Dodger of the Dials (43 page)

‘I will miss the many coins I made from you,’ Turnkey McColl laughed as I tied the laces of my now polished shoes. He pointed to my cellmates. ‘I doubt anybody is going to pay to draw their ugly faces, I’m sorry to say!’ The two other prisoners made out like they was much offended but it was all in good fun. The guards in this prison was as genial a bunch as you could expect men with keys to be and I preferred them to those miserable sods what had watched over me in Newgate.

I said my goodbyes to my cellmates – telling the pair of them that if they needed gainful employment once they too was set free then they should look for me in the Dials where I might have some jobs for them – and I let Barry and his friend escort me through the prison to a dusty old office where I would sign the release register.

‘You should count yourself as very privileged, Mr Dawkins,’ the turnkey said as he opened the door of the office and I was surprised to see the figure of a tall policeman standing with his back to us at the window, ‘to have a Detective Superintendent want to escort you beyond the gates himself.’

The peeler turned his mutton-chopped cheeks towards me and then his whole body followed as if he was a queen’s guard who had been at last relieved from standing stone still for hours and was about to start marching towards me. It was Wilfred Bracken, fresh from his recent promotion.

‘Dark Satanic Bracken,’ I muttered as he raised his chin and glared at me. Then I addressed him direct. ‘I see you’ve done alright for yourself then, Wilf. Come to thank me for making room at the top, I suppose? That’s alright, it was my pleasure.’

Bracken’s face crunched. ‘It is Oliver Brownlow who I credit with my predecessor’s exposure and downfall, Dawkins,’ he declared in his colourless voice. ‘As ever, your involvement in that unpleasant business that took place in the winter strikes me as highly questionable.’ His voice then dropped a note. ‘Why is it,’ he asked and pointed his middle finger at me, ‘that whenever something happens in this city that is deeply embarrassing for the Metropolitan Police,
you
are there in the soup? You were somehow involved with that disastrous Evershed affair and now here you are in the middle of this mess like an unwelcome but irremovable fly. It’s always a dark day for the force whenever you are released from imprisonment, Dawkins, and I doubt today will be any different.’

‘And that’s why you’ve come here then, is it?’ I asked him with as much insolence as I could muster – and I can muster quite a bit when the mood takes me. ‘To warn me off a life of crime? Much like that time when we first met and you told me to stay out of
your city, remember? When you told me my mother had been hung.’

I stared at him then, knowing that this would land hard as there was no way he could pretend not to understand what I was talking about. Instead, he looked over to Turnkey McColl and asked him to leave us. ‘I have matters to discuss with the prisoner Dawkins before he is released into the wild once more. I’ll see to it that he leave the premises safely.’

Once we was alone Bracken pulled up a seat and told me to sit. As I plonked myself down in the leather desk chair he leaned on the side of the office desk and loomed over me. His manner now was that of a disappointed parent.

‘On the day you escaped from prison,’ he began as I looked up to his nostril hairs what seemed to match his mutton chops in all their grey bristliness, ‘I was woken early. Holborn was my division before this promotion and when the messenger informed me that four female convicts and one male had escaped from Newgate I knew full well who was responsible. And, with that in mind, I was not surprised when I learnt the identity of the sole male escapee.’

‘So you knew all about the Rum Mort then,’ I said and wondered how much he liked being the accused for once. ‘You knew that my mother was alive and unhanged and you told me otherwise. You’re a bit questionable yourself, ain’t you Bracken?’

‘I’ve known of your mother for many years, young man, from before you were even born. Her name has often been spoken of as one of the most dangerous, untamed and villainous creatures in the rookeries and the day I arrested her was one of the most satisfying of my career.’ He sniffed then and I got a sense that he was attempting to alter his tone into one of kindness. The attitude didn’t suit him. ‘I took a particular interest in your half-brother after Kat Dawkins had been sent to Newgate and I helped elevate
him enough so he could become a policeman. I’m proud to have taken the son of a notorious criminal and shown him the straighter path as it proves that the same could be done for other children of the slums given enough attention. But when I discovered that you had returned to England I did not flatter myself that a similar trick could be performed. And so instead I lied about your mother’s fate to keep you away from her. She had never really been condemned to death but I had hoped that if you thought that there was nothing left of your old life here in London, with Fagin, Sikes and your mother all gone, then perhaps there was a chance that you would be less likely to return to your nefarious ways. I considered it a noble untruth and I still do.’

