The Potato Factory

Chapter Thirteen

Ikey returned to London three days after he had left Marybelle Firkin at the inn with a pork pie stuck in her gob and his precious cylinder safely tucked away elsewhere on her large person. Waiting in the back room of a chop house in Houndsditch until well after dark when a light snow storm, churned with frequent wind flurries, began to fall and which he judged would further conceal his passage, Ikey slipped into the rookery of St Giles and soon thereafter let himself into the seemingly abandoned building which housed the Methodist Academy of Light Fingers.

Creeping up the rickety staircase, he appeared suddenly and to the utmost surprise of half a dozen boys who were playing a game of cribbage by the light of a solitary candle. Huddled beside the hearth directly behind them were as many boys again wrapped in rags and old blankets against the bitter cold.

'Now 'ow many times 'as I told you, keep a sharp eye!' Ikey admonished. 'The lad what's supposed to be watchin' out is asleep on the landin', lushed out and smellin' o' gin!' Ikey sucked at his teeth and wagged a mittened finger at the urchins seated crosslegged around a box. 'Gentlemen, gentlemen! Cribbage in this kind o' light ain't no good for the senses. You'll lose your touch, the light of a candle dulls the mind and makes it too easy to palm a card or deal a crooked 'and. Brightness be what's called for, where everything can be seen, clear as daylight, open and negotiable as a whore's cunny.'

The boys laughed loudly at this last remark but Ikey held up his hand for silence. 'A cardsharp to be warranted any good must make 'is play in the best o' conditions. We'll 'ave no second-rate broadsman spreadin' the flats in darkness in my school o' learnin'! A trade ain't worth 'avin' if you're not the best there is at it.'

His young pupils crowded about him. 'There's a people what's lookin' for ya, Ikey, is ya in lavender then?' a young tooler named Sweetface Mulligan enquired.

'Perhaps I is and perhaps I ain't, it all depends on who is lookin' and whether it be opportunity knockin' or disadvantage breakin' down the door.'

'It's Bow Street! Some say it be City police! All about Petticoat Lane they is! Anyone seen ya, they asks! Rewards is offered! Never seen so much law about, 'as we lads? Wotcha do, Ikey? Murder was it? There's talk o' forgery! Millions o' pounds! There be a poster o' yer gob pasted everywhere! We's proud to know ya, Ikey!' All this and more they chorused crowding around Ikey, the smaller ones hopping up and down and jumping on the backs of the larger boys to get a closer look in the semi-darkened room.

'And Mistress Hannah!' a boy they called Onion, whose birth name was Pickles, shouted. 'She been lookin' for ya an' all!'

Ikey shrugged his shoulders. 'It's true, my dears, the constabulary 'as a sharp eye peeled for me.' He looked around slowly, spread his hands and his face took on a look of regret. 'O' course I apologises for scarperin' without informin' you, gentlemen. A matter of urgent expediency, you understand? No offence intended and I 'opes none is taken. No time to pay me respects or bid you all adieu.'

They nodded, happy at the compliment he'd paid their mutual fraternity. Ikey rolled his eyes and seemed to look at each of them in turn. 'Now we 'asn't seen me, 'as we, lads? I means, no seein' to the degree o' not seein' nothin' at all!'

Ikey's fingers flicked heavenwards as though to expel the memory of having seen him completely from their minds. He stopped and lifted the candle from the box, the hot glass warming his mittened fingers. Holding the lighted jar before him, he inspected each boy's dirty face, watching as they solemnly nodded acquiescence. 'We doesn't want no pigs sniffin' round askin' awkward questions now does we, my dears?'

It was not Ikey's intention to stay long at the Academy of Light Fingers, although he did not indicate this to the urchins around him. While they were well trained in all matters of villainy and each had a healthy disregard for the constabulary, he knew he could ill afford to trust them. They were 'street Arabs' seldom allowed the importance of being noticed and any one of them with three or four noggins of gin to loosen his tongue would not be able to resist the urge to boast of his knowledge of Ikey's return. Ikey needed them now for only one purpose, to find Bob Marley as quickly as possible.

Under normal circumstances there were half a hundred places in the surrounding rookeries where Ikey might indefinitely conceal his presence, though he was not foolish enough to suppose that these would now apply. As a Jew in trouble with the law he was fair prey for all but his own kind. Even though his standing as the Prince of Fences was considerable, they would come snarling in for the kill, the promise of a large reward sufficient to overcome their normal tendency to remain stum. Ikey was aware the criminal code of honour was a fragile thing and would always buckle with the opportunity for a quick profit or a favour returned. He knew this as a certainty, for he was himself no different.

With the promise of a good tightener washed down with a pint of best beer at the nearby chop house, and with the further inducement of a shilling for all and a gold sovereign for the boy who turned out to be the fortunate finder, Ikey sent his young associates off into the winter streets. He directed them to the Haymarket at the popular West End to find and bring Bob Marley back to him.

'When you finds 'im, ask for 'is ear, very quiet mind, say that Ikey Solomon requests the pleasure of 'is company.'

It was not an hour later when Ikey, drowsing at the hearth, was awakened in a great start by a small urchin named Sparrer Fart, a tiny lad of ten with an open angelic face which, together with his size, gave him the appearance of being much younger. He showed all the makings of becoming an expert tooler, with fingers light and sticky as cobwebs and the fearless disposition of the young.

'I brung 'im, Ikey. I found Mr Marley. Can I 'ave the sov what's mine?' Sparrer Fart stuck out his dirty hand and grinned. 'Much obliged, I'm sure!'

