Night Birds On Nantucket (10 page)

‘One missing! That one must be found, miss.'

‘Y-y-yes, Aunt!'

‘Make haste and set about it, then.'

Pen bore up till she was downstairs, but then she burst into tears.

‘Oh, I'm so tired! And look, it's nearly dark outside. Do you think we really need go tonight, Dido? I'm sure we'd never find it. And I don't believe I can walk another step.'

‘Nor you shall,' said Dido sturdily. ‘Be blowed to the
old faggot. How does she expect us to find one sheep in the dark in umpty miles o' wild country? That's a crazy notion. It'll look after itself till morning, I reckon; we'll find it then. Run along to bed, Pen, while I stoke the stove and lock the back door.'

Pen was already half asleep by the time Dido tiptoed up and snuggled in beside her under the quilted comforters.

‘I brought the back and front door keys,' she whispered, tucking them under the pillow. ‘Just so's to be on the safe side. ‘Night, Dutiful. You'll have to write a letter to your pa about all this.'

‘Good night, Dido. Yes, I will write a letter.'

Halfway through the night Dido woke up and lay listening sharply. This ain't half a creaky old house, she thought. Every pine board seemed to have its own separate voice, and when the wind blew it was almost like being on the ship. But no wind was blowing now, and yet a board had creaked. Burglars? Dido slid a hand under the pillow and satisfied herself that both keys were still there. Pen slept peacefully. The creak was not repeated and, after a while, Dido too drifted back into sleep and dreamed that she was asking Aunt Tribulation to lend her the fare to England, while Pen weepingly begged her not to go, and Aunt Tribulation made no reply except to shake her red wattles, wink a black, beady eye, and croak, ‘Certainly not! Certainly not! Get up, you lazy girl! Cock-a-doodle-doo!'

‘Wake up, Pen, it's morning.'

‘Oh, no, it can't be!' moaned Pen. ‘I could sleep for hours longer.'

‘Never mind. At least we shan't have to light the
stove this morning. I can jistabout do with some bacon and coffee.'

They dressed in the warm kitchen. While Dido was brushing Pen's long hair, Pen said, ‘That's odd. I thought we left the window fastened. Look, it's only pushed to.'

Dido considered the window in frowning silence for a moment before going out to the pigs. But she only said: ‘Oh well, lucky nobody noticed it and got in.'

After breakfast Dido found the spare attic key and ran softly upstairs. She slipped the key into the keyhole – it fitted, the door opened; and she tiptoed on up the next flight. She found herself in a huge room with a sloping roof and low dormer windows. It stretched the length of the house and was filled with all sorts of odds and ends – old trunks, old boots, boxes, bales of sacking, flour-bags, two stuffed birds under a glass cover, some wooden stub-toe skates, an old fowling-gun, and so forth. Dido looked around sharply. She did not quite know what she was searching for, but almost at once she found it: faint, sandy footprints on the floor.

Those
weren't made long ago, Dido said to herself. If they had been, they'd a soon dried up and blowed away.

A ship's ladder and a trapdoor led out on to the roof; looking down from the widow's-walk balcony Dido saw Penitence hanging clothes on the line. I'd best be getting back to work, she thought, before the old gal finds I'm up here, and she closed the trapdoor and tiptoed down the ladder. At its foot she stopped short, riveted by the sight of something that she had missed on her first hasty survey of the attic. Behind one of the
chests, as if it had been hurriedly thrust out of sight, was a bundle of ladies' clothes: bonnet, gloves, a black silk dress and a cloak of grey twill. On top of the bundle was a pair of bottle-green boots.

Dido tiptoed over and inspected these. They had white stains on them.

Salt water, she said to herself.
Those
haven't been here long.

I'd best get outa here.

After giving another quick, darting look round the attic she slipped down the stairs and softly closed and locked the door behind her. None too soon, it seemed; she could hear terrified wails coming from Aunt Tribulation's room.

‘Dido said I might go to bed!' Penitence was saying through her tears. ‘Dido said we'd never find it in the dark. And indeed, Aunt Tribulation, we were dreadfully tired. Dido said th-that looking at night-time was a crazy notion.'

‘She did, did she? She shall be punished for that. And you, miss, had better go out now, and I don't wish to see you again until the sheep is found! I am going to make myself obeyed from now on, do you understand?' Aunt Tribulation rapped on the floor with her stick.

Frowning, Dido walked into the room.

‘So, girl!' Aunt Tribulation addressed her fiercely. ‘You countermand my instructions, do you?'

