Dodger (5 page)

On the coach trundled and the day began to darken. It was easy to see that the accomplished and pliable Lucy was a ripe Cherry just waiting to be squeezed, and just a few more lies and worthless promises was all it would take for me to pop her. But, as we neared the end of the journey, I had started to lose my appetite for her, so unsettled was I by her sister's indifference. Amy was a pretty girl, this was a truth not to be denied, and the more time I spent in that carriage with these sisters the more I began to think her the most appealing of the three, although it seemed as though this Cherry had the hardest stone within. I decided to not waste another moment more thinking on her.

Finally we came to a large coaching inn where Constance Cherry was to be reunited with this William cove about who I had heard such big talk. The painted signboard flapping in the wind and the drizzling rain showed a cat wearing leather boots what was strutting his way past a sign what pointed towards London. It was a large place and most inviting, with an ostler waiting to take care of the horses, and through the window a crackling fireplace could be seen. Our coach came to a stop and out stepped three men holding umbrellas. The first of these strode right up to the door and opened it for us before the coachman had even got down from his seat, declaring, ‘Constance, my love, I feared you were not coming!' The reverend beamed and told me that this was William Faith, the fiancé of little Connie, and I raised my eyebrows as if I never would have guessed. This fancy cove greeted all the Cherrys as if he was marrying the lot of them, and to see the way the reverend and his wife acted he may as well have been. He helped
the women down from the carriage as his two friends held the umbrellas above their heads and we all moved to the sheltered part of the inn-yard to shake hands as the coach was unloaded. Once Faith had finished fussing over the wellbeing of the Cherry family he turned to introduce the two coves flanking him. The first was a lad called Martin, about my age, and shaking his hand was like being handed a dying fish. He was a junior officer in the navy we was told, and Reverend Cherry responded to this information as if it made him the new Lord Nelson. But whether Martin was his first or last name I cannot now recall as he made little impression upon me. The other man though was harder to ignore. He was tall and beardless with grey side-whiskers that was as stiff and as bristly as a used brush and he was old enough to be William Faith's father. He was introduced as Wilfred Bracken, a great and faithful friend of the family, and I found myself wary of him right away. His face was the colour of pot ashes, his skin all pitted with smallpox scars and his hands was big and grabbing, out of all proportion with the rest of his bony self. He put me in mind of something from one of those gothic novels that I had been given to read back in the colony, a creature what had been stitched together from the dead parts of others, and I did not care to look at him.

‘Gentleman,' said the reverend, ‘allow me to introduce to you Mr Jack Dawkins, a new and valued acquaintance of our family.' I gave them all a little bow and said how did they do.

‘Dawkins, you say?' asked the miserable Bracken, and I half expected a thunderclap to accompany him, so doom-laden was his voice.

‘Yes,' Mrs Cherry answered for me, ‘of Dawkins Wool. Perhaps you have heard of them? They are quite famous, I am told.'

‘Are they?' said the creature, and he looked me up and down like he was measuring out my coffin.

The reverend was explaining to William Faith about how we had met, and I said that I needed lodgings for the night as I was leaving for London the very next day. Faith was sure that the landlady of the Cat could find me a room and said we should all get inside out of the rain.

‘And perhaps later, Mr Dawkins, you might care to join us all for a private dinner? That is, if you and your family don't object, Reverend?'

‘Not at all, young William. It would be a joy for us to have Mr Dawkins attend. And for Lucy especially, I imagine.' He winked at his youngest, who was a picture of shrinking bashfulness. Amy didn't look like she thought my attendance would be a joy though. The snooty mare was barely listening.

‘Very good then,' said Faith. ‘I shall tell the landlady to set another place and we will meet again at … Who in fiery blazes is that?' I turned to see what they was gawping at. It was only Warrigal, who had come up behind me with the luggage. He had been helping the coachman unload not just my trunk and bags but also those of the Cherrys, and now he was standing as still as a statue waiting to be told what next. He was drenched with rain and his crunched black face was glaring out at us from under his soggy hat as though he was busy putting curses on us all.

