Dodger (20 page)

‘Where did that come from?' I asked as I saw the bright purple bruise on her right cheek. ‘You didn't have it yesterday.' My hand reached out to touch it but she flinched and the candle was lowered again.

‘That's nothing,' she said. ‘Let's get you upstairs and in front of a fire.' She turned and I followed her candlelight up the rickety
staircase what I had walked up so many times before. Ruby came to the room where Nancy had lodged with Bill. And as she touched the door handle I was overcome with a dreadful realisation. I almost wanted to stop her hand from turning but it was too late. She swung open the door and I glimpsed the dark outline of that heavy oak bed what Bill and Nancy had once shared together, unmoved and facing out at me from the opposite wall.

This was the place he had killed her in, perhaps even in that very bed. It was an evil room and I wanted nothing to do with it.

‘In you come,' Ruby said. ‘You can help with the logs.' She entered her bedchamber, as if unaware that it was once the scene of murder, and began lighting some candles around the place. She then looked back to me and asked why I had not crossed the threshold myself. So, with much unease, I stepped inside and looked about me as the room became illuminated. They had changed the wallpaper – it was green with gold flowers now and not that bright crimson it once was – and the rug looked newer, but much of the furniture was the same: that cupboard where Bill kept all his spirits, the mantelpiece on which rested a large lead-weighted stick for defending the property with. I walked towards this life-preserver, to see if it could be the one that Bill had used, but Ruby called me over to help her light the fire. Once this was done I sat on a chair and placed my feet on the fender while Ruby went to the cupboard to fetch some drink. I noticed three heavy bludgeons in the corner and that underneath the bed the end of a pistol could be seen. I warmed my hands at the flames. This room just crackled with badness.

‘What happened to your face?' I asked her as she took the chair opposite mine and we had chinked glasses.

‘What happened to your neck?' she replied, and sipped at her drink.

‘My valet,' I told her, rubbing it. ‘We had a dispute and he tried to throttle me with a piece of wire. You can't trust these colonial servants.' I tutted in disappointment. ‘You give them some work and this is how they repay you. I tell you, next time I need a man I'm going English.'

‘Mr Warrigal done that?' She seemed surprised. ‘He looked to be as gentle as a lamb.'

‘Well, you aren't much of a judge of character then, are you? He's a vicious bugger and I'm glad to be rid of him.' I nodded at her face again. ‘Your turn.'

Ruby had tried to cover the bruise with her hair but now her own hand went up to it and she pulled the tendrils away and tucked them behind her ear.

‘Tripped,' she said all casual. ‘Last night on the way home from the Cripples. Too many glasses inside me and I've only gone and walked into a gas lamp, clumsy bitch. It's as Jem always says – I'm a danger to myself when drunk.' She smiled at her own stupidity, but on seeing that I would not do likewise she changed the subject. ‘I've got a pot of bathwater bubbling on the stove in the other room. You take your clothes off and I'll fetch it. Go on, I won't look.'

At the far end of the bedchamber was a smaller room with a basin and a tin bathtub. There was no door on this room, just a thin white sheet what hung from a wire above. When she came up with the first pot I went through and poured the water in and she went back to the kitchen to heat up another. Once undressed and inside the shallow water I began scrubbing away at my grubby feet using a bar of quality soap. Ruby returned and through a thin tear in the sheet I could see her tidying the place up. In spite of the dark history of this lodging house it was clear that Jem was doing well for himself. The strewn clothes and different dresses
what Ruby was picking up and placing in the wardrobe was too fine for the woman of a common thief, and the room was an Aladdin's cave of jewels and other treasures, a big difference to the stark Froggat residence. I could see Ruby picking up various bits of jewellery and hiding them away in drawers and about her person too. She must not trust me, I thought, and felt affronted by it.

‘So who's “Ruby in Red”?' I called through to her. ‘You?'

This was a reference to the various posters I had seen pinned up on the bedroom walls what advertised these different music-hall performances. The most prominent, what was displayed above the dressing-table mirror, boasted of a star performer.

