by Joan Aiken
‘Now, harkee, gal,’ said the wise woman. ‘And pay heed, for I don’t reckon to say things over. You crossed my path twice already, you went spannelling into my kitchen ’thoughten leave, and you hurted my old Tibbie-rat.’
‘Your rat, missus? How was I to know?’
‘Don’t aggie at me, gal! I’m warning ee – if I have any more mizmaze from ee, I’ll make things right skaddle for ee, and for that chap in there. ’Twouldn’t take but a pinch o’ naughty-man’s-plaything to set his wound into mortification. And as for you – you puny little windshaken emmet – I could make you wish you’d never been borned.’
Dido was silent. Mrs Lubbage evidently took her silence for defiance; she went on,
‘And I hear you bin upalong to Tegleaze, where you’ve no right nor business, making a sossabout, upsiding Mas’r Tobit. You leave that boy be! Do he land hisself in trouble before he come of age, then he won’t noways inherit his grandpa’s Luck-piece.’
Mrs Lubbage might have said more, but she was interrupted at this moment by Gusset, in the trap, who came to a halt by them.
‘Evening, Missis Lubbage,’ he greeted the wise woman politely. ‘Evening, Missie Twido Dight. I brought ye some more stuff for the sick Navy gennleman.’
With a surly jerk of her head, Mrs Lubbage retired to her own house.
Dido would have taken the heavy basket from Gusset, but he insisted on carrying it in. As he did so, Dido’s quick eye caught sight of Sannie, as on the previous occasion, slipping from the back of the trap and darting off to visit her friend. Don’t I just wish I was that flea-bitten rat for five minutes to hear what the old crows is a-talking about in there, Dido thought. I bet it’s nothing good.
Gusset, it turned out, was dying to have a word with Captain Hughes.
‘I did hear, Cap’n sir,’ he quavered politely, ‘as how your ship was the Thrush?’
‘You heard right,’ answered the Captain who, propped against rolled-up sheep’s fleeces, was drinking barley soup.
‘I’ve a nevvy on that vessel,’ explained Gusset. ‘Able Seaman Noah Gusset. Did ee e’er come across the boy, Cap’n, sir? Do ’e still be live and kicking?’
‘Why, certainly! He is a fine fellow – will probably end up as Master Gunner. I have often spoken to him,’ the Captain said cordially. Old Gusset’s face lit up at this news.
‘My brother Ed’ard’ll be in a rare proud scarrifunge when I tell him!’ he said, and could not do too much for the Captain: he bustled about, toasting bits of bread and warming up a mixture of wine and spices which he said would make the Captain ‘sleep like a juggy’.
Dido, seeing that she was not needed for a few moments, said quietly to Gusset, ‘I’m jist going aloft a minute, mister, to see arter summat – shan’t be long,’ and nipped up into the roof. Using the utmost caution she crept along to the loft over Mrs Lubbage’s kitchen. The moon had risen by now and slivers of light, finding their way through cracks between the tiles, showed that Cris was not there; most likely, Dido guessed, having had his hunger stayed with bread and cheese, he had gone back to sleep, and would not return all night in case Mrs Lubbage should listen to his dreams.
Blest if I’d want her a-listening to mine. Though I dessay it’s all rubbish, Dido thought.
Mrs Lubbage’s trapdoor was closed, but Dido lay with her ear pressed against the crack, through which came a faint gleam of candlelight.
‘Tell me about it again,’ she heard Mrs Lubbage say.
‘I done tell you a many, many time!’
‘Aye, but I had a dunnamany things go caterwise on me today. The cow died, and my Tib-rat got hurted, and yon flarksy little madam nabbling at me – I could do wi’ hearing summat brightsome.’
‘Is all green and warm,’ Sannie said. ‘Green and warm from east to west, from north to south. Orange trees, mango trees, love-apples, sweet-grass and honey flowers, all a-blowing and a-blooming. The sea she do sing by day and by night, white sea a-breaking on the black rocks. Old Fire Mountain, he up above, a-muttering in he sleep but never waking. And in that island, isn’t no rudeness, isn’t no mocking of old people; old people paid proper respect, is loved, is given the callum drink and bonita-bread, quilt stuffed with happiness-feathers, wherever they do fancy to warm they bones.’
‘That’s the place for me,’ Mrs Lubbage said. ‘Round hereaways they treats you like dirt, even if they is scairt of you. Treats you like dirt and owes you money. If they gets to owe you too much, then they takes and drowns you in Black Pond.’
