Alfie, with the dog pressed close to his side, pounded down the street expecting to hear a shout from the constables. It didn’t come. He reached the next crossroads without being apprehended. He paused to catch his breath and spoke to his dog.
‘That was a close one, Buster. I reckon I’m that jumpy I’ll be caught quick as a wink if I don’t calm down.’ The beast pushed his head into his chest and Alfie put his arms round him, finding comfort from the warmth of the animal.
He couldn’t be more than half a mile from the yard, not nearly far enough to be safe. He was scanning the road behind him for any sign of the constables when he noticed an unusual amount of activity just ahead at the next crossroads. He was going that way, so he’d have a look, see what was what. If there was a ruction, it was less likely anyone would recall him passing if they was asked later on that day.
As he approached he could see there’d been a collision; a huge cart carrying barrels of some sort had become entangled with a horse-drawn omnibus that had been approaching down the main thoroughfare. He sidled a little closer. It was a long time since he’d seen anything of interest. The swearing and cursing from the drivers, and from some of the passengers as well, would have made his ears burn six months ago, but now he grinned. He didn’t blame them – both drivers would be in for it when their masters heard of the accident.
He was standing behind two ladies, one with a bonnet and smart clothes, obviously a toff, the other with a cap must be the maidservant. This woman had a basket over her arm to carry a bit of shopping. While he watched, two boys about his own age approached them from the rear and to his horror one sneaked his hand into the lady’s pocket and removed her handkerchief. He instantly handed it back to his mate who vanished in the crowd. The thief then strolled off as innocent as a baby.
This boy sensed he was being watched and turned, his eyes narrowing when he saw Alfie and the dog. ‘What yer looking at? You thinking of peaching on me?’ The boy sounded menacing.
Alfie saw that his face was brown, as though he’d been rubbing it with walnut juice, his clothes as bad as his own, and no boots of any sort on his feet.
Buster began to shake, and a low, rumbling growl came from his throat. The boy stopped, and his face changed from threatening to friendly in an instant.
‘That’s a fine dog you’ve got there, mate. You on the run, like?’
Alfie found his voice. ‘It ain’t none of your business. I saw what you did – you nicked that lady’s handkerchief and gave it to your mate what’s run off with it. I don’t hold with thieving; it ain’t right.’
The boy grinned showing a set of black and broken teeth. ‘It ain’t right? You’ll not survive on the streets five minutes if you don’t help yourself now and again. Begging’s against the law. You’ll be picked up and doing fourteen days before you know what’s what. And then what’ll happen to your dog?’
Alfie hadn’t thought that far ahead. Escaping came first, putting as much distance between Black Ben and himself. He’d not considered how he was going to live without money in his pocket and no friends neither.
The boy seemed to sense his indecision and moved a little closer, stopping hastily when Buster snarled. ‘Why don’t you come with me. I’ve a snug little billet at a lodging house not far from here. There’s a tidy backyard and all for your dog; I reckon the sooner you get yourself off the streets the better. Your master will have the constables looking for you and you’re not hard to spot, are you now?’
‘I don’t want to do any thieving, so why should you help me? I’m nothing to you; what do you want in return?’
The boy nodded. ‘Let’s talk about it later. You didn’t peach on me, and I owe you one for that. I ain’t asking you to thieve nothing, but there’s somethink you can do for us and it ain’t against the law. How about that?’
The boy’s eyes flicked over his shoulder and his expression changed. ‘The constables are coming. We’d better scarper, sharpish.’
Alfie had no choice; he had as much reason as the other boy to stay out of the hands of the police. As they ran down the maze of alleys he remembered that he had no right to criticise; he was a thief, same as the boy was. He’d run away from his master and stolen the man’s dog.
He reckoned he was no better, so he might as well go along with him. There was nowhere else he had to go, was there? His guide finally slowed his pace to a walk and Alfie had time to look around, see where he was. The road he had been walking down was far away. They’d dodged and weaved so much he could be anywhere.
‘I noticed a sign what said we was in Grace Church Street to start off, but where are we now?’
The boy looked at him with new respect. ‘Cor! You’re an educated gent then? There ain’t anyone in my gang what can read and write. You’ll be a real help to us you will. You’ll soon get the hang of things. We find our way around the streets all right, don’t know the names nor nothing, and none of us is educated like you are.’ The boy scratched his head vigorously, and Alfie saw lice crawling in his hair. He wasn’t sure if he was horrified or resigned.