‘Oh yes,' I said. ‘It's just my valet, Warri—Peter Cole. He's a docile one, I promise you. He's what they call an aboriginal – there are whole tribes of them down in Australia – and he's proven himself to be as faithful and as hard-working a servant as I have ever had.' William Faith apologised and said that he had not realised that this was my servant and that he would ask the landlady if another room could be arranged for him. At this, a sharp hacking cough came out of Warrigal what made every head turn on him again.

‘Don't put yourself to all that trouble,' I told Faith. ‘Peter Cole will be happy sleeping on the floor of my room, if we get him a blanket. It may sound rough, but he's used to sleeping outside at home so he won't mind. We've an early start tomorrow after all.' The whole party glanced at each other as if this was most unusual and also cruel. But William Faith was an agreeable fellow and he took Constance by the arm and led us all through the low door of the inn and into the main bar where a rosy-cheeked landlady was waiting to greet us. She told me she had the perfect room for myself and Warrigal and would send a chambermaid along with an extra bedding shortly.

‘Perhaps they will be made of your own wool, Mr Dawkins,' Mrs Cherry said with a smile, and I smiled back saying that perhaps they just might. And so we was all directed to our separate chambers in the rambling old place, down passages and up staircases, and I made a special note of where the Cherry girls was staying just in case I should need to know. Warrigal and myself was struggling with the heavy trunk and Faith told us that dinner would be served in just over an hour. Once we was inside our room we dropped down the trunk, locked the door behind us and Warrigal flopped on to the large mahogany bed.

‘That ain't for you, Warrigal,' I said, hanging my hat off a peg on the wall. ‘You could have had your own chamber, you know you could. I can't be expected to lie on the floor. Not with my back.' Warrigal stared at the ceiling. He hadn't said one word to me since he'd got to England and it didn't look like he was going to start now. ‘That's where you're sleeping,' I told him, pointing at a rug on the floor in front of a small fireplace, ‘and very cosy you shall be. But the bed is mine.' Still he said nothing. He just lay there like a sooty corpse and ignored me. I busied myself around the room, taking off my coat and unpacking some of the
clothes and toiletries that Lord Evershed had supplied us with and preparing myself for dinner. ‘Come on now, enough of this,' I said after a time. ‘Ain't we friends?' He gave no response. I took some boot polish out and started work on my own shoes.

‘Is it because you was made to sit out in the rain?' I asked. Still nothing.

‘Is it because I keep calling you by another name?' I finished on my shoes and asked him if he wanted me to do his. He nodded, unlaced them and passed them to me. I did a good job and they came up lovely. I showed him how shiny they was and placed them by the door.

‘Something is troubling you, Warrigal, and I think I know what. You think I shouldn't be sniffing around these Cherrys when we have more important things to do, that's what you think. You think I was wrong to tell them my name when we was told not to draw attention to ourselves. Well, Warrigal, maybe you is right, but where, I ask you, is the harm in it? We've done nothing but travel for months, so why not enjoy ourselves on our first night in England?'

Just then the chambermaid knocked on the door and I half opened it so she couldn't see Warrigal lying in my place. ‘A pillow and a blanket,' she said, handing them to me, ‘for your valet.' I thanked her, she curtsied and I shut the door and went over to the fireplace to lay them out. Warrigal was now propped up on the bed with two large feather pillows behind him. He looked at me like I was just one of those flies that was forever buzzing around his head back in Australia.

‘You is a malingering wretch, Warrigal, that's what you is,' I told him as I buttoned up my evening shirt. ‘Stay there then, if you feel so strong about it. I don't care if you lie there till morning. It's you that has to watch over me, remember, and I'm not sitting up here with you all night.'

I turned my back on him and picked up a small looking glass in which I inspected my collar and brushed my hair. In the reflection I could see Warrigal still lying on the bed and looking at a clock upon the mantel. He reached for his fob-watch that was chained to his waistcoat and began setting it to English time in a lazy way. I wished I knew what was going on inside that head of his. I wondered, as I watched him, if he was thinking about the pact we had both made with that red-coated devil, and how he was going to kill me, if and when the time came.