'Where?' Ikey cried, shocked at the sudden awakening and alarmed that he hadn't heard the boy ascend the stairs, though the howl of the winter wind and the natural creaking and groaning of the ancient building would have masked Sparrer's light footfall.

'E won't come up them stairs.' Sparrer grinned. 'Too danegis, 'e reckons.'

Ikey, by now fully recovered of his senses, removed a gold sovereign from the interior of his coat and held it out to the youngster, pulling it out of the reach as the urchin snatched at it. Ikey shook his head. 'Tut, tut! First principle o' business, Master Sparrer Fart! Seein' is believin', always inspect the merchandise before you pays fer it, my dear.' Bending to retrieve the candle, he rose from where he was seated on the cribbage box and proceeded carefully down the stairs.

Bob Marley was waiting in the darkness of the tiny downstairs hallway which was now clearly lit by the light of Ikey's candle. He wore a heavy dark coat which fell almost to his ankles with a pair of stout boots protruding from trousers of rough corduroy. A tartan scarf was wrapped about his face so that only his eyes showed between the scarf and the rim of his battered top hat. He removed the scarf at Ikey's approach and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat.

This form of attire was unusual for Marley, who liked to be seen about the town as a proper swell, dressed in the latest fashion. Ikey's keen eye noted this disparity in his dress and concluded that Marley had not been found by Sparrer Fart in the Haymarket, where a man of his reputation would not venture dressed in so poor a manner.

Ikey turned to look sternly at Sparrer Fart. 'We went off to spend our shillin' on a tightener and a noggin o' gin then, did we? We went local and not to the Hay-market did we? We didn't do no lookin' at all!' Ikey glanced at Bob Marley and winked. 'Methinks, we chanced upon Mr Marley 'ere by sheer luck and great good fortune and because we 'as a greedy guts!'

The boy shuffled, looking down at his feet. 'I found 'im di'nt I? I done good!' He moved up to Ikey and began to clutch imploringly at his coat. 'It were a fair find an' all!' he whimpered into the folds of Ikey's greasy coat.

Ikey clucked, wrapping his free arm around the boy's shoulder. 'We all needs a bit o' luck, my dear. Gawd knows yours truly could use a speck o' good fortune right now.' He pushed the young lad gently away and his hand went into his coat and a moment later appeared with half a sovereign held between forefinger and thumb. 'I tell you what I'll do, we'll keep 'arf a sov back on account of 'ow you disobeyed instructions and I'll give you 'arf a sov for deliverin' the goods. Punishment and reward both at the same time, now what could be fairer than that, my dear?'

The small boy looked doubtful. 'It ain't fair, I done what ya asked! Ya said a sov for 'im what found 'im!' He moved close to Ikey plucking at his coat. 'It ain't fair, I done what ya asked, I found 'im.'

This time Ikey pushed him away roughly, but the boy grabbed onto the coat and Ikey smacked him across the ear. 'Disobedience! Discipline! 'Arf a sov and you're lucky to be keepin' it, boy!'

Marley's hand shot out and snatched the coin from Ikey's fingers. '

'Arf a mo, Ikey, one sov was promised the lad, one sov must be given!'

'Lessons! Boys must learn lessons! Obedience, discipline,' Ikey whinged.

Marley laughed. 'Promises! Boys must 'ave promises kept.' He tossed the half sovereign into the air and caught it. This'll pay for the inconvenience o' crossing the lane,' he said, pocketing the coin. 'Ya owe the brat a sov, so pay up, Ikey Solomon!'

Ikey's eyes widened in surprise. 'You was in the Hare and Hounds?' he exclaimed, naming the flash-house across the lane.

Marley nodded. 'Ya was due back 'bout now, ya couldn't 'ave gone to too many places what wouldn't 'ave shopped ya, this were one,' he explained simply, giving Ikey a slow smile. 'How may I be o' service to ya?'

Ikey turned to Sparrer Fart and handed him a sovereign. '

'Ang about and you might learn something, me boy! See what we just seen demonstrated?' He turned and gave Bob Marley an oily smile, returned his gaze to the small boy and stooping low he pushed the candle close to his dirty little face. 'See? Discipline!' He tapped the side of his forehead with his forefinger. 'Use o' the noggin, thinkin'! That's trainin', my dear, that's discipline, that be what makes a great tooler into a swell mobsman, an aristocrat o' the art o' pickin' pockets!' Ikey straightened up, satisfied that he'd recovered his dignity by making his original point and at the same time had sufficiently softened Bob Marley with his flattery. Patting Sparrer Fart on the head, he said, 'You 'as just 'ad the benefit o' the wisdom o' Solomon, my dear!'

Sparrer Fart looked up and pointed to Bob Marley and then to Ikey. 'Oh yeah, 'ow come Mr Marley's got 'arf a sov what's yours and I've got a sov? Be that the wisdom o' Solomon?'

The boy ducked as Ikey swatted at his head with his free hand.

Marley laughed, delighted at the boy's quick mind. 'You've not lost yer touch, Ikey, yer still the best o' the kidsmen, there ain't no one knows better 'ow to pick the fly ones!' He too patted the top of Sparrer Fart's greasy cap. 'Stay away from the gin, you've got all the makin's, son.'

Sparrer hadn't moved. 'What about t'other lads, Ikey? You promised them a shillin' fer lookin' and a good tightener wif a pint o' best beer to follow.'

Marley looked suspiciously over at Ikey. 'That true?'