‘I ain’t got crawlers. Coal dust keeps them away.’
The boy laughed. It sounded strange, as if he wasn’t used to finding anything worth laughing at. ‘You’re a rum one. You get used to them; I comb them out of a weekend, but the little buggers soon come back. I don’t notice them after a while and you won’t neither.’
Alfie thought of something Ma had told him. ‘I reckon it’s eggs what hatch and keep infesting you. If you comb every day maybe you’d get rid of them. Me ma told me they die if you break their legs.’
The boy looked at him as if he was escaped from an asylum. ‘I ain’t got time to bother with all that. It’s hard enough keeping body and soul together, I can tell you, without getting in a flummox about a few crawlers.’
The boy pointed to the road sign. ‘What’s that say, then?’
Alfie tipped his head and stared; part of the sign was covered with soot, but he could just make out the letters enough to read it. ‘It says Birchins Lane. It don’t mean nothing to me.’
‘I knew it was Birchins Lane; I know all the streets hereabouts. I just wanted to see if you could read like what you said you could. We followed a cove down this way, and we got his purse, nice and full it was. We share what we take. We have our rules – I’ll explain them to you if you decides to join us.’
‘Are your lodgings far?’
‘Not really. Up Cornhill, then right at Threadneedle Street and we’re back in Bishopsgate. It ain’t far from there. Me lodging’s in a yard off Half Moon Street.’ The boy grinned. ‘The London Workhouse ain’t a hundred yards from where we live. Sometimes, if things get desperate, we throw ourselves on the parish.’
‘What? Go in voluntary?’ Alfie couldn’t believe anyone would choose to enter such a dreadful place.
‘Only when it’s bitter cold and there’s no picking to be had anywhere. They’ve got what they call a casual ward, for the likes of us. Since the law don’t permit us to beg no more, they had to do somethink. It ain’t much, but you get a meal and a bed to share and it don’t cost nothing. When the weather becomes more clement we legs it over the wall.’
‘But don’t the guardians recognise you when you come back the next time?’
‘We all look alike, don’t we? One filthy street kid is the same as another to them; we make sure we keep our heads down and merges in like. We only go there if it’s desperate, like what I told you.’
Alfie jogged along beside his new friend, the dog close beside him. They crossed roads, slipped down alleys until it was impossible for him to recall the names of the roads he’d been along. He knew he’d never find his way back – back? He didn’t want to go back. Whatever happened next, he was free and had Buster for protection.
The place his new friend took him to was everything Alfie had thought it would be. Dirty, vermin-infested and packed to overflowing with other undesirable characters like him. The gang leader who had brought him told him his name was Ginger. He had to believe it was, because underneath the filth and the lice Ginger’s hair was red.
‘Right, Alfie, these are me other friends,’ Ginger told him gesturing at the group of assorted street urchins. Alfie had decided to use his real name. Saying his name was Bertie Smith might make it easier for Black Ben to trace him. That’s if he ever looked in Baker’s Lane at the back of Bishopsgate Street, which weren’t likely.
‘This here’s Fred. He’s the best dipper, apart from me, that is. This here’s Piper, because he can play the penny whistle a treat, and the other two’s Nelson and Jim.’
Alfie smiled and rested his hand on Buster’s head. ‘Pleased to meet you, and this here is my friend, Buster. He won’t eat you; he had his grub this morning.’
This made them laugh as he’d hoped. He could see why Nelson got his name. The poor boy only had one eye – one that worked, that is – and Jim was just Jim, like he was Alfie.
‘The lodging keeper here’s Ma Bishop. She’s a right stickler. But we keep our noses clean, pay the rent on time and she turns a blind eye like what Nelson does,’ Ginger added with a grin.
If she was a right stickler, it certainly wasn’t about stopping her lodgers bringing in dirt from outside. ‘Where do you cook? You’ve no fireplace in this room.’
‘We ain’t ones for the cooking and that, are we, lads? No, we filch what we can off the stalls on the market, and when we’re flush we buy meat pies and hot potatoes and brings them back here to eat.’
Alfie stared gloomily around his new accommodation. You could hardly call it a room. It was no bigger than the deck space on the boat he’d shared with Buster and Ben, but here six of them were supposed to sleep. He realised there was something missing.
