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Authors: Deborah Hopkinson
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Jake. That weaselly little urchin ain’t dead,” Fisheye Bill Tyler was saying. “My guess is he’s been out here mudlarkin’. And that means you seen him.”
“Now, Bill, I can’t say yes and I can’t say no,” Jake answered. “All these boys look about the same to me.”
“Don’t give me that. You know Eel—the scrawny one with eyes like a Tower raven,” growled Fisheye. “This is a serious business, Jake. That boy’s got something that belongsto me. Somethin’ I have a right to. I have a right to him too, if it comes to it.”
“I dunno nothin’ ’bout it,” squeaked Jake. I didn’t dare lift up my head. But I could almost see Fisheye squeezing his arm.
“Don’t expect me to believe that,” Fisheye Bill scoffed. I could imagine his cold glare. Men like Jake didn’t fare well under Fisheye’s gaze. He went on. “Now, my friend, are you gonna tell me where he’s at, or do I have to break off your other thumb?”
“Like I told you before, Bill, I ain’t seen Eel for months,” came Jake’s complaining whine. “I thought the lad was dead.” So Jake hadn’t been the one to rat on me. At least, not yet.
“Besides, ain’t Eel a big lad now? Too old for what you want ’im for?” Jake went on. “That lad’s too growed up to slip through windows like a little snakesman so you can break into houses.”
“You never mind that,” I heard Fisheye Bill say. “That’s my business.”
“Well, Bill, I got business to attend to meself. So leave me to it, won’t you?” Jake said. “Turn your nose up at me if you will, but at least a scavenger’s life is honest.”
I grinned. Jake was holding his own with Fisheye Bill. His voice faded, and I figured he must be wading through the sludgy water toward Tower Bridge. I crouched lower in my hiding place, fighting the urge to poke my head up andlay my eyes on Fisheye Bill Tyler just to prove this wasn’t a nightmare.
“Come on, Jake. What say you and me take a break from this stinking place and head over to a pub?” Fisheye said. “You can rest your legs. I’ll even buy you some breakfast and a beer to go with it.”
There was a pause. “Or maybe a gin, if you’d rather.”
I froze. Jake might not have said anything about me before now. But if Fisheye lured him to his side with the promise of gin, who knew what might happen? Jake could end up telling him how he’d gotten me a nice situation at the Lion Brewery over on Broad Street.
I strained my ears to catch Jake’s answer. I might not be at the Lion anymore, but I didn’t want Fisheye poking around anywhere near Broad Street. I could only hope that if Jake did talk, that yellow-flag warning of the cholera would keep Fisheye Bill away.
“Another time, Bill. Another time,” came Jake’s voice at last. I let my breath out. I was still safe.
When I got back to Broad Street that morning, the first person I saw was Rev. Whitehead. He looked as if he hadn’t slept.
“Are things worse, sir?” I asked.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “I spent most of the night visiting families. Yet there isn’t much I can do.”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and I could see dark circles under them. “It strikes so viciously—so quickly,” he went on. “Mrs. Griggs herself is near death and—”
His words sent a jolt through me. “That can’t be! She was fine yesterday.”
Rev. Whitehead laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Eel. I forgot you didn’t know. She became ill last evening. Bernie too.”
“Bernie! But …” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “But if Mrs. Griggs is sick, who is helping them? Betsy is too small. She can’t—”
He raised a hand. “Calm yourself, lad. Florrie Baker is there, and as capable a nurse as I’ve ever seen.”
“Florrie! But … will she get it by being so close to sick people?”
“I fear everyone may be in danger from the filthy air and ill-ventilated rooms of this
“Now, Bill, I can’t say yes and I can’t say no,” Jake answered. “All these boys look about the same to me.”
“Don’t give me that. You know Eel—the scrawny one with eyes like a Tower raven,” growled Fisheye. “This is a serious business, Jake. That boy’s got something that belongsto me. Somethin’ I have a right to. I have a right to him too, if it comes to it.”
“I dunno nothin’ ’bout it,” squeaked Jake. I didn’t dare lift up my head. But I could almost see Fisheye squeezing his arm.
“Don’t expect me to believe that,” Fisheye Bill scoffed. I could imagine his cold glare. Men like Jake didn’t fare well under Fisheye’s gaze. He went on. “Now, my friend, are you gonna tell me where he’s at, or do I have to break off your other thumb?”
“Like I told you before, Bill, I ain’t seen Eel for months,” came Jake’s complaining whine. “I thought the lad was dead.” So Jake hadn’t been the one to rat on me. At least, not yet.
“Besides, ain’t Eel a big lad now? Too old for what you want ’im for?” Jake went on. “That lad’s too growed up to slip through windows like a little snakesman so you can break into houses.”
“You never mind that,” I heard Fisheye Bill say. “That’s my business.”
“Well, Bill, I got business to attend to meself. So leave me to it, won’t you?” Jake said. “Turn your nose up at me if you will, but at least a scavenger’s life is honest.”
I grinned. Jake was holding his own with Fisheye Bill. His voice faded, and I figured he must be wading through the sludgy water toward Tower Bridge. I crouched lower in my hiding place, fighting the urge to poke my head up andlay my eyes on Fisheye Bill Tyler just to prove this wasn’t a nightmare.
“Come on, Jake. What say you and me take a break from this stinking place and head over to a pub?” Fisheye said. “You can rest your legs. I’ll even buy you some breakfast and a beer to go with it.”
There was a pause. “Or maybe a gin, if you’d rather.”
I froze. Jake might not have said anything about me before now. But if Fisheye lured him to his side with the promise of gin, who knew what might happen? Jake could end up telling him how he’d gotten me a nice situation at the Lion Brewery over on Broad Street.
I strained my ears to catch Jake’s answer. I might not be at the Lion anymore, but I didn’t want Fisheye poking around anywhere near Broad Street. I could only hope that if Jake did talk, that yellow-flag warning of the cholera would keep Fisheye Bill away.
“Another time, Bill. Another time,” came Jake’s voice at last. I let my breath out. I was still safe.
When I got back to Broad Street that morning, the first person I saw was Rev. Whitehead. He looked as if he hadn’t slept.
“Are things worse, sir?” I asked.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “I spent most of the night visiting families. Yet there isn’t much I can do.”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and I could see dark circles under them. “It strikes so viciously—so quickly,” he went on. “Mrs. Griggs herself is near death and—”
His words sent a jolt through me. “That can’t be! She was fine yesterday.”
Rev. Whitehead laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Eel. I forgot you didn’t know. She became ill last evening. Bernie too.”
“Bernie! But …” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “But if Mrs. Griggs is sick, who is helping them? Betsy is too small. She can’t—”
He raised a hand. “Calm yourself, lad. Florrie Baker is there, and as capable a nurse as I’ve ever seen.”
“Florrie! But … will she get it by being so close to sick people?”
“I fear everyone may be in danger from the filthy air and ill-ventilated rooms of this
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