Dodger (23 page)

‘Tell me,' I asked once we had left the bedroom and I was sure that Jem could not hear. ‘Does Jem wear a lot of these trinkets himself?'

‘Course he does,' said Ruby, pulling out a pocketknife from a drawer to give me. ‘He's as flash as anyone.'

‘Does he have any favourites?' I asked, all casual, as I held the tiny silver knife up to the light of the window in mock inspection. ‘You know, ones he keeps for sentimental reasons. From the old days.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like a small black stone or something,' I said, and peered at the quality of the blade, running my fingertip along it, and folding it into my fist to see how easy it would hide. I wanted my question to seem like idle chatter but I had to ask. ‘Something what Fagin might have given him.'

‘Search me,' she replied as she walked around the room putting things away and readying herself to leave. ‘He ain't the sentimental type. But I'll ask him if you like.'

‘No, don't do that,' I said a little too fast and I could tell she knew something was up. ‘I'm just making conversation. You got them shoes?' She handed me a pair of Jem's shiniest black shoes and I had to tie the laces tight so they would fit. I doubted very much that Fagin would have given Jem the stone but I needed to start somewhere. Ruby began to put some coins into her little netted reticule bag and regarded herself in a small pier glass what was hung upon the wall. ‘These fit perfect,' I said of the oversize shoes. I went over to Jem's hatstand and helped myself to the smallest. I was finding it most demeaning to have to wear a bigger person's clothes, as I had become accustomed to a tailored wardrobe in the last few months. ‘Has he ever given you any little black jewels?' I asked her then, as she turned her pretty head this way and that in front of the mirror to see how her hair was pinned up. She seemed most preoccupied. ‘As a gift?'

‘Hmm?' she said, all slow and lazy.

‘A jewel, Ruby,' I snapped. I had grown bored of trying not to sound suspicious; this was too important. ‘A black jewel. Do you know of any?'

‘No,' she said back, perplexed. ‘Who has black jewels around here? And why do you want to know?' I told her it was just a curiosity and changed the subject. She pulled the drawstrings tight on her reticule and reached for her hat on the peg. ‘Now let's get finding,' she said with firmness after checking the mirror one last time. ‘I'm curious to see if your fingers are still as artful as they ever was.'

She was a tall specimen, this old plant what boarded the omnibus at Holborn Hill, and she brought with her into the carriage such a strong scent of violet water that Ruby and I knew she was coming long before she entered the carriage. The omnibus had paused to water the horses but it was already so bustling inside with travellers heading west that the young conductor should not have admitted any more persons no matter how perfumed they might be. From our positions seated inside the stagecoach we could hear the woman outside's rich aristocratic tones ask the conductor if he had room to take her to Kensington Gardens. And yet, in the way of people what are born with rich aristocratic tones, it was more of a command to make room than a request and one that the young cad would be a fool to disobey. She had the manner of the officer about her, this woman, regardless of her sex.

The inside was already packed with chattering ladies, grumbling gents, bawling children and one small dog. The dog was attached by a long string to someone, but that did not stop him from leaping from lap to lap. It felt like all of London life was in that packed coach headed to Oxford Street and it was to be a tight
old squeeze for a lady of such formidable height. As the conductor opened the rear door and hollered through for us to make room for a little one we saw her long purple dress climb the steps of the carriage, her green velvet glove steady her on the rail and her grand flowery hat dip itself under the low door to gain entry. Ruby and myself was seated side by side but had not said a word to each other since we boarded at Shoreditch so as to appear as if we was not together. But we both knew that here, with these clothes, that perfume and those tones, was exactly what we had been waiting for. We shifted ourselves apart and made such a welcoming space that the high-stemmed lady had no choice but to bend her limbs down and share the bumpy journey snug between us. The conductor slammed the door behind him and banged on the roof to let the coachman know that the omnibus could rattle onwards.

