by William King
It was a real tale from the Newgate Calendar. There was a girl involved, of course. There usually is in such cases, Jack Sheppard and Edgeworth Bess all over again. I know he was seeing someone who stayed in the same low rooming house, a pretty young woman with a liking for sparkling things, a flower girl of the same sort as Sarah. I suppose she wanted more than he could give her, selling things on the street. And he was a bold, ambitious, energetic young fellow who was not going to let that stop him getting what his heart desired. He started stealing, taking butcher meat from the market and selling it to the old lady who ran the rooming house. She was a well-known petty fence in that way.
He spent his loot on taking the girl out and walking around with her but in the end she left him for an older man with more money. Maybe at that stage he could have stopped and returned to his old way of life but somehow I doubt it, for he had learned how much easier it is to come by money dishonestly than by dreary labour. Once he'd set his foot on that robber’s path, he followed it to the bitter end. He grew bigger and stronger and faster and his crimes grew more ambitious as he did so. But whatever happened, I'll say this for Bobby, he looked after his little brother and made sure that he was sheltered and fed.
The crowd he hung out with grew to be older and much more deeply involved in crime than he had ever been before. He became a bully and a housebreaker with a reputation for devil-may-care bravery and a contempt for what the future might hold. His early experience had soured him with women and he treated all the girls with a kind of pleasant contempt which only made him more attractive to them. Soon he was seen squiring around half a dozen pretty young women and he cut the sort of dashing figure that must have impressed the young bucks around him and certainly impressed his brother.
Young Billy always followed him around and looked up to him and ran errands for him but Bobby never let him go on any of his housebreaking jobs. He did his best to keep Billy out of his line of work but of course he couldn't, not really, because Billy was always there or thereabouts. Rumour had it that he learned to use a lock pick with the same facility as his elder brother.
You can't commit the number of robberies that Bobby Tucker did around London without word getting about and soon the Runners were on his trail. He had grown till he weighed his £40 as they say and a warrant was issued for him. I had only been out of the foot patrol a couple of years myself and I made the mistake of trying to apprehend him on my own when I saw him in the street one day. It was a tasty brawl for Bobby was quick and strong. I was getting the upper hand, when he drew a knife and gave me the scar I carry on my cheek to this day and he took advantage of that and got away. He must have boasted of this to his little brother for whenever Billy saw me after that he and all his friends would point to me and laugh.
I got the last laugh, I suppose, when old George Ledbetter got on Bobby's trail. We found him in a crib in Seven Dials and he made a run for it, using a plank bridge set on the roof. He must have thought he'd got away because he kicked away the plank, but I was keen to catch him and repay him for the scar, and risked a running jump between the roofs of the two buildings. I made it too, although I shudder to think what might have happened if I'd missed the jump, and the chase was on across the sloped roofs of the rookery.
The tiles were old and slippery and often gave way, and the roofs were wet with recent rain. When I look back I wonder that either of us survived that mad pursuit under the moonlight and the clouds.
I crawled across those rooftops, like a spider patiently stalking a fly. We moved cautiously, because one misstep could send us plunging to our deaths. It was as strange a chase as I've ever been involved in, and I've been involved in many. We crept ever so cautiously across the peaks of the roof, with the night echoing with the shouts of men and the whirring of policeman's rattles in the courtyard below us. Sometimes, Bobby would look back over his shoulder at me, and I could see his eyes and his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Sometimes he would hurl a defiant curse over his shoulder and crawl on hands and feet a little faster.
I think at last he came to the conclusion that he was not going to be able to lose me and he turned and drew his knife. There was little I could do except deflect the stab of the blade by striking at his wrist with my right hand and then throwing a punch with my left. I was lucky, very lucky. The force of the impact knocked the knife from his hand and sent it flying over the gutters and down into the slop-heap in the courtyard. My fist glanced off his cheek and sent him reeling backwards and in an instant we were furiously exchanging blows.
I was horribly aware of the long drop but got into that state of mind that you sometimes do when chasing someone of simply not caring, of being too caught up in the thrill of the hunt to notice anything except the presence of your prey. I can still remember the panting of his breath and I can remember grabbing him and that last furious grapple when he slipped and went sliding over the edge.
I had not lied to Billy. I did try and grab him then, as much from the desire that he would not escape me as from any attempt to save his life. I didn't make it, and he went over the edge, and I did not.
Billy saw his brother’s final agonies when he was dragged from the crib into the courtyard by the police. He was arrested that night, along with the rest of Bobby’s crew. I have no idea whether he was guilty of anything but his mere presence among the stolen goods was enough to get him sentenced to New South Wales for seven years.
Sir Robin Blaine was the magistrate that night and he had no liking for thieves whatever their age. I gave evidence in front of the Magistrate saying that he had been present in the crib and was the brother of a known criminal. It was enough for Blaine. Billy cursed me and shouted he would make me pay even as he was dragged to the cells.
I had not ever expected to see him again and now here he was back in London and looking to settle old scores. It is an alarming thought- that someone would cross oceans simply to kill you.
