The Cuckoo Tree

  She turned back in the direction of Middle Street; the ground hereabouts was white with the little twists of paper in which Joobie nuts had been wrapped. Suddenly her eye was caught by something familiar in the look of one of them. She picked it up and read her own handwriting: ‘Dere Simon I doo hop yore . . . I am all rug . . . an hadd Grate Times’. The paper had been torn into four; scuffling with her foot she found another piece. So much for the shravey Jem! No wonder her letter had not been answered: it had travelled no farther than Petworth square. But how had it come to be wrapped round a packet of Joobie nuts?

  I jist hope Yan, Tan and Co. are a bit more trustable, she thought, greatly cast down by this discovery.

  She walked on feeling thoroughly uneasy, she could not think why. After all there was no reason to suppose that the boy who had stolen the goldfish –

  But as she reached the top of New Street the hue-and-cry, which had swung in a circle round past the church and back towards the centre of the town, came surging in her direction. Ahead of the crowd, but only just, she was horrified to see Tobit, gasping and wild-eyed. Half a dozen yards from Dido he tripped and fell, as a tall man sprang forward and tackled him.

  ‘Got the little varmint!’ shouted the crowd.

  Tobit was on his feet again, fighting frenziedly.

  ‘I didn’t take it, I tell you I didn’t!’

  ‘Ah, how did it come to be in your pocket, then? Why did you run off?’

  ‘Little Tommy Tittlemouse

  Went to the skittle-show,

  Lined his breeches

  With other men’s fishes!’

  somebody sang derisively.

  ‘Someone must have slipped it in my pocket.’

  ‘A likely tale! Tell that to the magistrate!’

  A constabulary officer, conspicuous with his truncheon and top-hat, was making his way through the crowd.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked

  ‘Why, it was l-like this, officer,’ said the man who had caught Tobit. Dido studied him curiously. He was very tall but very thin, with a long, flat face, not ill-looking but very yellow in complexion. His hair was dusty-dark and his eyes, big, yellowish-grey and slanting, were strangely like those of a goat. Dido noticed that his hands, though they retained a vice-like grip on Tobit, shook all the time; it seemed that he could not control their shaking. ‘I r-run the m-mannikin show in the square – Mr M-Mystery, you know. I was just coming to the end of my M-Miller’s Daughter play when, 1-looking out at the crowd through a slit in the curtain, I s-saw this boy steal a couple of g-goldfish from the next stall and slip them into his p-pocket.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ shouted Tobit. ‘I never did any such thing! Why, if I wanted, I could easily buy a goldfish – I’ve plenty of cash.’

  He brought out a handful as proof – it was wet, and bits of pigs’ bladder were mixed up with it.

  ‘Stole the money too, like as not,’ somebody commented.

  ‘Did anybody else witness this?’ the constable asked.

  ‘Yes, I did!’ Somebody was shouldering his way to the front of the crowd; Dido was shocked to recognize Frill the footman. ‘With my own eyes I saw him,’ Frill went on sorrowfully. ‘Oh, Mas’r Tobit, how could ee do such a thing, boy, bringing down your poor old grandma’s white hairs?’

  ‘I never did, I tell you! Someone must have planted it on me.’

  ‘He’s right!’ said Dido, angrily coming forward. ‘It’s all a plot against him, so he’ll be sent to prison and won’t come into his Luck-piece. You know that,’ she said accusingly to Frill. ‘I bet your tale’s naught but a pack o’ lies.’ He gazed at her as if he had never laid eyes on her before.

  ‘Oh, and did you see the occurrence, miss?’ said the officer.

  ‘Well, no, I didn’t, but – ’

  ‘Just a-wanting to keep your playmate out o’ trouble, eh? Well, my advice to you, maidy, is, don’t poke your liddle nose into matters as don’t consarn you, or you’ll be in trouble too. Come along you,’ he said sharply, grabbing Tobit’s arm. ‘We’ll see if a night in the stone jug’ll cool you down and make you more biddable – then tomorrow you’ll go afore the Beak.’

  The crowd followed as he hurried Tobit away. Frill and Mr Mystery strode alongside.

  Dido started after, but a hand on her arm checked her.

  ‘You’ll never do no good that way, lovie,’ said a warning voice. ‘Best not get imbrangled.’

  She looked up into the eyes of Yan Wineberry.

  ‘But it was all a put-up job – ’ she began indignantly.