Ikey gave him a sheepish grin and a reluctant hand went into the interior of his coat and shortly returned with two sovereigns which he handed to Sparrer. 'Mind you give this to Sweetface Mulligan to share out. He's the kidsman when I'm away. Now scarper! Bugger orf!' He turned to Marley. 'Shall we go upstairs, there's a fire in the 'earth.' Then remembering Marley's reluctance he added, 'It ain't dangerous, only a tad rickety but the stairs be solid enough.'

'What, up them?' Marley said in alarm and pointed above to the dark shape of the stairs where Sparrer Fart had disappeared as though swallowed into a deep black hole. 'Not bleedin' likely! We'll talk down 'ere if ya don't mind.'

Ikey clasped his hands together in front of his chest. 'I needs a lair, a place where somebody what's lookin'

'ard and knows what they's lookin' for, can never 'ope to discover who it is they wants to find.'

'Hmm, a good 'iding place o' that nature, cost ya 'eaps,' Marley said speculatively. 'Big reward out, Ikey, 'arf London Town's lookin' for…' grinning he quoted The Times, 'the Jew what's financially undermined England!' Marley shook his head in a melodramatic way. '

'Fraid ya ain't got no friends no more. City police is spreadin' five pounds notes about just for keepin' a sharp eye out. There's a fortune on yer 'ead.' Marley paused and gave Ikey an evil grin. 'Matter o' fact, I could be interested meself!'

Ikey reeled back in horror, his eyes large with fright. 'Don't talk like that, Bob Marley! I taught you everythin' you knows. Was I not your kidsman?' Ikey smiled, his voice somewhat calmer as he remembered. 'You was a good snakesman though, that I'll freely admit. In and out o' the smallest openin's, a natural eye for good stuff too!' Ikey spread his arms and smiled disarmingly. 'Look at you, my dear! Not a copper's dirty great 'and on your shoulder in all these years. Never stood in front o' the bench, never seen the judge's dreaded gavel come down pronouncing a sentence, nor 'as you 'ad the misfortune to look out from the inside o' the bars o' a Newgate cell.'

Ikey paused to emphasise his point, jabbing his forefinger at Bob Marley. 'That don't come natural, my dear! That's trainin', expert trainin', what you got young from a certain someone what is present and is beseechin' you to offer an 'elping hand in 'is hour o' most urgent need!'

Ikey cleared his throat and his tone became unctuous. 'I'm a bit short at the moment, unforeseen expenses and the like, but you knows me credit to be good. Me lovin' wife Hannah will pay you when she comes to see me.'

Marley shook his head. 'Don't know 'bout lovin' wife, Ikey. Yer missus weren't none too pleased findin' out 'bout Mary and yer high-class brothel in Bell Alley an' all!'

'Oh shit, she knows about Mary? 'Ow'd she know about Bell Alley then?'

Marley laughed. 'S'pect she read it in The Times. The 'ole of London's talkin'

'bout you, Ikey. What ya done an' all, inta-nash-nil forgery ring, plots to send the 'ole country broke wif fake English longtails floodin' the European market. Britain's credit in question by the Frenchy parleyment! Austry-'Ungarian empire financially embarrassed and undermined! Yer a right notorious bastard, you is. If ya wasn't in so much shit you'd be the bloomin' toast o' the London criminal class. You is the biggest thing what's 'appened since Queen Caroline's trial!'

Ikey ignored Marley's exaggerated banter. 'Well, you may be sure Mary will pay you, then,' Ikey whined.

'Mary? Mary's in Newgate! She's been in front o' the beak and is awaitin' sentencin' at the Old Bailey. She's Botany Bay bound for sure.' Marley sniffed and looked ominously at Ikey. 'City arrested 'er three days after ya scarpered, charged 'er wif runnin' a bawdy 'ouse, but that were only the excuse.'

'Oh Jesus!' Ikey cried. 'Mary get the boat for runnin' a bawdy house? It ain't possible, runnin' a respectable brothel ain't no crime what merits transportation!'

'That's what folks is sayin' in the Lane. There's talk she'll get the full fourteen years.' Then Marley added darkly, 'On account of you, ya bastard. City ain't convinced she don't know nuffink 'bout that printin' press and what you've been up to wif the deaf and dumb Frenchy.'

Ikey looked up astonished. 'She kept stum? She didn't bleat?' If Mary had turned King's evidence and Ikey were caught there wasn't a judge in England who wouldn't find her information damning.

'She didn't say nuffink to nobody! That's a bloody good nemmo that is.' Marley jabbed a finger into Ikey's scrawny chest. 'Better'n what the likes o' you deserves, Ikey Solomon.'

Marley paused and shook his head. '

'Fraid I can't give ya no credit, Ikey. I can't take no chances.' He shrugged. 'So that's it, it's all a matter o' business, knows what I mean? Pay up and I 'elps you to escape, don't and I marches ya straight to the City constabulary and collects me considerable reward for the heroic hap-prehension of England's number one notorious villain.'

Ikey examined the tops of his mittened hands, shook his head slowly, then looked up at Bob Marley accusingly. 'You got a bet each way, is that it!' In a broken whisper he added, 'Shame on you, Bob Marley!'

Bob Marley shrugged.'

'Fraid so, me old matey. Business is business!' He paused, grinning. 'Now who was it taught me that?'

'Ow much?'

'Twenty sovs down.'

'Twenty sovs!' Ikey wailed. 'That be pure daylight robbery!'

Marley, not bothering to reply, shrugged and held out his hand.

