Dodger (39 page)

‘A peeler has been in here looking for you, Jack,' he said with urgency. ‘I told him nothing.'

I groaned aloud. This piece of news did nothing to improve my mood as I handed the other glasses to him and Warrigal. ‘He asked for me by name, did he?'

‘“Jack Dawkins, formerly of Saffron Hill.”' Barney nodded as he sipped. ‘He was in here less than an hour ago. He knew a lot about you, said you was sometimes called the Artful Dodger and you went about with an Australian colonial –' his eyes turned to Warrigal, who was sniffing at his glass as if unsure if he wanted it – ‘called Peter Cole.'

‘Inspector Bracken,' I said, knowing that I had introduced Warrigal by that name when we had met at the Booted Cat. ‘Him what took my mother as well as Jem White. That old ghost is becoming a proper nuisance.' It was likely that Jem White had told Bracken all about me and my movements, although I did not utter this suspicion to Barney. I did not want to let any of my people know that Jem might be holding a grudge against me for any reason.

‘This weren't an old man,' Barney corrected me. ‘He was a constable, not much older than you and very tall.'

‘Marvellous,' I sighed. ‘So by now he's told the whole Metropolitan Police Service to keep an eye out for me. As if I ain't got worries enough. Now tell me,' I said, changing the subject
around to why I came in here, ‘what have you learnt about Twist.'

‘Brownlow,' said Barney with a proud expression. ‘That's the name of the cove what adopted this Oliver around the time of the trial, according to my source. So young Oliver will be going by the name of Oliver Brownlow now and not Twist.'

I jotted this down on to my notepad as Barney told me all that his lawyer friend could remember about this Brownlow. ‘I'm told he insisted on taking Oliver to visit Fagin in Newgate on the night before the hanging,' he said. ‘Which I feel was in poor taste.'

As Barney said this I could feel my blood heating once more. This cursed Oliver, the deadly viper at Fagin's bosom, had been one of the last people to have seen the tragic man alive while I, one of the few boys what truly cared for him, had already set sail to the other side of the world, oblivious to his fate. I was so angry in that moment that if Oliver had walked into the bar I would have done a Bill Sikes on him and damned the consequences. ‘Where is he?' I demanded.

‘Don't know,' replied Barney. ‘He don't move in these circles no more, that's for certain.'

‘Why has no one sniffed Oliver out before?' I asked after drinking my second glass and feeling the alcohol flame my spirit from within. ‘Why ain't he been settled? They all talk about settling Charley for Bill's sake. Why has nobody been to see Oliver yet?'

Barney held out his hands as if asking what I wanted of him. ‘Dodger,' he said, all soft. ‘He's genteel now. A rich man's son no less. No one wants the trouble.'

‘Well, I want it,' I said as I slammed the empty glass back down on the bar. ‘And I'll get it.'

Just then a hand landed on my shoulder. ‘It's your lucky day, Dodger.' I turned to see Herbie Sharp's gap-toothed mouth grinning at me in delight. ‘The search is over.' And he reached into
the large pocket of his check coat and produced a painted wooden doll what had a smile as wide as his. ‘I believe I heard tell,' he said as he gave it to me for inspection, ‘of some sort of reward.'

‘Where d'you get this?' I asked.

‘Fagin gave it me,' he said with no shame. ‘Told me I was his favourite. I hate to give something so sentimental away in all truth, but these are hard times and I know your money's good, so …' He shrugged and waited for me to pay him.

I put the doll down on the bar and showed him my fingers. They had paint on them. ‘Made this today, did you?' I asked. ‘Or d'you get someone else to do it? Either way, it ain't what I'm looking for.' Herbie looked most downcast at this and asked me what the difference was anyway. I did not tell him that I was looking for a rattle what this doll did not have, but I said it needed to match the one what I had on me. He at last admitted that he had been trying all week to find one just like what I had been heard describing. ‘Nice try though,' I granted him as we both looked at the doll's thin black smile, and I offered Herbie a drink.