  ‘Whisht! O’ course it was. That Amos Frill is as crooked as one o’ my twistycorks. But no sense in making a potheration now, or what’ll come of it? You’ll be run in too, for nabbling at a constable in pursoot o’ his dooty.’

  ‘What’ll I do then?’

  ‘Best tell old Lady Tegleaze first. The magistrate’s a friend o’ hers – old Sir Fritz FitzPickwick. Reckon she’ll be able to put matters right wi’ him.’

  ‘D’you reckon so?’ Dido said doubtfully. ‘What if that don’t work?’

  ‘If that don’t work us Wineberry Men’ll see what we can do.’

  Somewhat comforted by this assurance, Dido fetched out her nag, mounted him from the steps in front of The Fighting Cocks inn, and made for home as fast as possible. But Dapple had no great turn of speed, and as she passed through Duncton in the misty twilight she was overtaken by a trap bowling rapidly along. It was driven by Frill, who passed her without a sign of recognition. The trap’s other passenger, bundled up like a sackful of shadows, was not visible to Dido.

  Blame it! she thought. Now he’ll get home first and tell his tale.

  She delivered the crutches to Captain Hughes who was delighted with them, gave him a hasty summary of the afternoon’s events, including the satisfactory interview with Yan Winberry, and explained that she must hurry on to Tegleaze Manor.

  ‘That you must,’ agreed the Captain. ‘Not a doubt but the boy’s been framed, by the sound of it – makes one’s blood boil. Why, when I think how I’d feel if my own boy, Owen, got into such a fix – I’ve a good mind to come along with you and talk to this Lady Tegleaze.’

  However, his indignation, and the effort of attempting to leave his bed, made his head swim so badly that Dido was alarmed and begged him not to over-exert himself.

  She prepared him a hasty meal, explained her intentions to Mr Firkin, who promised to keep the Captain company and observing that Mrs Lubbage’s house was in darkness, remounted the dismayed Dapple and continued on her way.

  As she neared Tegleaze Manor she saw one faint glimmer of light in an upstairs window, and when she pounded on the door, Gusset presently appeared with a candle.

  ‘Oh, Missie Dwighto Tide!’ he exclaimed dolefully. ‘There be desprit tidings of Mas’r Tobit – caught a-poaching goldfishes and clapped in clink!’

  ‘I know, I was there! But it’s all a pack o’ lies, you know, Mister Gusset – he didn’t do it.’ As she said this, though, a sudden doubt assailed her. Tobit was such an unaccountable, impulsive boy – supposing he had done it? But no, why should he? ‘I’ve come to tell Lady Tegleaze the truth,’ she went on stoutly.

  ‘Oh, that’s good, that’s good, Missie Dide – I’ll take ee to her directly,’ Gusset quavered, and escorted her upstairs so slowly and shakily that he scattered great drops of candle-grease on every step.

  In Lady Tegleaze’s dim, dusty bedroom, Dido found a conclave assembled. Frill was there, looking thoroughly hypocritical: the corners of his mouth were turned down as far as they would go, and his hair had been parted in the middle with a wet comb. Dr Subito was there with a finger on the pulse of Lady Tegleaze, who lay on a couch looking pale and haggard; Sannie, wielding a large ostrich-feather fan; old Cousin Wilfred in his dressing-gown, holding a bottle of smelling salts and looking somewhat bewildered. Pelmett stood with an untouched plateful of nut cutlets; and another member of the group, greatly to Dido’s astonishment, was Mrs Lubbage
, whose solemn expression did not disguise a gleam of excitement and malice in her twinkling little eyes. Tobit’s big white dog Lion had crept in and was lying in the middle of the room with his head on his paws, flattened out like a thick white fur rug; every now and then he let out a mournful whimper.

  ‘Who is that?’ demanded Lady Tegleaze as Dido entered; then, recognizing her, added fretfully, ‘Why, it’s that quarantine child who forced her way in once before. I daresay she began all the trouble, putting ideas in the boy’s head. Tell her to be off, Subito; she is not wanted, specially at such a time as this.’

  ‘But my lady,’ pleaded Gusset, ‘she be come about Mas’r Tobit – says as how it be all a pack of lies that he took the fish.’

  ‘Nonsense, man! Frill himself saw the incident. A devoted family servant would hardly lie, would he? Oh! to think I should have to suffer such a blow. My own grandson convicted of poaching, three days before his coming-of-age. Such a vulgar crime, too. It is crushing – entirely crushing.’

