Free Night Birds On Nantucket by Joan Aiken Page B

opened a door disclosing a steep narrow flight, and Dido went ahead with the candle.
    â€˜Hey,’ she said, checking to let Pen catch up, ‘look there’s a light under that door at the end o’ the passage. Must be your Auntie Trib’s room. We’d better go and tell her we’ve come.’
    â€˜B-b-but,’ whispered Pen tremulously, ‘supposing it
isn’t
her?’
    She clutched Dido’s arm.
    â€˜Why, you sapskull! Who else could it be? Come on!’
    Dido marched boldly along the passage and rapped on the door.
    â€˜Miss Casket?’ she called. ‘It’s us – Penitence and Dido, just arrived.’
    From the room beyond a voice replied, ‘And about time, too! Wipe your feet on the mat before you come in.’
    Even Dido quailed momentarily at the sound of this voice. It was low, harsh, and grating; there was something very forbidding, and something strangely familiar about it. Her hand trembled slightly and she spilled a drop of hot wax from the candle which went out; then, summoning resolution, she pushed open the door and went in.
    By the light of one dim candle on the bedside table they could see a woman in the bed, propped against many pillows, regarding them fixedly.

6
Aunt Tribulation – pigs and sheep – green boots in the attic – Aunt Tribulation is hungry – Pen meets a stranger
    â€˜LIGHT ANOTHER CANDLE,’ ordered the woman in the bed, ‘and let’s have a look at you. Hum,’ she said to Dido, ‘you don’t favour my side of the family. Must take after that poor sickly Sarah.’
    â€˜You got it wrong, ma’am,’ Dido said hastily. ‘That’s Pen there. I’m Dido Twite.’
    Although she stared at the girls pretty sharply, it was hard for them to see much of Pen’s aunt, for she held the bedclothes up to her chin, and had on a nightcap with a wide frill that left most of her face in shadow. They could just make out a gaunt, nutcracker chin, and a thin nose, so like a ship’s rudder that Dido half expected it to move from side to side. A pair of tinted glasses hid Aunt Tribulation’s eyes from view. Dido grinned, thinking of the wolf, and subdued an urge to exclaim: ‘Why, Auntie Trib, what big eyes you have!’
    â€˜
You’re
a pasty-faced little bag of bones,’ Aunt Tribulation commented, looking at Pen. ‘Haven’t filled out as you grew, have you? Well, I hope you’re both usedto hard work, that’s all. You’ll get no lounging and pampering here.’ She thumped on the floor with a rubber-shod stick to emphasize her words. ‘There’s all the house chores and the farm work;
I
can’t help you, as I’ve been sick abed ever since I got here; this damp island air turns a body’s bones to corkscrews. So you’d best get to bed now.’
    â€˜Where shall we sleep, Aunt Trib?’ Dido asked.
    â€˜In the chamber at the other end of the passage. Sheets and blankets are in the cedarwood box. Mrs Pardon’s been coming over to tend the animals, but you’ll have to do them now. Feed the hens and pigs at four, groom the mule. Light the stove – you’ll need to chop some kindling if there’s none in the cellar; and the peat’s in the peat-house – and you can bring me a pot of coffee and a bowl of gruel at seven. Look sharp now.’
    Too dazed by the length of this list of tasks to make any protest, the girls retreated, and found their room, which was as bleak and clean as at Cousin Ann’s, but lacking the washstand, square of oilcloth, and braid rug. Shivering and yawning they dragged comforters and sheets from the cedar box, made up the bed, and tumbled into it, huddling against one another for warmth.
    â€˜I’m that tired I could sleep for a week o’ Thursdays,’ Dido murmured drowsily. ‘Dear knows how we’ll ever wake at four.’
    Pen was asleep already, but