Dodger (12 page)

Mrs Mayhew hesitated, and then said, very carefully, ‘Well, I am quite certain that sooner or later Simplicity must get out in the fresh air, so perhaps that could be arranged, Mister Dodger. But I am sure you will understand that it could only take place in the presence of a chaperone. You must see that leaving her just with a young man – however valiant he may be – is something that would be very much frowned upon in polite circles. We must be adamant in this respect, although, of course, I believe that your intentions are entirely innocent.’

Mister Mayhew looked as embarrassed as his wife, and Dodger, still trusting his luck, in his most ingratiating voice, said, ‘Well, dear Mrs Mayhew, I can promise you that there will not be any hanky-panky, because I do not know what panky is and I’ve never had a hanky. Only a wipe.’

For a moment her steely glare melted again and Mrs Mayhew said, ‘You are a very forward young man, Mister Dodger.’

‘I certainly hope so, Mrs Mayhew; indeed sometimes I think I am being pulled forward through no fault of my own. However, Mrs Mayhew, I am sure you will agree with me that being forward is better by far than being backward. And I believe I care for Miss Simplicity. I was thinking too that we all want to find the coves who beat her up, so if I walked about with her in the town she might see or hear something that could give me a clue. I know that the carriage she escaped from made a noise that I, for one, haven’t heard on a carriage wheel. So what I say is: Find the carriage, find a clue.’

Mister Mayhew looked at his wife and said, ‘You are commendably eloquent, Mister Dodger, but we – that is, my wife and myself – feel there could be other aspects to this situation.’

Dodger straightened up. ‘Yes, sir, I fear there may be, and I rather think so does Charlie. I don’t know what an eloquent is, but I do know London, sir, every dirty inch and where it’s safe to go and where it’s not safe to go. Everybody knows Dodger, sir, and Dodger knows everybody. So Dodger will find out what you want me to find out.’

‘Yes, Mister Dodger,’ Mrs Mayhew said. ‘I’m quite certain that is true, but my husband and I feel that we stand
in loco parentis
to this young lady, who appears to have no one else to care for her, and so the social niceties must be observed.’

Dodger, who didn’t know what a
loco parentis
was, shrugged and said, ‘Right you are, missus, but I will be passing this way again tomorrow just after lunch.’ He added, raising his voice a little, ‘In case anyone should change their mind.’

Mister Mayhew caught up with him just as he reached the kitchen and said, ‘My wife is a little highly strung right now, if you know what I mean.’

All that Dodger could find to say was, ‘No, I don’t,’ and like two gentlemen they left it at that, and he shook hands with Mister Mayhew and hurried through the kitchen door, his head still reeling with the way they seemed to let him speak out. Wait till he told Sol!

The cook did not look surprised when he came into the kitchen. She said, ‘Well, my lad, ain’t you the rising star, hob nobbing with your elders and betters! Good for you! I reckon what I see in front of me now is not just another tosher but a smart young man for whom the world is an opportunity.’ She handed him a greasy package, saying, ‘Money is tight here these days – things are a bit worrying all round, and of course you won’t know it but we got rid of the second maid. If things get any worse,
I
reckon Mrs Sharples will be next, no loss, and then I suspect that it will be me, although I can’t see my lady working down here. But I done you a package of leftovers – some cold potatoes and carrots, and a nice piece of pork.’

Dodger took the package, and said, ‘Thank you very much. I’m very grateful to you.’

This caused Mrs Quickly to throw her arms open in an attempt to cuddle him. ‘Spoken like a true gentleman. I couldn’t possibly expect a little kiss . . .?’ she asked hopefully.

And so Dodger kissed the cook – a rather pneumatic lady who kissed at some length – and when he was allowed to break free, she said, ‘When you rise up high, remember them as live lowly.’

1
Around about the time of Dodger, most sewerage in London went into septic tanks, or cesspits. The tanks were emptied out and the contents taken away by honey wagons.

CHAPTER 6

In which sixpence buys a lot of soup, and a foreigner’s gold buys a spy . . .

THE EMBARRASSMENT OF
this followed Dodger all the way back home, as did a certain aroma of giblets. Somehow he wasn’t quite as certain of who he was now – a kid from the sewers, or somebody who chats with the gentry – although he knew enough to understand that Mister and Mrs Mayhew were not exactly all that much like gentry, even with their house and servants. It was certainly better than anything Dodger had lived in, but the place was just a bit shabby here and there. Not really dirty, but just enough to indicate that money was perhaps tight in this household, like Mrs Quickly said, so every penny had to be counted.

Mrs Mayhew had been worried too, and Dodger rather felt that the worry was somehow built in, and not just about Simplicity.
He
shrugged it off. Maybe that’s how it goes, he thought. The more you’ve got, the more worried you become, just in case you lose it. If money gets a bit short, then you might be worrying about losing your nice house and all those pretty little ornaments.

Dodger hadn’t ever worried too much about anything beyond the important things – a decent meal and a warm place to sleep. You didn’t need a house full of little ornaments (and Dodger was a great one for noticing little ornaments, especially the kind that could be picked up very easily and shoved into a pocket at speed and sold again almost as fast). But what was the point of them? To show that you could afford them? How much better did that make you feel? How much happier were you really?

The Mayhew household had been doing its duty in a stiff kind of way, but it didn’t appear to be very happy – there had been a kind of tension there which he couldn’t quite fathom, unhappiness riding on the very air – and in a strange way that made Dodger feel a little unhappy himself, and he wondered why. Unhappiness was a state of mind generally alien to him. Who had the
time
to be unhappy, after all? He was often pissed off, fed up, even angry, but these were just clouds in the sky; sooner or later they passed. They never lasted long. But as he walked aimlessly away from the Mayhews’ it seemed that he was dragging other people’s worries with him.

