Dodger (35 page)

For the rest of the evening she watched us most careful from behind the bar as if regretting how loose-tongued she had been. But, keen to show what a friendly and harmless band of coves myself and my companions was, I approached the six farmhands and introduced myself as Jack Dawkins of Dawkins Wool. I congratulated them on the sparkling wit they had displayed and offered to buy each one of the hard-working fellows a pot of ale. Before long, we was all the best of pals what kept no secrets from each other and they was happy to tell me all about Farmer Bates and where he could be found. His farmhouse was a fair walk away down a quiet lane, they informed us, what cut between two fields. You could not miss the old Harrington place though, it being the only dwelling down there.

It had stopped raining and, although now very dark, it was still early enough for us to go visiting. As we paid for our vittles and made to leave the maid looked uncomfortable, knowing that we must be setting off towards Farmer Bates's home. But there was no reason for us to be too secretive about our movements – we of course meant Charley no harm and our things was left in the tavern chamber so we was not behaving like wrongdoers. We put our hats and coats back on, bid the farmhands goodnight and headed out. A low stone-walled path led out of the village and curved down a dark lane and we had to trek a long way through thick wet mud before we saw the lights of the little farmhouse what lay between the two fields. Smoke was puffing out of the
chimney and a smaller path led towards it and some stables. However, a thought occurred as we drew near that if we approached from that direction then Charley would be able to see us coming and, should he have something valuable to hide as I hoped he would, then he would be given plenty of warning to do it. Instead, I told the others, we would climb over the stone wall into the field and walk on the inside up to where the cow-barn was so that our arrival would catch him unawares. ‘It'll be a nice surprise for Charley,' I whispered to Georgie, who also liked the idea.

The field was sludgy and so strewn with pats that our boots was squelching and caked in mud and worse by the time we drew near the cottage. I did not regret the furtive advance however as it afforded me a good opportunity to see into the lighted window of his home. The closer we got the more we could hear piano music. It was a simple tune being played, like one a child would like, and I began to spy the movements of a man walking about in the front room. We crept up close yet still hidden behind the wall and from this position I could see that a tall fellow was hanging decorations around the inside of the farmhouse. There was flickering lights what suggested more than just a lit fireplace and he appeared to be talking to someone what I could not see. I was still not close enough to tell if this was Charley.

‘It's not a good idea for all three of us to just appear on his doorstep like this,' I whispered. ‘Especially you, Warrigal. If he sees your face rearing out of the black night unannounced he's liable to think you're Spring-heeled Jack or some other fiend come to grab him. No, I'll go up alone and call you two over when I'm ready.'

I climbed over the stone wall and began pacing towards the house. I did not want to make straight for the knocker though; first I wanted to creep as close up to the window as I could and
peer in without being seen. The thick mud on the soles of my boots muffled the sound of my footsteps until I could get close enough to see what I needed to. But before I was even able to see the face of the tall, gangly man of my own age what was hanging sprigs of holly and ivy from the wooden beams of the ceiling, I knew it was him. He was laughing at something another person was saying, a woman what was sat playing on the small piano, and they was conversing as she did so. I knew him from the laugh straight away; it was the very same loud, generous chuckle with which he had warmed up my childhood. It was Charley all right – good-humoured, light-hearted Charley Bates, my most favoured companion. I felt an ache to see how much he had altered during my time abroad and again cursed the magistrate what had rent me from those I held most dear and stolen my youth. I had not realised until this moment how much I had missed Charley, how he was as treasured a part of my upbringing as Fagin had been. The Jakkapoor stone meant nothing, I saw now, compared to the joy of this reunion.

