The Potato Factory (59 page)

'No thanks. Ikey says incognito be best, you don't want no name in the papers.'

'Incognito eh, that's a big word. Do you know Ikey Solomon?'

Sparrer squinted up at the reporter. 'Maybe I does and maybe I doesn't.' His confidence restored, he now stood with one foot placed on the boot cap of the other and with both his hands jammed into the pockets of his coat.

Charles Dickens took out his purse and offered a shilling to Sparrer.

Sparrer sniffed. 'Bloody 'ell, fer a shillin' I never seen 'im afore in me life, mister!'

Charles Dickens smiled and dropped the shilling back in his purse.

'Fer a shillin' ya gets me name,' Sparrer added quickly, realising he'd overplayed his hand.

'Your name? Is that all?' Charles Dickens laughed.

'For the newspaper! Ya can put me name in yer newspaper.'

The reporter took the shilling out of his purse again and handed it to Sparrer Fart. 'What's your name then, lad?'

Sparrer thought desperately. When he performed well at the Academy of Light Fingers Ikey would turn to the other lads and say, 'Look at Sparrer, a veritable dodger, nimble as a ferret!' Then he would pat him on the head and say, 'Well done, dodger, a most artful dodgin' performance, my dear!'

'They calls me the Artful Dodger,' Sparrer replied.

'And you know Ikey Solomon, Mr Artful Dodger?'

'That's fer me to know and you to find out,' Sparrer said cheekily, the shilling now safely deposited in his pocket.

Charles Dickens sighed. 'And how much will it take to find out?'

'It be a long and fascinatin' story what can't be told straight orf, it'll cost ya a daffy and a sov.'

'I'm not sure I have a sovereign on me.' Dickens reached again into his coat for his purse.

'What's the time then?' Sparrer said, pointing to the reporter's waistcoat.

With his free hand the reporter reached down to his fob chain and then more frenetically patted the lower part of his waistcoat.

'This yers then, mister?' Sparrer asked. The hint of a smile played on his pinched little face as he held up a gold hunter by its chain. 'Worth a lot more than a gold sov, now, don't ya think?'

'How the devil!' Dickens expostulated.

'Gotta be careful who ya picks up when they's fallen down on the pavement, mister. Grab a boy by 'is collar and 'e's got both 'ands free, ain't 'e now?'

Charles Dickens grinned sheepishly as Sparrer returned his watch to him. 'A daffy and a sovereign it is then. I do hope it's a good story, Mr Artful Dodger.'

'Best ya ever 'eard, mister,' Sparrer Fart shot back as he dodged into the oncoming traffic in Newgate Street to cross to a tavern on the far side.

Meanwhile in the New Court of the Old Bailey, Mr Phillips addressed the judge on the matter of Sergeant George Smith's missing fingernail.

'Your Honour, I request that the witness box be searched for a fingernail belonging to the witness.'

There was much laughter from the gallery at this notion, for most of the public had not understood the meaning of Sparrer's shouted accusation.

Sir Reginald rose quickly to his feet. 'With the greatest respect, your honour, the defence is both confused and confusing?' He glared at Mr Phillips. 'My learned colleague had first requested that the witness accept a new name, that of "The Reamer" and then asks that Mr Smith thrust his forefinger in the air. A most curious request to say the least! But then, when he perceives it to be a perfectly normal finger with a perfectly normal fingernail upon it, he demands that we all go on our hands and knees and look for a missing and imaginary finger part!'

There was a roar of laughter from the court and this time the judge threatened to remove all from the public gallery if the misbehaviour continued. Then he looked impatiently at Mr Phillips.

'Is that not substantially correct, Mr Phillips? Or do you have some motive which is beyond us in this court? Already you try my patience to a most precipitous point.'

'Your honour, it will take but a moment. I crave your indulgence. What I hope to find is of the greatest significance to this case. It is my intention to show that the word of Senior Constable George Smith is not to be relied upon.'