  ‘But ma’am – I am sure that it is all a plot.’

  Dido wished that some of these people would go away, so that she could talk to Lady Tegleaze in private.

  ‘Who would plot against me – and why, pray?’

  ‘Colonel FitzPickwick-’ began Dido, but at that moment the Colonel himself entered the room. Seen in daylight his hair and moustaches were so white that Dido wondered if he dipped them in bleach; they formed a decided contrast to the whites of his liver-brown eyes which were a blood-veined mud colour. His teeth, when he showed them, looked as if inside somewhere they must be labelled ‘Best Staffordshire Porcelain’.

  ‘Dear lady – who speaks of me?’ he said, coming forward.

  ‘What news?’ Lady Tegleaze demanded. ‘What news of my grandson?’

  ‘He will appear before the magistrates at ten tomorrow, my cousin Fritz presiding. Let us hope that as it is a first offence, Fritz will be lenient: ten years in Lewes jail, perhaps, rather than a life sentence in Botany Bay.’

  ‘Oh, what difference does it make to me where he gets sent?’ Lady Tegleaze said pettishly. ‘Or for how long? The main thing is that we lose the Heirloom. When I think of the trouble I have wasted in rearing that child – and all for this! Stupid, ungovernable boy! Well, I wash my hands of him – I wish now I had kept the other instead.’

  ‘Other?’ twittered the mouse-like Cousin Wilfred, evidently much startled. ‘What other, Catherine?’

  ‘Why, surely you remember that there were twins? Or rather, triplets, but one died at birth. Sannie brought the other two from Tiburon when their parents died. But I said it wasn’t to be expected that I should have the trouble of looking after two grandchildren – one would be quite enough work – so I kept only the boy.’

  ‘And I said, princessie-ma’am, two-baby twins bring always bad, bad luck in family, almost as bad as three-baby. Better get rid of one, better keep boy, just,’ Sannie put in.

  ‘Good gracious! Mean to say you just disposed of one?’ mumbled Cousin Wilfred, really shocked.

  And Dido thought, Well! I allus did say she was a queer old trout but, ask me, that’s downright heartless! Fancy tossing out your own grandbaby like summat you’d give a rag-and-bone man.

  ‘Oh well, Sannie said she’d find a home for it somewhere, in an orphanage or something. You’ll just have to find it again now, Sannie – and double-quick too – now Tobit’s no use to me.’

  ‘That not easy,’ said Tante Sannie, wrinkling her leathery, monkey-like forehead under its sparse silvery hairs. ‘Not easy, that! Who know, who know where that baby be now? Far, far away, daresay; cost a much, much money to find her. Hundred, t’ousand pound.’

  ‘Well, the money’ll have to be found somehow,’ snapped Lady Tegleaze. ‘FitzPickwick, you’ll have to arrange it. Sell one of the chimneys – or the portico, that’s made of marble, isn’t it?’

  Dido, meanwhile, had been struck by a blinding flash of inspiration. Without pausing to listen to anything else she turned hastily towards the door, noticing two faces only on her way: Gusset’s, full of reproach at her supposed desertion, and that of Colonel FitzPickwick who looked as if he had received an utterly staggering blow; his jaw had dropped in disbelief, his large porcelain teeth struck up like Dapple’s, and he was directing a look of pure fury at Tante Sannie, who took no notice whatsoever.

  6

  BACK AT DOGKENNEL Cottages, Dido briskly approached that of Mrs Lubbage. It was unlit, as before, and the door was locked. When she tried it, the little voice buzzed in her ear:

  ‘Beware! This is a hoodoo lock.’

  Oh, be blowed to that, thought Dido impatiently. If old Sannie and Mrs Lubbage are hoping to squeeze a thousand quid out o’ Lady Tegleaze before they’ll produce Tobit’s sister, they’re liable to be pretty riled with me anyways, s’posing I spile their game; busting the old crone’s witchlock can’t make matters much worse, I reckon.

  She found a lump of rock and gave the ramshackle door a vigorous thump; it burst inwards.

  From up above an alarmed voice cried, ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Cris? It’s me – Dido!’

  She walked into the kitchen – which smelt even worse than on her last visit – and looked up. Framed in the black square of the loft opening was a pale, scared face.

  ‘I thought it must be people coming to duck Auntie Daisy,’ breathed Cris. ‘She said once that some day they will do. But, Dido, you won’t half catch it when she finds you here! And so shall I! Breaking down the door, too – didn’t her hoodoo lock work on you?’

