Dodger (2 page)

It was Charlie, and Charlie bothered Dodger. Henry seemed like one of them do-gooders who felt guilty about having money and food when other people did not; Dodger knew the type. He,
personally
, was not bothered about having money when other people didn’t, but when you lived a life like his, Dodger found that being generous when in funds, and being a cheerful giver, was a definite insurance. You needed friends – friends were the kind of people who would say: ‘Dodger? Never heard of ’im, never clapped eyes on ’im, guv’nor! You must be thinking of some other cove’ – because you had to live as best you could in the city, and you had to be sharp and wary and on your toes every moment of the day if you wanted to stay alive.

He stayed alive because he was the Dodger, smart and fast. He knew everybody and everybody knew him. He had never, ever, been before the beak, he could outrun the fastest Bow Street runner and, now that they had all been found out and replaced, he could outrun every peeler as well. They couldn’t arrest you unless they put a hand on you, and nobody ever managed to touch Dodger.

No, Henry was no problem, but Charlie – now, oh yes, Charlie – he looked the type who would look at a body and see right inside you. Charlie, Dodger considered, might well be a dangerous cove, a gentleman who knew the ins and outs of the world and could see through flannel and soft words to what you were thinking, which was dangerous indeed. Here he was now, the man himself, coming downstairs escorted by the jingling of coins.

Charlie nodded at the cook, who was cleaning up, and sat down on the bench by Dodger, who had to slide up a bit to make room.

‘Well now, Dodger, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘I am sure you will be very happy to know that the young lady you helped us with is safe and sleeping in a warm bed after some stitches and some physic from the doctor. Alas, I wish I could say the same for her unborn child, which did not survive this dreadful escapade.’

Child! The word hit Dodger like a blackjack, and unlike a blackjack it kept on going. A child – and for the rest of the conversation the word was there, hanging at the edge of his sight and not letting him go. Aloud he said, ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Indeed, I’m sure you didn’t,’ said Charlie. ‘In the dark it was just one more dreadful crime, which without doubt was only one among many this night; you know that, Dodger, and so do I. But this one had the temerity to take place in front of me, and so I feel I would like to do a little police work, without, as it were, involving the police, who I suspect in this case would not have very much success.’

Charlie’s face was unreadable, even to Dodger, who was very, very good at reading faces. Solemnly, the man went on, ‘I wonder if those gentlemen you met who were harassing her knew about the child; perhaps we shall never find out, or perhaps we shall.’ And there it was; that little word ‘shall’ was a knife, straining to cut away until it hit enlightenment. Charlie’s face stayed totally blank. ‘I wonder if any other gentleman was aware of the fact, and therefore, sir, here for you are your two shillings – plus one more, if you were to answer a few questions for me in the hope of getting to the bottom of this strange occurrence.’

Dodger looked at the coins. ‘What sort of questions would they be, then?’ Dodger lived in a world where
nobody
asked questions apart from: ‘How much?’ and ‘What’s in it for me?’ And he knew, actually
knew
, that Charlie knew this too.

Charlie continued. ‘Can you read and write, Mister Dodger?’

Dodger put his head on one side. ‘Is this a question that gets me a shilling?’

‘No, it does not,’ Charlie snapped. ‘But I will spring one farthing for that little morsel and nothing more; here is the farthing, where is the answer?’

Dodger grabbed the tiny coin. ‘Can read “beer”, “gin” and “ale”. No sense in filling your head with stuff you don’t need, that’s what I always say.’ Was that the tiny ghost of a smile on the man’s face? he wondered.

‘You are clearly an academic, Mister Dodger. Perhaps I should tell you that the young lady had, well, she had not been well used.’

He wasn’t smiling any more, and Dodger, suddenly panicking, shouted, ‘Not by me! I never done nothing to hurt her, God’s truth! I might not be an angel but I ain’t a bad man!’

Charlie’s hand grabbed Dodger as he tried to get up. ‘
You never done nothing?
You, Mister Dodger,
never done nothing
? If you
never done nothing
then you must have done
something
, and there you are, guilty right out of your own mouth. I’m quite certain that you yourself have never been to school, Mister Dodger; you seem far too smart. Though if you ever did, and came out with a phrase like “I never done nothing”, you would probably be thrashed by your teacher. But now listen to me, Dodger; I fully accept that you did nothing to harm the lady, and I have one very good reason for saying so. You might not be aware of it, but on her finger there is one of the biggest and most ornate gold rings I have ever seen – the sort of ring that means something – and if you were intending to do her any harm you would have stolen it in a wink, just like you stole my pocketbook a short while ago.’

