Dodger (7 page)

It was decided that Junior Officer Martin should go with Warrigal to fetch the letter, which was funny to me as, if Warrigal should have wanted to run for it, I couldn't see how that useless drip was going to stop him. The rest of the party stayed in the dining room and watched me drink. Lucy Cherry seemed to be most upset with me now and it was a fair chance that she had gone off the idea of being Mrs Dawkins. Constance Cherry was also looking at me with disgust, covering her ring hand as if she now realised what peril it was in.

‘Perhaps,' said Faith to Bracken, ‘the ladies should be excused from witnessing this ugly scene. You and I can accompany Mr Dawkins to another room, and if this letter acquits him, as he assures us it will, then we shall all be back before the main course.'

‘No!' This was from Amelia Cherry. ‘I want to see what happens!' She looked at her parents with a fierce eye that said that they had better not dare to take me away. Then she got control of herself and spoke more genteel. ‘Mr Dawkins has had his character publicly denounced. It is only fair that he should be given the chance to defend himself just as openly.'

I smiled at her. ‘That's very kind of you, Amy, I do say. I look forward to winning back your good opinion and we will all put this messy business behind us.' She smiled back, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining at me like two well-cut stones from a new South African diamond mine. I could tell what she was about.

Warrigal returned carrying the letter and Junior Officer Martin reported that he had not let him out of his sight and that their
trip upstairs had passed without incident. I expect he thought he should be given a medal for his trouble. I told Bracken to open the letter and to feast his eyes. ‘If this letter is a forgery,' he said, snatching it from Warrigal, ‘then I shall recognise it as surely as I would an Inker Finch pound note.' He opened the envelope and read.

‘Well, Wilfred,' asked Faith, after Bracken had gone over the letter a couple of times, sniffing at the broken wax seal of the Crown, holding the paper up to the light and peering close at the signature at the bottom, ‘what's the verdict?'

Bracken handed the letter to him. ‘It seems that Mr Dawkins here,' he said, all doom, ‘has powerful friends. The letter is genuine.' Faith read it aloud for all to hear and all five Cherrys applauded with delight at the words.

‘“A complete moral transformation”,' said the reverend, shaking his head in wonder. ‘What a miracle.' Faith strode up to me with his hand out and I stood to shake it. He said he was sorry for doubting me and Martin said the same thing to Warrigal. Bracken of the Yard, though, still stood there with a face like a dinnerless dog.

‘I think,' said Amy Cherry to Faith, with a wicked grin on her, ‘that your policeman friend also owes our Mr Dawkins an apology, William.' And then she looked to Bracken to see what he was going to do about it. He made a grunting noise and returned to his seat.

‘I believe we have two more courses to be served.' He unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. ‘And it would be a pleasure
to listen to Mr Dawkins tell us more about his remarkable change of fortunes.' He had all the charm of a gravedigger, that one.

*

For the rest of the dinner I was an entertainment to everyone, save for Inspector Misery. The reverend and Mrs Cherry was most moved to be told of my terrible upbringing under the wicked influences of the city and of the cruel and villainous characters there encountered. William Faith and his friend Martin enjoyed hearing of my Australian adventures; of how, when still a godless criminal, I had tried to escape from the settlement and got myself so lost in the outback I had very near died of thirst, only to be tracked down by Warrigal and returned to the camp where forgiving doctors nursed me back to health. I told them about how brave, noble Warrigal had saved my life on two other occasions and how, now that I was reformed, I was in turn saving him by turning him from Warrigal the savage into Peter Cole, a Christian valet. This was greatly approved of and their heads turned to smile on him but he just stared into nothing and ignored them. I told them that it wasn't the way of the abo to get emotional in public.