'Fifteen? Fifteen sovs!'

Marley shook his head slowly. 'I'd like to, Ikey, but this ain't no ordinary deadlurk what's needed. I got expenses. Twenty sovs now and ten fer every week what I keeps ya safe in 'iding.'

Ikey made one final attempt. 'Twenty and five!'

'Twenty and ten, take it or leave it. I 'asn't got all night.'

Ikey sighed and, turning his back to Bob Marley, he foraged deep within his great coat and fished into a bag of coins which he knew contained two hundred and seventeen gold sovereigns, the last of the money Silas Browne and Maggie the Colour had paid him in cash for the Bank of England watermarked paper.

Getting back from Birmingham had proved an expensive business. Twice he'd had to pay heavy bribes when he'd been recognised from his picture on posters which seemed to be sprouting like crocuses in April on the walls of every village or town through which he passed on his circuitous route to London.

Ikey slowly counted the twenty sovereigns into the slasher's hand. Marley counted the coins for himself, biting every second one as a test. Satisfied, he placed them in the pit pocket of his vest, then held his palm out to Ikey, wiggling the ends of his fingers.

'What?' Ikey asked, his eyes large and innocent.

Marley wiggled his fingers again. 'The ten sovs what's the first week's rent in advance,' he said quietly.

Ikey seemed at the point of tears as he counted ten more coins into Marley's outstretched maw.

'Cheers, Ikey!' Marley said, acknowledging the payment, then added, 'I got a nice little place, a deadlurk on Jacob's Island what is perfect for the purpose o' bein' in lavender. Lots o' bolt holes. Mind, 'iding a man o' yer extreme notoriety what everyone's lookin' for ain't easy and is very dangerous to me own safety.'

Bob Marley, now all business, placed his hands on his hips and looked quizzically at Ikey. 'You'll not be goin' out wif me dressed like that. Ain't a magistrates' runner or nark in London wouldn't recognise ya in an instant in that schemata. Buggered if I know 'ow ya got this far. Ya stick out like a bloomin' whore at a christening, ya does!'

Ikey opened his arms wide, palms outwards, and looked down at his chest in surprise. He had always assumed himself totally disguised in his long coat with his wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead. 'I'm as invisible as the very night itself, my dear,' he said, clearly bemused at Bob Marley's uncharitable remark.

'Quite right! Invisible as the bleedin'

'arvest moon on Chatham Common.' Bob Marley pointed at Ikey's coat. 'Take your'n orf and put mine on.' Then removing his battered top hat he retrieved a cloth cap from within it and placed this upon his own head. Removing Ikey's hat, he dropped it gingerly to the floor, replacing it with the top hat which he set firmly on to Ikey's head, giving its crown a solid thump. The brim immediately dropped over Ikey's eyes and kept sliding until it stopped, trapped halfway down Ikey's nose.

Ikey gave a small squeak of alarm. 'Not me coat, I can't take leave o' me coat, not now, not never!' he pleaded.

'Christ, Ikey. I'll wear it! Ya won't lose it!' Marley said impatiently. 'Ya can 'ave it again when we gets to the isle.'

Ikey now pushed the top hat furiously off his head so that it tumbled backwards bouncing on the floor and rolling. 'Never, not ever, no, no no, not me coat!' he moaned.

Marley watched in amazement as Ikey clasped his arms about his chest hugging his coat, whimpering and rocking as though his life depended on it remaining on his back.

Which, of course, in Ikey's eyes was most certainly the case. Without his coat Ikey considered himself skinned and in no way different to an animal being led to the slaughteryard. Once skinned of his coat he believed he'd soon enough be hooked and hanging like some freshly peeled beast.

Marley appeared to be thinking, his hand cupped to his chin, 'I tell ya what… ' He was about to say something, then changed his mind, paused and looked at Ikey. 'But it will cost ya another two sov.'

'What?' Ikey asked tremulously, backing away. 'You'll not have me coat, Bob Marley!'

'It be cold enough outside to freeze ya balls orf, but ya can wear me coat over your'n.' Bob Marley gave Ikey a fierce look. 'Mind, if I catches me death of this act o' extreme generosity, I'll cut yer bleedin' throat, Ikey Solomon!' He began once more to remove his coat, though first he removed the woollen scarf from its pocket and placed it about his neck.

For once, at the mention of money, there was no hesitation from Ikey. Almost before Bob Marley had ceased speaking, and long before he'd removed his coat, Ikey held out the two extra gold coins. 'Not me coat,' he whimpered. 'Not never me coat!'

Marley's coat proved sufficiently voluminous to accommodate Ikey within his own, but when it was fitted to his tiny body it dragged nearly ten inches on the ground. Furthermore, the sleeves extended six inches beyond Ikey's mittened fingers. Though this was of little consequence, the hemline of the coat dragging on the floor made it almost impossible for Ikey to walk at anything but a snail's pace.

Bob Marley looked puzzled, then suddenly he grabbed the back of the collar of the outer coat and lifted the entire garment so that the collar dropped over the top of Ikey's head in the manner of a monk's cowl. With his whiskers mostly concealed behind the lapels of the borrowed coat, Ikey now looked like an old crone.

Marley then produced a large silk handkerchief and, twirling it from corner to corner, tied it about Ikey's neck so that the hoisted top of the coat would not slip from his charge's head. This gave Ikey an even greater likeness to the shape of an old woman who, if casually observed in the darkness of the street, might be thought to be wearing a shawl about her head. Furthermore, with the lifting of the coat over Ikey's head, the sleeves now almost fitted, the tips of Ikey's mittened fingers protruding from the ends. It was an altogether admirable arrangement and Bob Marley stood back and felt well pleased with himself.