Soon after that Warrigal and myself set off towards our new lodgings in Whitechapel. We thanked Barney for his help before leaving and buttoned our coats as we stepped out and walked towards Hatton Gardens where we hoped to hail a hackney cab. It was still early in the misty evening and this back lane was empty of any drunken revellers. However, behind us on the other side of the street some loud footsteps could be heard keeping pace with ours. The moment I heard them I could tell that whoever they belonged to had been waiting for us to leave and, what was more, that he wanted us to hear him. The steps sounded too strong and deliberate and the night was too cold for them to belong to some idle wanderer. I turned my head to look, careful not to seem suspicious, and saw a tall hatted figure walking in the same direction
on a dark patch of pavement between two lamp posts. I did not need to ask if Warrigal had spotted this too; I knew he would be even more alert to such followers than I was and after we had crossed over into a number of different streets to see if he would take another route, Warrigal motioned for us both to stop. We had paused at a sign of three hanging balls and we pretended to look into the pawnbroker's large window to see what was on display. There, in the reflection of the glass, we saw the man what followed us walk under the light of a gas lamp opposite and there was no doubting the uniform now.

‘A constable,' I whispered to Warrigal. ‘Not Bracken.' The peeler had stopped and could be seen looking over to us, not bothering to disguise his interest. ‘We should run,' I said. And then, ‘Should we run?' Warrigal said nothing and the peeler began crossing over to us.

‘Evening, all,' he said then in a voice what was slow but commanding. ‘Don't you dash off now, Dodger.' I recognised this voice but I could not tell from where. We still had our backs to him and I made to bolt but Warrigal stopped me. He was right, I knew. We was doing nothing wrong and we still had that pardon from the Governor of New South Wales. It would be better just to act like we had nothing to hide and see what he wanted. There was another gas lamp on this side of the street between us and he paused before stepping into its spotlight. I turned around to face him, in the hope that I could place that deep voice, but I could not see who was under that dark-blue stovepipe. He was not too far away from us but, in the black fog of the night, all I could make out was two lines of glinting gold buttons running down his uniform and the silver buckle on his big black belt. He was tall, that was for sure, and about my age.

‘Can I help you, officer?' I asked him.

‘John Dawkins,' he said, all disappointed. ‘You don't know me?'

This rattled me to my bones. I did not like that he was calling me by my given name and not Jack. But the voice was becoming more familiar. It was a man's voice but I had known it as a child. I squinted some more so I could see him through the killer fog.

‘I have something here,' he went on, reaching into his long-pocket, ‘which I'm told you and your friend want back.' I could see him starting to pull out a wooden item from it what did not look to be a truncheon but I still could not make out what it was through the mist. He stepped closer into the light and his face became clearer. I recognised it then, although it had grown much more handsome with age and had the same beardless, thick-whiskered style of all peelers. And I was more amazed by this than anything else I had encountered.

‘No,' I said, and took a step back from him in astonishment. I had wanted to see him again, that was true, but not like this. Not with him wearing that.

‘I told you not to dash,' he said, seeming to sense how close I was to flight. Then he laughed, a small and bitter laugh. ‘You always dash. Remember that time you took me pickpocketing.' He shook his head as if hurt by the memory. ‘
To show me how it was done
, you said. Trying to corrupt an innocent boy into becoming a low crook like yourself.' He was in the full glare of the light now; there was no mistaking him. ‘
But dash don't mean dash
, you said.
It means walking off in-con-spic-u-ous
. And that you did, Dodge. You just left me there.'

I said his name in disbelief. The peeler grinned when he heard it and gave a slight dip of the head in acknowledgment.

‘That's
Constable
Belltower to you,' he said with smugness. ‘And you was right about me, little brother. I never was made to be a thief.'

‘Horrie!' I said, coming to my senses at last. ‘What are you doing dressed in that uniform? You look proper ridiculous.'

He stopped smiling and put whatever the wooden object was back into his truncheon pocket. ‘I look like what I am,' he said, thumbing his chest all proud. ‘A soldier of the city.' Although I confess I was most stunned to see him stood there wearing enemy colours, this did not mean I was going to be showing him much more respect than I ever had when we was young. This was my own half-brother after all, what I had once seen lose a battle of wits with a cart-horse about which of them should pull the other one home.