How I went from bad apple to good egg was a story I told with much carefulness. I knew it was important to show how, on one hot night in the colony, Jesus had appeared in a dream and finally talked some sense into me. But I also wanted to hint to the middle daughter that I wasn't changed all that much. It is a truth universally acknowledged that some girls love a rotter, and Amy Cherry seemed to be one of them. While she may not have cared a tuppence for wealthy Jack Dawkins of Dawkins Wool, the story of the Artful Dodger had been more successful in touching her girlish heart. She was sat opposite me at the crowded table and announced to everyone present that she felt most ardently that Mr Dawkins was not to blame for his bad behaviour. This was indeed the case
as, under the table, she had removed her dainty shoe and we had been enjoying the occasional unseen leg stroke ever since the pudding was served and it was very much her that started it.

‘This tart is divine,' said reverend Cherry, and I agreed with him. He was unaware of the goings-on down under and had been asking me many questions about my moral education in the colony. I told him that I had been taught to read and write by the teachers there who had used Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. But in truth I had been taught to read much earlier than that in the London rookeries by Mr Fagin, who had used the
Newgate Calendar
and
Dick Turpin
.

‘It is simply wonderful to me,' said the reverend as dinner came to its end and our plates was cleared, ‘that a fine young man such as Mr Dawkins here, whose crimes could only be the fault of our modern society, should be cast away so casually, only to return home again a Whittingtonian success. I find his story to be quite … oh, what is the word?'

‘Unbelievable,' said Bracken, his voice cold.

‘Yes, unbelievable,' agreed the reverend. ‘And inspirational,' he added, and everyone, except Bracken, agreed that it was. Bracken's hard face suggested he still considered our modern society to be an innocent bystander in the story of my life.

We all stood up to bid each other goodnight and Junior Officer Martin said that my story was of such a heart-warming kind that I should consider telling it to some novelist cove to put down in a book. I told him that I might do better than that and write the thing myself. He laughed, as if the notion of me writing my own book was very droll, and told me that he looked forward to reading such a curious work of literature one day. I wished him good luck with the naval career and said that I hoped he wouldn't drown.

Mrs Cherry, who had developed a taste for elderflower wine as the evening had gone on, was unsteady on her feet as she passed
me out of the dining room and, holding on to her husband for balance, said that it was a pleasure to meet me, and insisted that I call her Annabel from now on. Amy Cherry was next. We locked eyes and I kissed her hand in a slow, saucy way to let her know that what had passed between us that night was special and full of meaning for me and that we was two hearts that was beating as one.

Then I did exactly the same thing to Lucy, just to make Amy jealous.

But the hardest goodnight I had to make was the one to Constance as she and her fiancé passed by. She held out her hand with the diamond ring on it and, as I took it in mine and pressed my lips close to the precious jewel, I felt as though my heart was breaking. That I would have to abandon any attempt that I may have made to take it for my own, just because of the watchful, distrusting nature of Inspector Bracken, was a source of great sadness and vexation. But the hateful man seemed to know everything about me, from my family history to my every secret thought, and so I would have to kiss this treasure goodbye and not risk its liberation.

Bracken himself had slipped off without saying goodnight to me. On top of everything else, he was an ill-mannered sod.

By half past eleven we was back in our bedchamber and Warrigal was being just as bloody-minded as before. He had put on his white nightshirt and matching cap and had climbed in under the great covers of the big bed without saying a word to me. But I was not sleepy and had lit a large candle so we could sit up and talk about the day's events as I had done with the other convicts on Abel's Farm.

‘Well done on fetching Evershed's letter, Warrigal. That got us out of a tight squeeze, eh, my old covey?' He was busy plumping
the feather pillows as I spoke. ‘What a thing to have had the very policeman who arrested my mother there at the table readying himself to do the same for me, eh? What a thing!' I shook my head and chuckled as he placed pillows behind his head. ‘And do you know what that Amy girl was doing underneath the table as we ate our pudding? She had taken off her dainty shoe and was …' I stopped talking as the room had suddenly turned black. Warrigal had leaned over and blown out the candle.

