by Joan Aiken
‘Get them, lads!’ shouted Yan.
The three separated, Sannie and Mrs Lubbage fleeing towards the crypt, while the puppet-master darted through the door to the spiral stairs.
Dido, Tobit and Yan followed him.
‘I’m afeered he means mischief to the King,’ Dido panted. ‘We mustn’t let him get to the gallery!’
Yan nodded, pounding ahead. But there was really no risk, as they saw when they reached the narrow gallery entrance; it was jammed with people and the fugitive had evidently abandoned his plan and, in desperation continued onwards and upwards with Yan close at his heels.
‘Stop, you fool!’ Yan shouted after him. ‘You can’t escape that way!’
The puppet-master evidently thought otherwise. Pausing an instant to discard his black fur cloak and hood, which were hampering him, he rushed along a narrow passage that led off the stairs. Now they could recognize the fair hair and moustache of Colonel FitzPickwick.
‘He can’t escape that way,’ said a voice behind Dido. She looked round and saw the Dean. ‘It leads only to the roof.’
But FitzPickwick had unbolted the door and sprang out into darkness, followed, an instant later, by Yan. Light from inside showed a lead-lined valley between two roof ridges.
‘Yan! Take care!’ called Dido anxiously.
She started after him, but the Dean grabbed her arm.
‘Don’t go, child! It’s too dangerous in the dark. That’s the nave roof – it ends in a sheer drop over the west front.’
Nonetheless, Dido would have gone – but at that moment they heard a wild shout of rage, or defiance, or despair. A moment later Yan came back to them, looking pale and appalled.
‘He jumped . . . clean off the end of the roof.’
‘Heaven forgive him,’ said the Dean.
Downstairs, they found that a general calming-down and tidying-up process had taken place. Another issue of choirboys’ buttons had been dealt round and most people, exhausted by all the excitement, had gone to sleep, lying as comfortably as they could on the sloping Cathedral floor. The King, having delivered a calming speech, had retired to the north gallery. Here the Wineberry Men were summoned to be thanked for the speed and skill with which they had secured the Cathedral.
‘You saved it from destruction,’ the Dean kept repeating, with tears in his eyes. ‘I’ll never forget it, never!’
‘Losh, lads, ye did wonders,’ agreed the King.
‘How did you get the rope so quick?’ Dido wanted to know.
‘Got it from the Old Bailey. They’ve allus got plenty there – for tying up prisoners. Sir Percy fixed for us to have it – he and Lord Raven were still arguing when we took along his Reverence’s note. We could see the Cathedral aswaying about from there, so I reckoned there wasn’t time to go along and argue the toss wi’ Lord Fo’c’stle.’
‘I’ll no’ say but that ye were richt,’ agreed the King. ‘Weel, lads, if ye wish for pensionable, kenspeckit poseetions in the government, Davie Jamie Charlie Neddie Geordie Harry Dick Tudor-Stuart’s the man tae see ye’ll get them.’
Yan and the rest thanked him politely, but said they would prefer to continue plying their trade as Gentlemen.
‘’Tis what we’re used to, you see, sir.’
‘Aweel, I’ll no’ quarrel with ye; ’tis a gey frack profession, fit for gallant lads like yersel’s. Whene’er ye veesit Westminster I’ll be blythe tae buy claret from ye as my dad did afore me. And I hereby gie ye leave to write “Appointit tae His Majesty” on the brattach o’ your boat.’
Much impressed by this royal favour, the Wineberry Men withdrew, pulling their forelocks.
‘Would your Majesty wish to see the two prisoners?’ the Dean inquired.
‘I canna say I do, but I doubt I had better,’ said the King reluctantly.
Tante Sannie and Mrs Lubbage were led in. They had been taken in the crypt without difficulty, for the subterranean passage was blocked when the south-west corner of the Cathedral sank into the ground.
The two witches were a sorry spectacle. Sannie seemed to have shrunk; she had always been small, now she was tiny, hardly bigger than a five-year-old. Seeing the King, she whimpered out miserably.
‘Oh, dear King-sir! Is will be kind to poor old Sannie? Old Sannie never meant harm! Only to go back where the sea she do sing, and isn’t no cold nor rudeness, but love-apples and sweet-grass, and old people is loved and given quilt stuffed with happiness-feathers – ’
‘What does she mean?’ asked the King.
‘She wants to go back to Tiburon,’ Dido said.