  ‘Yes, a bit,’ said Dido, crossly rubbing her hands. ‘My fingers tingles as if I’d been pulling stinging nettles. But I don’t believe in such stuff! Anyways, come down, Cris; I wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Where’s Auntie Daisy?’

  ‘Up at Tegleaze Manor.’

  Encouraged by this, Cris jumped lightly down.

  ‘Why did you let on you was a boy?’ Dido snapped out.

  ‘I – I – Auntie Daisy said I must, always. For goodness’ sake don’t tell her you found out,’ Cris gasped, looking frightened almost to death.

  ‘That’ll be all right – don’t you worry. What’s your real name, then?’

  ‘It is Cris – Cristin. She said if anyone got to know, she’d put a freezing spell on me so I was shivering cold to the end of my days. She can too – she did to old Mrs Ruffle at Open Winkins.’

  ‘Rubbidge. Mrs Ruffle probably had the ague. Now listen, Cris – I’ve lots o’ things to tell you. But there’s no time to lose, so you come along o’ me and I’ll explain as we go – agreeable?’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘I’d as soon not say till we’re farther along,’ Dido said cautiously.

  ‘Supposing Auntie Daisy comes back?’

  ‘I don’t reckon she will jist yet.’

  ‘I can’t go without asking Aswell!’

  Oh, croopus, Dido thought. But she felt some sympathy for Cris – plainly the unusualness and suddenness of her arrival had thrown the girl into such a state of fright and indecision that she was almost paralysed. She stood trembling, huddling the ragged sheepskin jacket round her thin shoulders, her huge dark eyes fixed hauntedly on Dido.

  ‘All right, go on, ask Aswell then,’ Dido said patiently. ‘But I think we’d best get outside, hadn’t we? Shouldn’t think Aswell’d fancy coming into a murky den like this.’

  They went out into the little weedy front yard, dark now and misty. Cris sang or chanted her curious rhyme:

  ‘Dwah, dwah, dwuddy dwuddy dwee –

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

  Dido perched on the yard wall. Cris stood with her eyes shut and hands stretched out. There was a long pause of expectation and strain; then Cris gave a short sigh.

  ‘It’s all right. Aswell says I ought to go.’

  ‘Well, so I should hope!’ Dido muttered to herself, but aloud she merely remarked, ‘Come along, then – can you trot? That’s the dandy’
– catching hold of Cris’s hand. She had stabled Dapple, who had certainly done his part for the day, before coming to find Cris.

  The two girls ran along the chalk track at a steady pace, and Dido said,

  ‘Right, listening, are you? Now, Cris, do you know what twins are?’

  ‘Brothers and sisters the same age?’ Cris said doubtfully.

  ‘That’s it. Now, how’d you feel, Cris, s’posing I was to say you had a twin brother nobody’d ever told you about?’

  There was a long silence. Then Cris’s voice came hesitantly out of the dark.

  ‘Could you say that again?’

  Dido said it again.

  ‘Dido?’

  ‘Yes, Cris?’

  ‘Do – do you mean that I really have got a brother?’

  ‘Yes, Cris. His name is Tobit. He’s in pokey at the moment, but we’ll get him out someways.’

  ‘Pokey?’

  ‘Jail. Prison.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Someone fadged up a tale against him o’ summat he hadn’t done.’

  ‘I’ve got a brother called Tobit.’ Cris was trying over the words to see how they sounded. ‘I have a brother. Do you know – everything seems warm all of a sudden. As if the air was warm and I could swim in it like a fish. I’ve got a brother,’ she said again.

  ‘Hey, hold on!’ Dido became a bit anxious. ‘He’s jist an ordinary boy – not an angel! Leastways he’s not all that ordinary, she thought; but anyway I reckon Cris would take to him if he had three legs and a sword on his snout.

  ‘Now, there’s lots more to tell you, Cris, so pay attention. That ain’t all by a long chalk.’

  ‘What else?’ But Cris sounded vague as if, in spite of Dido’s caution, her attention was not fully engaged.

  ‘It’s like this. As well as Brother Tobit, you’ve got some grand relations up at Tegleaze Manor. Old Lady Tegleaze is your granny. And there’s cousin Wilfred. They’re a-going to be right pleased to see you,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘acos now Tobit’s been in jug he’s lost his right to the Luck-piece. At least I s’pose he has; jail’s jail, even if it’s on a skrimped-up charge.’