‘My, your fingers is like icicles,' Ruby said to the small girl sat on her right as she took her hands in hers and pressed them warm. ‘We must write to this Father Christmas, if he's to be of any use to us at all, and get him to bring you a bright pair of woollens, mustn't we!' The little girl smiled and nodded but added that she still wanted all her toys what her mamma had promised. ‘And you shall get every last one of them,' Ruby replied, tapping her on the nose all playful. ‘A young lady like you deserves to.' Ruby had been working on this child for the past two stops and had built up such a familiarity with her that the new addition to the coach could be forgiven for thinking it was she who was the child's guardian and not the sullen nurse beyond, what just stared out of the window opposite ignoring her charge. The tall woman ignored their chatter and folded her long legs into as upright a position as possible until she was as close to comfort as she was ever going to get. On her right side I could feel her body stiffen into place,
and near her hip, through the layers of material what made up her dress, I could sense a jingling bulge what could only be a full coin-purse nestling in an inside pocket. The gent opposite me had obscured himself behind a copy of
The Times
as if it was a shield keeping him separate from the chaos and noise of the coach. None of the other passengers looked to be taking much notice of me either. I dipped my hand into my own pocket and felt for the pocketknife.

‘Brrrrrrrrr …' Ruby went on to the little girl. ‘I don't care for these wintry days much. I'm all of a shiver. I'll tell you what –' she pulled her red-chequered shawl from around the back of her neck and began unfolding it – ‘let's drape this over us for a bit. We need toasting up, we do.' The shawl was lain over her lap and that of the little girl, who appeared most grateful for it, and Ruby turned to her left and addressed our tall plant. ‘There's plenty for you too, good lady, should you like some warmth?'

‘I'm quite all right,' said the haughty woman, looking down upon her from her lofty position. She did not seem to notice as my closed hand left my pocket and crossed with the other so it rested near to her bulge. ‘But thank you anyway.' This refusal of cover was a pity as there is nothing so helpful as to have a shawl placed over the lap of your neighbour when riding the omnibus. But it was a deft suggestion from Ruby nonetheless and I thought, as I turned the tip of the blade to touch the woman's dress, that she was proving to be a most able accomplice.

The lady then reached into the bag upon her lap and pulled out a bound book what looked to be one of the more fashionable novels. She opened it, removed the small ribbon of a bookmark and attempted to read despite the noise of the carriage.

‘Ooh, how lovely to have a great big book like that,' beamed Ruby, her manner most friendly. ‘I love a good novel, me, but
can only ever get hold of the periodicals. You ever tried reading a novel in instalments like that, have you?'

‘No,' sniffed the woman, her eyes not leaving the page.

‘Well, it's a right confusion, I can tell you. You get hold of a second-hand copy of
Bentley's
, or some other magazine, and inside are these different chapters from different books. And you flick through it and it's all a bit long-winded and hard to read but, just as one story is getting going, it ends and you have to get hold of the next one. And I'm always missing out chapters and getting me episodes mixed up so half the time I don't know what's going on. And cos I'm the only one round in the family what's been schooled I have to read it out to all these others and they're all questions. What happened to the old gypsy woman what appeared out of nowhere? Why was the major all drugged and going on about ghosts? How did the blind soldier manage to escape his prison like that? I can never seem to find out so I just start making it up.' The woman turned a page and ignored Ruby. She did not seem to notice the blade of my small knife circle the part of her dress where the purse was. I grew confident.

‘You don't have that problem with a thick old book like yours,' Ruby observed. ‘You can just read the whole thing through from start to finish. What is it then?' she asked. ‘One of them gothics?'

The lady sighed and raised her head away from the book. ‘No,' she said. ‘It is not one of
those
gothics. Nor is it one of those vulgar Newgate novels that are so popular in these periodicals of yours. It is a piece of realist literature by Mrs Sebastian Clement.'

The man opposite me was still engrossed in his paper, the omnibus cad was arguing with an elderly gent about the number of stop-pages and the child was playing with the little dog. All the other travellers was lost in their own thoughts or conversations.

‘Peculiar name for a woman' said Ruby. ‘Most peculiar. She any good?'