The woman on the piano stool must have been his wife and I could see at a glance why the barmaid at the Roundhead had been so sniffy about her. She was a striking beauty. She was speaking to him as she played and was keeping him most amused as he went around the room preparing their home for Christmas. It was a magical scene, with a small tree like those what burglars used to describe seeing in rich houses during the festive season, standing proud in the corner of the room. This tree was alight with many tiny white candles what accounted for the flickering and also hanging from its branches was those twinkling glass baubles, all different colours, just like the ones that Fagin would hang from the door at this time of year. Once Charley had secured the mistletoe to the centre beam he gestured for his lady wife to join him for
a kiss. She stopped playing, stood and crossed the room to him. It was then that I saw she was with child. I was beginning to grow uneasy with what I was seeing. I had a sudden memory of Fagin hanging his own coloured baubles up many years ago and myself and Charley asking him what the story was behind them. Fagin, who knew a great many things and was ready to make up whatever he did not know, had answered by telling us that the tradition had been begun by the forest people of eastern Europe. They had made the baubles to hang from the outside of their doors to ward off any evil spirits what should try to cross the threshold of the home. Folklore held that the sight of their own hideous reflections would be enough to scare the spirits away and they would not return for a whole year. I glanced towards the stone wall behind which Warrigal and Georgie was hiding and felt a sudden want to retreat. I stepped back from the light of the window, unsure of whether to knock or not. And then I saw something else that stopped me dead.

A dog barked and startled me. Both Charley and his wife turned to look outside and I heard her gasp in fright as I was spied. More barking, and Charley strode right up to the glass. ‘Dodger!' he exclaimed, and then dashed out of the room. The barking dog ran up to the front door of the cottage and began scratching at it most violent so it could get to me. ‘Dodger!' I heard Charley say again from inside. ‘Wait!' I stepped around so I would be facing the porch as he opened. He was taking his time about it and so I was sure he must be putting that dog on a leash first. Dodger, I then remembered, was the name of the animal and so I called out so he would recognise my voice.

‘Charley!' I said. ‘Charley Bates! It's me.'

There was a small pause and then the door flung open and out bounded a Border collie, unleashed and teeth bared. It dashed
straight towards me and scrambled to a stop just feet away. There it continued to communicate in loud aggressive barks its desire for me to clear off.

‘Woah!' I cried in panic. ‘Easy, boy!' I went to run and the dog made to chase me but I gathered enough wits to see that this was no natural attack animal. So I stood my ground, with my open hands on display, and tried to show him that I was a friend. ‘Charley,' I pleaded, ‘put him on a leash for pity's sake before he bites my leg.' I looked towards the man stood in the doorway, who was holding up a lantern with one hand and brandished something else in the other. It was a farmer's shotgun and he was pointing it square at me.

‘Turn around and go back to London,' he warned me in his rough voice. ‘Come near my family again and I'll blast a hole in your head.' From inside I could hear a baby crying.

‘Charley?' I cried in panic. ‘Don't be like that. We're pals.'

He raised his lantern so he could get a better look. ‘This about Bill Sikes?' he squinted. ‘Well, I don't care how you knew him. He was a murdering bastard and I'm proud of what I done.'

‘So am I!' I said back. ‘He deserved it for killing Nancy.' This was the honest truth, and I then added, ‘And I'd a peached upon him myself if I'd been there,' which was not.

He paused and again lifted his lantern. The shotgun looked heavy – I supposed he used it for shooting sick cattle – and the two weights seemed to fight each other for balance as he took another step. I was still unsure if he had recognised me or had just been startled by a London voice and had assumed the worst. Finally he spoke.

‘Dodger?'

The border collie cocked a confused head towards his master.

‘You talking to him or me?'

He laughed then, the good old Charley laugh what I knew so well, and his shotgun arm dropped down. ‘Jack!' he guffawed, and shook his head in merriment. ‘Jack Dawkins! Old Artful! Lumme, Jack! What a surprise to see you here!'

I laughed too and made towards him, arms open for a manly embrace. But then the shotgun arm went up again.

‘I didn't say come closer,' he said, blunt. ‘I still don't want you inside my home.'

‘But, Charley,' I begged. ‘I'm your best friend in the world. And it's freezing out here. Have a heart.'

‘What you doing in Northamptonshire?' he demanded. ‘Why ain't you in Australia where they sent you?'

‘I'm a farmer now,' I told him. ‘Like you, only my line is wool. And I'm here to ask you some questions and for a favour. Honest though, Charley, I mean you no harm. Please stop pointing that thing at me.' I edged a bit closer towards him. ‘I'm at your mercy.'