‘Yeah, well, if there’s one thing I’ve leant over the years it’s that you peelers are full of “noble untruths” when you want to be,’ I returned. ‘To the point where an innocent man – that’s me in case you hadn’t noticed – was almost hanged over them. A right dangerous lot of untamed, villainous creatures you’ve proven yourselves to be.’

Bracken jerked towards me then and his meaty finger was prodding me hard in the chest. ‘Don’t you judge the rest of us by Mills’ standards, Dawkins,’ he snarled and I began to worry that I had gone a bit too far. I was very much at his mercy within the confines of this prison office and I doubt that Turnkey McColl would be able to protect me from such a high-ranking officer even if he wanted to. ‘Mills and his small collection of accomplices have been stripped of their uniforms and have already faced justice. Do not forget that I,’ he then prodded at his own chest as if this next bit was the most frustrating part of all for him, ‘even acted as a character witness for you after Brownlow convinced me that you were innocent of his friend’s murder. Not an easy thing to do, believe me, and had I not done so I doubt you would not have been
given such a short sentence for the burglary that you
did
commit. So you have been more than paid back by the Metropolitan Police for any inconvenience you may have suffered at the hands of rogue officers.’

‘Inconvenience?’ I coughed in disbelief. ‘Is that what you’re calling that disgraceful travesty of justice? I’m an honest Englishmen I am, what now dreams of a rope tightening around his neck every time he shuts his eyes. I’ve suffered from emotional distress over all this the like of which you can’t imagine. I expect financial compensation and plenty of it an’ all. As soon as I’m out of here I’m going straight to my solicitors and we’re going to build a case against you, your precious force and even old Bobbie Peel himself. I want justice,’ I tapped my own finger against the desk to stress my seriousness, ‘the sort of justice what’ll buy me a nice house in the countryside.’

With one swift movement, the Detective Superintendent got up off his desk reached down and forced me upwards. Then he pulled my face close to his so I could see his true fury up close.

‘An honest Englishmen?’ he seethed as my feet left the floor and my eyes was level with his. ‘Dawkins, I doubt if a month passes before you are in the hands of the law once more. I wish it weren’t so. I wish I could just deposit you on the pavement outside and never expect to hear your name uttered again but that is not how it goes for your kind. So before you get carried away with the penny press declaring you the new Jack Sheppard, remember that men like that – such grubby heroes that the London rabble enjoy in their wrong-headed way – they always meet the hangman in the end, no matter how many times they evade him beforehand.’ Then he released me from his grip and I dropped down to my own height. ‘Heed my advice, Mr Dawkins,’ he warned me then in a calmer manner. ‘When you walk out of here, keep walking. Don’t
look back and don’t come back. I certainly won’t be defending you ever again.’

I stepped away from him and straightened my suit what he had ruffled so with his manhandling. ‘The
London rabble
,’ I said after I finished making myself look presentable again, ‘are out there now waiting for me to make my exit from this place as free as the day on what I was first born. So if you’re done delivering your sermon I think its time you let me go out and face my adoring public, eh? I’ve got a whole life out there I need to be getting on with.’

My adoring public, however, must have been given the wrong date for my release as there was hardly a soul out there when I stepped through the prison gates and into the summer light. Those cheering masses what had been so pleased to support me on my arrival to this prison had long since dispersed and there was only one person waiting for me to emerge onto those Borough streets now. She was wearing a very fetching green dress and was stood across the road outside Chivery’s tobacconist. She looked just as lovely as she had when I had first spied her across another road and standing outside the Theatre Royal Haymarket.

‘Her Majesty’s Pleasure has made you thin, Jack,’ Lily said after we had finished our long reunion kiss, I had taken her hand in mine and we begun walking through Southwark. ‘My pleasure will be to fatten you up again.’ She had visited me often during my months behind bars and had read out extracts from various newspapers to me what contained details of the downfall of Mills, Judge Aylesbury and various others what was involved with the now notorious Billy Slade. She seemed to enjoy this new celebrity of mine and the dark stain of her association with Slade had long since left her. The bruises what she had received at Slade’s hands had healed and she had no murderer’s mark to conceal.

