The Newgate Jig (28 page)

They waited
until I was upon them before they drove the cart away and I ran after it for a
long time. I think they deliberately drove slowly so that I could keep pace
with it, but never quite catch it up. Then, when my strength was almost gone,
it picked up speed and I lost it. It turned a corner, and I was stranded in the
middle of the busy road, and was nearly knocked over by a cart. The driver
leaped down, pushed me out of the way and thrust his ugly face into mine. But I
didn't see him, and I think he believed I was mad, because my mouth was still
wide open, waiting for the scream that would not come.

Pikemartin

My
dogs have been taken.

I have written the
words on a card - the first time I have ever done such a thing, for I am
ashamed that I never learned to write with a good hand and I hold a pencil awkwardly.
When it becomes ragged about the edges (for I carry it around with me and show
to everyone I meet) I make another, precisely the same. Most of the population
of this great city have seen my card. I make sure everyone who passes me in the
street reads it, and I have ventured further in every direction out of my
little neighbourhood than I have ever been. I scour every passage and court. I
search parks and gardens. I become a familiar figure on my strange errand.
People are sympathetic and, every day, ask me if there is any news and promise
to let me know if they see or hear of my dogs. Many people recognize me:
Chapman, the dog-man, and those clever, handsome dogs, one golden, one black,
Brutus and Nero. Of course, they remember them. And pretend to remember me.
The questions come thick and fast, though they know I can answer only with a
nod or shake of the head.

'Were
they stolen?' Yes.

'Do
you know who took them?' Yes.

'Do
you know where they are?' No.

'Do
you know what's become of them?' No.

'Do
you know why they were taken?' Yes.

'Do
you miss them very much?' Yes.

I go back to
Portland-road - Mrs Twentyfold is persuaded by Will and Trim and another
month's rent (courtesy of Mr Abrahams), to let me keep my room. I stare for
hours at the rug where Brutus would lie and the corner of the hearth where Nero
slept. I fill their bowl with water. I lay out their brushes. I look out of the
window into Mrs Twentyfold's area at the bush where Brutus would always sniff,
and the hole in the fence where Nero had once cornered a fox. I think of our
happy times, walking to Strong's Gardens and our early morning breakfasts of
milk and bread, our plans for a new and better life. I remember our small
triumphs at the Aquarium and our hoped-for ones at the Pavilion. 'Clever dogs!'
Mr Abrahams had said, beaming through his beard. 'Our new novelties! The best
the Pavilion has ever seen!' according to Mr Carrier. Will, Em, Trim, the
Princess - everyone loved them, and my boys gave their trust and affection
freely and willingly. And no more so than to me, Bob Chapman, their trusted
friend, who betrayed them. Because I encouraged them to perform that trick, a
novelty on the stage, they were taken.

In truth, I am
but half a man without those creatures who have been my constant companions
since we were all young. Easy tears well up when I think of them, and I cannot
bear to imagine where they might be or, worst of all that, before they died,
they were harmed or cruelly treated and they thought of me and wondered why I
had abandoned them. I am plagued by these thoughts worst at night and I have
taken to going out walking, walking, until I am so tired that I fall asleep
immediately I return. But I always wake up after only a couple of hours'
respite, and then the images of their dear faces, their joyful bounding along
the streets, their serious concentration as we practise new novelties, their
delight in everything we do, all come back to haunt me.

Soon, no one
sees me. The butcher, who would wait upon the doorstep to give Brutus and Nero
a bone in return for a friendly paw, stays inside his shop and barely glances
at me as I pass. At the dairy, the bowl which sat by the door and was
christened 'Chapman's milk pan' because Mrs Harmer filled it with fresh milk
for my boys every time we passed and would take nothing for her trouble, was
still there, but empty now. A few wisps of straw and a skin of dust clung to
it, and Mrs H stayed in her stall.

I do not expect
to see them again. I think they are probably dead. Killed for spite rather than
profit. I hope they were not put into the ring.

When I am in my
room in Portland-road, I lock the door and lie in bed, afraid to sleep these
days, except when I have had a few glasses at the Two Tuns. Then I sleep like
the dead. I am not a drinking man, but I found that gin and company help to
chase wakefulness, and have kept up the habit. There is little left of my
savings and all thoughts of the horse and cart and Strong's Gardens have
receded. Besides, I was foolish and one day hired a man to search for my dogs.
I was low and desperate, and when he pushed a notice under my door, saying that
he had heard of my difficulties and offered to make a search 'for ready rhino',
I gave it only a moment's thought. He took two guineas and I never saw him
again. Will and Trim, seeing the notice and learning that I had been duped,
went out three days on the trot to find him, threatening violence if they ever
did, but of course he was long gone. Mr Carrier sent me a note by Will,
assuring me that my place in the Pavilion company was still secure, and also
that of my boys 'when they are found, which they assuredly will be', and that
Chapman's Sagacious Canines still had their place in
Elenore the Female Pirate
and the programme. But I did discover that he had made enquiries of my rival,
Mr John Matthews and 'Devilshoof,' and had asked Trim to work in some
single-dog business.