'Perfect! Even if I says so meself. If we're stopped by a crusher, you is me dear old muvver what's come up from the country. 'Ere, wrap this around yer gob so they won't see no whiskers if the law wants to take a closer gander at ya.' Marley handed Ikey the woollen scarf which hung from his neck.

Ikey reached out for the scarf. But with two coats on his back he could barely move his arms, much less wrap the scarf about his already tightly cowled head. Bob Marley grabbed the scarf and wound it around the bottom half of Ikey's face so that all that showed were the bright points of Ikey's bloodshot eyes.

'Ullo, old darlin',' Marley said and blew a kiss in Ikey's direction. His expression became suddenly impatient. 'C'mon, then, let's scarper. I'm ready so chilled me arse'ole thinks it's suckin' on a lemon!'

'What about me 'at? You've left me 'at!' Ikey cried in a muffled voice, pointing at his hat discarded on the floor.

Marley walked over to the banister and retrieved the candle. 'Fuck yer 'at, Ikey!' he said, kicking the hat into a dark corner. 'Fer Gawd's sake let's be rid o' this place before the law adds two and two and comes up wif a very popular arrest!' He rolled the jar containing the smoking candle back into the hallway and closed the door behind them.

Outside the wind howled and a sudden flurry of snow beat down on them, so that neither man heard the door open and then close again, or noticed the small shape of Sparrer Fart as he too left the Academy of Light Fingers. Under his arm, its broad brim almost touching the ground, the urchin carried Ikey's hat. He watched carefully as the two men turned towards Rosemary Lane and then he began to follow them into the bitter London night.

Hannah was woken to the loud knocking at the door of her Whitechapel home. The knocking seemed to have been going on for some time for she remembered it in her sleeping as she struggled to emerge from her laudanum-induced stupor. She'd returned home from the last of her brothels in the dock area just hours before dawn and had expected to sleep until midday.

She was too bleary-eyed to think why the Irish maid-of-all-work who slept with the two younger children hadn't responded to the knock. Wrapping herself in a blanket and thinking only that the slut had probably been at the gin again, having first fed it to the children to quieten them for the night, Hannah made her way down the stairs. She opened the front door to see Sparrer Fart standing on the snow-covered bottom step clutching what appeared to be a large hat.

At first the small urchin holding the hat made no sense. The street about her was transformed from its usual greyness and was white and clean from a fresh snowfall. It was still too early for people to be making their way to the Whitechapel markets around the corner, so that the street had the quality of a dream, enhanced further by the residual effects of laudanum. Hannah's face screwed up in vexation at the sight of the small boy who had the temerity to hammer at her door. She was about to send him packing with an oath when he stammered, 'Itttt's 'bbbout Ikkkey Ssssolmon, mmmissus!' Then slowly, her confused mind focused on the shape of Ikey's hat clutched under the urchin's arm.

Hannah rubbed her eyes, now suddenly fully awake, though the vestiges of the drug caused her words to slur when she spoke. 'Ikey? Ya got news?'

'Iiiit's urrrrgent, mmmmissus!' the small boy managed to say through half-frozen lips, his breath smoking in the freezing air.

'Come in, boy!' Hannah opened the door wider to let Sparrer Fart pass into the hallway. 'Keep walkin' to the kitchen in the back, I'll not 'ave such as you in me parlour.' Her head was surprisingly clear as she directed the urchin to the rear of the house.

'We ggggot 'immmmm missus!' Sparrer said, turning to her as they reached the kitchen.

'Got 'im, who's got 'im? Who's we?'

But the boy now seemed in a state too frozen to communicate further. He silently held up the hat for Hannah to see. He was shivering violently, his teeth chattering so furiously that it was plainly impossible for him to talk. Ikey's hat jerked and shook as though it might jump of its own accord from his tiny fist.

Hannah took a key from around her neck and opened a cupboard from which she took a quart bottle of brandy. She unhooked two small pewter mugs from the dresser, poured a small splash into one and handed it to Sparrer Fart. '

'Ere, get that down yer gob, do ya the world.'

Sparrer dropped Ikey's hat and grabbed the mug with both hands, gulping greedily at the raw liquor. He began to choke and cough as the fiery liquid hit his stomach and chest, though he showed that he was well enough accustomed to such a reaction. Soon enough he took a second, more cautious, sip from the mug.

Hannah, clutching the blanket around her with one hand, poured a dash of brandy into the second mug and seated herself at the table.

'Well, what 'as ya to say for y'self, boy?' she demanded, pointing to Ikey's hat. 'No way Ikey would o' parted with 'is 'at.' She looked suspiciously at Sparrer, who was still shaking and clapping at himself. 'Ya ain't done Ikey no 'arm now, 'ave ya?' she demanded.

Sparrer shook his head and lifted the mug to his still chattering teeth for another sip.

Hannah sighed and reluctantly took the blanket from around her and handed it to the urchin who grabbed it gratefully, wrapping his diminutive body into its warmth. Hannah wore a thick red woollen nightdress which reached down to her ankles which, in turn, were encased in bedsocks and a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Warmed by a second sip of the brandy, she rose and went to the kindling box and laid a fire in the hearth, adding a few lumps of coal to the twigs before lighting it.

'Can I 'ave some more, missus?' Sparrer held out the pewter mug.

