The Newgate Jig (6 page)

But Mr Lombard's bell
sounded and saved us the bother, and we were summoned to the stage.

(I wonder if that was
our first mistake, and whether, had we simply sent around the corner for a
bluebottle, everything that followed would - well, perhaps might - have taken a
different course. But hindsight is a wonderful invention, as someone wisely said.)

On the gloomy stage,
the Pavilion company was assembled, and by the time Pilcher, the gasman, had
turned up the light just enough to make reading possible, Trim was the only
interested party notable by his absence. After ten minutes, even Mr Carrier was
glancing at the theatre door and his pocket-watch, and finally he signalled to
Mr Pocock to hand out the pieces. At first, everyone bent their head silently
over their pages, and then were heard a few grumbles, mainly concerning
'business removed', for actors are uncommonly precious about their 'lines' (as
they call them), and count them up religiously, regarding themselves hard done
by if they lose, rather than gain, even a handful.

To commence,' said Mr
Carrier, in his business-like manner. 'In brief. Act one, scene one, no
alterations. Scene two, strike Mr Wherewithal's speech. Scene three . . .'

And so it continued,
with Mr Pocock furiously scribbling at his little table a summary of what Mr
Carrier had added and cut from Trim's original.

'Act
two, scene thirteen—'

'Very brief,' chipped
in Tom Daley, the clown, 'nothing to it!' and everyone laughed, for he was
correct. When it was held up, act two, scene thirteen was a blank page!

'Quite right. This is
where we require the services of our dramatic author,' said Mr Carrier, drily,
looking towards the theatre door again. 'Given that our closest rival, Mr
Hennessey at the Oriental—' - here the company cried 'Boo!' and 'Yah!' and
noisily made fun, but Mr Carrier held up his hand - 'I beg your serious attention,
ladies and gentlemen. This is no matter for jest. I learned only this morning
that, in addition to his act two finale, Mr Hennessey's pantomime will also
present a stud of trained zebras, racing dogs and monkeys in a mock Derby.' He
looked around the circle. 'This is a tight business. We cannot afford to be
upped by our nearest competitor. Which is why I have asked Mr Chapman to
attend upon us today.'

He took me by surprise!
But I jumped to my feet and brought Brutus and Nero to heel and we stood to attention,
while Mr Carrier waved us onto the stage. If there were some sniggers and
remarks made behind hands, there were also ripples of clapping and a 'Well
done, Bob!’, which came from Lovegrove's direction.

'Mr Chapman and his
Sagacious Canines are well known to visitors at the East London Aquarium,' said
Mr Carrier, 'and I have no doubt that those same visitors will be eager to see
him and his clever dogs on the Pavilion stage. I sent round to Mr Trimmer last
night and asked him to work up two or three scenes in which these excellent
dogs might be seen to good advantage.' He looked again at the theatre door and
then at his watch. 'I can only suppose that their devising took rather longer
than I, a mere theatrical manager, could have anticipated.'

As dry a man as ever
I've met, Mr Carrier. And if further proof were needed that he knew his
business, he had two theatres to wrinkle his brow: the great Pavilion and also
the smaller Royal Clarence on the other side of the river. He could often be
seen dashing between the two in his little dog cart, holding onto his hat and
talking nineteen to the dozen to the driver, who was, of course, his secretary,
Mr Pocock.

'I hain't workin' wiv
no dawgs, sir,' piped up Phil Connelly, the low comedian of the company. 'I 'ave
been nipped more times than I 'ave 'ad 'ot dinners. Dawgs don't favour me.'

'These dogs don't nip
or do anything detrimental, Phil,' said Will Lovegrove lazily. He was rocking
on the back legs of his chair and winding his scarf about his neck. 'They are
thoroughly reliable.'

'All dogs nip,'
returned Phil morosely. 'You can 'ave my part for a green'orn, Gov, but I ain't
workin' wiv no dawgs.'

This brought me up, and
Brutus and Nero also, and for a moment I thought our little number might be
reduced to nought, all on account of Phil Connelly and his prejudices. But Mr
Carrier was having none of it.