Dodger looked at those eyes. Oh, this was a bad cove to be on the wrong side of and no two ways about it. ‘Me, sir? No, sir,’ he said. ‘Found it lying around, sir. Honestly intended to give it back to you, sir.’

‘I can assure you that I believe in full every word you have just uttered, Mister Dodger. Although I must confess my admiration that in the darkness you were not only able to see the form of a
pocketbook
, but also so readily decided that it belonged to me; really I’m quite amazed,’ said Charlie. ‘Settle down; I just wanted you to know how serious we are. When you said, “I never done nothing”, all you were doing was painting the whole of your statement with negativity, crudely but with emphasis, you understand? Myself and Mister Mayhew are cognisant of the generally unacceptable state of affairs throughout most of this city, and by the way, that means we know about such things and endeavour in our various ways to bring matters to the notice of the public, or at least to those members of the public who care to take notice. Since you appear to care about the young lady, perhaps you could ask around or at least listen for any news about her; where she came from, her background,
anything
about her. She was badly beaten, and I don’t mean a domestic up-and-downer, a slap, maybe. I mean leather and fists.
Fists!
Over and over again, according to the bruises, and that, my young friend, wasn’t the end of it!

‘Now there are some people, not you of course, who would say we should go to the authorities, and this is because they have no grasp at all of the realities of London for the lower classes; no grasp at all of the rookeries and the detritus of decay and squalor that is their lot. Yes?’

This was because Dodger had raised a finger, and as soon as he saw that he had got Charlie’s full attention the boy said, ‘OK, certainly it can be a bit grubby down some streets. A few dead dogs, dead old lady maybe, but well, that’s the way of the world, right? Like it says in the Good Book, you got to eat a peck of dirt before you die, right?’

‘Possibly not all in one meal,’ said Charlie. ‘But since you raise the subject, Mister Dodger, for your two shillings, and one more shilling, quote me one further line from the Bible, if you please?’

This seemed something of an exercise for Dodger. He glared at the man and managed, ‘Well, mister, you have to goeth – yes, that’s what it says, and I don’t see no shilling yet!’

Charlie laughed. ‘“You have to goeth”? I’ll wager that you have never attended church or chapel in your life, young man! You can’t read, you can’t write; good heavens, can you give me the name of one single apostle? By the look on your face, I deduce that you cannot, alas. But, nevertheless, you came to the aid of our young lady upstairs when so many other people would have looked the other way, and so you will have
five
sixpences if you undertake this little task for me and Mister Mayhew. So ask around, search out the story, my friend. You may find me by daylight at the
Morning Chronicle
. Do not look for me anywhere else. Here is my card if you should need it. Mister Dickens, that’s me.’ He passed Dodger a pasteboard oblong. ‘Yes, you have a question?’

Dodger looked more uncertain now, but he managed to say, ‘Could I see the lady, sir? ’Cos I never really clapped eyes on her – I just saw people running away, and I thought you fine gentlemen was with them. I ought to know what she looks like if I’m going to ask questions around and about, and let me tell you, sir, asking questions around and about can be a dangerous way to make a living in this city.’

Charlie frowned. ‘At the moment she looks black and blue, Dodger.’ He thought for a moment and went on, ‘But there is some merit in what you say; the household has been turned upside down by this, as you must understand. Mrs Mayhew is getting the children back to sleep and the girl is in the maids’ room for now. If you are to go in there, make sure your boots are clean, and if those little fingers of yours . . . You know the ones
I
mean, the kind I am aware of that are adept at finding other people’s property in them, and “Oh, dear me, and stone the crows”, you had no idea how it got there . . .’ He trailed off. ‘Do not, I repeat
not
, try that in the house of Mister Henry Mayhew.’

‘I’m not a thief,’ Dodger protested.

‘What you mean, Mister Dodger, is that you’re not
only
a thief. I will accept, for now, your story about how my pocketbook ended up in your hands . . . for now, mind you. I note that the slim crowbar you have about your person is designed for opening the lids of drain covers, from which I deduce that you are a tosher; a grubber in the sewers – an interesting profession, but not one for a man hoping for a long life. And so I wonder how you still survive, Dodger, and one day I intend to find out. Don’t come the innocent with me, please. I know the backside of this city only too well!’

