The Newgate Jig (24 page)

We crept home to
Portland-road by more back streets and dark lanes, and when we arrived, I
closed the door firmly and thankfully behind us.

I lit the fire
and fetched water to bathe Brutus's wounded paw and bandaged it carefully. He
lay on his rug in front of the fire, shivering slightly, and his companion,
seeing his pain, lay close to him. I sat on the corner of the bed, tormenting
myself with the thought that these two animals were kinder companions to each
other than I had been to them, involving them in danger, and now the revenge of
the Nasty Man. For I had no doubt it would come.

Inquest at the Two Spies — A Deafening Silence

Sleep
used to be my nursemaid. If I was troubled, she would come to me and I would
hide away in her dark arms.

But she must
have been attending to some other poor soul, for she would not visit me, and
after a sleepless night, I was up early to scour the newspapers. I found a
butcher wanting to sell, cheap, a nag and wagon, but when I had found the shop
and then peered through the yard fence and saw them - a poor, broken-winded old
horse and a cart with more holes in it than a trinkerman's net - I made a quiet
exit.

And I kept
quiet, terrified of every knock at Mrs Twentyfold's door, slinking out to eat,
wandering the streets during the day, and lying sleepless in my bed at night.
Besides, Brutus's paw was more badly injured than I had thought, and the poor
creature was forced to limp slowly and painfully at my side until it healed.

The
Nasty Man had me prisoner.

A dull and
frosty morning, and Brutus, Nero and I were dining in Garraway's on our 'starve'
fare of tea and bread and butter. I had not seen Trim or Will since the gaff
incident, but they knew all about it. Trim sent a note asking if he could help,
and Will called at my lodgings two or three times whilst I was out wandering.
Ours is a small neighbourhood, and it is not just the theatre and the Aquarium,
where everybody does indeed know each other's business. This patch of ground,
though I cannot put borders on it, and though it mixes a rookery or two, a
theatre, three or four gaffs, drinking houses by the dozen, and churches hiding
in corners, and though its population has more creeds and nationalities than
Botany Bay, is still as tight a community as you could find in any village.
Every face and voice is as familiar as every narrow alley and court. We might
not know them by name, but we know of them, and that is the point.

I am on the very
borders of this community. By my profession. By my disposition. By choice. I
like society, but not familiarity and I live in Portland-road for that very
reason. And whilst I was sorry to have missed my friends and I wondered, with
more than a little concern, where Barney had disappeared to, I now wanted, more
than anything, to get away from here.

I indulged in
another cup and another slice, and drew my chair closer to the fire (coals were
a sacrifice I currently was forced to make at Portland-road). Christmas
approached and the daily sheets were full of the season's 'forthcoming attractions',
and these half dozen or so columns eagerly anticipating the theatres'
production of the 'Christmas Novelties' I would normally read with pleasure and
excitement. But I avoided them and I have not replied to Mr Carrier's letters
of enquiry either. Although he assured me that my position was safe, that he
was confident of my ability and that of my dogs, and that I did not need to
attend the Pavilion until the very last, when he and the entire company would
rejoice to see me, I have remained silent, not wanting to betray my intention
of leaving. And, for that same reason, I did not want to see the names of my
old friends listed in the 'Christmas Novelties', knowing how disappointed they
would be when they discovered me gone and untraceable. So, every day, I
deliberately turned to the classified columns and scanned them. This morning, I
noted two likely carts and horses and, memorizing their addresses, was
preparing to go and inspect them, when my eye was caught by a paragraph
entitled 'Royal Crown Theatre and Waxworks' on the page headed 'Police News'.

PENNY
GAFF' - RUINOUS EFFECTS UPON THE RISING GENERATION

Eleven persons, male and female, four of them
children and one a Negro, were brought before Mr Brunswick-Hill, charged with
being concerned in the performance of dramatic pieces in an unlicensed place in
Fish-lane, Old Martin's- road. The court was crowded to excess, in consequence
of the majority of the prisoners being led along the streets and confined in
the police station cells overnight in their theatrical costumes. Mr
Superintendent Hughes, together with Wilton 163 D, and other constables, gave
evidence in the court, and Mr John Bunyan Pilgrim said that his bookselling
business in a neighbouring shop had been quite ruined by the persons occupying
and frequenting the 'gaff named. The whole of the prisoners were taken into
custody while the performance was going on, the piece being that of
Six-fingered Jack, or the Knight of the Road.
They included: Mrs
Dearlove (40), Mr Crowe (56), Mr Tafflyn (45), Mr Sage (38), Miss Fitch (20),
Mr Garcia (37), Joe White (16) and 4 children under the age of ten years. It
was further shown, by the evidence of

Wilton 163 D, and other officers, that at the rear
of the place in question was a building used for the making of indecent
photographic images. A play-bill, of which the following is a copy, was handed
to Mr Brunswick-Hill - 'Novelty, on Wednesday, for the benefit of Gutta Percha.
To commence with the drama, entitled
The Farmer and his Dogs,
in which Mr Chapman and his Sagacious Canines will demonstrate their skills; a
comic song by Gutta Percha; a dance by Mrs English; and a glee by Mr Gutta, Mr
Corney Sage and Miss Fitch. To conclude with the laughable farce -
Come
Early - Good Fires.'
Mr Hughes said he had caused frequent visits
to be made to Mr Tipney, the owner of the 'gaff, in the hope that he would put
a stop to the unlawful practices which he had carried on. He was called to the
'gaff in question only last week, there having been a complaint about some
vicious dogs. 'Are they among the company now?' - No, sir. 'Were they
apprehended on the occasion in question?' Mr Hughes - No, sir. Chapman and his
hounds had escaped before we had arrived. They are notorious in the area and
attacked a gentleman that very evening in the yard. Mr Brunswick-Hill was of
the opinion that the demoralizing consequences of penny gaffs upon the youth of
the district was a more serious issue than the habits of an unruly pair of
dogs.