He felt that the only cure for something like this would be to go down into the sewers, because if you had to be down in the dumps you might as well have a feel around and see if you could find sixpence. He would have to go and get changed – the shonky outfit was the finest and smartest he had ever worn, and it would never do to go to work in, would it?

But . . . Simplicity. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Wondering
who she might be, and who might know what had happened to her and why. And who had
hurt
her, of course. He really, really
needed
to know that now. And in this crowded town there would always be somebody to overhear anything that a body said.

The police wouldn’t know
anything
, of course – that was because no one in their right mind ever talked to the peelers. One or two of them were OK, but it didn’t pay to trust them. However, people talked to Dodger, good old Dodger, especially when he loaned them a sixpence, to be repaid on St Never’s Day.

And so, on his winding way back to the attic to change, a route not just roundabout but swings and slides as well, he found time to lounge around chatting to the dregs of the earth; and to the Cockneys, who sold apples and who liked nothing better than to gang up on the peelers for a real old-fashioned, no-holds-barred war in which any weapon was fair game. He spoke to the street traders, trading on the smallest of margins; and he chatted to the ladies who hung about doing nothing very much, but always happy to meet a gentleman with money who would be generous to a girl, especially after his drink had been spiked – after which he could have the luxury of a long voyage down the Thames to places far, far away where he would possibly meet interesting people, some of whom might even endeavour to eat him, by all accounts. If a gentleman was very unlucky – or upset someone like Mrs Holland on Bankside – he would do the journey down the Thames without a boat . . .

Then there were the men offering games of Crown and Anchor, which at least had the benefit of being winnable if you were sober enough and the dice rolled your way – unlike the other game you might be offered by a cheery man who owned nothing more than
one
flat wooden board on which were three thimbles and one pea. On that little battlefield you would indeed bet some money on the whereabouts of the said pea, relying on your keen eyesight to keep track of it as the thimbles turned and spun under the hands of the cheerful chattering man. You would never,
ever
guess right, because where the pea really was was known only to the cheerful man and God – and probably not even God was certain. If you had drunk enough, you would try again and again, betting more and more, ’cos sooner or later, even if you simply guessed, it was
surely
bound to be under the one you guessed. But sadly, it never would be, ever.

Finally, of course, there was the Punch and Judy man, running his puppet show, which was even more of a hoot these days now there was a policeman for Mister Punch to beat with his stick. The kids laughed, and the adults would laugh, and everyone would laugh as the laughing Mister Punch screamed, ‘
That’s the way to do it!
’ in that squeaky voice of his, like some terrible bird of prey . . . or the wheels of a coach.

You knew when you grew up that Punch was the man who throws the baby out of the window and beats his wife . . . Of course, such things did happen: certainly the beating of the wife, and as to what might happen to the baby, that might not be the subject for children – not a happy family.

Now Dodger, into whose mind was creeping a dreadful shining darkness in which lay a wonderful girl with golden hair, had to restrain his fists from knocking out that damned shrieking puppet as he passed the stall. He felt himself shiver for a moment and brought himself back down to earth. He
knew
all this, had known it for
ever
. But Simplicity . . . well, Simplicity was someone he could maybe do something about. And that something wasn’t
just
for Simplicity; it was for himself too, in some funny way he couldn’t quite work out yet.

Better though, if he wanted to see things that didn’t make him feel sick or angry, he would find the men whose dogs could do tricks, or the men who lifted heavy weights, or the boxers – bare knuckles, of course.

But today, today Dodger was asking questions. And he had done his best. He had spoken to two ladies waiting for a gent. He had chatted to the Crown and Anchor man, who knew him by name, and even the man who lifted weights, who had grunted with pleasure. On one occasion he even reminded somebody of the sixpence he had loaned to him because of his poor old mummy and subtly said, ‘Oh no, don’t bother, I’m sure you will find a way to repay me someday.’ In short, Dodger moved over the face of the world – or at least that part encompassed over the stews of London – spreading Dodger like a cat spreads piss and leaving little questions in the air. So that if ever somebody heard a coach that screamed, they might just have a word with Dodger; and even better, he thought, if someone who
owned
a coach that screamed, maybe screamed like a gutted pig, he might want to sort it out with the man who was asking all those questions. It was like throwing breadcrumbs into a stream to see if something would rise; the drawback of this method, he knew, might be that what would rise would be a shark.

Then he remembered the Happy Family man. He hesitated after this thought, and wondered where and when he had last seen the Happy Family man and his wagon; probably on one of the bridges, where there was always such a lot of passing trade. It was quite magical, the happy family – that little cart with its odd menagerie of animals all living so peacefully together. He would
have
to take Simplicity to see it as soon as possible – she would surely enjoy it. Then he realized he was crying, seeing again inside his head a beautiful face that looked as if it had been pushed down some stairs. Somebody had done that to her, and as he wiped his nose with a rag, he vowed that one day he would indeed take her Mister Punch and back him up to a wall somewhere and most surely make him mind his manners.

But now he was startled by somebody tugging at his trouser leg, and he looked down irritably at a couple of kids, maybe five years old, or six perhaps, looking up at him with their hands out. It wasn’t the kind of tableau he needed to see right now, but both of them had one hand held out while the other one was firmly grasped by their friend. He remembered doing that sort of thing once upon a time, but only to people he had thought of as wealthy – although when you are hungry and five years old, everybody has more money than you. In his smart clobber, of course, he didn’t look like a tosher no more. He told himself, you still are a tosher, but not just a tosher, and right now you are going to be a gentleman to the tune of sixpence.