The Newgate Jig (32 page)

'He's
back,' whispered Pilgrim. 'He's looking for the letter.'

The one that was
in the pocket inside my coat, where it was burning my skin.

'Kevill gave it
to me. If he was taken, I should give it to the magistrate.'

('He
danced the Newgate hornpipe! Jaunty!')

'But I didn't. I
should have. Suffer the children. Ah, but I was too scared. This one threatened
me hard.'

('Clap-mouth!
Think of the coin!')

'And the Nasty Man
showed me the madhouse and the chains and whips.'

He
looked up calmly.

'I hope he
doesn't destroy my
Pilgrim's Progress.
I believe it is a rare copy. Chapman?'

('Sew
up his mouth.')

'Chapman was a
friend to me when I was whipped because of you. I should have listened to him.'

('Keep
him quiet! Keep them all quiet!')

His face
contorted with the effort and he dug his nails into his arm until the blood
ran.

'Bob, I buried
the children here. As per the arrangement.' He was eager to explain. 'But one got
away. I saw her dead. Now it's the madhouse.'

('We
looked through the hole in the wall.')

'I went back to
the shop, to the cellar, to prepare. Look, look, I made a hole!'

He pointed with
trembling finger at the vast black chasm before him.

'But
when I went to collect her, she had gone.'

('Stolen.
Thief.')

Pikemartin, I
thought. The first child that had died since Kevill had gone, and his
replacement knew nothing of the 'arrangement' with Pilgrim. He had wrapped her
in the only thing that came to hand. A piece of carpet. He had hidden her under
the floorboards and then taken her to the only place where he thought she would
not be found. The tunnel.

'My God,' said
Will quietly in my ear. 'What horrors have been happening in this place?'

Trim was
anxious. 'We can't wait! Let's find a ladder or a floorboard and get him out
quickly, and save ourselves.'

We left some of
the lanterns so Pilgrim shouldn't be in the dark, and my two friends hurried up
the stairs whilst I followed, turning every step to look anxiously after
Pilgrim, who was calm now. He smiled and waved to me, as if I was trotting to
the shop for a can of milk, and called after me words of encouragement.

'Be careful,
Bob! Watch the steps - they're rotten! Don't bring Brutus and Nero down here,
will you? Far too dangerous and difficult for dogs. Even such remarkably
intelligent ones as yours!' He laughed and clapped his hands.

In
the thick darkness of the passage, Will and Trim agreed that floorboards from
one of the rooms upstairs would be the quickest and easiest remedy.

'We can bridge
the void, I think,' said Will, 'but let's not waste a moment.'

Great bulges
were evident in every wall and, in the shop, shelves and bookcases collapsed
even as their contents slid onto the floor, bringing with them clouds of dust
and cobwebs. Suddenly, the window panes - bullseyes, uncommon these days -
burst in explosions of glass and I stepped back and covered my face to avoid
the shards.

I
didn't hear the Nasty Man until he was at my shoulder.

Until the heel
of his hand met the apple of my throat, and his right hand grasped my opposing
wrist. It was efficiently done. I was pinned and helpless. And I was
immediately almost insensible. The smallest pressure and I would be dead.

'Where
is it?'

Quietly spoken, but
no niceties now. I could feel the thud of his heart and his quick breath.

'George Kevill
left a packet. You have it. Give it me, and I'll let you go. Otherwise, I'll
choke you here.'

The world went
black for a moment and then there was a rushing in my ears and head as he
released his grip.

'Come, I
followed you here. I know you have it.' He pulled on my wrist, wrenching my
head back again and throwing me off balance. 'And I have your dogs.'

I knew he must
be lying. Every word that he spoke should have burned his mouth and turned his
tongue to ashes.

'They're not far
away. In the next street. I'll take you to them. But I want the packet first.
Quickly.'

How
could I believe him, knowing what I knew? He had backed me out of the shop and
we were standing in the passage. I could hear Will and Trim above pulling up
floorboards.

He sent waves
crashing into my ears again. They're sad creatures without you, Bob Chapman. I
left them tied up in a yard. They're outside in this cold, cold weather.'

I gulped and
choked, struggling as he wrenched at my wrist.

'A gentleman
from Putney wanted them for his daughters, but I got a better price on the
Highway. A man I know has a pit:

Dog-fighting!
Even though I knew he was lying, I couldn't take the risk, and I nodded feebly and
clutched his hand and would have fallen if he hadn't kept a tight hold upon me.

'Do take care,
my dear!' he said, brightly. 'Now, is this it? Inside your coat?'

He was so quick
that I had no opportunity to stop him and, with a laugh, he pushed me away.

'Practice, my
dear. One takes an apprenticeship and with effort and experience, behold, the
nasty man crowns his profession!'

He
turned the pictures over quickly.

'Kevill,' he
muttered as he folded the packet up and put it in his pocket. 'A pygmy. A mouse
in the ring. Gallows-bait.'