‘Never mind – never mind! Old Sir Tobit’s Luck-piece going to bring us luck, going to change all that. In three weeks – maybe two weeks – us’ll be on a great white ship, a-sailing, sailing – ’
‘Over the white waves and the black waves – ’
‘A-wrapped in silk satin and treated like two queens – ’
Plainly this was a conversation the two friends had held many times before.
‘Until we comes to Tiburon Island – ’
‘Till we steps ashore and they cries, “Is Tante Sannie come a-home! Is dear old Tante Sannie!”’
‘And her friend what’s come to live with her!’
‘And they give us the callum drink and bonita-bread and wrap us in quilt stuffed with happiness-feathers!’
‘All on account of Sir Tobit’s ivory Luck-piece.’
What the dickens is all that about? Dido wondered. She stuck her eye to the crack. Down below she could see the top of Mrs Lubbage’s table, on which were a bottle, a saucer and two teacups, which were removed, emptied and refilled at regular intervals. Sometimes she could see the rat’s pointed, whiskery snout drinking wine from the saucer.
But do they reckon to steal Tobit’s Luck-piece? Dido wondered.
She crawled back silently to her own loft and dropped down. Gusset had heated up a quantity of water in the hens’ breakfast pan and was slowly but expertly shaving Captain Hughes, who appeared to be greatly enjoying this attention and was meanwhile relating all he could remember about the life and exploits of Able Seaman Noah Gusset.
Dido put away the provisions and squatted down by the fire on the three-legged stool.
‘Mister Gusset,’ she inquired presently. ‘This little ivory painting you was a-telling me about, is that what they call Sir Tobit’s Luck-piece?’
‘Why, yes, missie, acos the first Sir Tobit brought it back from furrin parts a couple o’ hundred years agone, in oughteen sixty-summat. He reckoned it’d bring him luck, see?’
‘Did it?’
‘No, miss, it didn’t. Some say as ’twas because it was stole – but I dunno if that be a true tale.’
‘What’ll happen when this Sir Tobit gets it?’
‘I reckon ’twill be passed over to his gran to take care of, like the rest o’ the property.’
Dido would have liked to ask if Gusset thought the old lady would get Colonel FitzPickwick to sell the Heirloom and use the money for bets, but this did not seem a very polite question.
‘And that happens next week?’
‘Yes, missie. Unless Sir Tobit should die or go to prison firstwards.’
‘Go to prison? Why in the name o’ judgement should he get sent to clink?’
‘Oh, no reason, Missie Twido. Only it says in the Will that if the heir be thrown in jail afore coming of age, then he loses the right to the Heirloom.’
‘I see. Who gets it then? Lady Tegleaze?’
‘No, missie. The next heir ’ud get it if there was one. But being as there ain’t, I believe it do go to some museum.’
‘No wonder Lady Tegleaze is in such a twit to see Tobit don’t get in bad company.’
Captain Hughes had been silent for the last few minutes and was now found to be asleep, so Gusset took his leave. Dido had wondered if he bore any message from Tobit, but none was forthcoming, so it seemed probable that the Heir was still subdued by the effects of Sannie’s scolding, or the Joobie nuts.
Two days passed quietly. Captain Hughes continued to
mend, though slowly; Dido took care not to offend Mrs Lubbage, and did various odd jobs for her and Mr Firkin; Cris was not seen, but gifts of food that Dido left for him in the loft were taken. Mrs Lubbage did not leave her cottage and so Dido, who would have liked to go to the Cuckoo Tree, did not think it safe to risk leading the witch to Cris’s retreat.
On Friday Dr Subito returned for another of his brief, nervous visits, and pronounced Captain Hughes well enough for a little gentle exercise on crutches, if they could be obtained.
‘Don’t you reckon I’m well enough to hire a coach and go on up to London, doctor?’
‘Non tanto – never, never! It is not to be thought of! The jolting – the swaying – piu mozzo – doppio movimento – furioso – it would inflame the head injury – bring on a syncope – a cataclysm – if not death itself! No – no, slowly we return to health, poco a poco.’
‘Don’t set yourself in a pelter, now, Cap,’ soothed Dido. ‘I’ll be off to Petworth this very arternoon and get you a pair o’ crutches.’
But she herself was decidedly restless and uneasy; four days had passed and there had been no word from her friend Simon. Was he no longer living in London, or had her letter gone astray?
