Dodger (33 page)

The old lady turned a face lined with hairs, snot and tears to the kindly coroner and said, ‘I ain’t rich, sir, really I ain’t. Seeing my Arthur neatly away on Lavender Hill left me fairly skint, sir, so I reckon it will take me some time to get the wherewithal
for
seeing her decent, sir. Do you reckon they will have her at Crossbones?’
¹

‘That I cannot say, madam, but I hardly think that your dear niece so fresh from the country was anything like a’ – and here the coroner cleared his throat, embarrassed, and went on – ‘a Winchester goose.’ Most unusually, he took out his handkerchief to wipe away a tear and continued, ‘Madam, I cannot but be very moved by your plight and your determination to do the very best for the soul of this unfortunate young lady. I will guarantee you that – we have no shortage of ice, after all – your young niece can remain here, not for ever, but certainly for a week or two, which I reckon should be enough for me to contact those others that may be able to help you in your plight.’

He took a step backwards as the old woman tried to throw her rather smelly arms around him, saying, ‘God bless you, sir, you truly are a gentleman, sir. I will turn over every stone, sir, so I will, right away, sir, thank you so much for all your kindness. Got a few friends I could talk to. Might help me write a letter to her mum, on the postage, and I’ll move Heaven and earth not to put you to any trouble, sir. Can’t be said that we will let one of our own go into a pauper’s grave, sir.’ At which point tears actually were pouring down the coroner’s face. And Dodger meant it. The man had been a decent cove; that was something to keep in mind.

The coroner deputized his officer to assist the old lady back to
the
wharf, and before saying goodbye pressed into her hand enough money for the waterman, and so the unknown watcher on the moon watched the poor old lady work her way through the naughty city until, as she walked down an alley, she suddenly appeared to drop into the sewers, where the old woman died but was instantly – possibly to do with the Lady – reincarnated as Dodger, and a shaken Dodger at that.

He was used to playing roles; to be Dodger was to be a man of all seasons and seasonings, everybody’s friend, nobody’s enemy, and all this was fine, but sometimes that all went away and it was just Dodger, alone in the dark. He realized that he was shaking, and down in the hospitable sewers he heard the sounds of London floating through the grating. He carefully packed up the trappings of the old lady into a bundle, endeavouring to memorize the placement of every single wart. Then he set off.

He was still as upset about the drowned girl as the old lady had been. It was a shame, and he would have to see to it that when all this was over the poor unknown girl did indeed get a decent burial, rather than a pauper’s grave or worse. He absent-mindedly toshed his way across the city, more or less instinctively becoming sixpence farthing richer in the process.

Well, he’d got the coroner sorted out, but corpses need careful attention and there was nothing for it – he would have to go and see Mrs Holland. That meant going to Southwark, and even a geezer like Dodger had to be careful there. But if ever a geezer was careful, it was Dodger.

Mrs Holland. She had no other name; well, she was a gang all by herself, and if that wasn’t enough there was her husband Aberdeen Knocker, known to his friends as Bang, who had in all probability never seen the city of Aberdeen, which was
somewhere
up north, like maybe in Wales. The soubriquet had settled on him as such things did on the streets of London, indeed as the name Dodger had landed on Dodger, but Bang’s skin was as black as your hat and a very black hat at that, and he had been married, theoretically at least, to Mrs Holland these past sixteen years. Their son, known to everybody for some reason as Half Bang, was as smart as a dungeon full of lawyers and really being of use in the family business, which was basically property and people.

But Mrs Holland was a great organizer with a very fertile imagination. Probably every sailor who had docked in the port of London had gone to Mrs Holland’s League, as they called it, usually to meet the young ladies who adorned the upper floors of the building while Mrs Holland took charge of everything in her office downstairs. Of course, Mrs Holland being Mrs Holland, sometimes it was rumoured those sailors, once they were rascally drunk, were shanghaied and sent on a lovely cruise whose destination might be round Cape Horn, or possibly Davy Jones’ locker. But when not giving sailors nice long holidays, Mrs Holland arranged things.

Around the docks Mrs Holland was Queen, and nobody questioned the fact when Bang was by her side. It would be difficult to pinpoint her actual occupation these days, though Dodger was well aware that once upon a time she had been both a nurse and a midwife, and apparently had made a living by causing things to turn up or more often to disappear. If you were the kind of person who would come seeking more definite information about her activities, you were the kind of person who was likely soon to be inspecting the Thames bridges from underneath.

Dodger got along with the family, of course – especially Bang, who had once fascinated a young Dodger by showing him the scars where his shackles had chafed him most cruelly, and the place where he had been branded by the slavers like an animal. Despite his history, he was a gentle and very amiable person, although right now, answering Dodger’s knock, he was holding back the growling slathering dog of Satanic proportions that was the family’s front-line security. They also had a blunderbuss the size of a French horn and famed to be packed with black powder and rock salt and, on occasion for very special customers, miscellaneous nails as well for the hard of understanding.

There was Mrs Holland herself, all chins and smiles, and that meant a lot of smiles above the blunderbuss. Mrs Holland had bright blue eyes which, Dodger had often noticed, twinkled with sincerity every time she told you an outright lie. As she put down the blunderbuss, she said cheerfully, ‘Dodger! As I live and breathe! Welcome! Welcome!’

