Dodger (9 page)

Dodger stopped feverishly pushing sugar into his pockets and said, ‘Napoleon, yeah, Froggy general, that’s why we’ve got old sweats begging on the streets, sometimes with a knife, yes?’

‘Well,’ said Charlie, ‘he was famous among other things for saying that what he looked for in his generals was luck; and you, Mister Dodger, are all lucky, very lucky, because something about that little escapade smells to me as bad as an extremely old cheese.
I
think I know you, Dodger, so I will indeed recommend to my editor that some little honour, possibly including a half sovereign or two, might be in order – although I will try and persuade him not to put your name in the newspapers, because I suspect that doing so could mean you having some little trouble finding friends in the future, since helping the police would not look good on your curriculum vitae in those shadows you frequent. You are lucky, Dodger, and the more you help me, the luckier you will become.’ His fingers strayed to his pocket and the unmistakable jingle of coins could be heard. ‘What have you found out?’

Dodger told him about the coach and the girl, with Charlie listening carefully to everything he said.

When he had finished, Charlie said, ‘So she saw no crest on the coach? What kind of foreign accent? French? German?’

Much to Charlie’s surprise, Dodger said firmly, ‘Mister Charlie, I know about what’s on coaches and I know to recognize most lingos, but you see that in this I’m just like you – I’m dealing with an informant who isn’t bright enough to know everything or notice much.’

Charlie looked at Dodger in the way that somebody would look at some sad accident and said, ‘You, Dodger, are what is known as a
tabula rasa
– Latin for a clean slate; you are smart, indeed, but you have so very little to be smart about! It grieves me, it really does, although I do see that you have had the sense to get some new clothes, the best a shonky shop could provide.’ He smiled when he saw Dodger’s expression and went on, ‘What? You don’t think the likes of me would know what a shonky shop is? Believe me, my friend, there are very few depths in this city that I haven’t plumbed as a matter of business. But on a lighter note, I expect you will like to hear that the young lady you rescued is recovering.
I
believe that no one has yet reported her missing – though there are indications that she is not some street waif, so her disappearance
should
have been reported. You understand? Although as yet she cannot speak very well – she seems incapable of explaining what may have happened to her – she does appear to understand English. As a matter of fact, I believe she is a foreigner – a very
special
foreigner, although I cannot tell you why I think this may be the case. And I suspect there is some excitement about this in high places. The crest on her ring is providing an interesting line of enquiry, and my friend Sir Robert Peel is being rather circumspect, leading me to believe that there is a game afoot. As you know, I write for newspapers, but not everything a newspaperman knows gets into print.’

A game, Dodger thought. He had to get into this game and win it. But what kind of game would lead to a girl being beaten like that?
That
kind of game he would have to stop. In the noise and smoke of the coffee house, under his breath, he said a prayer to the Lady, feeling somewhat embarrassed as he did so: ‘I ain’t never met you, missus, but you knew Grandad and I hope he’s with you now. Well, I’m Dodger, and Grandad has made me king of the toshers, and a little bit of help from yourself would certainly not go amiss. Thanking you in anticipation, yours, Dodger.’

Although the din in the coffee house was so great now that he could barely hear himself think, let alone hear any reply or anything else Charlie had to add, Dodger managed to say, ‘Well, if nobody has reported somebody missing, it may just be that they either don’t know they are missing, or hope to find the missing person before somebody else does, if you catch my meaning?’

‘Mister Dodger, you are a find! Between ourselves, I rather like
the
police, although I suppose that you do not; but what I really like about them is the concept they have, well, some of them, at least, that the law should apply to everybody, not just the poor people. I know the rookeries do not like the police; generally speaking, you will find in high places people who dislike them even more.’ He paused. ‘And you tell me your informant told you she was escaping from a carriage and pair, and a swell one at that. Find me that carriage, my friend, and who has lent their carriage to that vicious day’s work, and the world might be a better place, especially for you.’

There was a jingling again and Charlie put two half crowns on the small table, and smiled when they disappeared into Dodger’s pocket in one movement.

He said, ‘Incidentally, my colleague and friend Mister Mayhew and his wife would very much like to meet you again, and may I suggest sometime tomorrow? They are given to believe that you are an angel, albeit one with a dirty face, with a sweet nature and possibly useful career ahead of him; whereas I, as you know, regard you as a blaggard and scallywag of the first water, full of guile and mischief, the kind of smart lad who would do anything to reach his goals. But this is a new world, we need new people. Who are you really, Dodger, and what is your story? If you don’t mind?’ He looked at Dodger quizzically.

Dodger did mind, but the world seemed to be moving fast, and so he said, ‘If I tell you, mister, you won’t tell anyone else, promise? Can I trust you?’

‘On my honour, as a journalist,’ said Charlie. Then, after a pause, he added, ‘Strictly speaking, Dodger, the answer should be no. I am a writer and a journalist, which is a very difficult covenant. However, I have high hopes and great expectations of
you
and would do nothing to get in the way of your progress. Excuse me . . .’ Abruptly, Charlie took a pencil and a very small writing pad out of a pocket and scribbled a few words on it before looking up again with a slightly embarrassed smile. ‘I’m sorry about that, but I do like to write a line or two before the words escape me . . . Now, please do continue.’