Charley eyed me hard but I could see he was starting to see sense. After thinking on it for some moments, he at last lowered his gun arm again and whistled in relief. ‘I'm sorry, Jack,' he said in a softer tone. ‘It's just that up here you get so tense about every little footstep and I can't take chances—'

Warrigal sneezed. Charley spun towards the stone wall and saw two hatted heads in silhouette watching us. ‘Who's that?' he shouted, and before I could answer the lantern was dropped, the gun arm was up and a shot was fired. Georgie's hat went flying from off his head and they both vanished behind the wall again. His wife screamed from within the cottage, the dog dropped its head to the floor in fright and I grabbed at the gun. I at least now knew he was out of shot and so tried to wrestle it off him.

‘You snake!' he shouted at me as he fought for it back. ‘You've brought others here to do me in.' He had grown bigger than me,
like Jem, but he could not take the gun back without a fight. Dodger the dog, however, had gotten over the shock of the blast and now jumped up to help his master. I tried kicking him away, but he was going to sink his teeth into me and so I pulled the gun away from Charley and tried to hit him with it. Then another blast rang out and I felt shot whizz straight past my ears.

‘Get away from my husband!' a woman's voice cried out in a strong northern accent. I turned to see the pregnant figure of Mrs Rose Bates stood in the porch and reloading shot into her own rifle.

‘It's just Georgie!' I shouted at Charley in desperation. ‘Georgie Bluchers! He wants your help, Charley! Nobody's here to hurt you.'

‘Who's the other one?' he shouted back, as deafened as I was it seemed. ‘And why they hiding?'

‘The other is a friend too,' I answered. ‘His name's Warrigal, he's from Australia and he don't even care who Bill Sikes is. Tell your wife not to shoot me,' I said as I saw the woman was almost done reloading. He turned then and held his hand up to her.

‘You explain yourself,' he growled to me, ‘and make it good.'

I let go of the gun and stepped back, panting as I did so. Dodger had scarpered at the second shot, so I could take my time in speaking. ‘Georgie is here because he's in trouble with the law. He wants you to hide him for a bit and let him work on your farm under a false name until the trouble blows over.'

‘Oh, does he now?' said Charley, and let out an ironical laugh at the impertinence of it.

‘Yeah, he does,' I said. I was bending over with my hands on my knees to get my breath back after the excitement. ‘But that ain't why I'm here. I'm here to ask if you still have a little wooden doll what Fagin gave you when you was a kinchin. There is a
chance that it has a little black jewel inside it and, if it does, I know a man in London what'll pay you handsomely for it.' I stood to my full height again and looked him in the eye. ‘Give me that stone and I'll see that you get a decent reward. You can trust me on that, Charley. I'd want you and your wife to have it even though she has just tried to shoot me in the head.'

‘What you on about, Jack?' Charley asked with a look of bewilderment. ‘I ain't got no little wooden doll.'

‘Yes, you do,' I said, and pointed into his home. ‘It's the one I've just seen in there grinning out at me. You've got it hanging from the top of your Christmas tree.'

There was a long silence as he let that sink in. His wife just stood in the doorway looking at us with a scared expression and her heavy gun in her hands and the only sound heard was the crying baby from somewhere behind her. And then a voice spoke.

‘That was a bloody good hat, that,' Georgie moaned to Warrigal from behind the stone wall. ‘And now there's a hole in it.'

*

The sound of the gunshots had alerted the people of the village and in no time a group of men, including some of those farmhands we had met earlier, was running up the pathway towards the cottage, all wielding spades, sticks and other makeshift weapons. A man galloped past them on horseback with a shotgun of his own and reared up just outside the cottage. ‘Farmer Bates!' he cried as he did so. ‘Are ye all right, sir?'

By now myself, Georgie and Warrigal was all inside the hallway of the cottage and I was trying to explain things to his still terrified wife who also had their one-year-old son in her arms and was rocking him back to sleep while their oldest child, a girl of three, was stood behind her legs looking frightened also. Charley had decided to trust us, although like most English people he had
baulked at the sight of Warrigal, and I was doing my best job of apologising to the couple and promising them that we had only ever come in friendship. Avenging a murderer like Bill Sikes would never be my business, I swore to them, and I would never divulge their address to those for whom it might be.