The tiny boy had consumed a good half inch of brandy which, apart from having restored his voice and stopped his shivering, appeared to have had no measurable effect on him. 'Got yer tongue back 'as ya, boy? Sorry, no more, not 'til after you've said what ya come for. What's yer name?'

'Sparrer, missus, Sparrer Fart, but they jus' calls me Sparrer.' He put the mug down on the table, licking the brandy taste from his lips. 'I'm 'ungry, missus, I ain't et since yesterday mornin'.'

Hannah sighed. She was growing impatient. 'What ya think this is, a bleedin' chop 'ouse? I ain't givin' you nuffink to eat until ya tells me what ya come for!' She pointed to the hat on the table. 'Ya can start with that!'

'It be Ikey's. Ikey Solomon! Honest, missus, I wouldn't tell you a lie!'

'I know that, but where'd you get it, boy?'

Sparrer, sensing Hannah's anxiety for an answer, looked suddenly forlorn. 'I'm 'ungry, missus, real 'ungry I is.'

Hannah realised she'd get no more from the urchin until she'd fed him, so she fetched a plate of cold salt beef from the cupboard and cut two large hunks from a loaf of yesterday's bread. Then she filled a bowl with curds and placed the offering in front of the small boy, who immediately began to devour the food.

In between mouthfuls Hannah got the story from Sparrer. Hannah listened as he told her how, a day or two back, he'd attempted to lift a kerchief from Bob Marley's pocket in the Hare and Hounds. How Marley had caught him at it and after boxing his ears for being clumsy had found that Sparrer was one of Ikey's brats.

'Maybe I could use ya, 'e says. 'Ow good are ya as a tooler, boy? I just caught ya, that ain't a good sign. I'll give ya a test, fail and ya gets yer arse kicked!' Sparrer cleverly mimicked Bob Marley's voice.

Bob Marley had watched as Sparrer demonstrated his skill on several of the patrons of the house, returning with a cheap watch, two snot rags and no value except as a demonstration of Sparrer's light fingers and a fob chain, also of little value, as it was made of brass. Marley had been sufficiently impressed to recruit Sparrer for what the urchin, imitating Bob Marley again, described as, 'A little job what may or may not 'appen, but is the very opposite to what you 'as been trained to do.' He had not said anything more except to instruct Sparrer to check into the Hare and Hounds late every afternoon to see if Marley had left a message for him.

'Then Ikey comes back. One moment 'e's not nowhere and the next there 'e is standing in the Academy in front o' all the lads. Then 'e says 'e wants us to find Bob Marley.' Sparrer stopped and thought for a moment. 'No 'e don't, first 'e starts puckering 'bout cribbage, 'ow we mustn't 'andle flats in the dark. Then 'e asks us to find this cove Bob Marley. Ikey says to us there's a sov for 'im what finds this cove, and a shilling and a tightener for all what goes lookin'. 'Cept he says Bob Marley will be in the Haymarket when I knows perfectly well that's where 'e ain't!' Sparrer, feeling very pleased with himself, looked up at Hannah. 'So they all scarpers, pushin' and shovin' to get down the stairway first so it nearly come down!'

'Yes, yes, go on,' Hannah said impatiently.

'So I goes back to where I seen me friend, Mr Marley, a couple o' hours before. To me surprise, 'e were still there an' all! I taps 'im on the back. Mr Marley, I says, Ikey Solomon asks for the pleasure of yer company.'

Sparrer laughed. '" 'Ow'd you know I was lookin' for him?" Mr Marley says.' Sparrer looked pleased with himself. 'I didn't know 'e was lookin' for Ikey, but I ain't gonna tell 'im that, am I? I stays stum, don't I?' Sparrer paused and Hannah nodded her approval. ' "Ikey, what's picture is on all the posters, ya means 'im?" Mr Marley asks again. I nods, the very same person, 'e's our kidsman. "Blimey!" 'e says. "Miracles will never cease!"'

Sparrer could see Hannah was intrigued. 'Mind if I 'as another drop o' brandy, missus?'

'No more mecks, ya ain't no use to me drunk!' Hannah said, her lips tight.

Sparrer picked up the mug and looked into it disappointed, but then continued to talk. ' "Want to make 'arf a sov, Sparrer?" Mister Marley asks me. "Nacherly," I says. "Righto, Mister Sparrer Fart, let's see 'ow good a tooler ya is!" An'

'e 'olds up these two five pound notes.'

'Two?' Hannah interjected. 'Two five pound notes?'

'Yeah, that's right, then 'e give me instructions like, he says, "When we goes back and meets wif Ikey Solomon I wants you to plant these on 'im, Sparrer." Now I finks to meself, queer, even queerer than queer, all me life I 'as been practising to lift stuff, now this cove wants me to plant perfectly good soft on Ikey Solomon, the same person what's done all me trainin' in toolin'. It don't make no sense if ya asks me.'

Hannah was breathing fast. 'Well? Did ya do it?'

Sparrer, grown more loquacious with the brandy and enjoying his own story, continued without replying. ' "I'll try, Mr Marley, sir," I says. 'E grabs me by me coat. "No! Just don't fail! If it don't look like ya can do it, don't take no chances, ya hear me boy?"' Sparrer's imitation of Bob Marley was near perfect. '

'E 'ands me 'arf a sov. "Money in advance, win or lose, do it right or not at all! Ya understand?"' Sparrer straightened up in his chair and unconsciously stuck out his chest. 'Blimey, missus, 'e's paid me before I done the job. Win or lose I wins! "I'll do me best," I says. "Seein'

'ow you trusts me an' all." '

Hannah grabbed the mug out of Sparrer's hand and banged it down onto the table. 'For Gawd sakes stop muckin' about, did ya or didn't ya?'