‘Addio! To the re-see,’ said the little doctor. ‘I return next week. In the meantime – legato, non, non troppo!’
He placed his finger to his lips, bowed and departed at speed.
Not long after his departure, Gusset arrived with more provisions. After chatting a little to the Captain he glanced around cautiously and drew Dido away to the middle of Mr Firkin’s paddock, where they might be seen but could not be overheard.
‘About that message you wanted sent, missie.’
‘Yes?’ said Dido eagerly.
‘Those chaps as I spoke of is willing to meet you and talk it over. They be a darksy lot, see, they ’on’t carry for every which-who, they’re pitickler.’
‘That’s all rug,’ said Dido. ‘The Cap’s pitickler too; this is a very pitickler message.’
‘Ah!’ said Gusset. He looked round again, advanced his mouth closer to Dido’s ear and murmured, ‘Do ee have the letter right, tight and safe, missie?’
‘That I do!’ replied Dido, curbing an impulse to feel for the Dispatch inside her jacket.
‘That’s good,’ said Gusset. ‘Acos I did hear as how yon coach upset of yourn were fixed by somebody as wanted to lay hands on that there bit ’o scribing. I dunno if ’tis true, but that’s what I did hear.’
Dido nodded. She was not surprised, having come to the same conclusion.
‘Have you any notion who mighta done it, Mister Gusset?’
He came so close that his white whiskers tickled her ear dreadfully.
‘That I dassn’t say! But be that letter anywise connected wi’ guvment business?’
Dido nodded, warily.
‘I reckoned so!’ said Gusset triumphantly. ‘I could tell as Cap’n Hughes must be a jonnick guvment man. Well, missie, round Tegleaze there be a pesky lot o’ them Georgians.’
‘Hanoverians? The ones as wants to get rid o’ the King?’
‘That’s the ticket! ’Twas one o’ they fixed the accident.’
‘But how about these chaps o’ yours? They’re all hunky-dory?’
Mr Gusset was affronted. He drew himself up. ‘My boy Yan’s a true-blue King’s man,’ he declared proudly. ‘Why, didn’t he carry Gentleman’s Gargle and twistycorks every month for Jamie Three his own self – aye, and Oil o’ Primroses for Her Majesty, bless her sweet face?’
‘Your boy Yan? Why then – ’
‘Eh, massypanme! What have I bin and said?’ Mr Gusset was dreadfully upset. ‘Now Missie Twido, don’t ee let on as how I told ee that, don’t ee, please! My boy Yan’d be turble taffety if he knew.’
‘Why, Mr Gusset, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing arter you been so kind to us and brought us all these vittles.’
‘Promise, do ee? Well, then, I was to tell ee, when ee be in Perrorth ‘sarternoon, to go to a pub called The Fighting Cocks – at the end o’ Middle Street, it be – don’t ee go into the pub, now, but go ee round up a little twitten lane to the back where they holds cockfights. Go ee there roundabout four o’clock. And there prensly a chap’ll come up to ee and say, “Larmentable scuddy weather we be having.”’
‘And what do I say?’ Dido inquired briskly.
‘Don’t ee say nowt, but goo along o’ him, missie, and he’ll talk over about taking yon message. And ee won’t let on as I by-named my boy Yan?’
‘No, no, Mr Gusset, o’ course I won’t.’
After Dido had reassured the old man several times he took his leave, still very shocked at his lapse.
Dido ran back to the cottage with a lighter heart.
‘Things is looking up, Cap, I reckon. As far as I can puzzle it out, old Mr Gusset’s friendly with a set o’ they moonshine men, what the folks round here calls Gentlemen. And this lot is a mighty high-up crew, seemingly: used to carrying stuff to the King hisself.’
‘Never?’ exclaimed Captain Hughes, much shocked. ‘His Majesty buying smuggled goods?’
‘Well,’ said Dido, ‘I did hear tell as how the corkscrew tax was perishing stiff; I dessay old Jamie Three had better things to spend his dibs on. Corkscrews! O’ course! What a muttonhead I am!’
‘I beg your pardon, my child?’
‘Nothing, nothing, Cap!’ said Dido hastily. ‘Anyways, if they really takes run stuff to the Palace and all the nobs, they’re the boys for us, ain’t they? You want your Dispatch taken to the Fust Lord o’ the Admiralty – like as not he’s on their list for Organ-grinder’s Oil, or his lady for Parsley Face-powder.’
Captain Hughes was obliged to admit the truth of this.