'The
dogs are well-trained, Phil, and well-behaved. I have seen them myself,
performing at the Aquarium.' (I had no idea the Gov had seen my show, and
certainly I had never clocked him.) 'I can assure you all that no one is in any
danger from these two excellent creatures -'

'Brutus
and Nero,' put in Will Lovegrove.

'And indeed they will
enhance the show. Besides,' and this was the crucial point, 'I have already put
Mr Trimmer to the trouble of writing two or three new scenes.'

That was that, and as
if to underline it, there was a clatter and a cry and Mr Trimmer appeared from
the darkness of the auditorium, very much out of breath and brandishing a sheaf
of papers!

'Most sorry, Mr
Carrier! Apologies to one and all! Ladies and gentlemen! Very sorry, I am sure.
I have been working half the night on the new scenes, including the special
"dog scenes" you requested, Mr Carrier. Here they are,' and he leaped
upon the stage and, dropping the manuscript once, scrabbling through it half a
dozen times, he extracted a small bundle of paper, Trim thrust it into Mr
Carrier's hands, and then looked beamingly, if a little strained, around the
company.

'Elenore
the Female Pirate,
ladies and gentlemen, with a children's
ballet and two sagacious dogs. I have given them ample opportunity, Bob - er,
Mr Chapman - to demonstrate their mighty powers.' Unwrapping his muffler, he
turned to me for the first time and nodded to Brutus and Nero who, I think,
were listening with great interest. 'In the first act, they will swim to the
pirate boat, run up the pirate flag and show their allegiance to the pirate
captain by guarding the helpless heroine and snarling at her when she tries to
escape; in the second act, they are discovered sneaking through the jungle and
felling the hero, thus assisting the pirate villain in his evil plots; and in
the third act, they are poisoned by bad meat and so come to a deservedly bad
end!'

The muffler still in
his hands, Trim looked eagerly around the company with a smile of satisfaction
upon his face, but it was not reciprocated. Certainly not by me, and not by
anyone else. Even the bad-tempered Phil Connelly wore a frown.

'You are jesting
surely, Trimmer,' cried Will, a frown wrinkling his brow. 'These handsome dogs,
Brutus and Nero, snarling and sneaking? Assisting a villain? Poisoned? They
could not do it, could they, Bob? Even if you trained them every day for a
year. Not these dogs! They are British dogs, through and through. Proud,
honourable, dependable, decent dogs, incapable of a mean action.'

The
company hummed in appreciation.

'Oh really!' said Trim,
laughing. 'Don't be such a clown, Lovegrove! It is but the plot of the drama,
and casts no adverse reflection upon the character of the dogs! Indeed, it
supposes that they must be well-trained and good canine actors if they are to
perform against their natural inclinations and assume villainous roles.'

But this argument fell
flat, and a tide of noisy protests from the company rose to meet it! It was not
my row, however, and, feeling uncomfortable, the dogs and I tiptoed quietly
outside to breathe calmer air. For I dislike arguments, and shouting distresses
me very much: I must have heard a barrelful of discord as a child, and even now
my stomach tightens and my eyes water when I hear angry voices.

So, with my pipe and a
biscuit or two for my canine pals, I stood in the theatre doorway and
contemplated the black and greasy wall opposite. The crowd of chattering children
and their mamas had grown, of course, but they gave me a wide enough berth when
I lit up, and I puffed quietly until a voice at my shoulder said, 'Are they
still there, Bob? The boy and the grampus?'

Will took me by
surprise and I jumped. I had not given them a fly's thought. But clearly he
had.

'I wonder if they're
waiting for a second go at old Trim. Picking their moment, when he's hurrying
off somewhere with his head in the clouds.'

He frowned and peered
through the crowd whilst scratching Nero's ear.

'By the Lord Harry,
here's a plan. Would you lend me your noble boys as supporters to go and round
up the grampus and, if he's unwilling, fetch a constable to assist? Then we'll
haul these two prodigies of nature before poor Trim and see if he isn't the
unwitting hero of a terrible awful gagarino!'