‘My stage name!' she called back. ‘Or used to be, more like.'

‘What was you doing in music halls?' She answered by bursting into a bright rendition of the ‘The Hardest-Working Milkmaid in the Country'. It was a lively tune and I made a good show of sounding impressed but I was not sorry when she stopped after one verse.

‘I didn't think of the name Ruby in Red; Douglas did. Douglas Boyd was the man what produced the shows.'

‘How did all this come about?'

Ruby went on to explain that after Fagin had been hanged, before she had taken up with Jem, she had been at a loss as to what to do. All the kinchins of Saffron Hill had found themselves homeless and the only relative she had was some filthy old uncle what used to visit every month or so. But it seemed that even he had vanished when the peelers started turning over their rocks in the wake of Nancy's killing and so Ruby was left all alone. She, what had not yet reached womanhood, had no other choice but to make her living on the streets as so many others girls was doing. Not wanting to become a prostitute she tried to earn her pennies
by standing on street corners and singing bawdy ballads like the one I had just heard. Many men approached her, wanting more than just songs, but she told them she only wanted paying for music and if they was not interested in another chorus of ‘Don't Act Coy Around the Butcher's Boy' then they should seek their pleasures elsewhere. She could not carry on like this for long without starving though.

However, just a short time after this, she was approached by a portly Scotsman by name of Douglas. This cove thought she had a very pleasing voice and asked would she be interested in a career in music halls. He told her he was a stage producer, bowing all gallant as he did so, and that she should come to Rafferty's Music Halls the very next day where he was auditioning for new performers. This she did and there he promised to take her under his care, put her up in a nice little apartment and make her his own pet songstress.

‘Oh, I see,' I said, scrubbing between my toes. ‘Like that, was it?'

‘That's what I thought,' Ruby admitted, still talking to me from beyond the sheet. ‘But he never did nothing.'

‘Was he a molly?'

‘No,' Ruby said, ‘he was at one of the other girls, a dancer called Fanny, who was sweet on the eye but whose voice was as fresh as the guttering. Douglas favoured me as a performer though and after some years of working my way up to a star performer, he made me top of the bill at last.'

‘I saw that from the poster,' I said. ‘Must have been a good buzz.'

‘I suppose,' she sighed. ‘I never went.'

‘Never went?' I leaned my head over so I could see better what she was doing. She was just sat on the side of the bed, staring at the poster. ‘Why?'

‘Jem didn't like it,' she answered. ‘He had begun paying me
visits around that time, dressed up all gallant, a hothouse flower in his buttonhole, a bouquet for me every time. I had become quite taken with him. He's grown up most handsome since you last saw him, Jack – you'll be surprised when he walks in. I had never thought much of Jem back when we were all kinchins,' she then confided. ‘He always seemed less comfortable in himself than either you or Charley ever was. But now here he was, tall, foxy-whiskered and spending his money as though it came from a pump. We reminisced about those wonderful days before the Jew got caught, and before long I was living here with him.' She left the room for a few moments to fetch up the second pot.

‘But why should that stop you from performing at the music hall?' I shouted through to her. ‘I'd be proud to have such a famous fancy woman.'

She shouted something back about Jem being the jealous sort and them having an almighty row about her parading herself around in front of strangers. ‘We had a big blow-up about it,' she said as she came back in carrying the pot, ‘and he talked me into not going.' I saw her twitch as she said this and I thought about her bruise again. ‘I'm lucky to have him, you know,' she said, more to herself than to me. ‘He's top-sawyer around here.'

‘So you keep saying,' I remarked as I reached for the big hat what I'd taken from the tavern. I held it over the water so Ruby could not see my bits bobbing about below as she came through the sheet. ‘Pour it straight in, Rube,' I said to her. ‘This water's already gone cold.'

Ruby poured the boiled water around but not over me and I asked her what this Douglas had said after she cancelled the show. ‘Don't know.' She shrugged. ‘I haven't seen him in months. After passing up such a great chance I could hardly go back there. Theatrical types are not the easiest of –
what's all this?
'

‘What's all what?' I said, turning around as she dropped the pot straight into the bath. She was staring at my back with her hand over her mouth and she had sounded so startled that I thought there had to be some large insect crawling up it.