‘Well, child – see what you think of them. Do not decide rashly. If you have the least doubt as to their trustworthiness, take no further steps. So much is at stake! Confound it – I wish I were not so wretchedly weak.’
‘Now don’t you fret, Cap! If I can, I’ll get one o’ the chaps to come back here and have a word with you.’
‘Do. Do, child.’
‘I’m to meet ’em in Petworth at four this afternoon. Come to think,’ said Dido, rubbing her brow, ‘how did old Gusset know so quick that I was a-going to Petworth?’
Captain Hughes supposed the doctor must have mentioned it. ‘Does he not spend most of his time at Tegleaze Manor?’
‘He does, that’s so,’ agreed Dido thoughtfully. ‘Jist the same, I wish news didn’t travel quite so fast in this backend.’
When she had given the Captain his dinner she went out to the shippen and untethered the grey coach-horse.
‘Come on, Dapple, you lucky old prancer. You’re a-going to have a change of air.’
Since she had been giving him his feed all week and fomenting his lame leg with potato poultices under Mr Firkin’s directions, the grey had become very friendly. He allowed Dido to put on his bridle and to strap a sheepskin for a saddle round his barrel-shaped middle; she climbed on him from the water-butt, and they were off. It was no use waving to Mr Firkin, sitting with his flock on the hillside, but Toby wagged his tail amicably as they passed and so Dido waved to him. Her spirits rose as she left the quiet little valley.
‘Pity the weather’s so misty and murky. But anyways, it’s grand to be out on the gad.’
5
MR FIRKIN HAD told Dido the way to Petworth. It lay first down an exceedingly steep descent, on which Dapple slipped and snorted and complained. Above, on the misty hillside, dim glimpses of great beech trees in their flaming autumn colours reminded Dido of red-hot embers hidden under a layer of ash. The road then twisted through a small hamlet of thatched houses: Duncton, Mr Firkin had said this was called.
Growing accustomed, by the time they had left Duncton behind them, to Dapple’s jerky trot, Dido rode thoughtfully, pondering about Tegleaze Manor and its inhabitants, and the conversation they had overheard between Colonel FitzPickwick and the other man,
Miles Tuggles. What was all that about? Tobit had not seemed in the least interested, but Tobit was a totty-headed boy – wouldn’t know an egg from an Austrian. None the less it seemed to Dido that the talk concerned Tobit quite closely; so far as she could make out, Colonel FitzPickwick had been doing something he shouldn’t, stealing money from old Lady Tegleaze, like as not – maybe that was why she never had any luck with her bets, maybe they never got placed at all – and the other fellow had got to know about this somehow and was threatening FitzPickwick with exposure unless he assisted in some further plot, something connected with Tobit and Lady Tegleaze and the Manor itself – otherwise, what had he meant by ‘the place – to get all this I’d commit any crime’?
Havey-cavey goings-on, without any doubt whatsoever.
Goodness knows what all the talk of rollers and motive-power was about, but at that point the two men had been a little farther away – perhaps Dido had misheard them.
Well, she thought, if Yan, Tan, Tethera and their mates will take the Cap’n’s Dispatch to London so that’s off my mind, I reckon I oughta do something about old gravel-voice Miles Tuggles. Dear knows what, though. Tell the Bow Street officers? That’d mean going to Bow Street; can’t do it till the Cap’s better. Warn Tobit? No use, he’d only start on about pirates or pea-shooters. Warn Lady Tegleaze? She’d never heed me. Maybe the lawyers in Petworth – the ones as looks after the Heirloom – maybe they’d have some sense? Might be worth talking to them. Anyways, I’d like to see old Sir Tobit’s Luck-piece.
It had taken her the best part of an hour to reach Petworth. As she rode up the long straight track that led into the little walled, red-roofed town, she wondered at the lack of people: all the houses seemed shut and empty. But when she reached the sloping central market-place this fact was explained: a fair was in full swing there.
It was mostly a farming fair. Stalls round the sides of the square and overflowing into the streets nearby offered every kind of produce: eggs, butter, cheeses, apples red and gold, bunches of late roses and purple daisies, farming tools and equipment. There were pens of cattle and sheep, crates of poultry; girls with pails offered their services as dairymaids; Dido saw shepherds with smocks and crooks and carters with whips. But as well as these there were various entertainments and peep-shows, a band playing country dances and a central merry-go-round, which had horses gorgeously painted in red, gold and white.