Very shortly afterwards, in her little private room, with the dog, name of Jasper, lying there peacefully in front of her but nevertheless ready to leap and snarl on command, she listened to Dodger’s story. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, ‘Ah well, it’s amazing how lively a corpse can be after it is dead. Stiff one day, and playful as anything the next. What you are suggesting ain’t no journey for the unprepared, but I have the knowing, oh yes indeed. I ain’t no stranger to corpses, as you are aware. So just you listen to your favourite aunty, right? Well, first of all, what you are going to need is . . .’

Dodger learned things quickly, and after a few minutes said, ‘I’m in your debt, Mrs Holland.’

She smiled at him and said, ‘You know, I always thought you
were
one of my smart boys, Dodger. As for being in my debt, well, who knows? One day you will have an opportunity to pay me back. And it’s all right – I know you are not a killer, so you wouldn’t be my chosen in that respect, but in other matters. Well, as they say, one hand washes the other.’

Dodger glanced down at her podgy hands; it looked as if neither of them had been washed in a week, but he understood the meaning and accepted it. Favours were currency down here, just like they were on the street. He also knew she always had a twinkle in her eye for Dodger, although it didn’t do to rely on a twinkle.

Just as he was leaving, she suddenly went all solemn and said, ‘I reckon you’ve been stirring things up, my little lad. And there’s some people that I don’t like the stink of the moment I hears about them, and one of them is a cove by the name of the Outlander – ever heard of him?’

Dodger shook his head and Mrs Holland began to look uneasy. She glanced at her husband and then back at Dodger and said, ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever met him, don’t know what he looks like, but by all accounts he is your dyed-in-the-wool, stone-hard killing cove. I think it might be his first time in England, but I’m getting word that he’s been asking questions about “somebody called Dodger” and some girl. Don’t know much about him. Some say he’s a Dutchman, sometimes they say he’s a Switzer, but always they say he is a killer, who comes out of the dark and goes back into the dark and gets his money and disappears. No one knows what he looks like, no one knows him as a friend, and the only thing that anyone knows is that he likes the ladies. They say that he will always have a girl on his arm, never the same one twice.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘Don’t know as why I ain’t seen him here yet, given that liking. Maybe we will. But no one can tell you
what
he actually looks like. I mean that: sometimes they say that they’ve met him and he’s tall and thin, and other times that he’s a fairly short cove. From what I understand, I reckon he must be a master of disguise, and if he wants to talk to you he sends one of his ladies with a message.’

Mrs Holland stared down at the small and smoky fire in the grate and looked unusually troubled. ‘I cannot say he is in my league, the Outlander; he’s more like a nasty dream. Mostly, of course, he stays in Europe where they deserve people like him. I don’t like the idea that he’s turning up here. I quite like you, Dodger, you know that. But if the Outlander gets on your tail, you’re going to have to order up a whole new bag of smarts.’

Dodger checked his face was as cheerful as he could make it. ‘And no one’s ever really seen him, yes?’

‘No,’ said Mrs Holland. ‘Like I said, lots of people have seen him, but they never seem to see the same man.’

Her concern was palpable; Dodger could feel it pouring off her, and this was a woman who would have no great compunction about sending a drunken sailor to, quite probably, a watery grave. Now it seemed that there were some things that even she got nervous about, and she said, ‘It might surprise you, my boy, that a nasty old creature like me has got some standards, and so if I was you, I’d keep my eyes open even if I was asleep. Now give me a great big kiss, ’cos it may be the last one I’ll ever have off of you!’

Dodger did so, much to the amusement of Bang, and he was careful not to wipe his face until he was well away. Then he went back home via the sewers, as much as that was possible.

So somebody that you couldn’t really describe was out there after him and/or Simplicity . . .

Well, they would have to wait in line.

1
The Crossbones cemetery in the borough of Southwark was known as the single women’s churchyard, after the single women in question plied their single women’s trade under licence from the Bishop of Winchester, who owned that part of the riverside, which was why they were humorously named ‘Winchester geese’. Delicacy, of course, prevents the author from describing what exactly they were trading. Although it does suggest that the Church of the time had an understanding and, one might say, very forward-thinking approach to the matter.

CHAPTER 14

A lighterman gets a surprise, an old lady vanishes, and Dodger knows nothing, hears nothing and – unsurprisingly – was not even there

THERE WAS SO
much that needed doing, he thought as he hurried home. He had to get ready to go to the theatre later on, but first of all and most importantly, what he had to do was pray. Pray to the Lady.

Dodger had been in churches occasionally, but on the whole the street people kept clear of them unless the promise of food was in the offing; after all, a cove could put up with quite a lot of ‘Come to Jesus’ for the sake of a full stomach, so now he was down in his beloved sewers wondering how to go about a prayer.

He’d never seen the Lady, although Grandad had always talked about her as if she was a friend – and he had seen her before he
died
, and if you can’t trust the word of a dying man then who can you trust? Oh, he’d always half-heartedly asked her for help almost automatically, but he’d never really prayed from the guts upwards, and standing here with the sounds of London overhead and apparently a real assassin looking for him, he needed a prayer.

He began in the time-honoured way by clearing his throat and was about to spit when he hesitated, because at a time like this you didn’t want to offend
anybody
. Kneeling down was not something you generally did in the sewers, so he straightened up instead and said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say, Lady, and that’s the truth. I mean, it’s not like I’m a murderer, is it? And I promise you that if Simplicity is spared, that poor girl up in the mortuary in Four Farthings will get a place in Lavender Hill; I will see to it, and flowers too.’ He hesitated and continued, ‘And she will get given a name, so that at least I can remember her, and that’s it, Lady, because the world is rather bad and extremely difficult and all you can do is the best you can. And I’m just Dodger.’