Will eyed the boy -
'Keep your peelers on that young shaver, Bob!' - called Brutus and Nero to his
heels (sometimes I think they love him more than me) and hurried through the
crowd without another word.

I didn't protest, and I
had not looked at the boy, nor given him a second thought. And so to spy again
this undersized creature, curled like a grub against the grimy wall with his
toes, like buds, sticking out of his boots, gave me a little shock. I saw now
that his legs were barely covered by his trousers and those had more holes in
them than trouser, and it was the same for the coat upon his back which was
more tatters than cloth and considerably out at the elbow. His head was bare,
his hair trossy and his face - I couldn't see it at first, so deeply buried was
it in a pair of grubby hands. But as I drew closer and two weary eyes peered up
at me, ah then, I knew who he was, instantly. And it didn't seem at all strange
that he should be the boy who had sent me flying into the mud before he flew
into the darkness of the railway cutting.

We stared at each other
for some moments, then he reached inside his shirt and drew out a packet, tied
up with string and held it out. It seemed to me he did so with some little
effort, as though it hurt him to move.

'I know you. You're the
dog-man from the Aquarium. I've seen you walking with Mr Trimmer. In the
street. You could give this to him. He dropped it and I picked it up. And when
I went back, he was talking' - he bit his lip and rubbed his eyes hard - 'he
was talking to the Nasty Man, so I legged it sharpish. And if the Nasty Man
asks, you can tell him from me, I 'aven't got nothing! He can kill me first!'

He spoke quietly, with
long waits in between, as if he was not in the habit of speaking and the sound
of his own voice took him by surprise. He looked about him as well, his red
eyes constantly on the peel, though he gave Trim's packet, now lying in my
hands, not a second glance. Then he got up and without another word, but
keeping a steadying hand upon the wall, walked away. And that was that.

I watched him to the
road and could not help but feel a stab of sympathy for him. Hadn't I been just
as he was now? And how much would I have appreciated a kindness from a stranger!
I thought he might at least take a sixpence from me (he looked as though it
could not do him any harm) so I caught him up. But when I put my hand upon his
shoulder, he jumped as if he had been scalded and cried out, 'No you don't, you
devil!' and there was such a look of agony and horror upon his face that I was
blown back also. He bolted across the road, dodging a cart and a pie man and,
without looking back this time, plunged into one of the narrow alleyways
between a baker's and Strang's bookshop.

Lovegrove, just
returning, saw where he went, called after him and followed him a little way,
but he was long gone.

And the fat man was
also disappeared. The table outside Strang's was empty of customers, and the
grampus was nowhere to be seen.

Will
scratched his head.

'Where did he go, the
fat man? Boy legged it, grampus melted away. Curious strange that, Bob, for if
we go by Trim's account, they are a pair, in snacks together, the man and his
number two.'

I
produced the packet and we both inspected the contents.

'Dash my wig!
The
Vulture's Bride!
And the boy gave you this? Well, I'll be a
monkey's uncle - and Trimmer a happy man! But what a strange business, Bob!
"The first time I've ever known a tail-buzzer return the nicks!" as dear
old One- Eyed Jemmy Lightfinger would say!'

Will was eager to
return the packet to its rightful owner and hurried back inside, while I, still
with the boy and his strange associate in my mind's eye, ambled with Brutus and
Nero up and down the street a little way. It is a busy place, bursting with
small shops and stalls, eating places and food- sellers, and shifting crowds
always, day and night. Quite typical of a theatre street, in fact. There are
many small taverns, some hardly more than a single room, and others, like The
Bell and Leper, which is closest to the Pavilion, are rambling buildings with
a grand yard, concert room and dark little passages which wind around and
about, and through which pass only the unwary or the thief (and occasionally both).
The Bell and Leper had been open for business since early morning, and its dark
passage was occupied now by little knots of people, mainly ladybirds and their
customers and, hovering in the background, just out of sight, their bullies.
This passage, or one like it, I thought, was where the boy had probably
burrowed, but I had no desire to explore further and risk my purse and my
throat. Nothing to be gained by that at all, even though a pretty ladybird was
giving me the glad-eye, and inviting me over to be robbed and beaten.