Dodger

chapter 16

A letter comes from York, and the skills of the dodgerman win approval in the highest quarters



FOG, OH YES, fog, the fog of London town, and it seemed to Dodger, once Charlie and Sir Robert Peel got to talking, that the fog was shaped to a purpose, or so it seemed. There were a number of meetings in offices around Whitehall, where Dodger was asked questions about his little excursion into the embassy and the paperwork he had brought back, and they listened carefully, nodding occasionally as he explained that he had taken it simply to get back at whoever it was that was making life so difficult for Simplicity and himself.

He didn’t mention the jewellery, now carefully concealed in Solomon’s strongboxes – those pieces, that is, that weren’t already stealing their way into the welcome fingers of Solomon’s jeweller friends. He did not want to get into trouble, and it appeared, amazingly enough, that it was beginning to seem that he was not going to get into trouble for anything.

At one point, a friendly-looking cove with silver hair and a grandfatherly kind of face beamed at him and said, ‘Mister Dodger, it is apparent that you got into the well-guarded embassy of a foreign power, and roamed at will among its floors and the inner sanctums without ever being challenged. How on earth were you able to do this? Could you please elucidate if you would be so good? And may I ask if you would be amenable to repeating this singular feat another time, at some other place, should we ask you to do so?’

It took a little while, and a certain amount of translation with the help of Charlie, to give an explanation about the working practices of the snakesman. It culminated in Dodger’s handing back Charlie his watch, which he had taken from him just for fun, and then he said, ‘Do you want me to be a spy, is that it?’

This comment caused a certain frisson around the men in the room, and they all looked at the silver-haired man, who said, smiling, ‘Young man, Her Majesty’s government does not spy, it merely takes an interest, and since both Sir Robert and Mister Disraeli have told us that while you are a scallywag you are the right kind of scallywag, of which we may wish we had a few more, Her Majesty’s government might have an interest in occasionally employing you, although having employed you they would emphatically deny ever having done so.’

‘Oh, I understand that, sir,’ said Dodger cheerfully. ‘It’s a kind of fog, isn’t it? I know about fogs. You can trust me on that, sir.’

The white-haired gentleman looked affronted at first, and then smiled. ‘It seems to me, Mister Dodger, that no one can teach you anything about fog.’

Dodger gave him a cheeky salute and said, ‘I’ve lived in the fog all my life, sir.’

‘Well, you do not need to give me an answer now, and I suggest you talk it over with your friend Mister Dickens, who I’m bound to say is something of a scallywag himself, being a newspaper gentleman, but who I suspect has your best interests at heart. May I say, Mister Dodger, that there are some slightly worrying details about what happened in the sewer the other day which might in other circumstances have led to more investigation, were it not for the fact that you most certainly did bring to justice the notorious Outlander, a circumstance that will cause great relief among our European friends, while at the same time showing them what happens to assassins who dare to come to England. I believe some rewards might be coming your way.’

The white-haired man stood up, and the action broke the tension in the room; Dodger saw smiles all round him as the man, his face now looking a little sorrowful, added, ‘I’m sure we were all upset to hear of the death of the young lady known as Simplicity, Mister Dodger, and may I say you have my condolences.’

Dodger looked at the old man, who probably wasn’t all that old but instead had been made old by the white hair. He was totally certain the face in front of him knew everything or, at the very least, as much of anything that anybody could, and most certainly knew everything about the uses of a fog. Dodger thought he’d be the kind of cove, for example, who might pick up the detail that a body, having apparently just been shot, seemed very like somebody who had been dead for almost a week, and never mind about noxious effusions.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said carefully. ‘It has not been a very pleasant time lately, and I was thinking of taking a little trip out of London so that I don’t see anything that reminds me of my girl.’

And he cried real tears, which was quite easy to do, and it shocked him inside, and he wondered if there was anything in the boy called Dodger that was totally himself, pure and simple, not just a whole packet of Dodgers. Indeed, he hoped in his soul that Simplicity would embrace the decent Dodger and put him on something approaching the straight and narrow, provided it was not all that straight and not all that narrow. Ultimately, it was all about the fog.

He blew his nose on the nice white handkerchief that he had absentmindedly removed from the pocket of one of the other gentlemen around the table and said, ‘I was thinking of going up to York, sir, for a week or two.’

This revelation caused a little excitement in the room, but after a few minutes’ discussion it was agreed that Dodger, who after all had committed no crime and, indeed, quite possibly the reverse, should of course be allowed to go to York if he wanted to.

The meeting broke up, and Charlie put a hand on Dodger’s arm as they were leaving and escorted him at some speed to a nearby coffee house, where he said, ‘It would appear that all sins are forgiven, my friend, but of course it’s such a shame that Miss Simplicity, despite all your best efforts, is now deceased; how is she, by the way?’

