Dodger (6 page)

‘As ever, old friend,' Faith said smiling, ‘nothing escapes you.' The spooky old cove nodded and returned to his soup. Faith went on: ‘But however could you tell all that from just a quick glance?'

‘A lucky coincidence, nothing more,' said Bracken. ‘Retrieved
a stone just like it for Lillertons some time last year. Could even be the same one, its kind is so rare. A most extraordinary case.'

‘I beg your pardon, Mr Bracken,' Reverend Cherry asked, blinking, ‘did you say you
retrieved
one last year? What on earth can you mean?' William Faith laughed and apologised for not explaining.

‘Our Mr Bracken is a somewhat celebrated professional in the capital. He is one of Sir Robert's men.'

‘Sir Robert's?' someone asked.

‘Yes. A bobby. A peeler. One of Sir Robert Peel's original Metropolitan police officers. We have the honour, ladies and gentleman, of sitting with Detective-Inspector Bracken of the Yard.'

All of a sudden I had lost my taste for the soup. I preferred it when I thought Bracken just a thing from the grave.

‘I dare say you have been away from London for so long, Reverend Cherry,' Faith continued, ‘that you won't be aware of the wonderful progress that has been made by men like Bracken here. Gone are the days of the Bow Street Runner and his ineffectual attempts to maintain law and order. In recent years an organised force of men has emerged who are more persistent in their pursuit of the criminal class. And Wilfred Bracken is universally recognised as the best of them.'

Wilfred Bracken did nothing to deny this compliment; instead he just bowed his head as the Cherry family all made noises to show they thought he sounded right heroic. Faith went on to say that Bracken was the scourge of the rookeries and that thieves trembled to hear his very name. He then insisted that Bracken tell us about his exploits as if this would be a great treat for us all. Bracken was agreeable and cleared his throat.

‘The case to which I refer,' he said in a low, serious voice which
I felt was at odds with the merry occasion, ‘was the Case of the Pimlico Pincher. You may have read about it in the
Police Gazette
.' The ladies all shook their heads. Of course they hadn't read about it, or anything else, in the
Police Gazette
, as well he knew. But they all leaned closer into the table to listen to him, his lifeless old face looking even more ghoulish in the candlelight. ‘Lillertons jewellers had been contacted by a lady calling herself Countess Mariana Velez. She had written to them explaining that she was an ambassador's wife currently staying in the fashionable area of Pimlico and that she wished to purchase some jewellery to wear at the Spanish Embassy Ball. She arranged for a brougham carriage to collect an assistant from Lillertons and bring him round with a selection of diamond rings and ruby necklaces for her consideration. The assistant arrived at the address where a housemaid led him into the front room of a fully furnished house and told him, in her thick foreign accent, that Countess Velez was sick upstairs in bed. Would he mind handing over the rings and necklaces for her to take up for inspection? The assistant, like a fool, agreed and it was almost ten minutes before he tried the door and realised that he was locked in. The so-called maid had fled with the jewels and it wasn't until the real owners of the house returned home that it became apparent that there never was a Countess Velez and that somehow this woman had gained access to the place through craft and villainy.'

Everyone looked good and shocked at this and I also acted as if I could never believe such deviousness. But inside I was amused as it was an old ruse and I was pleased to hear it still worked.

‘Upon arrival at the scene I interviewed the jeweller's assistant and he estimated that the housemaid had been around two-and-forty. Her accent was Spanish, he said, although when pressed he admitted that in hindsight there may have been traces of Italian
in it. Despite this, he told me, he had simply not found anything suspicious about her, she had seemed so comfortable in the place. The only remarkable thing he remembered was her eyes. They were odd-coloured, one green, one blue.'

Inside me, as he said this, something went cold.

‘Then I spoke to the lady of the house. She was in a state of some distress as it had now emerged that some priceless family heirlooms had also gone missing from her bedroom. I took an inventory of what was lost and asked her if she had noticed anything irregular in recent days. She told me that that two days prior to this she had been accosted, while travelling on an omnibus, by a strange woman who had tried to sell her soap. This woman, whose age she estimated at two-and-forty and whose accent was Irish with traces of Scottish, had travelled next to the lady for long enough to pick a key from her pocket and press it between two bars of soap thus giving her all she needed to make a perfect replica. When asked if she remembered anything about her appearance the lady mentioned her eyes. One green, one blue.'