‘Here, Ginger, where’s your beds?’ All he’d seen were heaps of rags amongst the debris on the floor.
‘Didn’t I say he was an educated gent? Spotted it straightaway. We don’t run to no beds. We kip down where we can and cover ourselves with what we’ve got. It’s that small we’re snug as a bug in a rug. We live like lords – there’s other poor buggers living on the streets.’
Alfie’s tension drained away. The place was the worst kind of hovel. He reckoned there were more than enough bugs in their rugs, if they was anything like Ginger’s hair. But the company of the boys, after having spent the last six months with no one to talk to, made him feel alive. He was a member of a gang, not on his own any more.
‘Looks all right to me, Ginger. So you won’t mind if Buster stays in here with me? He’ll soon have the room filled with hot air, I can tell you.’
The boys fell about laughing. ‘Blimey, we’ll suffocate if a dog that size lets rip,’ Fred screeched.
Nelson was the only one who had the nerve to approach. The boy held out his hand and Alfie stroked his dog’s ear and told him to be friendly. ‘These are my friends. You’re not to bite them and you’re to look out for them like what you do for me.’
Buster raised one ear, but Alfie knew his animal wasn’t convinced that these were his friends. ‘I shouldn’t touch him, Nelson. He’s not used to other folks, but he’ll not harm you as long as I’m here. I reckon he’ll get used to all of you in no time.’
Ginger folded himself onto the nearest pile of rubbish and the other boys followed. ‘Seat yourself, Alfie. We’re going to divvy up what we’ve got today.’
He watched, fascinated, as the boys produced a variety of objects that must have been filched that morning. There were four handkerchiefs, all clean and in a decent state, three oranges, a loaf of bread, half a string of raw sausages, but most important of all a purse bulging with coins.
Alfie positioned himself against the wall and Buster flopped down next to him, resting his heavy head in his lap. To his surprise Ginger produced a knife from somewhere about his person, halved the oranges and tossed him a piece.
‘Here you are, get that down you. Ain’t much, but it will do for now. Right, what to do with the sausages?’ He glanced at the other boys and they nodded. ‘What do you think, lads? There’s someone in here what likes these, and we ain’t partial to raw meat. Last time I ate uncooked bangers I was down the privy most of the night.’
‘Your Buster looks hungry, Alfie.’
‘Neither of us has had much these past few days. Half a dozen sausages will be a feast.’ The gift was tossed across to him and the dog’s eyes followed them. To the amazement of the other boys he didn’t snatch the sausages but waited, tail thumping on the wall, eyes gleaming in expectation.
‘Here you are, Buster. This is a gift from our friends. All you need now is a nice bowl of water, and everything’s perfect.’ The sausages vanished instantly much to the amusement of the boys.
‘Cor! I never saw the like. That there dog eats quicker than what you do, Piper,’ Fred said.
‘Talking about water, where do I get it? Is there a pump in the yard?’
‘Bleedin’ hell, we ain’t royalty! There’s a pump, does for all the houses round here, and it ain’t on all day neither. I reckon it might be working – usually is about now.’
Jim produced a bucket, battered but hole-free. ‘Come on, Alfie, I’ll show you round. The privy’s out the back. You needs a strong stomach to go in there I can tell you – mostly we finds somewhere private to use instead.’
‘As I ain’t used anything else for more than six months. It’ll be like a palace to me.’
‘My, you’re a card and no mistake.’
They passed several shifty-looking men, or they could have been women. Alfie thought it hard to tell underneath the grime and layers of rags they wore.
Outside in New Moon Alley, Jim dropped in behind a row of other people carrying buckets, and an assortment of other items, to collect their water ration for the day.
‘Is the pump in this street?’
‘Bless you, it’s half a mile from here, in Flying Horse Yard.’
There was a queue of people waiting for the water to be turned on and the pump to work. Alfie shuddered. The water might do for his dog, or for washing, but unless he was desperate he wasn’t going to drink it. He wasn’t thirsty at present – the orange had done the trick.
An old crone at the front of the queue cackled to a stick-thin child; they made Alfie feel he was in the best of health. The lady began to work the handle and the welcome sound of splashing water was heard and the people in front of him stirred and picked up their pots and pans.
