cris turned white as her ruffles, Dido drew a sharp breath.

  ‘Made a slap-up liddle nestie for to play hide-and-seek in, did it? Well, I’ll soon tell Amos Friss abouten it, time he’ll bring his scoring-axe and chop it down!’

  ‘No!’ cried Cris, and laid her hand protectively on the trunk.

  ‘Ah? But I say yes, my young madam. And ee’d best come back to Tegleaze with me now; Sannie an’ me’ll put ee to bed with a shovel, I can tell ee!’

  ‘Hold your tongue, you sidy old witch, or by the pize I’ll give ee summat that’ll misagree with ee,’ interrupted Yan angrily. ‘Let’s have none o’ that moonshine about cutting down the Cuckoo Tree. You know well, if ye was to lay a finger on it there’d be no roof over your head by nightfall.’

  Mrs Lubbage seemed to swell like a slug with rage. She darted an evil look at Yan.

  ‘Moonshine is it, Yan Gusset? I know a thing or two about moonshine too! If ee have the roof off my head, I’ll give ee neightbour’s fare.’

  ‘There’s nought ye could do wuss than ye done already,’ Yan said bitterly. ‘You poisoned my mum, putting night-shade in her morgan-tea, I know full well.’

  ‘Prove it! Ye can’t!’ Mrs Lubbage grinned spitefully.

  ‘I can too.’ The smile vanished from her face. ‘I’ve a witness. That wouldn’t bring my mum back, though. But you’d best mind your ways, you old canker-moll. Go back to your crony. Tell her the Tegleaze Luck-piece is stole, you can mumble your jaws over that together.’

  Mrs Lubbage’s jaw did indeed drop at this piece of news. Without another word she turned and waddled away as fast as she could over the steep hillside.

  ‘That’ll give ’em summat to worrit about,’ Yan said with satisfaction.

  ‘Who stole it, Yan, d’you reckon?’ Dido asked.

  ‘Ah, that’s a black mystery, that is.’

  ‘I’ll lay it was old Mystery. Croopus, time’s a-wasting – I must get back to the poor old Cap. Cris, are you going to come along o’ me then?’

  Cris nodded. She was still pale and speechless from the scene with Mrs Lubbage.

  ‘I’ll send my cousin ‘Tholomew round with the haycart, come cockshut time then,’ Yan said with his friendly nod, and slipped away into the yew wood.

  Dido and Cris returned to Dogkennel Cottages – not without some terror on the part of Cris in case they should meet Mrs Lubbage. But Mrs Lubbage was nowhere to be seen – doubless she had hurried off to take counsel with Tante Sannie.

  ‘I hope she’ll stay away till we’ve gone,’ said Cris trembling.

  Dido considered her thoughtfully. What are we a-going to do with Cris, she wondered. If she won’t go back to the Manor, and wants to be with Tobit – and if we rescue Tobit – he’ll have to stay hid somewhere till we can find a witness as’ll say his arrest was a put-up job – where can we stow the pair of ’em? Oh well – no sense getting into a sussel about it yet.

  She fed the unconscious Captain some treacle and spermaceti, gave herself and Cris something more substantial, and then packed up their things in readiness for departure. What food remained she took round to Mr Firkin and told him they were leaving.

  ‘Nay, that be ernful news, darter,’ he said sadly. ‘Mind, I ain’t saying you’re wrong – I dessay the Cap’n’ll do better if he bain’t anigh that old grummut – but ee’ve been brightsome company and I’ll grieve to part from ee.’

  Dido grieved too. She had grown fond of the kind old man.

  ‘S’pose old Mother Lubbage gets swarly with you when we’ve flitted?’

  ‘She ’on’t harm me, darter. I ain’t afeered of her, see?’

  Just the same Dido felt a pang when, after Cousin ‘Tholomew had turned up with his wagon and they had loaded the Captain and their boxes on to the layers of hay inside, they drove off leaving Mr Firkin with Toby beside him, standing at his cottage door, listening, listening, and waving as long as he could hear the sound of the wheels. He looked so old and so frail to be left there alone.

  ‘You oughta have him to live up at the Manor, Cris,’ she said, swallowing, ‘when we’ve got Tobit out of jug and – and things is all settled.’

  Cris looked as if she thought it unlikely that such a time would ever come.

  Cousin ’Tholomew was a red-faced, silent, curly-haired giant who drove them to Petworth at a slow walk, with Dapple harnessed alongside his own carthorse, and refused to accept any payment.

  ‘Nay, ’tweren’t no manner o’ trouble. I had to come anyhows, to get a new Canterbury hoe,’ he said gruffly, and made his escape as soon as he had left them at the inn.