Dodger had been expecting something like this, and so, giving Charlie a vacant look, he said, ‘Simplicity is dead, Charlie, as well you know.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Charlie, grinning. ‘How foolish of me to have forgotten.’ His grinning face went as blank as a board, then he held out his hand, saying, ‘I am sure that we will meet again, my friend. It has, I must say, been a privilege of sorts to meet you. I am as unhappy as you are perhaps about the death of poor Simplicity, the girl that nobody really cared about, except for you. And, of course, dear Angela, who seems suspiciously unmoved? I expect, nay assume, that you will before very long find another girl quite like her. Indeed, I might even bet on it.’

Dodger tried to keep any expression away from his face and then gave up because no expression at all is an expression in itself. He looked into Charlie’s eyes and then said, slowly and deliberately, ‘Well, I don’t know nothing about that, sir.’ And he winked.

Charlie laughed, and the two of them shook hands, then went their separate ways.

The day after this conversation, a coach left London bound for Bristol, with the usual cross-section of passengers to endure the raggedy road. However, in this case the coachman reckoned that one of the passengers was the most unpleasant he had had that year, and it was all the worse because it was an old lady with a voice as crackly and demanding as a cauldron full of witches; nothing would please her – the seats, the ride, the weather and, as far as he knew, the phase of the moon. When the passengers were allowed off for a mercifully quick meal at one of the coaching inns along the way, she found fault with every dish put before her, including the salt, which she declared was not salty enough. The old baggage, besides smelling too much of lavender, also bullied incessantly a rather pleasant-looking young lady who was her granddaughter. She, at least, lit up the atmosphere in the coach a little, but mostly the coachman remembered Grandma, and he was very glad to see the back of the old besom as she almost fell off the coach when they got to Bristol. Of course, she had complained about that too.

A cheerful-looking young man then went to a pharmacist at Christmas Steps, near the centre of Bristol, where he discussed certain things to do with pigments and similar, in a very useful discourse that included words like henna and indigo. Shortly afterwards, quite a pretty young lady with beautiful red hair and a dark-haired young gentleman hired a coach and a driver to take them out of the city and all the way to the gaunt grey Mendip Hills, whereupon they told the driver that they wished to continue the journey along the turnpike past the pub at Star, where they had lunch consisting of excellent cheese and the type of cider that was so strong it might have been fortified by lion’s piss, and all the better for it apparently, because even the young lady had a second half pint of the scorching stuff.

After their lunch they dismissed the coachman, telling him to meet them at the same place in precisely one week’s time. The man happily agreed, because he had already been paid quite a considerable sum by the young man, who had handed him a beautiful amount of money, whispering that he would be grateful if nobody was told about this little excursion since they would both be in trouble if her father found out. The coachman was not unfamiliar with journeys of this sort, and therefore saluted and tapped the side of his nose with a greasy little grin that said, ‘Me? I know nothing, I am totally blinded by the shine of money, and God bless you, sir.’

The following day a man in the local pub, a carrier by trade, was induced by means of a jingling purse to take the young couple on a short cut to the small town of Axbridge, on the other side of the Mendips. The couple came down the southern slopes and took lodgings near the water mill. It was an unusual arrangement, however, since the young man made it clear that the young lady was to sleep in the best bedroom, such as it was, and he himself would sleep on a straw palliasse outside the door, covered with a horse blanket. This caused a little bit of talk locally with the ladies of the village, who took the view that the runaways (which everyone agreed was what the nice young couple were) were being very careful about things as decent Christians should be.

Christian or otherwise, that was in fact the case. The communication had passed between Simplicity and Dodger almost by telepathy; this had to be a time to relax, heal and, well, enjoy the world. And the world itself seemed to enjoy them, because they were quite free with their money, and although the girl was rather modest, as a maiden ought to be, she took every opportunity to chat to people. She seemed very keen to speak like they did in the Somerset accent, which might have been called bucolic because it was slow. It was indeed slow, because it dealt with things that were slow – like cheese and milk and the seasons, and smuggling and the brewing of fiery liquors in places where the excise men dared not go – and in those places, while the speech was slow, thought and action could be very fast indeed.

And Dodger learned fast, because on the streets a quick uptake was the only one to have and you never got a second chance. At first his head ached with a language that seemed made up of corn and cows. But the learning was helped along by the drink the locals called scrumpy, and after a while he was talking like them as well. His head filled up with words like ‘Mendip’, ‘priddy’ and ‘bist’, and conglomerations of a language whose rhythms were not the stacatto of the town but practically had something that you could call a melody. There are more types of disguise, he thought, than just putting on a different kind of shirt or changing your hair.

One morning, as they walked by the river, he said to Simplicity, ‘I never asked you before. But why did you have the game of Happy Families?’

The Somerset accent wobbled a little as she said, ‘My mother gave it to me and, you see, I always wanted to have one thing – something that was mine, when nothing else was. I used to look at it and think how one day things would be better, and now I think they are, after the wretched time I had.’

She beamed at him, and the little speech, combined with the smile, warmed the cockles of Dodger’s heart, and carried on going further down.

