December 4, 1828
… Bill pulled his arm through mine and we headed back into the labyrinth of alleys. I was extremely displeased at the prospect of being taken – where? I had no clue. But, this couldn't be a good thing. What I had meant was MY home. Not HIS home! Or someone else's home – wherever I was being dragged. Then to discomfort me even more, Bill began to sing. (My ears still have not recovered from that noise – not even Bach can save me now!)
"Got meself a glor'yous giiiirrrlllll…," started Bill. Was he talking about me?!! I hope no one else thought so!
"With flow'rs in her haaaiiiiirrr…" he went on in a low tone. Oh, please make him stop!
"No need to sing, Bill,' I said, to no avail.
"She sells beer in a bar, my deeeeaaaarrrrr!"
Bill paused and let go of my arm (finally!). He leaned against a doorway and grinned at me, "Burn EVERYTHING!" He began to laugh once again.
The door behind him creaked open at this point. Bill turned around clumsily and said something strange, "Plumy an' slam." I told you he was drunk.
We were then led inside and down a flight of stairs. We were lead by a boy, about the age of thirteen who held in his hand a candle. He held his hand aloft feeling for something ahead. He stopped suddenly and knocked on a door in front of him. We followed him through it.
Once inside, the boy blew out the candle and set it on a table that was situated in the middle of the room. I realized, as my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the fire, that we were in a kitchen with several other doors leading off to who-knows-what.
"Where's Fagin?" Bill suddenly addressed the boy.
"I'll get him."
"That's the Artful Dodger," Bill said to me.
"Oh," was all I could get out at this point.
Then the Dodger came back into the room followed by the old gentleman whom I had met previously in The Three Cripples.
Fagin looked as if he had been in bed, but he smiled nevertheless, "How did it go, Bill, my dear?"
"With a bang," I intervened, straight-faced, and Bill began to laugh.
"Him," he pointed at me, "Yer know what he is?"
Fagin looked at me as though questioning what I was – as if I was a curiosity in a pawnshop.
"Him," continued Bill, "He's a GENIUS! He went and set the house a' burnin'! DOWN TO THE GROUND. AND I SAYS, 'WELL NOW THEY WON'T KNOW WE'VE BEEN HERE!"
"Hush, hush, hush…,"Fagin placed a hand on Bill's shoulder and gave a slight nod at the Dodger. The Dodger answered by leading Bill back out into the passage. Now I was alone with the old gentleman.
"You burnt down a house, my dear?"
"I might have…," I felt ashamed and I suppose that I showed it.
"How?"
"I left the lantern on the ground when I climbed through a window. I forgot about it and we left before I could see the full damage."
"Brilliance, my dear, is often the effect of accident. Just like necessity is the mother of invention."
I sat down across from him and rubbed my eyes, "I'm too tired to do anything…"
"Oh yes, my dear, I see that… I'll show you your room."
"What?" I looked up and watched Fagin move towards one of the doors.
"Your room, my dear Tom,… the one I promised you when I offered the job."
"Of course, where was my head?!" I answered and got up.
"Asleep, I'd say," mused Fagin, "Here you are, my dear, a bed and here's a washbasin for you. Breakfast is at seven." And with that, he shut the door.
I washed my face and crawled under the covers. I wanted to sleep, but my brain was busy and would not allow it. I kept thinking and wondering what I was going to do tomorrow. I had to be at work at nine. Would I be allowed out? I would have to sneak to work. But, I don't have proper clothing! Can I get to my house and change clothes? Do I still have my house key? I fumbled in my pockets and found that it was still there. Good.
Then a new thought emerged: Should I call the police?
"Not yet," I answered and felt myself drift off…
Hello this is Charlene Bates, commenting for the writer –Elaine Dawkins - of this WONDERFUL story (she is very busy at the present – but not as busy as I am!). Anyway, she would like to say, "Please Review! Thanks!"