Nevertheless, the neighbourhood had to be made safe,
and it would not do to have people attacked. If the complainant cared to
present himself at the conclusion of the proceedings and still wished to bring
a prosecution against Chapman, who had still not been apprehended, then he
would consider it. Turning to the business of the prisoners who were still
shivering in their stage clothes and causing amusement in the courtroom, he
inflicted a fine in some of the cases, and in others the parties were
discharged. Mr Brunswick-Hill added once again that such places as the Royal
Crown Theatre were demoralizing in the extreme and gave a bad reputation to the
district and made intolerable the lives of the tradesmen who lived and worked
there.

I wished Will
Lovegrove was sitting across the table from me at this moment! With his good
sense, he would know what to do. He would frown, grow thoughtful and then, with
a thump of his fist upon the table, would cry, 'I know, Chapman! Let us go and
consult Mr Clerk - or Mr Magistrate.' Or even, 'Don't give it a moment's
thought, Bob! The case has no legs and couldn't even hop into the court room!'
I've heard him cry that many times! But left to myself, I fell into a panic,
and it took some effort to order up another cup of tea and read the paragraph
again, and not dash into the street and run away, as I was very much inclined
to do.

I read it four
times, and by the fifth, the only thing that stuck in my mind was that I could
expect an action to be brought against me by the Nasty Man. How he would relish
that! He said he would have my skin, and he would do it. Even at the risk of
standing in a courtroom, he would be unable to resist the pleasure of causing
me pain, savouring the opportunity to parade me in court, perhaps even having
me sent to prison. And for the vile practices in that stable, the murderer of
the little child - he, the Nasty Man - would go unpunished, for who would take
my word, a convicted man, against his?

Now it was
imperative to lay hands upon a half-decent cart and horse, and quickly. The
Nasty Man could not bring his action against me before the morning, by which
time I would be safe. And Brutus and Nero also. And if he came to Strong's
Gardens - I could not forget that he knew even that about me - well, my good
friend would be true to his name and protect me and my boys. That was a
sensible, calm plan, one worthy of Will Lovegrove, I thought as I buttoned my
coat and stepped outside.

It was very
cold, frost still lying heavy upon the housetops, and the pavements slippery
where over-zealous housemaids had thrown their scrubbing slops before dawn. I
kept to back streets and passages and, before the church bell had struck the
mid-morning hour, had inspected a couple of broken- down horses and three wormy
carts (one only fit for the fire-back), and came away with nothing. I was
almost despairing, and walked the streets - I was fearful to return to
Portland-road - until the smell of dinners drew us off-course, down a dark and
narrow passage ending in a thin building, wasting away in a thin yard.

Out of my little
community, I was a foreigner, but even within it there were unfamiliar streets
and closes, ones that I had never set foot in. This was one of them. I had
never been in Favour-alley, nor Dolour-court, and the Two Spies tavern was a
stranger to me, but the aroma of gravy and cabbage was the same everywhere and
as we turned into the court, from out of an open window steaming plates of
chops and potatoes were being passed to a bandy-legged boy, to hurry across the
cobbles and post to unseen hands through another window. Brutus and Nero's
noses rose to follow the fragrant course, and it did smell so savoury and
appetizing and, advertised at only fourpence, it was cheap also. And it clearly
had a good name, for a little cluster of men were waiting for it in the yard.
Even so, I still found a spidery corner in the bar parlour and anticipated a
tasty chop dinner. But after ten minutes, when not even the usual servant in a
greasy apron came to look down upon us, and the room was filling up with people
who were clearly not waiting to dine, I realized that the chop dinner was not
on this menu and, overhearing a conversation between two lumpers on their way
to work, found we had come uninvited upon an inquest hearing.

It was one of
the qualities of our neighbourhood that word of mouth served better than any
number of notices, and if I had been my usual self, trotting between
Portland-road and the Aquarium and the Pavilion Theatre, there is no doubt I
would have heard of it. But I had been laid low for some days and the world had
passed me by. And if I had known that the object of the court hearing was the
mysterious death of a child, I would have put many streets between myself and
the Two Spies, and would not have looked at a hoarding or a newspaper for a
week. As soon as I discovered my mistake, I tried to leave but, unless I wanted
to draw attention to myself, it was impossible. The parlour and snug were
packed to the rafters, the windows were opened and the doors propped wide to
admit as many heads and shoulders as possible, and they were lined up, six deep
in the little court, determined to hear the proceedings, by proxy, if
necessary. And there was now a small cohort of policemen, back and front, ready
to put themselves in the way of anyone entering or leaving.

A long table had
been brought in and chairs set about it, a large Windsor with a cushion drawn
up to the head - for the Coroner, I assumed. He was a small, morose man, and
was contemplating the present proceedings from the doorway leading to the yard
which today had been pressed into service and, in the shadow of the closely
packed buildings around it, contained a table on which a small, white-shrouded
object lay. The crowd, entirely male, was mostly silent or quietly respectful,
labouring men in shirt-sleeves and heavy jerkins. When the room and yard were
full to capacity and the landlord, with brimming jugs ready and eager to
serve, only awaiting the appropriate moment, the Coroner took his Windsor, the
foreman rounded up the jury and swore them in, and the proceedings began in
their customary fashion.