It was about this time that in London – a place where people spoke so fast that you never saw where your money had gone – a lady called Angela stepped out of a coach in Seven Dials, the coach then being immediately guarded by two strapping footmen, and climbed up a set of stairs and knocked gently on the door to an attic.

It was opened by Solomon, who said, ‘Mmm, ah, Miss Angela, thank you so much for coming. May I tempt you to some green tea? I am afraid you have to take us as we are, but I have cleaned up as best I can, and don’t mind Onan; the smell does disappear after a while, I can assure you.’

Angela laughed at that and said, ‘Do you have any news?’

‘Indeed, mmm,’ said Solomon. ‘I have had a letter – surprisingly well written – from Dodger, from York, where he went to grieve, because there he won’t see anything that reminds him of poor dear Simplicity.’

Angela picked up the spotlessly cleaned tea cup and said, ‘York, well, yes indeed, how very fitting. Has anyone else enquired of you of Dodger’s whereabouts, pray?’

Solomon filled her cup meticulously, saying, ‘I got these in Japan, you know? I am amazed that they have survived as long as I have.’ He glanced up, and with a face as straight as a plumb line, said, ‘Sir Robert was kind enough to send two of his constables to visit me two days ago, and they did ask about Mister Dodger’s whereabouts, and so of course mmm, I had to tell them all that I knew, which is of course my duty as a good citizen.’ His smile broadened and he said, ‘I always think one should lie to policemen; it is so very good for the soul and, indeed, good for the policemen.’

Angela grinned and said, ‘You may or may not be surprised, Mister Cohen, that I too have had a communication from a nameless person, giving me details of a place in London and – isn’t this quite exciting? – a time as well. This is rather fun, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Solomon, ‘although I must say my life has been altogether too full of this kind of fun, so I now prefer working here in my old carpet slippers, where fun does not usually interrupt my concentration. Oh dear, where are my manners? I do have some wonderful rice cakes here, my dear. Bought them from Mister Chang, and very excellent they are too. Do please help yourself.’

Angela accepted the proffered cake and said, ‘Should you meet the young Mister Dodger again, please do tell him that I have reason to believe that the authorities would indeed like to speak to him, not because he has done anything wrong, but because he has the capacity, they think, to do some things very right, and for the good of the country. The offer is open.’ She hesitated for a moment and added, ‘When I mention the word authorities, I mean the highest authority.’

Most unusually, Solomon looked surprised, and said, ‘When you say “highest”, you mean . . .?’

‘Not the Almighty,’ said Angela, ‘at least not as far as I know, but definitely the next best thing – a lady who could make some parts of Mister Dodger’s life somewhat easier. I rather think that this is an invitation that would not be repeated if ignored.’

‘Mmm, really? Well, in that case I’d better get my morning dress suit from Jacob and have it cleaned, shall I?’

Quite apart from the cider, the fresh air, the cheese and the stars, the young couple making friends with everybody in the town of Axbridge also got a taste for wall fruit, which the girl had told them was called by the French escargot, while in Somerset they were snails and be damned if they tried to be anything else.

All in all, the pair were a source of amiable mystery to the townsfolk, and everyone seemed to have their own anecdote about the couple, and speculated about them; the lady who did the church flowers said she had seen them in the lane by the river with some kids, teaching them a game called Happy Families. And a farmer declared that he had seen them sitting on a gate with the girl teaching the lad to read, or so it seemed, correcting his pronunciation and everything, for all the world like a school teacher. But, the farmer maintained, the lad seemed to enjoy the whole business and one of the farmer’s mates then mentioned to the regulars in the pub that he had seen the lad every night lying on the warm grass and watching the stars. He said, ‘It were as if the poor devil had never seen them before.’

On the last day, as they said their goodbyes, one of their new friends, who had a pony and trap, took them back up the road to the pub at Star. He took a minor detour on the way to show them the field wherein there was a stone which, it was said, possibly by people who drank all that cider, came alive on some nights and danced around the field.

At that point, just after they had finished watching the stone, in case it was inclined to attempt a little jig for the tourists, Dodger said to his girlfriend in the pure, rustic tones of Somersetshire, ‘Oi reckon we oughta be moving along now, moi goyirl.’

She, smiling like the sun, said, ‘Where bi’st to, my lover?’

Dodger smiled and said, ‘Lunnon.’

And she said, ‘Where folk be so queer, not like ussun.’

Then she kissed him and he kissed her, and in tones more like those of Lunnon than Somerset, he said, ‘My love, do you thinks it possible, that a stone could dance?’

She said, ‘Well, Dodger, if anyone could make a stone dance, it would have to be you.’

After that, two locals from Somerset, who nevertheless had enough money to travel by coach, arrived in London from Bristol. Entirely disregarded, they disappeared into the throng, and paid for accommodation for a single lady in a respectable boarding house while the young man set off to Seven Dials.

The following morning, Dodger took Onan out for a run, and then disappeared down into the sewers. Anyone watching might have noticed that he was rather solemn and carrying a bag, although it is questionable whether rats can tell how solemn a human being is, or indeed know the meaning of the term solemn. The rats might have been surprised later to find, tucked away in the debris of the sewers, carefully placed high above the normal levels of the water, a pair of shiny new shoes.