A noise and a
sudden flood of light in the passage made us both turn. The back door was open,
and in it stood Barney, stopper in his hand. The Nasty Man took a step
backwards.

'I
said I'd serve you out and I will. For my Pa.'

'Your Pa was
soft. A bubble. Put your stopper away, boy. Remember what happened last time.'
The Nasty Man had recovered his composure quickly, but he was still nervous.

'Don't let the
coppers see you with it. Six months' hard for that weapon.'

He spoke mildly,
but never took his eyes off the boy, who was advancing slowly along the
passage, the gun poised in his hand.

'You fitted up
my Pa. He never killed anyone. Not a ladybird, not anyone.'

'That's true,
Barney. But he was becoming a putty cove. You know what I mean. He thought
about the business too much. He wrote a letter, kept pictures which didn't
belong to him. And my - partner - was nervous.'

'Is
that the uncle Pa borrowed money off?'

'It
is.'

'And
the dirty cove in the pictures.'

'Again.'

'Then
I shall serve him out as well.'

The Nasty Man
backed away a little further. He had half an eye upon the shop and the front
door - or the window - to get away. But there was another rumble, another
shudder, running through the house, and the walls wobbled as though they were
made of paper. Even the staircase was shifting as Will and Trim clattered down
it, carrying two long floorboards. They stopped short of the passage, seeing
Barney still advancing, the stopper dropping a little in his hand, and the
Nasty Man talking and edging away. 'You don't need to serve me or him out,
Barney,' he was saying. 'You could inherit your father's business. I think he
would have wanted that, don't you, cocky?'

Barney hesitated
and the Nasty Man turned to run. But he stumbled, his foot caught beneath the
worn drugget. He wrestled to free it, and falling off balance, clutched at the
cellar door. The more he struggled, the more certainly he was trapped by the
frayed mat and the one underneath it, the mouldy layers of paper, the
splintering wood. Then he slipped. His vast weight dragged him over and he
crashed like a grotesque ballet dancer, all arms and legs, through the rotten
wood of the door. I heard his head thud against the wall, his arm crack, the
heels of his boots drag upon the cellar stairs, and he struck the trembling
earth with a thud.

Pilgrim
moaned and cried out.

There
was a mighty shudder. We watched as the Nasty Man grasped at the air and
shifting earth and slid away into the darkness.

Collapse and Fa
ll

Barney led me
through the creaking wreckage of the shop and into the street. Behind us,
Lovegrove and Trim had thrown the floorboards across the chasm and helped Pilgrim
to safety. Not a moment too soon, it seemed, for the instant they emerged from
the shop it shivered and, like one of Mr Lombard's scenes, disappeared. The
gaff, too, seemed to hover before a ripple ran across the snow-dusted roof and
the front wall trembled and then all fell like a house of cards. In the
interval, as the dust cleared, snow-storms of paper fluttered in the wintry
breeze and were scooped up into the sky, and fell upon neighbouring housetops
and into the street. The houses either side were mutilated by the collapse,
walls ripped away and the inhabitants left shocked and crying at the windows.
In one, the kitchen range still clung to the wall when all around it had
fallen. The fire was glowing and a kettle boiling water for the teapot which
had been put to warm. Upstairs, the children whimpered in their bedroom and
their mother screamed, all standing as though they were upon a stage, for the
front of the house was fallen into the street.

As
weeks passed (I leap momentarily into the future), and nothing was done to
assist those poor souls who had lost houses, livelihoods and loved ones,
rumbles of resentment and anger arose against the railway company for taking so
little care. There were reports and inquiries, visits by members of parliament
and sympathetic churchmen, and much shaking of heads. Equally, those people
who, supposedly, support the poor and take their part, anarchists and the like,
promised to rally the masses and march upon the offices of the railway company
and demand that 'something be done'. Of course, nothing happened. The homeless
disappeared, along with the members of parliament, churchmen and radicals (or
whatever they called themselves). But the railways, of course, blundered on,
chewing the city into pieces and spitting it out.

Now, standing in
the street, covered in dust and shivering with fear and cold, we were jostled
by the usual crowds that gather, some people wanting to look at the debris of
the collapsed buildings, some wanting to see if 'anyone's caught it', and some
simply wanting to stare at us, and ask 'What goes?' A man brought a horse
blanket for Pilgrim and a bandage for Barney's knee, and another, a woman as
poor as they, but seeing them looking pale and out of sorts, took them into her
home for the night. This contagion of benevolence continued for a whole day,
with cups of tea and nips of gin being doled out by rich and poor alike, and
then as the dust cleared, the adventurous and curious went closer to inspect
the ruins, and to see if there was anything to be had. But it was too dangerous
even for these hardened pinchers, and when the police arrived, they melted
away. Order was restored, looting ceased and the sergeant sent in his men to
see whether there were any 'stiff uns' among the rubble.

Will nudged me
and said, quietly, 'Now's your chance, Bob, to put this terrible business in
someone else's hands. It shouldn't be your trouble, old fellow. Would you like
me to open proceedings?'