Sparrer jumped and pulled his head back instinctively, expecting to be hit. 'What did I do?' he exclaimed in alarm.

Hannah felt suddenly foolish but, unable to explain her agitation, attacked further. 'Yer lyin'!' she shouted, trying to recover her composure. 'Ain't nobody could plant nuffink on Ikey Solomon. Leastways, no tooler what's just a brat!'

Sparrer rose to the bait. 'I did so! It were easy, missus!'

Hannah laughed. 'Easy was it? You think Ikey is some moocher what's just come in town from Shropshire?'

Sparrer explained how Ikey had tried to welsh on the sovereign he'd promised, offering him half a sovereign instead. Hannah nodded. This part was familiar enough.

'So I starts to blub, see. "It ain't fair!" I says and goes up and 'angs onto Ikey's coat, cos I seen this tear in the front what 'asn't been mended yet, so I keeps blubbin' and pluckin' on 'is coat which he thinks is me beggin' for the other 'arf sov what he owes me. So I tucks the soft what Mr Marley give me inside the tear and right-away it falls down into the lining.' Sparrer grinned. 'It were easy as pie!'

'So, tell me,' Hannah asked, 'Bob Marley gets ya to plant the soft on Ikey's person, real money what's valuable. Why would 'e do that? It don't make no sense now do it?'

Sparrer scratched his head. 'Buggered if I knows, missus.' He thought for a moment. 'Maybe it were a trick an' all. A joke or summink.'

Hannah said nothing until the boy grew uncomfortable under her steady gaze. Sparrer looked up and shrugged. 'I don't know why 'e done it, missus,' he said, ashamed that he could come up with no adequate explanation.

Hannah began, her voice soft at first, then building in volume, 'Let me tell ya summink for nuffink, Mr Sparrer Fart!' She pointed at the hat on the table. 'I think ya found Ikey's 'at, I dunno 'ow and I dunno where.' She reached over and picked up the hat. 'Look! It's got dust on it, 'ere look, on the brim, where it's been lyin' somewhere what's dusty! Ya found Ikey's 'at and ya thinks, " 'Ullo, 'ullo, this be worth summink", so ya comes round 'ere and makes up some cock 'n' bull story about fivers what ya planted on me 'usband's person, stories what is ridiculous and stupid even for a brat the likes of you!' Hannah's voice rose even higher. 'I don't think you've seen Ikey Solomon. I think you've only seen 'is 'at!'

'It ain't true! It ain't true what ya says, missus! I knows where Ikey is, where 'e be 'iding. I can show ya!' Sparrer protested.

'I suppose Bob Marley showed ya?' Hannah sneered.

'No! I followed them two. When they left the Academy last night. I followed them to the Isle! It were snowing, they didn't see me.'

'The Isle?'

'Jacob's Isle, Ikey's got a deadlurk there.'

'Ha! Jacob's Island! Fat chance! That be docks and 'ouses what's mostly condemned!'

'C'mon, then, I'll show ya, missus!' Sparrer challenged, caught up in the argument and forgetting that his purpose for coming was to try for a couple of sovs in exchange for Ikey's whereabouts.

Hannah's expression changed suddenly and she smiled disarmingly then gave Sparrer a supplicating look. 'Please, Sparrer, don't fool with me poor broken 'eart. I loves me 'usband. I know 'e ain't much, but I loves 'im. If ya knows where Ikey is, I must go to 'im, 'e needs me.' She leaned forward and took Sparrer's dirty little hand in both her own. 'Look at me, a poor woman what's 'usband is in mortal danger. Please Sparrer, if ya 'as any loyalty to Ikey what's taught ya all ya knows, you'll let 'is poor, miserable wife visit 'im.'

Hannah's change of mood quite took Sparrer by surprise. The fact that she appeared suddenly to believe him, combined with the feel of his hand cradled in the warmth of her own, caused his eyes to fill with tears of relief.

'I can show ya, missus, the exact place,' he said.

Hannah went to the cupboard and returned with the plate of salt beef and what remained of the bread. She placed a knife beside Sparrer. '

'Elp y'self, love, I won't be long.' She took the bottle of brandy and locked it in the cupboard, replacing the key around her neck and tucking it into the bodice of her nightdress. Then she took Ikey's hat. 'I'll be back in two shakes of a duck's tail. Be me guest, make y'self completely at 'ome.'

By the time Hannah had dressed for the street and returned to the kitchen, Sparrer was asleep, his arms on the table with his head cradled within them. It took a considerable amount of prodding and shaking to wake him. Hannah was anxious to be away before the early morning market crowd began to fill the streets. At last she got the urchin to his feet and escorted him to the front door.

'Ya go first, Sparrer, to the Pig 'n Spit and wait for me outside. I'll be along shortly in a hackney. We'll ride most o' the way, then, when we gets near the Isle, we'll walk.' Hannah gripped Sparrer's shoulder at the door. 'Be sure ya isn't followed, pigs in any number could be watchin' the 'ouse.'

Sparrer, after running most of the way to keep warm, had not long been waiting at the Pig 'n Spit when Hannah called to him from the interior of the hackney. The driver slowed down and Sparrer jumped into the small cabin and sat beside Hannah.