What Dodger did subsequently nobody saw, but he was most certainly on London Bridge at noon. There he was, staring at the boats going past when a girl with long hair said in a voice that made his bones tingle, ‘’Scuse me, mister, can thee show me the way to Seven Dials, where my aunty lives?’

Dodger, if anyone was watching – and they certainly were – brightened up and said, ‘Are you new here? Capital! Allow me to show you around, it would be my pleasure.’

At that moment a coach pulled up, to the consternation of the drivers of some vehicles behind it. But the coachmen paid them no attention as a woman stepped out, smiled at Dodger, looked intensely at the Somerset maiden, and said after an almost forensic examination, ‘Well now, how surprising, my friend, one might be mistaken in thinking that this young lady was Simplicity herself, but alas, as we both know, the poor girl is most dreadfully deceased. But clearly you, Mister Dodger, are a resilient gentleman, I am aware of that. Since the three of us have strangely met on this bridge, perhaps you would allow me to take you and your new friend to Lavender Hill cemetery, where I was intending to go today, because the stonemason will by now have finished poor Simplicity’s gravestone.’ She turned to the girl and said, ‘What is your name, young lady?’

The girl smiled and said, ‘Serendipity, missus.’ And Angela had to put her hand over her mouth to conceal laughter.

And so they went, all three, to Lavender Hill, where flowers were laid and not surprisingly tears were shed, and then Dodger and the young lady called Serendipity were dropped off again at one of the other bridges where he had been told the Happy Family man had positioned his rather strange cart.

It was, in short, one quite large cage in which was a dog, a cat, a small baboon, a mouse, a couple of birds and a snake, all living together in harmony, like real Christians, as the old man put it.

Serendipity said, ‘Why on earth doesn’t the cat eat the mouse, Dodger?’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think the old man is not one to tell you his secrets, but some people say if they are brought up together with some kindness, they become just that, a happy family. Although I have been told that should a mouse who has not yet been introduced to the snake come in through the bars, it would become the snake’s dinner very quickly.’

She held his hand then, and they walked along across the bridges and saw all the entertainments thereon: the men who lifted heavy weights, and the Crown and Anchor men, and the man who sold ham sandwiches, and the man who could stand on his hands upside down. Finally, as the golden light of evening made London look more like a pagan temple, all bronze and shiny, and turned the Thames into a second Ganges, they went home, totally ignoring the Punch and Judy man.

The following morning began with pandemonium outside. When Dodger crept down the stairs and peered out at the street, he saw two men wearing plumed helmets, and a smaller man looking at the same time both self-important and also slightly terrified about where he was. Dodger managed to get the window open and shouted down, ‘What do you want, mister?’ He didn’t like the look of the smaller man, who was obviously the boss – because whenever you see a big man alongside a small man, the little man is generally the boss. The little man now demanded, ‘A gentleman by the name of . . . Mister Dodger?’

Dodger gulped and shouted down, ‘Never heard of him.’

The man looked up and said, ‘Well, sir, I am sad to hear that. But if you do in fact meet the said Mister Dodger, perhaps you would tell him that Her Majesty Queen Victoria has summoned him to Buckingham Palace tomorrow afternoon!’

From behind Dodger, Solomon said blearily, ‘Mmm, Dodger, you cannot ignore a summons from Her Majesty.’

And so Dodger was short of anywhere to dodge to, and he stepped gingerly into the street. People were already gathering, much to the chagrin of the two men with the plumed helmets, because the rumour had run around that Dodger was being taken to the gallows at last and one or two people were talking about fighting back; and naturally, when you have one rumour, it buds little extra rumours. Just for the fun of it.

Now Dodger stood there, blinking, and said, ‘OK, mister, now tell me the truth.’

The small, rather harassed man, trying to maintain a dignified image in a world that had no dignity at all, handed Dodger a document. ‘Make yourself available at the gates of Buckingham Palace at four thirty tomorrow,’ he said, ‘and you will be welcomed in. You may bring members of your family, to the number of three. I shall of course relay to Her Majesty that you have humbly accepted.’

It was a strange, mysterious day after that, even when people lost interest and went about their business, or in some cases as much of anyone else’s business that they could steal. Dodger started it by going for a walk, forsaking the sewers but simply criss-crossing London with Onan, who was overjoyed at this lengthy outing, trotting happily beside him. Eventually Dodger’s legs, who knew him better than he did, took him through Covent Garden and into Fleet Street.

Charlie wasn’t there, but when Dodger asked to meet the editor and said who he was, he was instantly ushered upstairs, where he was told that another seven guineas was accrued to his account. Dodger said that he would like the remaining money in that wretched subscription to please be diverted to make life comfortable for Mister Todd who, he understood, was now incarcerated in Bedlam hospital, a place not suitable for those of a delicate disposition.