I think I passed then from reverie to sleep and I did not wake until Mrs Marshall shook me and let me know that it was time to be about business of my own.
I looked in on Rachel but she was still not awake so I kissed her on the forehead and began the long walk to Brighton House.
Fleming showed me into the presence of Mr Soames who asked me if I had anything to report. I told him that I thought I did but I needed the help of Jane Bullock to proceed with my inquiries.
“I'm sure that can be easily secured, Mr Brodie,” he said.
“I'm not so certain, sir. You see I need her to accompany me to a place that is not entirely respectable in order to identify the man who abused her trust.”
“Will there be any danger to her, Mr Brodie?”
“I think not, sir. I shall be with her the whole time and I shall make sure that no harm comes to her. But the only place I know where I am likely to encounter this man is in Seven Dials.”
“By all accounts, that a very rough quarter of the city, Mr Brodie.”
“I won't deny that, sir,” I said. “But if I am to arrange the return of your property it is necessary for me to identify this man, and Miss Bullock is the only person who can do that.”
“I do not want to send her into any danger.”
“And the feeling does you credit, sir. But I can assure you that if I thought there was likely to be any danger I would not ask her to do it.”
“I believe you, Mr Brodie. However there's something about this that makes my heart misgive me.”
“Do I have your permission to ask Miss Bullock to accompany me?”
“Are you absolutely certain that the poor girl is not likely to get into any trouble?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t absolutely certain but it seemed best to say so, under the circumstances.
“Then you have my permission, on one condition.”
“And what would that be, sir?”
“That I accompany you to make sure that no ill befalls the young woman.”
It took a great deal of effort to hide my feelings o
n the subject. I could see that Mr Soames was considering himself for the part of Mr Brownlow in this story. Perhaps he really did want to make sure that no harm came to Jane Bullock, but I suspected that at least in part he was just as interested in a chance to see the rookery of Seven Dials. After all, how often would he get the chance to do such a thing in his life?
“Are you sure that is wise, sir?”
“Come now, Mr Brodie. Surely if it is safe enough for Jane Bullock to accompany you, it’s safe enough for me.”
He had me there. “Very well, sir. But you will need to do exactly as I tell you.”
He rubbed his hands together happily and beamed like a child contemplating a particularly pleasant birthday treat. “Shall I have to wear a disguise?”
He looked almost disappointed when I shook my head. “You must promise me not to carry any large sum of money, just a few shillings to cover any expenses and perhaps a sovereign to give to a robber in case we become separated.”
That brought a frown to his face and for a moment he looked worried. “You think that's likely?”
“No-- but we must prepare for the worst.”
“But you said there would be no danger.”
“The only danger is that you might lose your sovereign. And there will be no danger of that if you stick close to me.”
I think that impressed him that there may be some risks in the enterprise after all, for he looked thoughtful and not a little afraid, and for a moment I dared hope that he might find some excuse to back out. But he went over to the cabinet, took out a decanter and poured himself a brandy which seemed to restore his good spirits and put him in the mood for adventure.
With his permission I went downstairs and discovered that, despite some misgivings on her part and the part of her mother, Jane Bullock was willing to go along -- particularly since Mr Soames was going to be there.
It was only with a great deal of persuasion that I managed to convince Mr Soames not to take a brace of pistols. After all, he had told me that he knew nothing of firearms during our earlier interview and there is nothing more dangerous than a man who doesn't know how to use one with a gun in his hand.
At least his presence ensured that we got a ride back into town in his carriage with Fleming driving us and swearing that he wanted to accompany us right into the very heart of Seven Dials.
All through the ride into the city, I could see that my fellow passengers were nervous and I couldn't really blame them for that. Mr Soames had brought a stout walking stick which he toyed with nervously, twirling it around in his fingers and staring out into the night, all the while making that odd little chuffing noise.
Jane Bullock looked calmer, but there was an odd tension about her; she seemed strung as tight as the strings on a duffer's fiddle. I told myself that it was only to be expected, she was going into the heart of the great rookery to see a man who had betrayed her. Of course she was nervous. But to give her credit, she made no complaint, and even smiled at us when either Mr Soames or I addressed or remarked to her.
I was tense myself, imagining all the things that could go wrong. If Jane had come alone, most people would simply have assumed she was a loose woman accompanying me. It would not have been pleasant for a respectable girl but she would only have had to endure it once and then she would never see those people again. Dressed as she currently was, she was perhaps a little too trim and clean for the Dials but she would not have stood out all that much.
Mr Soames, on the other hand, even dressed as he was in his oldest clothes, carried about him the air of a gentleman and it was obvious what he was every time he opened his mouth. And that would mean, to some in the rookery, he would represent perfect prey. I was going to have to keep more of an eye on him than I was on Jane.
“It's a chilly evening, Mr Brodie,” said Soames.
“It certainly is, sir.” He dug into his pocket and helped himself to a swig of brandy from his hip flask. He wiped the lip of the bottle with his handkerchief and offered it to me, but I shook my head, knowing I was going to have to have all my wits about me this evening.