I did not care to sleep on the rug by the grate just yet so I went over to the window to see what was outside. Our room overlooked the inn-yard where the stables was and, though dark, there was just enough moonlight to see what was where. The cobbles was clean from dirt, washed by the day's rain, and the yard was so peaceful you could hear the horses snore. As I looked on it I found myself thinking about that beautiful diamond that was in the room three doors down. I wondered whether it was still on Connie's finger or whether she had given it to Faith or to her father for safekeeping. I imagined not. A girl like her, what had just been given a ring like that, would not part with it so soon. She would not be sleeping with it still on though, that was certain. She would have taken it off and placed it in that little jewellery case and hidden it somewhere in the bedchamber, the same one she was sharing with her sisters. The sisters would know where it was, though. One of them might even creep over in the night and open the case themselves perhaps, once they was sure that Connie was asleep, just to take a quick peek, a piece of harmless fun.

Somewhere my in head, a plan was forming.

But what use was there in forming plans of any sort with this man Bracken ever alert to my thieving ways? If he wasn't here, I thought, sleeping in a chamber between mine and theirs, if he
didn't know my name and that of my closest criminal connections, then perhaps I would be bolder. I would somehow, perhaps through Warrigal or by some cleverer means, get a secret message to Lucy Cherry, the youngest daughter and the biggest pigeon, who, if not for Bracken, would still think me just a rough yet respectable businessman. The message would tell her that I was much taken with her beauty, her grace and her many accomplishments and that I was requesting to see her alone in the stables at the strike of the midnight hour, so I could unburden my heart to her. She would come scurrying, as would be natural (perhaps wearing a thin silk nightdress or whatever these girls wear in bed) and I would drop to one knee before her and tell her of my love. I would ask her where was the use in my being a wealthy capitalist if I was alone with no one to share my fortune and would she please be my wife. She would accept my proposal – this was also natural – and I would reach into my pocket and get out a ring. This ring would be one from my own collection, a cheap one from among the many treasures that I carried in my trunk. It could be the stoneless one that I had stolen from the market in Rio, where the
Son and Heir
had docked for a day, and for which the street trader had not even bothered to chase me. Or, better still, the one with the roughly cut stone that I had taken from the cabin of the ship's prostitute, Elena, the one that Captain McGowan had never in public accused me of taking for fear that I would tell Mrs McGowan who it was what had given it to Elena in the first place. And, once this ring was produced, I knew that there was one thing I could count upon for certain and that was the look of deep disappointment upon the face of sweet Lucy when faced with it.

She would try to hide her feelings, a well-mannered young girl like her, she would tell me that she thought the ring lovely. But
I would tell her that I could see how shabby an offering it was to give her after Constance had been presented with so superior a jewel earlier that night. She must think me an unworthy vagabond, I would say, to expect her to wear such an ugly trinket. After listening to her protest I would then promise to make amends as soon as I got to London next day, where I would march straight into the grandest jewellers and buy her a diamond ring bigger and brighter than her sister's. She would squeal with joy and we would embrace and I would kiss her with some force. Then I would confess to her that I was ignorant about diamonds and jewellery and that I had no clue about what sort to get her. If only, I would say, I could get another look at her sister's ring, then I would know what qualities was desirable in such a diamond. She would then scurry back upstairs and then scurry straight back down with the ring in its case and we would gaze at it together, and she would educate me in the difference between it and the one that I had presented her with, telling me exactly what she would like to wear on her own hand. Then I would take her in my arms, rendering her insensible with my kisses, and I would make the unseen switch. Once both deeds was done I would prop her back up and, after helping her to pick hay out of her hair and back into her nightdress, I would say that it was wrong of us to take her sister's ring, even if it was just for innocent, romantic reasons, and that she must return the ring case to where she found it and not even open it again for a peek. She would agree – by now guilt would be gnawing at her from all sides – and when the lovely Constance opened it on the following morning she would shriek in horror to see Elena's ring winking back at her. By which time myself, Warrigal and her real engagement ring would be hidden deep within the crooked streets of London.