‘Who on earth done that to you, Jack?' she asked. I turned and realised that she meant the five lash marks streaked across my back. ‘Was that Warrigal too?'

Over the years I had near forgotten about those marks, as it was rare to find the two looking glasses what would reveal them to me and I had never felt the need to try. They was courtesy of Sergeant Allhare at the penal colony five years ago in punishment for my misjudged attempts at escape and, although the pain had lasted for a long time afterwards, it was now a dim memory. The scars they left however was not meant to fade and I had been branded as a convict for life.

‘Her Majesty done those,' I told her as she gasped in surprise. ‘Or rather some dirty sod what works for her did. Never get transported, Ruby. It's a rough deal.' Ruby dropped to her knees and asked me if they still hurt. ‘Not any more,' I said. ‘Only if I don't get a good night's sleep or if someone hits me on the back. Run your fingers along them and I'll tell you if I feel anything.' This she did and, instead of making the lash marks sting, her smooth fingers was like ointment upon my skin.

‘Poor Jack,' she said, and she brought her face round close to mine. Her hand moved from my back and up to my shoulder. ‘You've been in some scrapes, haven't you, my love?'

With one hand still on the hat I reached the other one, still wet from the water, up to her face and tucked the hair behind her ear again. Then I stroked her bruise with the back of my fingers. ‘Same could be said of you,' I told her. Then my hand travelled to behind her neck and I pulled her in closer for a kiss. I had a strong hope that she would not resist.

Before she even had the chance to kiss back we heard the squeak of the bedroom door handle as it turned and opened. ‘Jem,' said Ruby, and she was up in a second and then through the sheet away from me. I could see, through the fine white material, that a man had entered with footsteps so light he could only be a burglar. ‘Sugar-mouse!' Ruby said, and I saw her figure move towards him, only to be shoved away with force. From his dark outline I could see that the boy had grown tall, and his stillness unnerved me as I felt his head turn towards the bathroom where I sat, as unrigged as a babe, with only a hat to protect my wet self.

‘Who,' he said in a deep yet familiar man's voice, ‘is that through there?' I could hear a scuffle as he manhandled Ruby. ‘And whose –' his manner was all violence – ‘is that coat hanging from that knob?'

‘It's Jack's,' answered Ruby, her voice so pinched that his hands must have been like a carpenter's vice around her cheeks. ‘Jus' Jack's. 'Ass all.'

‘Jack?' He shoved her away again so hard I could hear the thump as she landed on the bed. ‘And who in hot hell –' he stomped over to the sheet separating that room from this and grabbed it – ‘is Jack?' He pulled the sheet aside and revealed himself to me and me to him. He looked ready to strike.

‘Jack Dawkins by name.' I smiled at him, the hat still covering myself. He stopped, fist in the air, and glared at me, confused. ‘And you've grown up good and handsome I see, Jemmy.'

‘Dodger?' he then said, blinking twice, as if scratching the inside of his head to make sense of the sight of me. I nodded and decided to hell with modesty. I placed the hat upon my head and leaned back in his tub.

‘That's my name, Sugar-mouse,' I said. ‘Sorry I never met you and the others at the broken pump, by the by. Got a bit waylaid.'

‘“My letter is real, Bracken, you filthy coward,” I said to him after I finished dishing out his punishment. Bracken just lies there at my feet, his nose broken, and begs me to stop punching and kicking him. “Yours ain't. Tell that to the bastard magistrate.”'

Jem whooped in appreciation of my heroism and began banging the table with his mug of coffee. I had spent two hours regaling him with many colourful tales of my time in Australia and my long journey back, and this story, the story of my night spent beating up a policeman in the Booted Cat, had proved a particular favourite with him. ‘You never done!' He grinned at me, leaning over his breakfast table and patting me on the shoulder. ‘You never done that to a peeler!'

‘I do what I please, Jemmo.' I sniffed and glanced at his lady. ‘Always have done.'