‘And the other one?’
But no one, ever again, would be able to tell what Mrs Lubbage wanted – if she wanted anything. She had half a dozen Joobie nuts, with which she played, smiling like a baby, trickling them from one hand to the other without speaking; she never said another word.
‘Take them away,’ said the King. For the first time he sounded tired. ‘Take them away and let them be looked after somewhere . . .’
‘Shall you let them go back to Tiburon, sir?’ Dido asked when they had gone.
‘Och, weel, they’d be out of mischief there.’
But old Sannie died in the night; whether from age, or lost hope, no one could say.
‘Whit aboot ye three?’ the King said to Dido, Cris and Tobit. ‘Gin ye hadna brought yon message in the faurst place, we’d nane of us be here noo. I’d be blythe for ye tae carry my train the morn, alang wi’ young Owen Hughes – would ye like to?’
Dido glanced at the others; they nodded.
‘Thanks, Mister King, we’d be right pleased. If I can get back to Sussex directly arter, that is; I shan’t feel easy till I see how my old Cap’s a-getting on. And I promised Lord Sope I’d return his elephant.’
So that was how Dido Twite, along with Tobit and Cristin Tegleaze came to carry the train of King Richard IV at his coronation. And the Master of the King’s Garlandries, arriving at the last minute for the ceremony because he and his helpers had been working all night replacing the scattered decorations on the Cathedral, looked down from the Whispering Gallery and exclaimed,
‘Good heavens! That’s Dido!’
13
DIDO, TOBIT AND Cris started for Sussex the very instant the ceremony, which was held at six in the morning, had finished. They had been invited to stay for the junketings, but declined. Dido was anxious to get back to her Captain. Tobit and Cris, armed with an Injunction signed by the Lord Chief Justice against anybody trying to stop them taking possession of Tegleaze Manor, ‘in particular one Miles Tuggles, alias Tegleaze, alias Mystery’, were anxious to see what was happening at home. And Rachel, too, was dreadfully homesick; right through the crowning she had stood just outside, in St Paul’s churchyard, trumpeting mournfully.
Just before they left, Dido received a message to say that the Duke of Battersea would like to see her, as soon as he had fixed up some toppling garlands.
‘Duke o’ Battersea? Who’s he?’ she said, puzzled. ‘Well, look, tell him I’m right sorry but I can’t wait now. Ax him to write to me.’
Rachel swung through the outskirts of London at a rattling pace. Along with Dido, Tobit and Cris travelled Captain Hughes’s son, Owen. He seemed a pleasant enough boy, though rather silent and anxious at the moment. This was hardly surprising, since the Captain’s family had not heard from him for several years; they had thought him dead in the Chinese wars; and now the news of his mysterious illness was hardly encouraging.
‘Don’t you fret, though, I reckon the King’s doctor will be able to set him to rights,’ Dido kept saying consolingly. ‘He seemed a right sensible cove.’
The King’s doctor, who had an allergy to elephants, was to follow them in his own curricle with a supply of medicines, directly the coronation banquet was over.
Rachel took them over heath and common, through woods, fields and copses, straight as a bird to Stopham House, where she trumpeted outside the library window until Lord Sope came out
and patted her cheek.
‘Well, well, well, Rachel; that will do! I am delighted to see you back, but do not deafen me, pray! How do you do, Miss Twite,’ he said to Dido. ‘Were you able to deliver your message? That’s good, that’s good . . . I see you have friends with you. Would you all care for a little refreshment?’
‘That’s ever so kind of your lordship, but I reckon we’d best get on. Oh, here’s a note from Lord Forecastle, inviting you to take a dish of tay with him next time you’re in town.’
Dido had been planning to hire a carriage at the White Hart for the last bit of the journey, but Lord Sope hospitably put his phaeton at their disposal, so they drove on in it to Petworth, where they received a great welcome from the Gusset family at The Fighting Cocks.
‘There, I am pleased to see you, dearies!’ exclaimed Aunt Sarah, embracing them all impartially. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened, never!’
‘What?’ Dido asked anxiously. ‘Is the Cap’n all right?’
‘At twelve o’clock midnight last night,’ said Miss Sarah impressively, ‘just as I was a-taking a last look at the Cap’n – poor dear soul – sleeping up in the attic, so innocent and quiet as a babby, what does he do?’
‘What does he do?’