Mister Doyle agreed, and moreover promised to see to it that the money would actually get to where it should go. That made Dodger feel better. Then he continued his walking, pausing only to buy a bone from the butcher’s shop for Onan’s lunch. Then he went to a bottle shop and procured a bottle of good brandy and carried it with him down to the river, where he hailed a waterman to take him down to the wharf at Four Farthings.

The coroner was not there, but his officer promised to see to it that this gift, ostensibly from the son of an old lady that he had helped, would get to its intended owner; alas, there were times when you had to hope that people were as good as their word. There really wasn’t much in Four Farthings that wasn’t soon going to be swept up by the bigger boroughs, but Dodger did take a look in the church of St Never, a little-known saint who was in charge of things that didn’t happen, which was why so many young ladies prayed there. He dropped a shilling in the offertory box, but heard the coin hit wood, where he suspected it was likely to be lonely for quite some time.

He found the time to make a detour to the house of Mister and Mrs Mayhew, shaking hands and thanking them for their condolences, and for all the help they had given to the poor late Simplicity, who, said Dodger, if she was alive now, would be very grateful. He was absolutely certain of that, he told them, as certain as if he had heard it from her very own mouth. Then, when he was shown along to the main entrance, he waved the suggestion away and headed down past the green baize door, where he had a cheerful smile even for Mrs Sharples and a pneumatic kiss from Mrs Quickly.

As he wandered back across the river he wondered why he was doing all this, and quite rightly so did Onan, who was having the time of his life, never having had such a long walk in one go. It struck him that there was one person who could tell him. That led to the hiring of another waterman to take him upstream for a while, and then a reasonable walk took him to Miss Serendipity’s boarding house and a growler took the two of them to Angela’s home. The door was opened very respectfully by the butler, who said, ‘Good afternoon, Mister Dodger, I will see if Miss Angela is in.’

In fact, it was less than a minute before Angela appeared. Then, brightening, Dodger told them his news over coffee, and asked Serendipity to accompany him.

Serendipity took the news in a very feminine way, which was to panic that she wouldn’t have anything to wear to the palace, at which point Angela chimed in happily, saying, ‘My dear, you hardly have to worry about that. Perhaps we could have a little visit to my dressmaker; it’s very short notice, but I am sure something can be done.’ She turned to Dodger and said, ‘Talking of dresses reminds me of rings, and so I should like you, Mister Dodger, to tell me exactly what your intentions are? I understand the two of you are engaged; when do you believe that you will be wed? Personally I have never seen the point of long engagements, but there may be . . . difficulties?’

Dodger had thought long and hard about Serendipity and marriage. Officially, as Simplicity, she was still a married lady, but as she herself had said, God could hardly have been at that wedding or He would not have allowed it to turn from love to something so awful. When he’d asked Solomon, the old man had stroked his chin and mmm’d a few times, and then said that surely any Almighty worth believing in would agree. And if not, Solomon would explain it to Him for them. Dodger had chimed in then and said, ‘I don’t know if God was in the sewer, but the Lady definitely was.’

After all, he thought, other than the prince, who would surely keep silent, the only witnesses to the wretched marriage now had been Simplicity and the ring. The ring was gone and Simplicity was dead. So where was the evidence that Simplicity had ever been there at all? It was in a way another kind of fog, and in that fog, he thought, people might make their way to some sunlit uplands.

Now he said firmly, ‘Simplicity was married. But Simplicity is dead. Now I have Serendipity – somebody new, and I’ll help her. But I’m someone new too, and before we marry I’ve got to get a job, and a good one – I shall have to save the toshing for a hobby. But I don’t even know how to get proper work.’

He paused there, because Angela’s smile spoke volumes, which at the moment he could not interpret. ‘Well now,’ she said, ‘if I can believe tittle-tattle, I rather suspect, young Dodger, that shortly in your life you will see again a cheerful but friendly old man with silver hair who might like to give you a holiday in foreign parts. Congratulations to you, young man, and to you too, Miss Serendipity.’

The following day the coach arrived exactly on time and with Serendipity on board. When they set off again Solomon, who seemed to know everything about these matters, said, ‘This is, of course, a private audience. But just remember, Her Majesty is in charge. Do not speak until you are spoken to. Never, ever interrupt and – and I stress this, Dodger – don’t get familiar. Do you understand?’

Some of this information was imparted as they were walking through the palace, which was to a part of Dodger the most target-rich environment he had ever encountered. Even Angela’s place was put to shame. Room followed room and it was an overpowering panorama for someone who had been a snakesman, but he told himself it would never work. No one would have a sack big enough to take away those great big pictures or those great big chairs.

Then suddenly there was another room, and the Queen and Prince Albert were there, and indeed, Dodger noticed, there were flunkies everywhere; standing still in the way a good thief does, because people are quick to notice movement.