Half an hour later it was their turn. Whilst he worked the pump handle Jim held the bucket under. Round here it didn’t do to take your hand off anything – it would disappear quick smart. The dog drank from the bucket as it filled. Alfie wished Jim had tipped the bucket out and rinsed it before filling it again. He knew where Buster stuck his nose, even if they didn’t.
Back at the lodging house he was introduced to the landlady, Ma Bishop. She was slightly cleaner than her lodgers, and reminded him strongly of an old neighbour back in Colchester, although Ma Bishop was a lot dirtier.
‘Bugger me, Jim, Ginger never said the dog what’s going to live in the room with you’s big as a horse.’
Jim grinned, not bothered by her comment. ‘This is Alfie, Ma. He’s an educated gent what can read and write, so if you got anything needs perusing, bring it round. He’ll be delighted to do it for you, won’t you, Alfie?’
‘I will, Ma Bishop. And my dog might be big, but he’s quiet, and won’t let no burglars in, you can be sure of that.’
The old lady made a queer wheezing sound, like a bellows being pressed, and Alfie thought she was having an apoplexy. Then he realised she was laughing.
‘Listen to him! There ain’t nothing worth stealing here. But I’ve got somethink you can read for me right now. Can you spare him a minute, Jim?’
Jim could, and Alfie found himself taken into the bowels of the building to Ma Bishop’s private rooms. In here there was a fireplace with a cheery blaze, two chairs, a table and a window too filthy to see out of. Apart from that, it was as unkempt as the rest of the place.
‘I got a paper here. Can you read it to me, Alfie love?’
Ma Bishop produced a handbill, the writing smudged but clear enough for him to decipher. ‘It says there is to be a sale of furniture and goods and other items of a prestigious nature. The belongings of Joseph Bentwood, deceased, at Alderman’s Walk.’
‘What’s the day and time of it, this sale?’
Alfie studied the paper again. ‘It’s from ten in the morning until all the lots are gone. On the first of June.’ He’d no idea if that was days or weeks away.
‘That’s grand. Someone give me this and I knew it were important but weren’t sure what it were about. Now I knows I’ll send Ginger up to see what’s what on sale day.’
Mystified why she’d want Ginger to go to a sale of goods, but not liking to ask, he smiled. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?’
The old lady shook her head and waved him away, smoothing out the paper and muttering to herself. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. It was like watching a witch casting a spell. Hastily he backed out, glad of the solid presence of his dog at his side. Jim was waiting outside the door.
‘What she want you to do, Alfie?’
‘I read something, about a sale. She says Ginger must go up there and see what’s what. Why does she want him to go there, Jim?’
The boy grabbed his arm but Buster growled. Jim dropped his hand, stepping away hastily.
‘Follow me. Ginger’ll want to know about this. Cor, it were a lucky day for us when he picked you up this morning.’
Back in the room, he supposed he had to call it home now, Ginger explained to him why this sale was important.
‘Whenever there’s a sale, Alfie, there’s all sorts: toffs and middling folk, pressed together, thinking about what bargains they can get. They’re not thinking about what bargains we can pick up, if you get my drift.’
‘I do. I ain’t pinching nothing, so don’t ask me.’
‘No, I gave me word, and I always keeps it. You’re our brains. You can read the bills for us and we’ll do the rest. And that bleedin’ great animal will keep away the riff-raff.’ He looked round the rest of the gang and they nodded. He held out his hand and Alfie saw it held a handful of coins, more money than he’d seen in months.
‘What’s this? I ain’t done nothing to earn it.’
‘I told you, Alfie, you’re one of us now and you get your share, fair and square. You’ve given us information what we needed and that’ll do us fine.’
Alfie closed his fist around the money and felt tears in his eyes. He blinked them back. He didn’t want to look weak in front of the gang. ‘Is this mine to spend on what I like?’
‘It is, mate. We’re going to have a blowout. The baker round the corner does hot pies and cakes; what you going to spend yours on then?’
‘I want to have a bath, get rid of the coal dust. I’ll not feel safe until I’m clean and in other garments. Is there a bathhouse round here?’
The gang gawped at him as if he was recently escaped from Bedlam, not a coal lighter. ‘Not food? Not a nice jug of ale to wet your whistle?’
He grinned. ‘No, not unless there’s any cash left over. Where can I buy what I need?’ He patted the dog’s head. ‘But first it’s your turn, Buster. I’m going to give you a good wash in the backyard. Anyone going to help me?’