Dodger Page 0,61
such packing as she has, help us find a growler and I will take her forthwith to Charlie, where we will be safe enough to discuss the next move. And please, Mrs Mayhew, Mister Mayhew, we will not need a chaperone.’
‘I feel I must object,’ said Mrs Mayhew. ‘It is hardly seemly . . .’
Dodger opened his mouth to answer, but Simplicity stepped forward, gave Mrs Mayhew a kiss and said, ‘Jane, I’m a married woman and I can stand up and say that my husband wants me as a slave or otherwise dead. I will go with Dodger. The choice or blame is mine, and I would not like to think that any harm came to this household because of me.’
They stared at her as one might stare at a dog that has just sung a song, and then suddenly common sense blossomed and Mister Mayhew said, ‘Dear Mrs Sharples, can you please get a cab while you, dear, help our guest – her baggage is rather spartan – and be ready for the coach to come.’
Now it seemed to Dodger that the coach could not come too soon. And indeed when one did rattle up, without any bidding Mister Mayhew pressed a half crown into Dodger’s hand.
‘Well done, sir, very well done!’
When the cab was rattling its way to Fleet Street, Simplicity said, ‘My dear Dodger, why did you rescue me in the rain?’
This bowled him over, but he managed to say, ‘Because I don’t like people who bash up other people who ain’t got anybody to bash back on their behalf. I had too much of that when I was a kid, and besides, you were a girl.’
The tone of her voice changed as she said, ‘In fact, a woman, Dodger. Did you know that I lost my baby?’
This flustered Dodger, who managed, ‘Yes, miss, I mean missus. Very sorry not to have been there earlier.’
‘Dodger, you came out of the drain like a god. Who could have come up any faster?’ And this time the kiss didn’t need to be blown. She delivered it directly, as it were.
Charlie was not at the Chronicle, but inside his office there was a boy, one of the numerous boys employed by the paper to run around with other bits of paper, looking very important as they did so. This one, though, stared at Dodger as if he was the Angel Gabriel and whispered hoarsely, ‘Is it true that you throttled the monster with his own necktie? Oh, can you write down your name on this bit of paper for me, please? I am making a scrapbook.’
Dodger stared at the boy’s slightly grubby face which, like his clothes, made it perfectly clear that this was a building with a lot of ink on the premises. He was at a loss and therefore took refuge in the truth, saying, ‘Look, kid, he was just a very sick old man, right? He thought he was killing dead men who were coming back to haunt him, and I never laid a finger on him, right? I just took the razor off him and the peelers took him away and that is that, do you hear?’
The lad backed away a little, and then said, ‘You are only saying that because you are modest, sir, I am sure. And Mister Dickens says that if you was to turn up here again today, looking for him, you could find him in the Houses of Parliament, on account of the fact that he is doing a bit of court reporting today. Mister Dodger, he said he’d tell the man on the door to let you in if you ask for him, and if there is any trouble to say you’ve come from the Chronicle, and will you sign this piece of paper for me anyway?’ The boy almost pushed a pencil up Dodger’s nostril, so Dodger relented, and the boy got a squiggle and Dodger got the boy’s pencil.
The boy said, ‘I don’t quite know exactly where Mister Charlie will be right now, but you could always ask the peelers.’ He smiled. ‘You can be sure that there will be a lot of them about.’
Ask a peeler! Dodger? But surely that was the old Dodger saying that, he thought. After all, because of two admittedly total misunderstandings he was a hero, at least to some kid with blobs of ink in his hair, and therefore a hero should be able to stand up and talk to a