‘Sits up! Looks about him calm as a Christian and, if you’ll believe me says, “Ma’am, who are you? Where the deuce am I? What’s become of my Dispatch? And where’s Dido Twite?” He’s sitting in an armchair in the little parlour – a bit weak, but a-mending fast – drinking a mugful of huckle-my-buff – at this very minute. He will be pleased to know you’re back, dearie.’
‘He’ll be even more pleased than that,’ said Dido. ‘This here’s his son Owen, that he hasn’t seen for dunnamany years.’
‘Oh, dearie! He’ll be right dumbfounded with joy.’
‘Owen,’ Dido suggested, ‘why don’t you go in and see your Pa fust – he won’t want too many of us a-crashing in on him if he’s weak yet.’
Owen nodded, and went through the door indicated by Mrs Gusset. They heard him say,
‘Father!’ and Captain Hughes exclaim,
‘That’s never Owen?’
Then there was a long silence.
‘Eh, bless him! That’ll do him more good than doctor’s medicine,’ said Aunt Sarah, wiping her eyes. ‘Now, how about the rest of you? Would you like a bowl of soup, eh?’
They were glad of soup, having had nothing since a scanty breakfast before the ceremony, and while they ate they told Aunt Sarah, Uncle Jarge, and his boy Ted the whole tale of the events leading up to the coronation, and discussed the astonishing fact that, at the exact time when Mrs Lubbage and Tante Sannie realized their plan had failed, Captain Hughes had recovered the use of his senses.
‘There’s something mighty odd about it all,’ Miss Sarah said over and over. ‘But I’m right glad he’s on the mend, for I’ve not laid eyes on a better-looking man since my Hannibal was struck by lightning in the rowboat full of corkscrews. And that’s a nice-looking boy, too; do you reckon he’d fancy a bowl of my soup?’
‘Guess he would,’ Dido said. ‘While you’re giving it to him, ma’am, I’ll take Tobit and Cris on to Tegleaze, before it gets dark, and then come back to have a talk with the Cap. Oh, there’s a letter for him from Lord Fo’c’stle giving him six months’ leave so’s he can go home to Wales.’
‘I’ve always fancied a holiday in Wales,’ Miss Sarah said thoughtfully, tucking Lord Forecastle’s letter in her apron pocket.
Dido, Tobit and Cris returned to the phaeton and continued on their way. Some three-quarters of an hour after their departure, the doctor’s curricle arrived. The doctor had brought with him a passenger who inquired for Miss Dido Twite and, on hearing that she had gone to Tegleaze Manor, decided to follow her, after a brief pause for refreshments.
Dido, Cris and Tobit drove through the village of Duncton, and up steep Duncton hill, where they dismounted and walked beside the horse. Dido was rather silent, but Tobit and Cris kept up a nonstop flow of talk.
‘We’ll keep a lot of sheep – Mr Firkin will be the chief shepherd – and we’ll breed horses again – Granny will like that, she knows a lot about horses when she’s off the Joobie nuts. We’ll mend all the things that are falling to bits – have Dogkennel Cottages repaired and find new tenants – set Tegleaze Manor to rights – ’
‘What’ll you use for cash?’ Dido asked.
‘Well, there’s bound to be some, now old Fitz-Pickwick isn’t taking it all for his Hanoverian plots-’
‘What about the Luck-piece?’
‘Oh well, it won’t run away. We’ll give it to that museum in London. Neither of us wants it. But there’s other things to do first – that can wait.’
(It waited for a year, and when they finally sent down a diver to rescue the Breughel miniature, which was dangling from a nail in the brickwork of the well, they also found the bones of Miles Tegleaze, alias Miles Mystery, lying at the bottom, where he had fallen when he rushed from the mill that dark November night.)
‘And we’ll do something about those magistrates in Petworth, so people can’t be transported on false evidence,’ Tobit said.
‘And we’ll look after poor old women, so they don’t get a grudge against everybody and take to witchcraft,’ said Cris.
They passed Dogkennel Cottages. Mr Firkin was up on the side of the down with his sheep, and dog Toby.
‘I’ll go and see him tomorrow,’ Cris said.
They reached Tegleaze Manor. While Dido was tethering Lord Sope’s horse to the marble pillar, Tobit and Cris walked through the great door hand in hand. The big white dog Lion flew down the stairs like a bolt from a catapult, barking and whining with joy. When he saw that there were two of them, he was quite astounded, and did not know which face to lick first. Old Gusset, wandering about the hall with a feather duster, also nearly fainted from astonishment.