  Uncle Jarge and his boy Ted received them kindly at The Fighting Cocks, and Captain Hughes was carried upstairs to a little white-walled room at the very top of the house, ‘where’, said Miss Sarah Gusset, ‘he won’t be disturbed by the street noises or the cock-fighting.’

  Dido only wished he would be disturbed; he lay so pale and silent. But plump, smiling Miss Sarah seemed a kind and resourceful nurse. She had a bed so stuffed with hot bricks that it was like a Roman bath house, a whole tub full of aromatic vinegar, and a great quantity of hickory pepper – to make him sneeze. So he lay warm and sneezing, and at least by this they knew he was still alive.

  ‘Now,’ said Miss Sarah, when the Captain was settled. ‘I had a message for you from that scamp my nevvy Yan. I’d best not miscall him, though, had I? George gets all his corkscrews and Blue Ruin and Dutch Stingo and Calais Cordial from Yan – mum’s the word! He surely is a member, that lad! Anyway, you’re to meet him under the arch at six sharp, so you’d best have a bit of supper first, by the kitchen fire.’

  Miss Gusset’s kitchen fire blazed in a huge open hearth by which hung hams and dried fish and bunches of herbs. Dido and Cris sat on stools in the hearth itself and were given earthenware pipkins of the best soup they had ever tasted and bread fresh out of the big oven, while Miss Sarah bustled about getting supper for the customers and Uncle Jarge looked after the bar, occasionally putting his head through a little hatch to tell them the latest gossip.

  ‘Harwood’s pig be loose again! Foxhounds to meet here, Saturday’s a fortnight. That Mr Mystery, as he calls hisself, is still in town, lodging with Hoadley’s at the Angel – going to give another show. Asked could he lodge here and give his show in our yard, but I said we were full up.’

  Croopus, Dido thought, that was a near squeak!

  ‘We’d best get you out o’ them velvets, Cris, they’re too noticeable. I’ve a notion old Mystery means no good by you. Anyways you’re too like Tobit by half: anyone might pounce on you thinking you was him. You’d best wear my spare midshipman’s rig.’

  The midshipman’s gear included a canvas smock, sufficiently like a shepherd’s smock for Cris to pass unnoticed in the street. And besides this, Miss Sarah rummaged out a sheepskin cap from a collection of odds and ends left behind by visitors to the inn. This covered up her dark hair.

  At a minute before six they slipped out the back door and found Yan already waiting under the arch, with a couple of other men, muffled up like carters in sacking. They carried long brushes, a ladder and bags of soot.


  ‘Naught better than to look like a chimbley-sweep when you’re fixing to break into a jail,’ whispered Yan cheerfully. ‘It’s a good reason for having the ladder with you, likewise for blacking your face. And if things comes to a rough-house a handful o’ soot’s wonderful boffling does it hit the other chap in the face.’

  He nodded approval of the girls’ dark-blue rig, gave Dido a large sheet of very sticky paper to carry, and led off up the alley in the direction of the jail.’

  When they were halfway along, a man slipped silently past them, going in the opposite direction. It was too dark to see his face, but Dido gave two or three sharp sniffs after he had passed by.

  ‘What’s amiss, my duck?’ whispered Yan, who was amazingly quick to notice anything that happened near him.

  ‘The smell o’ that chap’s tobacco,’ Dido whispered back. ‘I knowed someone afore who smoked that kind – Vosper’s Nautical Cut.’ She stopped to unstick the paper which had caught against itself – it was spread with treacle, Yan explained. He remarked that with a sniffer like hers, Dido was wasted outside the scent trade, and then they had arrived at the jail, a small brick building that stood beside a windmill on the outskirts of the town. It did not appear as if the jail were put to very frequent use: grass grew over the doorstep. There were bars on the ground-floor windows, but not on the upper ones. A watchman was seated on the mounting-block outside the jail, drinking something from a leather bottle. Yan stole up behind him and gave him a brisk, deft thump with a sock full of soot; he toppled silently off the block and the contents of his bottle spilled on to the grass.

  ‘Organ-grinder’s Oil,’ said Yan, sniffing, ‘wonder where he got it? Why, ’tis Sam Pelmett, I thought he was in service up at Tegleaze.’

  ‘He left there this morning,’ Dido said.

  ‘We’d best put his head in a bag and tie him up middling tight.’

  This done, Yan took the treacled paper from Dido, ran up the ladder as nimbly as if chimney-sweeping were really his profession, smoothed the paper against a window-pane, and then tapped it with his soot-filled sock. The pane broke, but stuck to the paper, which he passed down to his mates. He then put an arm through the window, found the catch, opened it and disappeared inside.