Dodger Page 0,5

nastiness down on a hardworking lad. It paid to be careful of flash geezers like him – else they might find someone to do something with your teeth, with pliers, like what happened with Wally the knacker man, who got done up rotten over a matter of a shilling. So Dodger minded his manners as he was led up and through the dark house and into a small bedroom, made even smaller by the fact that the doctor was still there and by now was washing his hands in a very small bowl. The man gave Dodger a cursory glance which had quite a lot of curse in it and then looked up at Charlie, who got the kind of smile that you get when people know you have money. Just as Charlie had surmised, Dodger hadn’t had a day’s proper schooling. Instead, his life had mostly been spent learning things, which is surprisingly rather different, and he could read a face much better than a newspaper.1

The doctor said to Charlie, ‘Very bad business, sir, very nasty. I’ve done the best I can; they’re pretty decent stitches if I say so myself. She is, in fact, a rather robust young woman underneath it all and, as it turned out, has needed to be. What she needs now is care and attention and, best of all, time – the greatest of physicians.’

‘And, of course, the grace of God, who is the one that charges the least,’ said Charlie, pressing some coins into the man’s hand. As the doctor left, Charlie said, ‘Naturally, Doctor, we will see that she gets good food and drink at least. Thank you for attending, and good night to you.’

The doctor gave Dodger another black look and hurried back down the stairs. Yes, you had to know how to read somebody’s phizog when you lived on the cobbles, no doubt about it. Dodger had read the face of Charlie twice now, and so he knew that Charlie had little liking for the doctor, any more than the doctor did for Dodger, and, from his tone, Charlie would be more inclined to put his trust in good food and water than in God – a personage that Dodger had only vaguely heard of and knew very little about, except perhaps that He had a lot to do with rich people. This, generally speaking, left out everybody Dodger knew (except for Solomon, who had negotiated a great deal with God somehow, and occasionally gave God advice).

With the man’s ample bulk out of the way, Dodger got a better look at the girl. He guessed her age at only about sixteen or seventeen, although she looked older, as people always did when they had been beaten up. She was breathing slowly, and he could see some of her hair, which was absolutely golden. On an impulse he said, ‘No offence meant, Mister Charlie, but would you mind if I watched over the lady, you know, until dawn? Not touching or nothing, and I’ve never seen her before, I swear it – but I don’t know why, I think I ought to.’

The housekeeper came in, casting a look of pure hatred at Dodger and, he was happy to see, one that was not much better towards Charlie. She had the makings of a moustache, from below which came a grumble. ‘I don’t wanna speak out of turn, sir. I don’t mind keeping an eye on another “author of the storm”, as it were, but I can’t be responsible for the doings of this young guttersnipe, saving your honour’s presence. I hope no one will blame me if he murders you all in your beds tonight. No offence meant, you understand?’

Dodger was used to this sort of thing; people like this silly woman thought that every kid who lived on the streets was very likely a thief and a pickpocket who would steal the laces out of your boots in a fraction of a second and then sell them back to you. He sighed inwardly. Of course, he thought, that was true of most of them – nearly all of them really – but that was no reason to make blanket statements. Dodger wasn’t a thief; not at all. He was . . . well, he was good at finding things. After all, sometimes things fell off carts and carriages, didn’t they? He had never stuck his hand into somebody else’s pocket. Well, apart from one or two occasions when it was