The judge looked stern. 'I have already cautioned you against this sort of imputation and warn you that you will be charged before the bench with misconduct if you do not satisfactorily resolve the accusation you are making against Mr Smith. You may search the witness box with an officer of this court in attendance.'

Ikey's barrister leaned over and spoke quietly to his instructing solicitor who, accompanied by a constable, entered the witness box. It took only a moment for the police officer to find the torn part of a fingernail which had fallen to the floor at the feet of George Smith. The piece of nail was filed to a point and appeared to be almost an inch and a half long. He handed it to the solicitor, who then took it across to the clerk of the court.

'Your honour, I suggest that the portion of fingernail which I now submit as evidence can be shown to have been formerly attached to the forefinger of the witness. I have several witnesses, including my client, who are willing to testify that the offending forefinger, with nail attached, was used for the purposes of searching the back passage of prisoners for contraband. It was intended that this action of reaming would render grievous bodily harm to the victims of this odious search. It is for this reason that the witness has been christened "The Reamer"!'

'I object, your honour. This matter of nicknames has nothing whatsoever to do with the case at hand. I refer to my learned colleague's original question which, if I recall correctly, was how the notes were discovered on the person of the accused!'

'Your objection is sustained, Sir Reginald,' the judge said and turned to the jury. 'You will ignore the imputation made by Mr Phillips as to the usage of the fingernail, and reference to it will be struck from the record.' He looked at Ikey's barrister. 'You will restrict yourself to asking direct questions, Mr Phillips. I shall not warn you again!'

'Yes, thank you, your honour, you are most gracious,' Mr Phillips said, appearing not the least chastened by the judge's warning. 'Mr Smith, can you tell this court whether the man you searched, known as Ikey Solomon, is in this court?'

The senior constable nodded and pointed to Ikey. 'That be him, sir.'

'Thank you. And you conducted a thorough... er...
body
search upon this person?' There was a roar of laughter in the court and the judge banged his gavel again.

'It were the normal search, sir, for what we calls routine contraband.'

'Where did you find the two counterfeit notes? Can you tell me precisely their location, Mr Smith?'

'They were in the lining o' the coat, sir.'

'In the lining? In the lining of whose coat?'

'The accused, sir, he wore a coat on the night 'e were brought in.'

'An expensive coat? Sewn into the lining?'

'Yes, sir it were a good coat but no, not sewn, there were a tear in it. The notes were pushed down the tear into the lining, like.'

'Isn't that a little obvious, constable? Would you concede that a large tear which had not been repaired on an expensive coat was a rather too obvious place to hide the notes?'

'That's not for the likes o' me to say, sir. That be where them notes were found and I did not say it were a large tear, sir,' George Smith said tartly.

Mr Phillips wheeled around and pointed directly at George Smith. 'No, sir, with the greatest respect, I submit to you that the two five pound notes were
planted!'
Mr Phillips turned towards the jury. 'How very convenient to make a tear in his coat, the coat which the accused was
forced to remove
while he was undergoing a thorough
body
search! A tear into which,
abracadabra,
the two five pound notes suddenly appeared, politely stuffed within the lining of the coat to make the evidence your masters requested appear in the most convenient manner! Is this not a much more reasonable explanation of what happened, Mr Smith?'

'No sir, it is not! The notes be found just like I said.'

'Then you will demonstrate how you found these two notes please, Mr Smith.' Ikey's barrister turned to the clerk of the court. 'We have asked that the accused's coat be brought in evidence. Would you please identify it and hand it to the witness?'

The clerk of the court stood up and turned to the judge. 'Your honour, the coat in question was not taken in evidence from the prisoner at the time of his arrest.'

The judge looked astonished and then addressed George Smith. 'Mr Smith, did you not say that the counterfeit notes were found in the lining of the coat and that they had been so placed by means of a tear in the outer material?'

'Yes, your honour.'

'Am I to believe that the coat was then allowed to remain with the accused and was not confiscated as evidence?'