“Do you go into Seven Dials often, Mr Brodie?”
“My business sometimes takes me in that direction.”
“You're in an interesting and diverse line of business then.”
“That's one way of putting it, sir.”
“Can you tell me something about this place where we're going?”
“It's a tavern called the Red Tiger, sir. It's a great spot for ratting and known in Fancy circles as the Bloody Beast.”
“That's an ominous name.”
“It’s an ominous place, sir.”
He seemed very nervous and he was only talking to hide that. I could only pray that he would get over it enough to keep his mouth shut once we were in the slum. I tried to think of a tactful way of letting them know that but I could not so I said, “Sir, it may be best, once we get to Seven Dials, if you did not speak and left the talking to me. There are those who would be only too happy to hear the accents of a gentleman and help themselves to his property.”
He took another swig, and didn't offer me one this time, and said, “Of course, Mr Brodie. I place myself entirely in your hands.”
I'm not sure that he really understood that he was doing exactly that but I think he realised then that I did not really want to talk to him at that moment, for he turned to Jane and said, “Are you all right, Bullock? You're not nervous, are you? There's nothing to be afraid of my dear. Mr Brodie and I are here.”
He continued to talk in this vein for a while and if Jane had not been nervous before she certainly became so as he chatted. For there was nothing quite like Mr Soames’s attempts at reassurance to achieve the opposite effect to that which he intended. I was glad when Fleming stopped the coach on the Strand and we climbed out and got ready for our expedition to the Bloody Beast.
We skirted the gas-lit edges of Covent Garden and got to the juncture of the roads where the column from which Seven Dials took part of its name had once stood.
The darkened alleyways closed in around us like the jaws of some great beast. Soames glanced around, taking in the teeming street, noticing the ragged children and the thin men and women, as if for the first time. Perhaps, for him, it was, for I doubted that he was the sort of man who spent much time in localities like the Dials. He looked scared. Jane looked interested, like a woman who was being given a chance to see some great novelty that she might never see again.
It was still early by the standards of the Dials. The streets were full of people, selling and buying everything that the poor call necessities of life. There were the usual vendors of baked potatoes and fried fish and muffins doing the usual roaring business, for in the rookeries few people have access to a kitchen stove and if they want a hot meal they must purchase it in the street.
Even those with no money were there, walking and talking or just looking, for the streets are the poor man's theatre and his living-room as well as his kitchen. It's where the folk go for entertainment and amusement and to meet their friends and chat. And there were plenty of people selling things other than food; old clothes, shoes single and in pairs, oranges, flowers and watercress.
A pair of little girls tried to sell Soames some watercress but he shied away from them as if they'd menaced him with bludgeons, and we moved on deeper into the Dials. We weren't going to the worst part by any stretch of imagination. The Bloody Beast was in the area where the residences of the semi-respectable poor start to blend almost imperceptibly into the haunts of thieves and low-lives.
Ahead of us the flare of gaslight announced the presence of the tavern. A crowd of men lounged outside, crowded around a selection of dogs which they petted and stroked as if they were Derby winners. There were men of every lowly class and occupation. Some wore the corduroy britches and jackets of the costermonger. Others wore the open tunics of soldiers. There were coachman in livery, and tradesmen in old frock coats. Many of them were smoking pipes. All of them w
ere interested in the animals.
We went in through the swinging door and found ourselves in a low ceilinged room. Clouds of tobacco smoke filled the air. In the bar were more men, women were scarcely in evidence save the barmaids and some of the street girls who were the companions of the rougher looking customers. I looked around but there was no sign of Ginger Jim Matthews so I led Jane and Mr Soames through into the parlour.
On almost every table stood a dog. All of them were small and keen looking, mostly terriers or little half breeds. On one chair beside the fire a large old dog rested in pride of place and was admired as if he were some old hero from the wars. I suppose he was in a way, for he had been a champion in his day. Waiters moved among the crowd shouting, “Place your orders, gentlemen!”
We took a table in the corner that we had to share with a group of costermongers admiring a pug. They gave Jane some attention but she didn't notice. She was too busy scanning the crowd with a look of intense concentration. She didn't seem frightened or intimidated although she was pale and her eyes were slits.
“Interesting decoration,” said Mr Soames, looking at the walls, and I could see what he meant instantly. For mounted there, like the heads of deer or tigers on the walls of some gentlemen's club, were the heads of half a dozen dogs. A costermonger must have overheard him for he said,
“Famous dogs they was in their day, sir. Between them they must have killed a million rats and that's no exaggeration. Here's to them.”
He raised his glass to his lips. His companions joined in the toast and Soames would have as well if he'd had anything to drink. It took him only a matter of a moment and a shout to rectify that, although I could see that it caused him some concern whether he should order one for Jane. A man only drinks with his female servants under the most scandalous circumstances normally and Mr Soames was a respectable sort of gentlemen. The problem was solved when Jane said she didn't want to drink. Her voice sounded a little strained. Perhaps the strangeness of her surroundings was getting to her.