‘So it's true what they say,' I whistled in disbelief. ‘The peelers really are taking anyone these days. Things must be desperate.' I smiled to show him I was only jesting and opened my arms to see if he would come and give me a brotherly embrace. I had hoped that this would give me a chance to feel for what it was that might be in his pocket. Was it the third doll? I wondered. Fagin had not even met Horrie, let alone known him well enough to ever declare him a favourite, but after seeing him dressed like this anything seemed possible. I could find out what the object was if he would just let me get close enough. Instead though he just stood there
with a meanness in his eye. This approach of his, it was clear, was not for the purposes of affectionate brotherly reunion.

‘Never wanted me in your gang much, did you, John?' he said with what sounded like real hurt. ‘Now look at me. I'm in the biggest gang in London.'

‘But how?' I asked. ‘Don't take this the wrong way, Horrie, but the only peeler I could ever imagine you ever becoming was for potatoes. The last time I saw you, you was getting arrested for chucking stones at acrobats. How did you go from that …' I waved my hand over his whole appearance, ‘to
this
?'

Warrigal and myself had now stepped away from the pawnbroker's and was occupying the centre of the wide pavement, giving Horrie the chance to walk around us slow as he talked, enjoying showing me where the power was. ‘They don't take on thieves in the Metropolitan Police, if that's what surprises. But, as I say, I ain't no thief.'

This was true, he was not a thief, at least never a very good one. But Horrie was a thug, and a tall one at that. And what was any one of those other constables what had leapt out of the police vans at Bethnal Green and swarmed after us if not just tall thugs dressed up smart? The more I thought on it, the more I could see him fitting in well among them.

‘That day when I got took for throwing stones,' he said as he circled us, ‘was the best day of my life. Those boys took me back to the police office and gave me a proper hiding.'

‘Nice of them.'

‘It was. They punched some sense into me.' He was behind us now and I felt a threat of violence breathing down my neck as he spoke. ‘For me, a poor fatherless boy what never had no discipline, it was good medicine. I thanked them for it in time, once my cuts had healed.' He came round the front now and stopped
again, facing me. ‘That was my punishment, see, for throwing the stones. And I took it like a man. But by the time they had finished pounding on me I had won their respect as much as they had won mine.' He smiled again and held his chin up high. ‘I've always wanted to be a bobby ever since they first came to be. That's why I loved the punch shows so much. I used to enjoy seeing crooked Mr Punch take his beating from the policeman – it felt right and just.' He had walked up close now, close enough to show me how much taller he was. ‘Anyway,' he said at last in a friendlier tone, ‘ain't you going to introduce your friend to me? I am family, after all.'

‘Warrigal –' I turned to my companion and made the introduction as if we was at a society ball – ‘allow me to introduce to you my brother Horace Belltower, a person of some importance, it would now appear.' Warrigal raised an eyebrow at the confirmation of his being my relation. ‘I know,' I said in embarrassment, ‘there ain't much resemblance.' Then I turned to Horrie. ‘And my valet's name is Warrigal,' I said, ‘and not Peter Cole as you may have been told.'

‘How d'you do, Mr Warrigal,' said Horrie, raising a finger to his temple in mock salute. ‘You're from Australia, I'm told.'

‘And who woulda told you that?' I asked, as if I did not know.

‘My superior officer.'

‘Inspector Bracken.'

‘That's the man.' Horrie grinned. ‘You've met him. Well, now he wants to meet you again, John. Tonight. He asked me to come out and fetch you both, on account of us being blood and that. He's waiting at the station right now.'

‘Are you arresting us, Horrie? On what charge?'

‘No charge, John.' Horrie shook his head. ‘You're not arrested yet. But I've promised the inspector I would bring you to him
and you wouldn't make a liar of me, would you?' He nodded for us to stroll with him in the direction of Skinner Street. ‘Let's walk.'

I felt that Warrigal and myself had no choice but the situation was most uncomfortable. I did not like to be in the company of no peelers at the best of times but in particular not when one was my older brother Horrie who I knew had no love for me. As we strolled down to Newgate and towards the nearby police station with our unlikely but insistent escort I could hear the sound of the prison death bells ringing out. These signified that another unfortunate soul was to be executed early next morning and I wondered if Horrie knew how much this path would unsettle me. He seemed to enjoy the route himself and was full of how he had at last fulfilled his life's ambition to become a police constable.