Dodger had never heard the word ‘surreal’ but would have used it when Solomon, dressed in all his glory, bowed so low before the Queen that his hair nearly touched the floor. There was a little click and a sudden stillness in the room and Solomon was frantically waving a finger at Dodger, who knew the drill and so stepped forward, smiled nervously at the Queen, wrapped his arms around Solomon, stuck a knee in his back, then brought him upright. To his own dismay, he heard himself say cheerily, ‘Sorry about this, Your Majesty, he gets the twinging screws when he tries that, but no harm done, I’ve knocked him into shape again.’

A splendid-looking girl, he thought – very nobby, of course; that went without saying. Her face was a blank and Prince Albert was looking at Dodger like a man finding a cod fish in his pyjamas. So Dodger took a step back, let Solomon find his feet and tried to look invisible, and at that point the Queen lit up and said brightly, ‘Mister Cohen, it is a great pleasure to meet you at last; I’ve heard so many stories about you. You are not in pain in any way, are you?’ she added in a less royal tone of voice.

Solomon gulped and said, ‘Nothing damaged except my self-esteem, Your Majesty, and may I say that some of the tales they tell about me are not true.’

Prince Albert said, ‘The King of Sweden tells a very good one.’

Solomon blushed under his beard – Dodger could just make that out – and said, ‘If it was the one about the racehorse in the lodge, Your Royal Highness, alas it was true.’

‘Nevertheless,’ said the Prince, ‘I feel quite privileged to meet you, sir.’ He held out his hand to Solomon, and Dodger watched the handshake very carefully, and recognized the Masonic hand of freedom.

The Queen, her eyes on her husband, said, ‘Well, my dear, there is a nice surprise for you.’ Although it was quite a pleasant sentence, it had a little clip on the end, to remind everybody that that conversation at least was at an end. She turned to Dodger and said, ‘You, then, must be Mister Dodger? You do very well around desperate criminals, I believe. Everyone is still talking about Sweeney Todd. That must have been such a terrible day for you.’

Dodger recognized that it might not be a good idea to deny this fact, even though the day had been more astonishing than terrible. And so he took refuge in: ‘Well, Your Majesty, there he was and there I was, and there the razor was, and that was it really. To be honest, I felt sorry for the poor man.’

‘So I have heard,’ said the Queen. ‘It is a disquieting thought, but it is to your credit, at least. I believe that the young lady beside you is your fiancée, is that not so? Do come here, Miss Serendipity.’

Serendipity stepped forward, and suddenly Dodger found himself somehow outside the room looking down on it, watching how expressions changed and changed again, and then he was back in himself and everything was cheerful and someone had just brought in some tea and there was a definite feeling that things were satisfactory.

Who would dare lie to a queen? he thought. How much did she know? For that matter, how much did Prince Albert know? He was from one of the Germanys, wasn’t he? But that would start him thinking about politics again, and so he chased the thought out of his mind and as time floated back, Serendipity curtsied – rather better than Solomon had bowed – and the room began to be more cheerful.

‘When do you think your wedding will be, my dear?’

Serendipity blushed and said, ‘Dodger says he will have to get a new job first, Your Majesty, so we don’t know yet.’

‘Indeed,’ said the Queen. ‘What is it you do, Mister Dodger, when you are not thwarting criminals?’

Dodger didn’t answer that, not being entirely sure what thwarting meant, but Solomon was in there fast with, ‘He assists with the proper running of the drainage, Your Majesty.’

Prince Albert rolled his eyes and said, ‘Oh, drains, we have them here and they never seem to work properly.’

Dodger opened his mouth, but the Queen, anxious to get drains out of the way, said, ‘Well, sir, I wish you well in whatever post you eventually take. And now . . .’ she added, glancing at a flunky, ‘we think that bravery such as yours should be recognized, and so I would like you to step forward here and get down on one knee. See the cushion here, and it would probably be a good idea if you took off your hat.’ A flunky stepped forward holding a sword, and quite a shiny one at that. The Queen took it, and then said, ‘What is your full name to be, Mister Dodger? I have been advised that you would like to see the last of Pip Stick.’

Dodger stared at her, and then Serendipity said, ‘If it’s any help, Your Majesty, I’ve always thought that Jack is a very nice name.’

Jack Dodger, thought Dodger. It sounded slightly nobby, but he didn’t know why. The Queen looked at him expectantly and said, ‘If I was you, sir, I would take the advice of your lady.’ She glanced at Prince Albert and added, ‘As all sensible husbands do.’

All Dodger could do now was say, ‘Uh, yes please,’ and then there was a breath of air over his scalp and the sword was back in the arms of a flunky again and Sir Jack Dodger stood up.

‘It makes you look taller,’ said Serendipity.

‘Indeed it does,’ said Queen Victoria. ‘Incidentally,’ she went on, ‘I am told, Sir Jack, that you have a very intelligent dog as a pet?’

Dodger grinned. ‘Oh yes, Your Majesty, that would be Onan; he’s a very good friend, but of course we couldn’t bring him along here.’

‘Quite so,’ said the Queen and she cleared her throat. ‘You mean Onan, as in the Bible?’ Out of the corner of his eye Dodger could see Solomon stepping backwards, but nevertheless he said, ‘Oh yes, miss.’