‘Sebastian is the name of her husband, dear girl. You've heard of the philosopher Sebastian Clement?' Ruby shook her head and the lady tutted in scorn at her ignorance. ‘One of the world's foremost thinkers – of course you haven't heard of him. Well, this novel,
Teppingham
, is written by his wife, Lavinia, who uses her husband's name for reasons of decorum. And, in answer to your question, yes, she is very good. I consider her the finest novelist of the age. Indeed, of any age.'

As quiet as an insect bite my blade cut into her material.

‘They said that about George Shatillion when he died,' said Ruby. The woman closed her book and turned her face down towards her.

‘The fiction of George Shatillion,' she declared, ‘bears very little relation to real life.' Slow but steady, my knife was slicing through the outer dress. ‘Stolen wills, disappearing gypsies, ghosts. It would benefit someone of your class,' she informed Ruby, ‘if you were to discard such sensationalism and instead pick up a book such as this.' She tapped the cover of
Teppingham
. ‘This is a portrayal of provincial life which is mercifully free of endless incident and ludicrous coincidence. Rather, it explores the inner life of its characters, always a richer vein for the novelist.'

As she spoke I thought of my dead mother. It was she what had taught me how to cut open a woman's clothing like I was now doing and to slip in my hand unobserved. The thought of her meeting such a grisly end was enough to make me most melancholic. She and I had never enjoyed a loving relationship – I always knew she cared more for Horrie than she did for me, and her terrible temper did nothing to warm me to her. But I had never wanted for her to die a death so cruel and I now realised, what
with all the endless incidents and ludicrous coincidences what had been happening in my own life, that I had been given no real time to mourn her loss.

‘You see, Miss …'

‘Flora,' said Ruby.

‘You see, Miss Flora, the novel of character is vastly superior to the novel of plot. The former can inform the soul and comment upon our very humanity. The latter is prevented from achieving such grace as it is forever held down by the tiresome business of “What Happens Next?”'

My fingers gained purchase of the coin-purse but, as I tugged at it most gentle, I realised there was another piece of material between us, an inner pocket what I had not banked upon. Had the woman felt me pulling? Did I have enough time to cut some more?

‘I don't believe I've ever read such a book,' commented Ruby. ‘But I think I should like to.'

We was nearing the bottom of Tottenham Court Road, our next stop, and it was here I intended to get off the coach before my actions was discovered. My hand was still inside the lady's dress and I could feel her body alter as if preparing herself to do something. Should she now turn her head towards me I would be in as much trouble as some unwanted kittens in a sack. There was no way I could make it past this many gentlemen, least of all the conductor, before somebody grabbed me. I would be wrestled to the ground, arrested, tried and done for.

But instead this violet-smelling lady laid both hands upon her book, sighed again and handed it to Ruby.

‘Here, child,' she said. ‘A gift.'

‘A gift?' asked Ruby. ‘For me?'

‘Yes. I want you to have it.'

‘Really? Why?'

‘Because, Flora, you strike me as a bright girl, if ill-educated, and I sense that your love of reading is as great as mine. I cannot bear to think of you rifling through those battered, haphazard periodicals, trying to make sense of the nonsensical, when within these pages true excellence awaits you. I can easily afford another copy. In fact, I shall buy myself one at the bookstalls this very day.' I had cut through the second pocket, my hand was on the purse. ‘But it is my hope that with this gift I might inspire in you, someone who has been blessed with far fewer advantages than I, a truer education about what life is. And what matters most to we women of finer sensibilities.'

‘Totnum! Court! Road!' yelled the cad.

The purse was out of her pocket and into mine just as the omnibus reared up at the stop and I was on my feet. ‘This is me,' I told the cad, and he opened the door to let me out as I stepped over the little dog what was running around my feet. Its string though had tied itself around my feet and I had to laugh at the animal's mischievousness as I reached down to untangle it while wishing I could kick the thing for hindering the ease of my escape. Ruby, meanwhile, was still stopping the old girl from realising her loss by telling her how grateful she was for this surprise gift. She was an excellent actress, I thought, as she gathered her shawl up and made to leave also, so that I could have almost believed that the kindness of the woman was really affecting her soft heart if I did not know her better.