'When we gets close, but not too close, give me a nudge and we'll get out and walk. 'Ere, sit up close to me so I feels ya,' Hannah whispered. Sparrer moved up against Hannah's heavy woollen coat. Warmth and comfort seemed to emanate from her plump person. It stirred long forgotten memories in the child so that the tears began to run down his dirty cheeks and he became momentarily lost in the past. Consequently they found themselves closer to Ikey's deadlurk than was perhaps prudent before Sparrer finally nudged Hannah.

They walked onto the Isle and Sparrer led Hannah by a circuitous route to an area where the houses seemed deserted and were so closely packed that they appeared to be leaning on each other for support. They walked down an alley, wide enough to take a wagon, which was strewn with debris and foul with mud and evil-smelling puddles some of which appeared to carry a thin veneer of ice. Hannah had cause to lift her skirt and, despite the care she took, her boots sank into the stinking ooze, often almost to their tops. Sparrer, who walked ahead, came to the end of the alley and put his hand up to signal Hannah to stop. Then he called her forward with a flick of his fingers, indicating that she should move slowly and without making a sound. Hannah came towards him more carefully than ever, though the squelch and sucking of the mud, and crunching of thin ice under her feet seemed to be announcing her every step.

When she reached the far end of the alley Hannah discovered that it led to a small loading yard in the form of a quadrangle. It appeared to have once been paved with flagstones, though most of these had been removed and were piled high into one corner and partly covered with snow. The building which occupied three sides of the quadrangle had once been a fairly large warehouse backing on to the river. The warehouse seemed to have been deserted for a long time and its few windows and the main doors, big enough to take a horse and cart, were boarded up. The urchin put his finger to his lips and pointed to the pile of snow-covered flagstones.

'Entrance be there, missus,' Sparrer whispered. 'Be'ind them stones.'

Hannah's heart pounded furiously. She stood a few feet back from the entrance and deep within the shadows so that she could not possibly be seen, but she nevertheless imagined she could feel Ikey's eyes boring into her from a gap between two planks which boarded up the hoist door, set high up into the roof of the three-storey stone building. Hannah could sense Ikey crouching on his knees, wild strands of greasy hair flying from the sides of his head, his shiny bald pate vulnerable for want of the security afforded by his broad-brimmed hat. She could almost feel his eyes glued to the gap between the boards, willing her to come to him, though too fearful to call out lest her presence be some sort of trap.

She waited until she felt her breathing grow calmer then placed her hand on Sparrer's shoulder and gave it a tiny squeeze. Sparrer turned his head and looked up at her.

'Come!' she whispered and, turning about, began to retreat down the muddy alley. She walked ahead of Sparrer until they were well clear of the buildings. Not a soul had appeared in all the while they had been in the vicinity of the derelict row of houses. The part of the island they were on seemed to be totally desolate and their footsteps showed clearly in the snow, but it had begun to snow lightly again and they would soon be concealed. A low pewter-coloured sky added to the sense of isolation and misery of the broken-down surroundings. Hannah let out a discernible sigh of relief once she considered they had retreated sufficiently far from the deserted houses to communicate.

'Ya sure that be it, Sparrer? Gawd's truth, that old ware'ouse be Ikey's deadlurk?'

Sparrer looked hurt. 'Yes, missus, 'course I is. I knows these parts like the back o' me 'and. Before I growed up, Jacob's be where I come from.'

Hannah walked with Sparrer to the small causeway connecting Jacob's Island to the city side of the Thames. Here she opened her purse and took out two single pound notes and held them up in front of Sparrer.

'Ya never seen me, ever, ya understand? If ya tells a single livin' soul about Ikey's deadlurk I'll tell Bob Marley ya followed 'im and 'e'll come after ya with 'is razor and cut yer bleedin' throat from ear to ear!' Hannah ran a mittened hand across her throat for emphasis. 'You 'as never seen me, we's never met, ya understand, Sparrer?' Sparrer nodded, his eyes fixed on the money she held in her hand. 'Good!' She handed him the one pound notes. '

'Ere, for yer trouble. Now disappear, scarper, I never seen ya, whoever you are.'

Sparrer placed one of the pound notes between his lips which were beginning to tremble from the cold again, then using both hands, he held either end of the second note and brought his fists together then snapped them suddenly apart pulling the banknote taut to test its strength. Satisfied as to the quality of the bank paper he held the note up to the sky to examine the Bank of England watermark. He seemed pleased with what he saw, but opened his mouth, the remaining note sticking to his bottom lip as he wet his fingers with spittle and rubbed the watermark on the note with his wet fingers to see if it would disappear. Sparrer then tried to remove the remaining note from his bottom lip, but it had frosted to the skin and he pulled gingerly until it finally came away, leaving a bright smear of blood where the paper had removed the skin. He folded both notes together and pushed them somewhere deep within the interior of his tattered coat.

Then, his breath making smoke in the cold air, Sparrer scanned the desolate surroundings at some length, then brought his gaze back to Hannah's face, his eyes showing no recognition.

'I must 'o been dreamin',' he declared in an exaggerated voice, '

'cause I could o' sweared there was a woman standing right 'ere in front o' me not a moment ago!' He turned and began walking away from Hannah, not once looking back.

Hannah crossed the causeway and stopped at a hoarding where a man was busy pasting up a poster for Madame Tussaud's Travelling Waxworks. She purchased a handful of torn poster paper for a halfpenny and, seated on a low stone wall, she commenced to clean her muddy boots. Soon thereafter she hailed a hackney. 'Take me to Threadneedle Street, Bank o' England,' she instructed the driver.