The Princess was
kind, and sent a fairy note every day. And Herr Swann and Moses Dann. Conn sent
me a bottle and a message of 'good cheer' with Barney and, indeed, Barney it
was who kept me from madness. One morning in the early days of Brutus and
Nero's disappearance, when I was searching the streets around Fish-lane, he
found me and said he would help. Though I was terribly occupied with my task, I
could not but notice his shabby clothes and wasted cheeks, and when Will saw
him, and questioned him over a plate of bread and cheese, he discovered that
Barney was street- tumbling with another lad, and that both were sleeping where
they could. A word with Princess Tiny and, of course, that was soon put right -
Moses Dann, the Boneless Man, now had company in the cellar and someone to talk
to in the night when his joints pained him. But when he wasn't street- tumbling
or sweeping the Aquarium yard, Barney was at my side, interrogating boys like
himself and charming maids and milliners. He was my voice, and untiring in his
labours. I could not afford to pay him, but our companionship and daily treks
through the neighbourhood and beyond seemed reward enough.

I have kept in
work. Mr Abrahams, who daily shed tears over Brutus and Nero and called me his
'son in tragedy', gave me employment at the Aquarium. I sweep and dust and
rearrange the exhibits, and one day he stopped me in the hall, where I was hard
at work with broom and mop, to say that he had devised some plans for me to
make a list of the Aquarium's collection.

'Dear Bob,' he
said, with much shaking of his head. 'It will be a labour of love. Before she
died, my Mimi said to me, Abby, you must make a list of the whole Aquarium,
from the Alabaster Priapus to Wyld's Monstre Globe - we had no x, y and zs at
the time, Bob, though now we could accommodate the whole alphabet!' He beamed
happily. 'We shall do it, and make books of your list to sell. Pikemartin shall
sell them.'

Pikemartin was
silent in his box. Perhaps he thought he had enough to do.

He was certainly
busy with the visitors who flocked to the Aquarium in their hundreds. Mr
Abrahams, being an able showman, changed the exhibits every week, bringing out
new wonders (though old acquisitions) from the cellar or the cupboards on the
landing. And it was one of Pikemartin's duties to fetch them from storage and
install them according to Mr Abrahams' instructions. Today there was a packing
case awaiting his attention in the hall, transported early from Jamrack's
Emporium by the river. Mr Jamrack is more usually associated with the
menagerie trade, but occasionally acquired curiosities from sailors short of
chink and willing to part with objects they have acquired on their travels. Mr
Abrahams hovered over the box, rubbing his hands in excited anticipation.

'It is an
Eternal Flame,' he said in hushed tones. 'Perhaps
the
Eternal Flame.
Mr Jamrack purchased it from a Chinese captain who had bought it in Egypt. Or
was it Greece? I don't remember. But it is a remarkable thing.'

Remarkable - and
very heavy! It took Pikemartin and me much effort and the best part of an hour
to unpack and carry it up the stairs to the second-floor salon, with Mr
Abrahams flapping his arms and urging us to keep it upright 'lest the oil slops
about and the flame goes out!' Then we had to mount it upon a sturdy table -
strong enough to bear its weight (and wobbling only a little) - and then be on
hand as our employer arranged a display of ceremonial swords and daggers about
it, secure them with bolts and pins and admire the effect. True, the lamp was a
pretty thing of brass and ivory, and the flame burned blue and pink, depending
upon where you stood. But Pikemartin was unimpressed, I think, and returned to
his box without a word to anyone.

Never a jovial
companion, of course, and devoted to drink, these days he was more morose than
I had ever known him. He seemed deep in misery and would sit for hours at a
time without saying a word, contemplating the walls of his box. Perhaps his
misery was on account of Mrs Gifford's harrying of him, which she did for any
small thing, and he seemed to be constantly at the end of her tongue-lashing
and door- slamming. She always had something for him to do and, whether or not
he was already occupied, would not tolerate my assistance at any price.

'Come
here, Pikemartin and see the state of the windows in the front salon,' she
roared, even before she had peeled off her gloves and unpinned her feather
bonnet.

'Do you want to
keep your position, Pikemartin? Shall I keep silent about the filthy floors in
the waxwork room or will you fetch your mop now?' she squawked over her
shoulder and, leaving me in his cubbyhole to deal with tickets and visitors, he
crept after her, as meek as a kitten.

But it was
curious. Although she was incessantly at his throat and seemed to dislike him
almost as much as me, I saw them talking on the landing by the wax eyes and
even outside, on the street corner. Barney remarked upon it too, and thought
there was 'something rum about it', but he didn't know what.

It was one of
the things Barney often talked about when we were on our expeditions, and he
amused me by conjuring up all kinds of strange stories about Gifford and
Pikemartin - that they were French spies, or coiners, or planning to rob the
Bank of England. His stories were always fantastic, guaranteed to make me
smile, but their essence - that those two were 'up to something' - never
varied, and this was rooted in reality for it was clear that, whatever they
were 'up to' caused them both no little anxiety and effort. Gifford had always
been bad-tempered, but these days she was out on errands at least once a day
and returned flustered and pale. Pikemartin was like a man with more worries
than a rat in a dog-kennel, but even that did not explain his behaviour when I
accidentally shouldered him in the street. Naturally, I would have taken a
side step to avoid him as I turned the corner by the Aquarium, but I did not
see him and knocked Pikemartin with such force that I was driven back and even
caught poor Barney a glancer.