‘Mas’r Tobit, sir! Miss Crissie! Bean’t you transported to Van Diemen’s Land? Nor murdered? Nor taken up by the Bow Street Runners? Nor magicked by Mother Lubbage?’
‘None of those things,’ Tobit said. ‘And Tante Sannie’s never coming back, nor Colonel Fitz-Pickwick, and we’re never going to allow another Joobie nut on the place, and things’ll all be different from now on. Where’s Granny?’
‘Why, she’s been a bit brighter than usual, Mas’r Tobit. She be in Mr Wilfred’s bedroom, a-playing tiddlywinks with him.’
‘We’ll go up and surprise her. Want to come Dido?’
But Dido said she thought she would be getting back.
‘Thanks for the ride, then. Maybe we’ll come over to Petworth tomorrow to see you.’
Hand in hand, without looking back, they ran up the stairs.
Old Gusset, gazing after them, shook his head.
‘Well, I declare! Who’d a beleft it? So all’s right, is it, Missie Twido Dite?’
‘Yes,’ said Dido slowly. ‘All’s right, Mister Gusset. The King’s been crowned, and Cap’n Hughes is better, and if that Mystery turns up again he’ll get his comeuppance. And your boy Yan got a special thanks from the King, and permission to put “By Royal Thingummy” on the Gentlemen’s Relish. And they’re coming back by the cut, and he said to tell you he’d see you at the Cuckoo Tree the day arter tomorrow.’
‘Ah, that be champion,’ the old man said happily. ‘I knew nothing’d harm my boy Yan, acos I bought him that liddle wooden charm-piece from owd Mother Lubbage – but thanked by His Majesty! Think o’ that!’
He looked up the stairs again, thoughtfully rubbing his whiskers with the feather duster.
‘All the same,’ he muttered, ‘those two young ’uns ought to offered you a glass o’ cowslip wine. Uncivil, that was. Or would ee like a biscuit, now, missie?’
‘That’s ever so kind of you, Mister Gusset, but I really does want to be getting back.’
Just the same, before doing so, Dido went into Cousin Wilfred’s little study to have a look at the Tegleaze family tree. T
riplets, back in Charles the First’s time: Tobias, Christopher and Miles Aswell Tegleaze.
‘Mister Gusset?’
‘Yes, Missie Dwite?’
‘Do you know the name of the other triplet? Tobit and Cris’s brother who died at birth?
‘No, missie. I never did hear. Likely he was never christened?’
‘Maybe not.’
Dido unhitched the phaeton, and drove off. All of a sudden she felt lonely – almost choked with loneliness. Tobit’s got Cris, she thought, and Cap’n Hughes has his boy Owen, but who’ve I got?
Such thoughts were not sensible, she knew. A warm welcome awaited her back at The Fighting Cocks. She could probably go to Wales with Captain Hughes and Owen if she wanted, the King had invited her to stay at Westminster, and Mr Firkin would certainly be pleased if she went back to Dogkennel Cottages. But all the hospitality in the world is not the same as having someone of your own.
As she neared Dogkennel Cottages she saw that the sheep were down in the pasture, which meant that Mr Firkin was home. So she stopped in to tell him about Captain Hughes’s recovery and the collapse of Mrs Lubbage. While she was telling her tale, a curricle dashed by, going towards Tegleaze.
‘Eh, fancy old Mis’ Lubbage being brung so low!’ Mr Firkin exclaimed wonderingly. ‘The poor owd mawther! Like a babby, is she? Tell ’em to send her back here, darter, and I’ll keep an eye on her, surelye; she ’on’t come to no harm herealong when folks knows she’m afflicted.’
Dido promised she would do this.
‘Mr Firkin,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ve a fancy to walk along to the Cuckoo Tree. Can I leave the carriage here for twenty minutes?’
‘O’ course, darter! And time ee comes back, I’ll have a cup o’ tea a-mashed for ee.’
Dido walked across the pasture, up the chalk track, through the beech grove, across the saddle of rough down grass, along the path under the hanging yew trees. And she finally came to the little crooked, aged Cuckoo Tree, leaning out sideways from the slope of the hill, as it had leaned for many, many hundreds of years, and would lean for many hundreds of years more.