‘Why did you call him that?’

Well, Dodger thought, after all she did ask. So he told her,1 and the young Queen glanced at her husband, whose face was a picture, and then burst out laughing and said, ‘Well now, we are amused.’

Like some sort of clockwork, the tea then disappeared as quickly as it had turned up, and there was a certain signal that this audience was at an end. Greatly relieved, Dodger took Serendipity by the arm and led her away, and was slightly surprised as they left the room when the white-haired man he had met before walked boldly up to him and said, ‘Sir Jack, allow me to be the first to congratulate you. May I trespass upon your time for a moment? Have you perchance had time to consider my proposal?’

‘He wants you to be a spy,’ murmured Solomon behind him.

The white-haired man made a ‘tsk, tsk’ noise and said, ‘Oh dear no, Mister Cohen. A spy, sir? Perish the thought. Her Majesty’s government, I can assure you, has no dealings with spies, oh my word, no. But nevertheless we like the kind of people who help us . . . take an interest.’

Dodger took Serendipity to one side and said, ‘What should I do?’

‘Well, he does want you to be a spy,’ Serendipity replied. ‘You can tell that by the look on his face when he says that he doesn’t. For someone like you, Dodger, it seems to me to be the perfect occupation, although I suspect it will mean learning one or two foreign languages. But I have no doubt that you will find learning them quite easy. I myself know French and German, as well as a little Latin and Greek. Not too difficult if you put your mind to it.’

Not to be outdone, Dodger said, ‘Well, I know some Greek. ?’2

Serendipity smiled at him and said, ‘My word, Dodger, you do lead a very interesting life, don’t you?’

‘My love,’ he replied, ‘I think it’s only just beginning.’

And that was why two months later, Jack Dodger was running through the boulevards of Paris with the gendarmerie lagging far behind him. He was carrying a pocket stuffed with coins and bonds, a tiara that had once belonged to Marie Antoinette and would look very good on his wife Serendipity, and last but not least, the plans for an entirely new type of gun. Whistles were blowing all over the place, but Dodger was never where anyone thought he would be. He had been most interested to find out that the Froggies had drains too, pretty good ones which you wouldn’t have expected from Froggies, and so he jigged and dodged and ran on to the safe house he had sorted out last night, and he was having the time of his life.

1 If you want to know more about Onan – a well-known biblical character – I am sure that many of my readers know their Bible from one end to the other. And if not, Google, or any priest – possibly a slightly embarrassed one – will help you.

2 Please direct me to where the naughty ladies are.





Author’s acknowledgements, embarrassments and excuses with, at no extra cost, some bits of vocabulary and usage



DODGER IS SET broadly in the first quarter of Queen Victoria’s reign; in those days disenfranchised people were flooding into London and the other big cities, and life in London for the poor – and most of the people were the poor – was harsh in the extreme. Traditionally, nobody very much bothered about those in poverty at all, but as a decade advanced, there were those among the better off who thought that their plight should be known to everybody. One of those, of course, was Charles Dickens, but not so well known was his friend Henry Mayhew. What Dickens did surreptitiously, showing the reality of things via the medium of the novel, Henry Mayhew and his confederates did simply by facts, lots and lots of facts, piling statistics on statistics; and Mayhew himself walked around the streets chatting to little orphan girls selling flowers, street vendors, old ladies, workers of all sorts, including prostitutes, and exposed, by degrees, the grubby underbelly of the richest and most powerful city in the world.

The massive work known as London Labour and the London Poor ought to be in every library, if only to show you that if you think things are bad now, they were oh so much more worse not all that long ago.

Readers may have heard of the movie Gangs of New York; well, London was worse and getting even more so every time fresh hopefuls arrived to try their luck in the big city. Mayhew’s work has been shortened, rearranged and occasionally printed in smaller volumes. The original, however, is not heavy going. And if you like fantasy, in a very strange way fantasy is there with realistic dirt and grime all over it.

And so, it is to Henry Mayhew that I dedicate this book.

Dodger is a made-up character, as are many of the people he meets, although they are from types working, living and dying in London at that time.

Disraeli was certainly real, and so was Charles Dickens, and so was Sir Robert Peel, who founded the police force in London and became Prime Minister (twice). His ‘peelers’ did indeed replace the old Bow Street runners who were, more or less, thief-takers and not known for excessive bravery. The peelers were a very different kettle of fish, being drawn from men with military experience.

Readers will recognize other personages from history along the way, I expect. Most fantastic of all was Miss Angela Burdett-Coutts, heiress of her grandfather’s fortune when she was still quite young and at that time the richest woman in the world, apart perhaps from a queen here or there. She was an amazing woman who did indeed once propose marriage to the Duke of Wellington. But more importantly, for me at least, she spent most of her time giving her money away.