‘How extraordinary!' said Mrs Cherry. ‘Odd-coloured eyes. I've never heard of such a thing. Have you, Mr Dawkins?' I shook my head and lied.

‘Our next task was to locate the driver of the brougham carriage. This was made simple as the man himself had already complained to the police that he had received counterfeit notes for a job that involved collecting a jeweller from Hatton Gardens and taking him to an address in Pimlico. He told officers that he had been paid in advance and until now he had not closely inspected the money. The woman who paid him was …'

‘About two-and-forty, with odd-coloured eyes and a dubious accent.' Faith laughed.

‘Precisely, William. This time Welsh with traces of Indian.' His
listeners was now good and hanging from his every word and he moved his gaze from face to face as he spoke. He never looked towards me though. Warrigal had got to his feet to fill up my wine glass but I put my hand over the top of it to stop him. ‘I recognised the notes instantly,' continued Bracken as though he was giving evidence in court. ‘They were the handiwork of a notorious forger named Inker Finch, whom I had arrested years earlier and who had been recently released from prison and was now residing with his wife in Camberwell. My constables and I sped round to his home directly and we interrogated him with some urgency.' I could tell by Bracken's big hands and heavy manner that his idea of an urgent interrogation was more about actions than words. I felt sorry for this Inker Finch. ‘The interrogation was effective and we soon established the whole story. Finch claimed that he had not wanted to return to his criminal occupation but had been forced to by a woman whom he knew to be highly dangerous. She had visited him one night, armed with a knife, and told him that she felt he owed her a debt and that she would cut him from gut to gizzard if it wasn't repaid. Finch was frightened and felt that he had no alternative but to produce the money himself through his old art. He gave us her address in Seven Dials and we proceeded there directly. As we kicked down the door of her lodgings we discovered that she was in the process of packing her things to leave the city but had not counted upon us catching up with her so soon. Her bags were half full, a chambermaid's outfit was burning in the grate and, as we entered the room, she exited by the second-floor window. She jumped down on to some hay in the alley below whilst clutching a case that could only contain the stolen jewellery. My officers and I jumped out after her. We pursued her through a series of winding, twisting alleys and were closing in when she reached a courtyard filled with
vagrants and other undesirables. Here she opened the case and tossed the contents into the air, her plan clearly being to create such chaos and delay that she herself could escape. The jewels were scattered around the courtyard and the denizens of the slum reacted like ants around sugar. I ordered my officers to remain in the courtyard and see that every last jewel was safely retrieved and accounted for while I alone continued the chase. She had gained some distance by now and had crossed over on to the other side of Drury Lane but I was the quicker runner and I bounded over the street, narrowly avoiding phaetons and cabriolets, and saw her vanish down a side lane between two theatres. This was an error on her part as the lane had been closed off, and I grabbed hold of her leg as she attempted to climb the wooden fence at the end of it. She kicked and swore at me and, as I forced her to face me so I could see for myself those odd-coloured eyes, she scratched at me like a cat. She was more animal than woman and I had never come across her like before.'

‘She sounds positively ghastly,' said William Faith as he motioned to Warrigal to top up his glass. ‘Foreigner, was she?'

‘Not at all,' said Bracken, continuing to look at everyone except me. ‘She was the product of our own monster city. Her name …' he paused, the bastard, and I remember thinking,
Don't drag it out
, ‘… was Katherine Dawkins.'

There was three or four dead seconds before anyone said anything when they all must have been trying to think as to where they had all heard that name before. Then Mrs Cherry's witless laugh broke the silence.

‘My, Mr Dawkins, would you credit it?' she said. ‘To think you share a surname with such a curious person!'

‘This Mrs Dawkins,' continued Bracken, as if he himself had not yet noticed the coincidence, ‘was a notorious figure in the
London underworld. She had been arrested for various offences over the years and was well known to the local authorities. Whether there ever was a Mr Dawkins is a matter of speculation, as it seemed this dissolute woman was forever attaching herself to various crooks and ruffians and often took their surnames regardless of whether or not she married them. She was the mother of two boys by different fathers. The first was a slow-witted simpleton who fell into bad company and was soon taken by the law, but the younger lad, well, he was an altogether different case.'

