A Nest of Vipers (16 page)

‘But they’re well into their cups and not ready to move anywhere, and Sam says of course Quarmy’s not taken the cash because Ma’s hidden it safe, but then Jack asks if I’ve seen his Bella, which I haven’t, since she sang. So then I’m thinking they’ve only gone and run off together. Addy puts me right. She’s sitting nursing her ale in the corner, and I’m wishing I could ask her to dance anyway. I would, excepting it’s Daley the locksmith singing “The Girl I Left Behind”, which, in case you do not know, is a very mournful tune indeed. Even more so when it is sung by a locksmith who can scarce carry a tune.

‘I know why Addy is down: she no more wants to leave town than a cat wants to give up the seat closest to the fire. She sighs and smiles a sad smile, and for an instant I wish that The Vipers was empty except for the two of us.

‘“I thought you was after Quarmy?” she says. “Wasn’t he going to play? If he isn’t, then will you, ’cause I don’t reckon I can take much more of Old Man Daley’s warbling. And play something jolly to lift the spirits, for Christ’s own sake!”

‘So I says to her: “I think Quarmy’s vanished. Run off with Bella and all our blood and bread. Into the night.”

‘“You don’t mean it?” she says.

‘And I just shrugged. “No one else is bothered,” I says.

‘Old Daley stops singing and there’s cheering and applause, and suddenly Mother Hopkins is standing on the bar of The Vipers and the crowd are baying for a song.

‘Then I turn to Addy. No chance of a dance but I had a plan. “Let’s go and see what’s happened,” I say, and take her by the hand out into the dark London streets. The cold air stings like a bucket of frozen water. But I can feel Addy’s smiling to be out, just from the pressure of her hand in mine, and the spring in her step. I realize Bella’s probably off kissing Ivan out of sight of Jack, and Quarmy’s probably chasing his sweetheart’s shadow. But that doesn’t matter. It’s me and Addeline. Out in the dark. One last time.

‘It was completely black that night, as if London was wearing a cloak of pitch. I remember that well – no moon at all, and as we walked away from the noise and the light of The Vipers, it seemed like the city folded us in, like we were a part of it. Can you imagine that, Sir Ordinary? It makes me fair shiver thinking I’ll never know that feeling again.

‘Like I said, we was on the way down to Long Acre
when
a link boy runs towards us out of the blackness, his torch yellow and blinding, lighting the way.

‘So Addy shouts, “Oi!”

‘“Who’s that?” the boy shouts back. “If you want me to take you to Leicester Fields, that’ll be tuppence as it’s gone midnight!” He is tiny and his voice is high and squeaky.

‘“It’s Miss Addeline Hopkins, and we only want information,” Addy replies.

‘“Addeline Hopkins?” He’s slightly scared, and Addy is pleased, I can tell.

‘“Oi, little ’un! Have you been working the Garden all night?”

‘“What if I have?”

‘“You haven’t seen a young cove, darker than nibs here?” Addeline asks him.

‘“Patterns all on his face?” says the boy. Quarmy is hard to miss, as I’m sure you can imagine, sir.’

The Ordinary nodded his head as he wrote.

‘So she says: “Yeah, the very one!”

‘“You ’is mates?” the boy asks. “Only he was carted off to the lock-up in St Anne’s with some red-headed piece who was swearing like a sailor. Turned the air bluer than my fingers.”

‘Addy and I looked at each other then. The link boy held out his hand and we did the honest thing by him, then we sped up towards St Anne’s. The red-head had to
be
Bella, who’d taken the precaution of washing her hair with that abominable stuff that smells of nothing but the night-soil cart so she wouldn’t be mistaken for Ekaterina.

‘“I can spring ’em,” I said to Addy.

‘“I know,” Addeline said, and squeezed my hand. And so we both fair hurtled through the dark to Soho.’

I shifted position and made myself as comfortable as I could. The Ordinary stopped to stretch his hand.

‘They were there all right. Quarmy mute and inconsolable even when we turned up and whispered at them though the bars. Bella was with him, and she was fighting off the only other unlucky fool in the lock-up, some young buck with a name I don’t remember, drunk as a lord and puking up as if his stomach had no bottom to it.

‘Well, when Bella sees me, she knows they’re as good as out, so she stops with the yelling and tells Addy to go round the front and get her cards out. She knows as the gaoler likes a game, ’cause she tried to talk him round, but he thought himself too clever to be drawn by a prisoner.