George Smith looked decidedly sheepish. 'We forgot, your honour, it were a cold night.' Then he pointed at Ikey in the dock. 'He were wearin' it when he made his escape.'

'Thank you, Mr Smith, you may step down,' Mr Phillips said.

In his summary of the evidence the judge pointed out that the absence of the coat and the subsequent denial of the accused that a tear had ever existed in it constituted 'reasonable doubt' as to whether the banknotes had been placed in the lining by the accused or by the actions of some other person or persons unknown. Furthermore, without the evidence of the two notes there appeared to be nothing which linked Ikey with the crime of forgery. The etched plate and printing press found in the basement premises proved nothing beyond the fact that Ikey was the landlord and the forger Abraham Van Esselyn his tenant. He noted that all the receipts for the printing press and subsequent forgery materials were in the name or pseudonym of Abraham Van Esselyn whom, he reminded the jury, had been previously tried and found guilty. Finally, there existed not a shred of evidence to show how Ikey might have procured the Treasury paper on which the forged notes were printed.

The jury took less than an hour to dismiss the charges of forgery against Ikey and the judge pronounced him not guilty for lack of evidence. Ikey's coat of many pockets had saved his life.

Only two more charges remained, those involving the purchase of goods known to have been stolen, and both were capital offences. Alas, with these Ikey's luck finally ran out and he was found guilty on both charges. The hangman had secured his man at last. But the judge did not place the black hood upon his head; instead he sentenced Ikey to fourteen years' transportation. This amelioration of Ikey's sentence may well have come about to prove to the barrister that the judge was independent of the pressure which might be placed upon him by those fronting the bench, though to this sentence of transportation was added the clause that Ikey was not permitted to return to England after he had served out his time in Van Diemen's Land.

But the redoubtable Mr Phillips had not entirely given up. Ikey's barrister instituted several legal quibbles on his client's behalf, the majority of which concerned the disposition of stolen property, and challenged the various Acts of Parliament involved in Ikey's conviction. This legal nitpicking served the purpose of postponing Ikey's transportation for nearly a year, though during this period Ikey was not, as was the usual custom, sent to a hulk on the Thames estuary but remained under close guard in Newgate.

The final outcome of this delay was that Ikey's prison expenses for food and drink and other luxuries, namely
The Times
and reading matter on a variety of subjects, coupled with the exorbitant fees Mr Phillips imposed for his services, finally exhausted the funds Ikey had brought with him from Van Diemen's Land. For the first time since he had been a young flash-man, Ikey had not a penny to his name.

On the 31st of May 1831, Ikey Solomon, his spirit broken and his body in chains, set sail for Van Diemen's Land on the
William Glen Anderson.

A large crowd gathered at Sullivan's Cove to witness Ikey's arrival on the 1st of November 1831, but Hannah was not among them. She thought of herself as very badly done by, and she blamed Ikey for necessitating her departure from the Newman household and for her present incarceration.

In fact, she had been rather fortunate, for she was not sent to the Female Factory but to the Cotton Factory, this second institution being somewhat better in its treatment of prisoners. Hannah was employed as a seamstress to make prison garments. Thus she was able to avoid meeting Mary Abacus. But this did not prevent her from constantly speaking of Mary as the person who had seduced her husband, and brought about the present and calamitous destruction of her entire family. She vowed loudly and often that she would wreak revenge on Ikey's erstwhile mistress, whatever the price.

For Mary, Hannah's existence on the island hardly mattered. She heard from time to time of Hannah's threats, but she expected no less from Ikey's wife and thought little of them. She was unaware that Hannah had a new and powerful reason for hating her, one which had nothing to do with their shared past. Hannah's children - her ten-year-old son David, Ann, who had just turned eight, Sarah six, and Mark four - were placed in the Reverend Smedley's orphanage. David, Ann and Sarah found themselves in Mary's classroom where they felt as much loved by her as any of the other orphans. Hannah's children, the apple of her eye, were under the direct influence of the woman she hated more than any other, and there was nothing she could do about it.