Our soup bowls was being removed and so he paused in his telling until all the servants, save Warrigal, had left the room. Then he went on. ‘This child, when still a child, gained himself a reputation as being one of the most brazen thieves in the metropolis. Taught at his mother's knee to steal and cheat, he became a talented pickpocket and then fell under the control of two criminals, an elderly Jewish fence with an Irish name and a violent housebreaker with a terrible temper. A more villainous pair of mentors he could not have hoped to have found than these men, Fagin and Sikes, and they soon had him schooled and working the streets of London, where he became known by a well-earned nickname, the Artful Dodger.'

‘The Artful Dodger!' laughed William Faith, shaking his head. ‘What a colourful soubriquet!'

‘Do you know,' piped up Junior Officer Martin, ‘I seem to recall that name. I think I once read about his arrest in the
Newgate Calendar
.'

‘You may well have done,' said Bracken, ‘for arrested he was and made an example of. The magistrate, who recognised an unrepentant sinner when he saw one, sentenced him to transportation for life. He was sent to an Australian penal colony where he would be put to work for five years and then given the chance to become
a law-abiding Australian. But he was never, under any circumstances, allowed to return to our shores.' He looked around the table from face to face but he still never looked to me. His listeners was all staring straight back at him, not sure of what he was getting at.

‘Do you know what they get the prisoners doing during their incarceration out in New South Wales, Mrs Cherry?' he asked. Neither she nor any other Cherry answered. ‘Sheep shearing,' he told her, and took a swig from his glass, draining it dry. One by one the other dinner guests was turning their heads towards me, all save for Mrs Cherry, who was still confused by the question. William Faith spoke next, his voice a lot less jovial than before.

‘What was his Christian name, Wilfred? How old would he be now?'

Bracken was looking into the bottom of his empty glass. ‘He was called Jack,' he said, and he lifted his big old pointing finger and directed it right at me. ‘And he would be exactly the same age as our young friend over there.'

The room went quiet and Bracken turned his head to look at me for the first time. ‘The family resemblance is uncanny, Mr Dawkins. Your green eyes match but, that apart, you are just like her.'

William Faith was vexed. He threw down his napkin, pulled back his chair and stood up. ‘Is what Mr Bracken says true, Dawkins?' he said, trying to look tough in front of his fiancé. ‘Are you this Artful Dodger character he tells us of?' A gasp came out of Mrs Cherry. She'd only just caught up, God love her.

I reviewed the situation and decided not to worry about it. I just undid my collar button, leaned back in my chair and spoke to the man sitting behind me. ‘Peter Cole,' I said, ‘why don't you do us both a good turn and run upstairs to our chamber? Fetch
me that letter from the Governor that I keep in my trunk and bring it down here for Inspector Bracken's perusal. I think he may find it makes right interesting reading.' I couldn't hear any noise behind me so I turned to lock eyes with him. ‘
Warrigal!
' I said, as if to a disobedient dog. ‘It'll take you less than one minute. And clearly' – I nodded towards Faith and Martin, who looked like they was fixing themselves for a fight – ‘I ain't going nowhere.' He rolled his eyes to show how bored he was and slowly got to his feet, but his path to the door was blocked. I had not seen Bracken move from his seat but move he had and now he was stood in the doorway, a meaty hand stuck out at Warrigal making the sign for stop.

‘If you think this fellow is to make his escape, Dawkins, you are mistaken. I am just as curious about what he is doing in our country as I am about you.'

‘Inspector Bracken,' I said, ‘everything you have said tonight is true, or at least most of it is. I am that same Jack Dawkins what once was known as the Artful Dodger and that crooked woman you arrested is my mother. I do not deny it.' I turned to Reverend Cherry, who had a look of horror on his face that was quite a picture. ‘But I am also Jack Dawkins of Dawkins Wool, Reverend. I've earned my money the honest way and have made a success of myself. Everything I said to you and your family was pure and honest and if you will let me I shall prove it to you. I was sent to Australia for pickpocketing, this is a shameful truth. I was told never to return, this is also true enough. What you have said that is not true' – I turned back to Bracken – ‘is that I am an unrepentant sinner, and that the letter will show. Among my papers upstairs is a document written by the Governor of New South Wales what pardons me of all previous wrongdoing and will attest to the goodness of my newly reformed character.' Bracken
narrowed his eyes. ‘Send someone with Peter Cole if you're worried he'll bolt. And while we're waiting for him to get back' – I reached for the wine and started giving my glass a refill – ‘you won't mind if I finish off this bottle.'