‘So I ask Quarmy what happened, and he says: “Bella had walked me to Bedfordbury, to buy a new G-string for my fiddle, when we are accosted. Accosted by a sailing man with a cockaded hat.”

‘“A captain, Cato,” Bella adds. “And, oh, your jaw will
drop
. Only your friend and mine. Captain Walker of Greenwich.”

‘Then Quarmy says, “He grabbed me – quite ungentlemanly – tight by the elbow, and then Bella pulled on the other side and I blushed profusely on account of the names he called her.”

‘“At least he didn’t have me down as Russian!” Bella says.

‘Quarmy carries on: “He says, the captain says, ‘I know those marks. I know them!’ in such a tone as to send shivers down your spine.”

‘I stopped the conversation there on account of it being all the better to talk after they were free – if I had but known then that the day would never come . . .’ I sighed and pulled off some biting insect – a louse, most likely, but I must admit I was grateful the cell was still quite dark so as I couldn’t see it and count its infernal legs.

‘Go on, man!’ said the Ordinary. ‘Time is running and passing – all Newgate will be up and we all have our allotted tasks and time. So, you’re saying Captain Walker, he thought Quarmy was you?’

‘Well, in a manner of speaking,’ I said. ‘He thought Quarmy was the cove what had swindled his son-in-law. See, Captain Walker had sailed up and down the West Coast of Africa more times than most. He’d seen markings like Quarmy’s before; he knew he was royalty –
could
tell he was the real thing, and he’d been on the lookout for an African ever since his daughter had confided to her mother that all was well and their fortune would soon be restored by a prince from Africa.’ I smiled to myself. ‘I’d have loved to have been a mouse in their skirting board! I can see it all: “Mama, Mama, this nice African prince has gone and sold us a ship and its cargo. Knock-down price! The money we’ll make! Maybe Papa can captain the boat?”

‘Thing we didn’t reckon on was that old Captain Walker knows Bonny well. We never knew this particular nugget of information. He knows the tale’s a fishy one and he works out the diamonds are cockerels’ eggs and as far from being the real thing as day is from night. He knows now that his daughter has been swindled rotten and is not about to let it lie.’

I leaned back against the cold cell wall. Someone was awake and singing a hymn, asking God to save his soul. The Ordinary must have been listening too because he went and said that was one tune I ought to be practising myself to sing as I danced the hangman’s jig. I said nothing. I wanted my last dance to have been with Addeline.

‘So did you spring them, your associates?’ the Ordinary asked.

‘Is the Queen a lady?’ I replied.

Outside, the sky was getting lighter. Through the
barred
window the sky had a blush of light that turned it brown. The city was almost completely awake. I imagined the carter brushing down his horse, the one that would pull the cart with me and my fellow unfortunates to the edge of town, where the Oxford Road gives way to fields. Where the famous, possibly world famous, triple tree would hang three of us at once and give the crowd – for there was sure to be a good crowd – a free day’s entertainment.

A rat crawled under the Ordinary’s chair, a fat one that had lost the better part of its tail. The sight of it caused my mouth to water and I felt that ashamed I shut my eyes and turned away.

What had I become in here? No wonder Mother Hopkins did her damnedest never to see inside these walls ever again. No wonder that, rather than fight for me, they left and ran away to their new lives in the west.

‘Is that a tear, boy?’ the Ordinary said. ‘Are you ready to confess and save your poor benighted soul?’

‘It’s no tears, just a piece of straw.’ I rubbed my eyes. I thought again of the ride in the cart to my end, and suddenly I remembered one last thing. I knew she’d never know, but I bet she’d read the news sheets, if they had ’em in Bath. I wanted Addy to be proud of me.

I sat up. ‘There’ll be no confession, either. I never brought shame to no one,’ I said.

The Ordinary looked at me, and in the dim light I saw
myself
through his eyes. Dirty, shabby . . . if I was to be hanged, I should at least go out looking better than a boy who had rolled in dirt his whole life. I thought of the cutpurse’s embroidered jacket at the Frost Fair, or Quarmy’s good princely one.

‘If I tell you how I was taken—’

‘The diamonds, that’ll be the clincher,’ the Ordinary said, eyes shining.

‘If you get me a good coat and hat to wear, I’ll whisper in your ear what happened just before I’m wedded to the noose. It’ll look like a confession but I’ll make you a wealthy man, and no mistake.’

The Ordinary shifted in his seat and I knew I almost had him.

