December 8, 1828

. . . The next day (Monday) I left early in order to do my "pick-pocketing." I spent the time shopping on the other side of London. I was tired of my clothing and felt that I had gained enough money to reward myself with some better garb.

I took a carriage over to my house and took a bath. I wanted to get rid of the beer/pipe smell that had been invading my nostrils for some time. After that, I grabbed some more plunder from my dresser: five handkerchiefs, a scarf, an ink bottle, a ring, and two pairs of silk gloves. Stuffing the necessities in my coat pockets, I walked over to a local shopping district.

On my way, I ran into someone that made my heartbeat speed to an unhealthy flutter.

She was a dark haired lady about the same age as Nancy. She wore a slightly soiled, red dress and a brown cape over her slender shoulders. She had a basket over her arm which was filled with rolls and some fruit. Wow! What a beauty! (At least in my opinion. But, I would beat up any man who said otherwise!)

She was leaning against a brick building. I decided to approach her, "Morning Madam," I tipped my hat and gave her a smile.

She smiled back, "Same to you, sir."

I could feel my color mounting. She had such lovely hazel eyes . . .

"Fine morning for shopping," I replied, forgetting about the slush, rain, and clouds.

She laughed, smiled, and tossed her head, "Maybe for you."

I stepped a little closer, "Does the rain bother you?"

"A bit."

I had grabbed an umbrella from a stand at home and I knew she would be thrilled about it, "Want to share?" I snapped it open and held it aloft in a flirty manner.

"Sir, that would be wonderful," she came closer and I held the umbrella over her head.

"Where are you headed?" I asked.

"Down the road . . . to get a carriage."

"I'll walk you over."

"Thanks!"

We walked a few paces down the street, "What's your name?" I casually questioned.

"Bet. Well, that's what everyone calls me," she blushed a little then gave a small laugh.

"Bet, Bet, . . . I have heard that name before. You might know a colleague of mine. Do you know anyone named Nancy?"

"Yes . . . ," she paused for a bit. Her countenance changed to one of scrutiny as she paused in thought, "What's your name, sir?"

"Thomas. You've heard that name before?"

"Yes, I know someone by the name of Tom Chitling. But, you're not him!" she smirked, walked away, and entered the carriage office.

Now I was curious. Who was Tom Chitling? I headed back up the street and went into one of the shops. Did he have any connection with Fagin? Would I see Bet again? Oh wait, I was supposed to be courting Nancy! Drats!

My mood went melancholy and did not improve as the day went on. Even the act of buying clothing had lost it's luster. I could not focus when I went to work at the orphanage and so I left early. I headed back home, changed into my newer cheap clothing, and headed for the "rat hole."

I walked into the kitchen, soaking wet, and came upon Fagin. I placed my "plunder" onto the table and without any warning asked, "Who the devil is Tom Chitling?!"

Fagin, who had immediately begun to examine my findings, looked up at me, "My dear, he's a pickpocket like yourself."

"Is he married?"

Fagin narrowed his eyebrows, "He's available. Not that that has anything to do with you . . . he's below you, Tom. You deserve better. Ha, ha, ha!" He gave me a sly look and then changed it into a very sarcastic one.

"I'm not being funny . . . AND I don't mean it THAT way!"

"What do you want, my dear?" he sighed and began to look closely at the ring I had stolen from myself.

"How is he connected with Bet?"

"Bet is just another one of my apprentices. Where did you learn of her?"

"I met her in town."

"Well, that's fine and dandy, my dear. But, what about Nancy?" he had grabbed his fire poker and was now turning over some logs.

Why did I say all that? Now I was in for it . . .

"Nancy is still priority," I replied and went to hang up my dripping coat.

"I surely do hope so, my dear." Fagin answered and focused his attention back on the fire.

"Don't you like Bill? Isn't he your good chum?" I looked narrowly at Fagin. He, in turn, looked back at the fire.

"Did you hear me?" I was getting annoyed and my temper was mounting (something that happens only rarely, luckily!).

"I hear you, my dear. I was just contemplating, that's all . . ." His voice fell to a whisper and he seemed to be talking more to himself than to anyone else.

"Well?"

"He is a good worker, my dear. Very good, but he isn't very kind - not to Nance, not to anybody. Not even to me. You bring in enough income so that I have a right to be choosy. I would rather have a dedicated, kind partner than a dedicated, rude partner. And besides, look at Nancy - remember when you saw her last night? Terrible, my dear, simply tragic."

"He is mightily scary!" Charlie appeared out of nowhere.

The elderly gentleman perked up at his arrival, "My dear, you find him so?!"

Charlie nodded and then burst out laughing, "Jolly well, I do! So does Dodge, so does everyone! He's just the type to send a man to drink'n - and that dog of his! Boy, that thing could rip the pants right off of . . .

"Charlie, my dear," Fagin interrupted, "Company! We don't want to embarrass ourselves."

"Right," Charlie grinned at Fagin, then at me, and leant against the table to study himself as he shook with laughter.

Fagin looked at me, grinned, and mouthed the words "boys," "crazy," and "tipsy." Charlie didn't notice.

"Dinner in ten minutes!" Fagin declared in a loud enough voice that even Charlie couldn't ignore.

Six boys (including the Dodger) came down the stairs and began to set the table.

"Where are the others?" I asked Dodge.

"Fagin got rid of 'em . . .they were too much to handle. He kept the really good ones, though."

"He just sent them away?" I whispered.

"Naw," Dodge pulled me aside and continued, "He sent 'em to an orphanage. Horrible." He gave a week smile and strode away to get the forks.

"The silver ones, my dear! Nancy and Bill are coming! We don't want to use the tin ones!" Fagin continued to give other orders, but I didn't care enough to listen. I was not looking forward to seeing Bill or Nancy. I was in no mood. I headed out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going, Tom?" Fagin questioned.

"To bed. I'm," I paused in thought, "not feeling myself."

"Then, goodnight, my dear."

Another chapter done. Thew!! I am not that pleased with this one, but it will do. Please review! Oh, and Broken Amethyst, thanks for all your encouragement! Your wonderful!

Cheerio, Elaine Dawkins