‘It is very good of you to insist that your valet serve us at dinner, Mr Dawkins,' William Faith was saying, ‘but quite unnecessary. I believe the Booted Cat is fully staffed.' Warrigal had been helping to pour the drinks and serve from the soup tureen throughout the starter. I said that it was good practice for him and that he was enjoying himself greatly. Mrs Cherry commented that he was the very model of a valet.

‘My father had an attendant once,' she said, ‘and he was forever vanishing when needed. But your Peter Cole seems rather devoted to you. He's very much your shadow.'

‘Isn't he just,' I replied, and I knew that Warrigal was now sat behind me on a chair against the wall watching me eat, his eyes fixed on the back of my head. He knew he had to busy himself if he was going to be able to stay in the dining room with me, and the dirty imp wouldn't let me out of his sight. He would play out his part in public though. He knew what Evershed would do if he didn't.

The dinner had started badly, this was true, as I had shown myself to be a man who lacked proper breeding. I had entered the
private room and sat myself straight down while the other four men was stood behind their chairs waiting for the Misses Cherry and their mother to seat themselves first. These ladies made matters worse by taking forever about it, and I could see Amelia Cherry smirking at my rough manners. I had no clue as to which of the many knives and forks I was to be using and when, but I was sure I was the only one there who knew how much they would fetch in a Whitechapel pawnbroker's. I was contemplating numerous strategies to smuggle these items away later on when something happened that pushed these idle wonderings away. William Faith had got down on one knee and was talking to Constance.

‘My darling,' he began, ‘what a brute you must think me. To have asked for your fair hand and to have requested that you travel across continents to live here as my wife without ever having once presented you with that which any tender bride could reasonably lay claim. Here, my turtledove.' He reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a tiny felt-covered jewellery case which I knew from the insignia to be of the highest market value. Constance gasped, her sisters and mother squealed with excitement and the reverend and myself leaned over, knowing this was to be something special. Faith opened the case slow, as if he had bought it from God's own jeweller, and as soon as the lid parted and the light could catch it we saw the diamond glint from within. ‘It is the finest cut,' he told us, ‘for the sweetest heart.'

It certainly was a beauty. He took the ring from its case and placed it on her finger and the light bounced it in all directions. Mrs Cherry did not know what to do with herself to see such a vision and she looked fit to faint. All three Cherry girls was now in tears of happiness and as Constance leaned forward to receive Faith's courtly kisses I could see in the eyes of Lucy Cherry that she had forgotten all about Jack Dawkins of Dawkins Wool. This
was a small concern for me, however, as by this time I had lost all interest in anything either of the two younger Cherry girls had to offer me. It was Constance now who had my full attention, Constance, who was holding out her finger to display her prize for everyone to see, who passed it underneath my very nose to be admired. Sweet, innocent Constance who could not have possibly known what a deep stir her teasing actions was causing within me. I have always had a weakness for shiny things – it's something I cannot help – and I knew then that there was no chance I was leaving that there diamond on that there finger. I wanted it for mine and there was an end to it.

‘Bravo, William,' said Junior Officer Martin once we had all settled ourselves. ‘It is a quite brilliant stone.' Around the table everyone agreed and then Bracken, whose big hands was dabbing away at the pea soup around his lips, spoke for the first time that evening.

‘It is an exquisite stone to be sure. Rose-cut, I think. I suspect it comes from the new diamond mines in South Africa, and is three carat. It's quite rare and must have cost you a small fortune, William, although it would be indelicate of me to try to guess how much. The ring itself is less expensive and you purchased it from a jeweller's called Lillertons in Hatton Garden. It has been designed in the style of ancient Rome and the image of the snake coiling about itself is a Roman symbol of eternal love. This design has become particularly popular ever since Prince Albert bought one like it for our young Queen as an engagement ring. Correct me if I am wrong.'