‘I know you!’ he said. ‘You’re slippery as a Thames eel. You might change your mind, and the money I get from the last words is for burial. I can’t be paid twice.’

‘No, man!’ I said, for the idea was running away in my head. ‘I don’t care about my burial – the surgeons may have me and turn me inside out for all I care. I’ve no doubt there’ll be plenty of interest in a Negro. Think about that.’ I said the words like a brave man and told myself I would be in no position to care if I was cut open or my innards used as bunting in the surgeons’ hall. I wasn’t going to show fear to this man, nor to anyone. I knew to keep it all inside.

The Ordinary thought for a while, then put out his hand for me to shake.

‘It better be the best coat in Cheapside!’ I said.

The Ordinary was smiling wide and showed his yellow teeth, which matched the London sky. I could tell he was imagining the diamonds in his pocket. He was thinking about never having to work in the hovel that was Newgate ever again. ‘Done!’ he said.

I sat back. I hid my smile. It was just like old times.

‘So, where was we?’ he said, picking up his quill. ‘Oh yes, the lock-up in Soho. You spring the red-head and the prince, and then what?’

‘Well, what happened was that it didn’t quite go to plan – I’d be a free man if it had! The drunk had taken a shine to Bella and stumbled after her through the door, yelling, “Love and freedom! My flame-haired Venus!”

‘The gaoler realized he’d been played for a mug, blew his whistle and grabbed Addy, guessing rightly she’d been distracting him with the cards. She wriggled and stamped hard on his foot but he wouldn’t let her go, so I pulled her off him. She runs like the blazes and I was ready to follow, but Bella’s new boyfriend goes to throw a punch at the gaoler, misses and knocks me clean out. It must have looked like one of the plays at Bartholomew Fair. A ripe comedy.’ I shook my head, remembering. ‘I was that close to getting away.’

‘A
tragedy
for you, young man!’ The Ordinary laughed at his own joke, which I thought particularly poor.

‘So when I woke, I was here. Not
here
exactly – not the condemned cell. Just in with the usual cream of London society you have lodging here. My head throbbed and my throat was sore from thirst. I must have been out cold for days.’

‘Pah! I heard it was from night to noon. The gaoler at St Anne’s said you’d opened the locks by magic. He said you weren’t human. It was the start of the rumours. Wanted you out of his lock-up sharpish,’ the Ordinary said.

‘That was the end of my luck,’ I said, and sighed. ‘Captain Walker had his daughter identify me as the prince and he smiled like a pig in clover when the beak put on his black cap and pronounced my death.’

‘Well, boy! You should have pointed out the money! For that fortune – all those pounds and the real diamonds, the real Stapleton sparklers – they must be somewhere.’

I sighed again. ‘I am in Newgate. I am a walking dead man. Wealth will not spring me now,’ I said.

‘But you managed to get out of Newgate, and the warder, Mr Gittens, said it were impossible!’ The parson came close and I could smell the beer on his breath. ‘How did you do it? Mr Gittens told me one night he thought you must have a kind of philtre, a potion to
make
yourself invisible. But I told him, I says: “The boy’s as black as night. He’ll just keep his eyes and mouth shut and no one’ll be any better at knowing his whereabouts!”’ The Ordinary laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool.

‘Your wit knows no bounds, sir,’ I said, and the old fool believed me.

I waited until he had quite finished his hysteria and kept my voice low. ‘If I tell you how it was done,’ I said, ‘could you see your way to sending out for a good linen shirt? One of the ones with plenty of cloth in the sleeves?’

The Ordinary coughed. ‘Maybe, but that’ll be the last of it. Coats! Shirts! It’ll be shammy britches next! I’m not made of the rhino!’ He calmed down and looked at me. ‘So, how was it done then? My pen is ready.’

‘No invisibility potions or magics, I’m afraid. I would that it were all magic and you would blink and I’d be gone, into the west with the old heroes.’ I closed my eyes for a moment. ‘It was all a matter of practicalities, but, I warrant, well done and a good tale.’

‘Well, get on and tell it then, boy. Time is our master!’

‘The shirt?’

‘I gave you my word.’

I tried to study the man’s face the way Mother Hopkins had taught me. Did the cove hold my gaze? Yes, but the cast of his eye was distinctly dull, and from the softness around the Ordinary’s mouth I reckoned he was
greedy
enough for the rhino that he’d fetch me the clothes and then sell the pieces on afterwards to gallows gawpers for tuppence a piece.