Although he gasped at this and protested that he was being spoken to as if he was a common criminal, Dodger was quite impressed: he’d never before heard a flash geezer use the term ‘stone the crows’ and it confirmed his view that Mister Dickens was a tricky cove, the sort who might bring a lot of nastiness down on a hardworking lad. It paid to be careful of flash geezers like him – else they might find someone to do something with your teeth, with pliers, like what happened with Wally the knacker man, who got done up rotten over a matter of a shilling. So Dodger minded his manners as he was led up and through the dark house and into a small bedroom, made even smaller by the fact that the doctor was still there and by now was washing his hands in a very small bowl. The man gave Dodger a cursory glance which had quite a lot of curse in it and then looked up at Charlie, who got the kind of smile that you get when people know
you
have money. Just as Charlie had surmised, Dodger hadn’t had a day’s proper schooling. Instead, his life had mostly been spent learning things, which is surprisingly rather different, and he could read a face much better than a newspaper.
¹

The doctor said to Charlie, ‘Very bad business, sir, very nasty. I’ve done the best I can; they’re pretty decent stitches if I say so myself. She is, in fact, a rather robust young woman underneath it all and, as it turned out, has needed to be. What she needs now is care and attention and, best of all, time – the greatest of physicians.’

‘And, of course, the grace of God, who is the one that charges the least,’ said Charlie, pressing some coins into the man’s hand. As the doctor left, Charlie said, ‘Naturally, Doctor, we will see that she gets good food and drink at least. Thank you for attending, and good night to you.’

The doctor gave Dodger another black look and hurried back down the stairs. Yes, you had to know how to read somebody’s phizog when you lived on the cobbles, no doubt about it. Dodger had read the face of Charlie twice now, and so he knew that Charlie had little liking for the doctor, any more than the doctor did for Dodger, and, from his tone, Charlie would be more inclined to put his trust in good food and water than in God – a personage that Dodger had only vaguely heard of and knew very little about, except perhaps that He had a lot to do with rich people. This, generally speaking, left out everybody Dodger knew (except for Solomon, who had negotiated a great deal with God somehow, and occasionally gave God advice).

With the man’s ample bulk out of the way, Dodger got a better look at the girl. He guessed her age at only about sixteen or seventeen, although she looked older, as people always did when they had been beaten up. She was breathing slowly, and he could see some of her hair, which was absolutely golden. On an impulse he said, ‘No offence meant, Mister Charlie, but would you mind if I watched over the lady, you know, until dawn? Not touching or nothing, and I’ve never seen her before, I swear it – but I don’t know why, I think I ought to.’

The housekeeper came in, casting a look of pure hatred at Dodger and, he was happy to see, one that was not much better towards Charlie. She had the makings of a moustache, from below which came a grumble. ‘I don’t wanna speak out of turn, sir. I don’t mind keeping an eye on another “author of the storm”, as it were, but I can’t be responsible for the doings of this young guttersnipe, saving your honour’s presence. I hope no one will blame me if he murders you all in your beds tonight. No offence meant, you understand?’

Dodger was used to this sort of thing; people like this silly woman thought that every kid who lived on the streets was very likely a thief and a pickpocket who would steal the laces out of your boots in a fraction of a second and then sell them back to you. He sighed inwardly. Of course, he thought, that was true of
most
of them – nearly all of them really – but that was no reason to make blanket statements. Dodger wasn’t a thief; not at all. He was . . . well, he was good at finding things. After all, sometimes things fell off carts and carriages, didn’t they? He had never stuck his hand into somebody else’s pocket. Well, apart from one or two occasions when it was so blatantly open that something was
bound
to fall out, in which case Dodger would nimbly grab it
before
it hit the ground. That wasn’t stealing: that was keeping the place tidy, and after all, it only happened . . . what? Once or twice a week? It was a kind of tidiness, after all, but nevertheless some short-sighted people might hang you just because of a misunderstanding. But they never had a chance of misunderstanding Dodger, oh dear no, because he was quick, and slick, and certainly brighter than the stupid old woman who got her words wrong (after all, what was an ‘author of the storm’? That was barmy! Somebody who wrote down storms for a living?). Nice work if you could get it, although strictly speaking Dodger always avoided anything that might be considered as being work. Of course, there was the toshing; oh, how he loved that. Toshing wasn’t work: toshing was living, toshing was coming alive. If he wasn’t being so bloody stupid he would be down in the sewers now, waiting for the storm to stop and a new world of opportunity to open. He treasured those times on the tosh, but right now Charlie had his hand firmly on Dodger’s shoulder.