But she wasn’t a soft touch. Miss Coutts believed in helping those who helped themselves, and so she set up the ‘ragged schools’, which helped kids and even older people to get something of an education, wherever they were and however poor they were. She helped people start up small businesses, gave money to churches, but only if they were in some way assisting the poor in practical ways, and all in all was a phenomenon. She plays a major role in this narrative, and since I couldn’t ask her questions, I had to make some informed guesses about the way she would react in certain circumstances. I assumed that a woman as rich as her without a husband would certainly know her own mind and generally not be frightened of anything very much.

The Romans did build the sewers in London; they were haphazardly repaired as the generations passed. The sewers were mostly intended for rain water, rather than human waste, cesspits and septic tanks effectively doing that job, and it was when these overflowed, simply because of too many human beings, that you were in the land of cholera and other dreadful diseases.

There were indeed toshers, whose lives were anything but glamorous, but the same applied to the mudlarks and the young chimney sweeps who had nasty diseases of their very own. Dodger, then, was very lucky to find a landlord who was in receipt of four thousand years’ worth of food safety information. But even then, I have to admit, as Mark Twain did many years ago, that I may have put a little touch of shine on things.

I didn’t need to put a shine on Joseph Bazalgette, who appears in this book as a young but keen man. He was the leading light among the surveyors and engineers who changed the face, and most importantly the smell, of London sometime after the story of Dodger has been told. The new London sewers and sewer works were one of the technological miracles of the new Iron Age and so, with some maintenance here and there, they remain.

‘Boney’, of course, was the nickname of Napoleon Bonaparte, and if you don’t know who he was, I am quite certain, alas, that your keyboard will sooner or later let you know.

A note about coinage. Explaining the British pre-decimal coinage to generations that haven’t had to deal with it is difficult, even for me, and I grew up learning it. I could talk at length about such things as thrupence ha’penny, and tanners and crowns and half crowns and the way it drove American tourists, in particular, totally nuts. So all that I can say is that there were coins made of bronze, of all sizes, and these were the cheaper coins; and then there were the coins made of silver which, as you might expect, occupied the middle ground finance-wise, and then there were the gold coins which were, well, gold and in Dodger’s day were truly golden, not like the coins you get today, mumble, mumble, complain. But in truth, the old currency had a certain reality to it that the modern ‘p’, God help us, does not; it just doesn’t have the same life.

Then there was the wonderful ‘thrupenny bit’, so heavy in a little kid’s pocket . . . No, I’d better stop here, because if this goes on, sooner or later I’ll be talking about groats and half farthings and someone might have to shoot me.

The wonderful thing about slang is, if you like that kind of thing, that it is interesting to note that once upon a time the word ‘crib’ meant, among many other things, a building, or place where you lived, and quite recently for some reason has come back again in the English-speaking countries.

Victorian slang, and there was such a lot of it, can be a minefield. Looking at the world from Dodger’s point of view means that you can’t say ‘posh’, because that word had not yet been created. But nobby does the trick. It would be possible to fill up this book with appropriate slang, but sooner or later, well, it’s not there to be a textbook of slang and so I’ve left in some of the ones I liked. Unfortunately, I cannot find a place for my favourite piece of slang which is ‘tuppence more and up goes the donkey’ because, alas, it’s just a little bit too modern.

And very short though Dodger is, I’ve been helped time and again by friends with particular expertise, and my thanks go out to Jacqueline Simpson, Bernard Pearson, Colin Smythe and Pat Harkin, who stopped me putting a foot wrong. Where one is wrong is probably my own dammed foot.

I have to confess ahead of the game that certain tweaks were needed to get people in the right place at the right time – students of history will know that Tenniel didn’t illustrate his first Punch cover until 1850 and Sir Robert Peel was Home Secretary before Victoria came to the throne, for instance – but they are not particularly big tweaks, and besides, Dodger is a fantasy based on a reality. It was the devil’s own job to find out where the headquarters of the Morning Chronicle was. It seems that they changed offices periodically, so I’ve stuck them, for the purposes of Dodger, in Fleet Street – where they ought to have been anyway. This is a historical fantasy, and certainly not a historical novel. Simply for the fun of it, and also too, if possible, to get people interested in that era so wonderfully catalogued by Henry Mayhew and his fellows.

Because although I may have tweaked the positions of people and possibly how they might have reacted in certain situations, the grime, squalor and hopelessness of an underclass which nevertheless survived, often by a means of self-help, I have not changed at all. It was also, however, a time without such things as education for all, health and safety, and most of the other rules and impediments that we take for granted today. And there was always room for the sharp and clever Dodgers, male and female.

Terry Pratchett, 2012


About the Author

Terry Pratchett is the acclaimed creator of the global bestselling Discworld® series, the first of which, The Colour of Magic, was published in 1983. His novels have been widely adapted for stage and screen, and he is the winner of multiple prizes, including the Carnegie Medal, as well as being awarded a knighthood for services to literature. Worldwide sales of his books now stand at 70 million, and they have been translated into thirty-seven languages.

For more information about Terry Pratchett and his books, please visit www.terrypratchett.co.uk