‘So,’ I had to ask her by the time we reached the bank of the Thames, ‘did you see him off?’ The river was busy with vessels, many of which was sailing to and from different parts of the empire. ‘Billy Slade, I mean.’

‘No,’ she replied while staring out at them. ‘But many did.’

‘I bet Tom Skinner went along,’ I said and raised my face up to the sun. It was a pleasant morning and I was keen to get some colour onto my brow after so many months inside. ‘That would be just like her.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ nodded Lily, ‘she even bought one of them wooden toys of his likeness. You know, the ones what Dick the Dollman makes. I think Tom collects them or something.’

‘Well,’ I sniffed as I took her hand again and we strolled back to our new lodgings, ‘I just hope that Slade’s gallows doll was uglier than mine.’

*

The anonymous testimony of Morris Bolter had just been the start of a number of journalistic breakthroughs made by the most intrepid young reporter
The Morning Chronicle
had ever employed. Oliver Brownlow had even presented his evidence to Bracken as soon as he learnt that Slade had tried to break into his home with the intention of murdering him and had been overpowered by my good self. This was the start of a short series of events what ended with my acquittal of the Rylance murder and Slade’s conviction for it. I might have lost my taste for Slade’s blood once I had him under my power but the British Legal System is not so merciful and he was sentenced to death by hanging with little delay. I have often imagined that he might have spent his final nights alive in that nasty little cell what I had been thrown into with Mouse and Old Edwards and what Fagin had occupied years before. But either
way, Billy Slade was now just like those others – one of the many ghosts of Newgate.

However, although Oliver had come to talk to me in prison during the period that his newspaper was covering the whole unfortunate business, I had not seen him since March and was unsure if I ever would again. It was not until a month after I had been liberated from Horsemonger Lane Gaol that Lily and I received an unexpected visitor to our new crib.

The red and white slices of bacon had just begun to sizzle on the pan next to the sausages when Lily dashed into our kitchen to tell me that we had a caller. I was most put out by the intrusion as I only had rashers enough for two and had not been expecting any visitors this morning.

‘It’s not one of those kinchins from Low Arches again, is it?’ I sniffed and pointed to a clothes lines full of handkerchiefs what ran across the far end of the kitchen. ‘Because I haven’t pawned that lot yet?’

‘It’s a gentleman,’ she said with mischief on her lips. ‘Have a guess.’

‘Is he handsome?’ I asked as I went back to turning the fat sausages. I could see that whoever it was had made a strong impression on her alright. ‘Is he all fine tailorings and a show off with the diction?’

‘That’s the fella!’

‘Better send him up then.’

Oliver had visited me a number of times in the early months of my imprisonment in Horsemonger Lane so he could interview me for his newspaper and keep me informed about what was happening in the trial of Mills. But I had not seen him since March when he had told me about how Mills was to be imprisoned somewhere up north and I had not expected our paths to ever
cross again. So I was surprised that he had tracked me down to this new crib as I had left a fictitious forwarding address with the prison register and had not told anyone outside of the criminal world where I now lived. I had been following his progress as a reporter though and was glad to see that he had been making a name for himself in the newspaper game. His articles had very much helped to cast me as the victim in the whole affair and for this service I had never really thanked him. I wondered if he had come here to collect some sort of reward.

As I waited for Lily to fetch him up the stairs and into the kitchen, I crossed over to one of the drawers on the big wooden dresser, dipping under the line full of fogles, and grabbed a third plate from a pile of crockery. Then I dipped under the clothes line again as I crossed back, and I began sharing the breakfast out between three.

‘I’m happy to see you again, Miss Lennox,’ I heard Oliver say as they came up the stairs. ‘We hardly got to know one another during our brief meeting last winter.’ He was still hitting every ‘h’ and ‘t’ as though his middle-class life depended upon it. ‘I recall how frantic Jack was about your well-being on the night of his escape.’