The Cuckoo Tree by Joan Aiken Page A

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 peashooters. 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 around 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.
    "Better-looking than you, poor old Dapple," Dido told her steed. "Guess we'd better find somewhere to leave you out of all this mollocking."
    Following Gusset's directions she located The Fighting Cocks Inn at the end of Middle Street, and asked permission to tie up Dapple in its stable-yard. Then she returned to the central square on foot, for at one side of it she had seen a shop window containing scythes, fowling pieces, wooden hayrakes, stools, ladles, and copper cooking pots. Sure enough, when she approached it more closely, she found a small painted sign over the door which read: Godwit & Son, Ironmongers & Conspirators.
    "Humph," said Dido, considering this. "Well, I reckon the two things does go together, so it's kind of handy having 'em under the same roof; I spose they can fettle you up a riot, weapons, trimmings, and all, at wholesale rates."
    She walked in, and demanded of a thin, wizened little
man in rimless spectacles if he had any crutches in stock. He did have a pair, slightly too long for Captain Hughes (whose measurements Dido had taken before setting out); he promised to shorten them, put leather padding on the arm rests, and have them ready for her in an hour's time.
    "I daresay you can amuse yourself at the fair meanwhile," he said with a meager smile.
    Dido, who had decided that he was a soapy-faced fellow, replied that she had plenty of errands to occupy herself, and asked if he could direct her to an apothecary's, and also to the lawyers who had charge of the Tegleaze heirloom? At which Mr. Godwit (for it was he) raised his thin gray eyebrows and darted a very sharp glance at her indeed through the rimless glasses, but told her, still smiling gently, that she would find Wm. Pelmett, Chymist & Chirurgeon, on one side of his shop, downhill, and Messrs. Pickwick, FitzPickwick, and Wily, Solicitors and Attorneys-at-Law, on the other side, uphill.
    Dido did not care for the sound of this. Still, I guess as it's to be expected they'd all be cousins or kindred in a small place like Petworth, she reflected.
    She went downhill first, and bought some ointment which the doctor had recommended for the Captain's wound, and a roll of bandage, since, even in Mrs. Lubbage's exceedingly dusty house, the supply of spiderweb was running low. Wm. Pelmett, Chymist, bore a strong and unprepossessing resemblance to Pelmett the footman.
    Next Dido turned