Uneasily, Dodger said, ‘Well, I was brought up in an orphanage. You know; I was a foundling, never knew my mother. I wasn’t a very big kid neither, and there was a lot of bullies around there when I grew up. So I used to dodge about a bit, keep out of the way, as it were, because some of the bigger boys laughed about my real name; and if I complained, they beat me to the ground when the superintendent wasn’t looking. But that stopped after a while when I got bigger, and then they picked on me again, didn’t they just! And there I was, and I thought, I ain’t ’aving this no more, and when I got up, I grabbed hold of a chair and I set about me.’ He paused, treasuring that moment when all sins had been punished; even the superintendent hadn’t been able to get a hold on him. ‘So I finished that day out on the streets, when life really began.’

Charlie listened intently to the carefully abridged version of this and said, ‘Very interesting, Dodger, but you haven’t told me your name.’ Shrugging, because there seemed no hope for it, Dodger told Charlie his name, expecting laughter and getting no more than, ‘Oh, I see. Yes, of course, that would explain quite a lot. Naturally, my lips will remain sealed on this issue. Although could I venture to ask you about your life subsequently?’

‘Is this going to be written down in your little notebook, mister?’

‘Not as such, my young friend, but I am always interested in people.’

Never tell nobody nothing they don’t need to know
. That was what Dodger believed. But he had never before in his life found an outsider that could so easily wriggle his way inside, and therefore in this world, which seemed to be changing direction all the time, he decided not to be coy.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I got ’prenticed to a chimney sweep, being a skinny youth, see, and after a while I ran away, but not before coming out of the chimney into a bedroom, a swell bedroom, and coming out with a diamond ring what I nicked off the dressing table. And I tell you, sir, best move I ever made that was, ’cos the chimneys ain’t no place for a growing lad, sir. The soot, it gets in everywhere, sir,
everywhere
. Into every cut and scrape, sir, and it’s perilous stuff; does very nasty things to your unmentionables, and I know because I’ve seen the lads who stayed on and they were in a very bad way, but thanks to the Lady I got right out of it.’ He shrugged, and went on, ‘That’s how life was. As for the diamond ring, when I fenced it, the fence saw that I was a likely lad and pointed me in the way of being a snakesman, sir, which is—’
¹

‘I know what a snakesman is, Mister Dodger. But how did you get from there to toshing, may I ask?’

Dodger took a deep breath, breathing in the ashes of the past. ‘I had a little difficulty concerning a stolen goose and got chased by the runners, just because I had feathers all over me, and so I hid out in the sewers, see? They didn’t even follow, on account of being too fat and too drunk, in my opinion. Then I found out about toshing and, well, that’s it, sir, all of it, more or less.’

He watched Charlie’s face for an expression more than a
noncommittal
stare, and then Charlie appeared to wake up and said, ‘And what would you do if you had had a different name, Dodger? A name such as Master Geoffrey Smith, for example, or Master Jonathan Baxter?’

‘Dunno, sir. Probably been a normal person, sir.’

At this, Charlie smiled and said, ‘I rather believe that you are an unusual one, my friend.’

Was that a real smile on Charlie’s face? You couldn’t be sure with Charlie, and so that was unresolved as they left the coffee house and went their separate ways, Charlie to go wherever he went and Dodger to make his way back, delighting Onan by buying him a juicy bone from a butcher just before the man closed for the night. Onan carefully carried it home in his mouth, dribbling as he did so.

Not a bad day, Dodger thought as he walked up the stairs to the attic room. Finishing with more money too, not to mention a pocketful of sugar lumps.

1
A small man or boy who could wriggle into narrow, open windows or fanlights – especially fanlights, which were often ajar – to get into a building, then let in his associates to join him in stealing everything that could be stolen.

CHAPTER 5

The hero of the hour meets his damsel in distress again, but wins a kiss from a very enthusiastic lady

SOLOMON WAS STILL
at work at his little lathe when Dodger came up the stairs. It was always strange to watch Sol working; it was as if he had disappeared. Oh yes, he was there, but mostly his brain was lodged in his fingertips, paying no attention to anything other than what he was very carefully doing until it seemed all part of some kind of natural process, as gentle as grass growing. Dodger envied him that peacefulness, but it wouldn’t suit him, he was sure.

Sol’s choice of clobber wouldn’t suit him either, oh no. When he went to the synagogue the old boy wore baggy pantaloons and a ragged gabardine coat, summer and winter; and when safely back in his lair in the attic, even longer pantaloons from who
knew
where, with a vest which – give him his due – was generally always as white as could be achieved. On his feet he chose to wear some very carefully embroidered slippers acquired in foreign parts where Solomon had some time or another apparently lived and, possibly, from which he had escaped with his life. Then, of course, there was his apron, with a very big pocket in the front so that any small fiddly and expensive items that rolled off the workbench would be caught in it.

There was an appetizing smell coming from the cauldron on the stove – Mrs Quickly’s mutton being put to good use – that automatically made Dodger lick his lips. Dodger never knew how Solomon managed it; the old man could make a delicious dinner out of half a brick and a lump of wood. When he’d asked him one day, Solomon had replied, ‘Mmm, I suppose it was all that wandering in the wilderness; it makes you do the best you can with what you’ve got.’

Dodger lay awake on his mattress for most of the night, and lying awake was very easy to do; often there were fights back down in the yards when the blokes came home, and then the screaming babies and terrible rows – the whole cacophony that was the lullaby of Seven Dials. Happy families, he thought. Are there any? And over and above the streets there were the bells, clanging out all over the city.

Dodger stared at the ceiling, thinking about the coach. Messy Bessie probably wasn’t going to be any more help, and so it seemed to Dodger that the only way to find out more was to continue to ask questions, in the hope of coming to the attention of the aforesaid people who didn’t like questions being asked, and especially didn’t like questions being answered. He bet they would know a thing or two.