‘Yes,' Dido agreed. ‘They was downright addlepated. And you didn't oughta shout at Pen that way, you'll scare her into historics. Pen,' she added, more in sorrow than anger, ‘haven't I told you about not putting the blame on someone else? Stick up for yourself, girl!'

Pen gave her a miserable glance.

‘Still, we mustn't be too hard on the old gal,' Dido added, with a sudden seraphic smile at Aunt Tribulation. ‘When she shouts at you, Pen, remember her rheumaticks is hurting her cruel bad.'

Plainly Aunt Tribulation did not quite know how to deal with this.

‘Penitence!' she snapped. ‘Be off!'

Pen hesitated, then ran from the room.

‘As for
you
,' Aunt Tribulation went on, ‘you can miss your dinner. Go out, finish hoeing the potato field, then do the cornfield, and don't come back till it's finished.'

‘Blister your potato field,' Dido replied calmly. ‘I'm a-going to help Pen find that sheep. And if I miss my dinner, so will you, acos there won't be no one to bring it up to you.'

With which parting shot she ran downstairs to the kitchen. Pen had already started down the track. For several hours they searched unsuccessfully. There were plenty of sheep to be seen grazing the rough pasture as they went farther afield, but not one with the red C which was Captain Casket's mark. At last, when they were about halfway to Polpis and the sun was high in the sky, Dido suddenly cried: ‘Oh, look, Pen! I do believe that there's a sheep with a red mark. Look, by the bushes. Quick, let's go arter him. Brrr! though; ain't it turned cold all of a sudden!'

While they were searching, the children had not noticed that a fine white sea-mist had come creeping over the island. Just as they started after the wandering sheep the mist caught up with and engulfed them.

‘Hey, where are you, Pen?' Dido called anxiously.

‘Here! I'm here!'

‘Blame it, it's like walking through porridge! Where in thunderation is your voice coming from? Stand still, till I find you,' Dido said, feeling her way forward. But Pen suddenly shouted excitedly:

‘Oh, I see it, I see the sheep! I believe I can catch it, too!'

There came the sound of running footsteps, which faded into the distance, then a disappointed cry, ‘Oh, drat!'

Missed it, diagnosed Dido. Seconds later a damp, dew-spangled sheep bolted past her, nearly knocking
her down, and disappeared into the dimness before she could grab it.

Blazes, Dido thought. Now I've lost 'em both, Pen
and
the sheep. Which'd I better go after? Pen, I reckon. The sheep can look after itself.

‘Penitence!' she called lustily. ‘Du-oo-tiful! Penitence! Where are you?'

No answer – only a plaintive, faraway bleat. Not
you
, woollyknob, Dido thought crossly. She floundered on into the smoky whiteness, tripping over wet, tangling shrubs, getting caught in thornbushes and low-growing holly, stumbling into holes and out of them again.

At last she struck a track which led uphill. Night was falling by now. Dispirited, weary, and very worried about Pen, she turned along it. Maybe I'll come to a house or a farm, she thought, where I can ask somebody to give me a hand hunting. At this rate the poor little brat stands a chance of being out all night and that'd just about
do
for Pen; she'd be seeing ghosts and boggarts for the rest of her life.

She hurried along the track, which sloped more and more steeply uphill and suddenly brought her out into a familiar barnyard. Why, curse it, Dido thought angrily, I'm
home
, what's the good o' that? No hopes Auntie Trib will give a hand. I'd best turn right round and go back the other way.

She was just turning wearily down the dusky track when a lantern light showed in the barn door.

‘Dido!' called Pen's eager voice. ‘Is that you?'

‘Penny!' Dido exclaimed joyfully. ‘You're back, then!'

‘Yes, and, what do you think? I found the sheep
again! Wasn't that a bit of luck? And, Dido, I have had such a curious adventure, listen –'

‘You found the sheep? You brought it back all on your own?' Dido was amazed. ‘I'd never a thought you had it in you, Pen! How ever did you manage to fetch it along? Where is it now?'

‘In the barn. I led it,' Pen said.

‘How, for gracious' sakes?'

‘Well,' Pen said rather shyly, ‘I thought, how would Dido set about it? So as I hadn't got a rope I took off my stockings and tied them together. It was the sheep that found the way home, not me. But I was dreadfully worried about where you'd got to, Dido. I'm ever so glad to see you.'

‘Well, us'd better turn to and do the evening jobs while there's still a glim of daylight,' Dido said. ‘You can tell me about your adventure when we're indoors making supper, Pen.'

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.'