Chapter Twenty-Six – Jealousy
"Who is 'e?"
"As if I know!"
"Can we poke 'im?"
"No, stupid!"
"Blimey, is 'e dead?"
"Don't look dead to me!"
"You 'ang around wiv a stuffed owl; nuffin looks dead to you!"
When the Artful Dodger awoke, blinking sleep from his eyes, it was to find a rag-tag bunch of boys surrounding his bed; some curious, some unsure, a couple weren't even boys at all, young men at most. One of the older boys, a short, freckle faced lad with a mop of brown hair, began poking Dodger, only to have his hand slapped away by his companion.
"I told yer not to poke 'im Norman!"
"Can I 'elp it? Pokin' things is fun!"
"Freak."
"It's true! You try pokin' 'im!"
"No-one will be poking anyone if they want grub!"
The boy named Norman rolled his eyes.
"Fagin…" he muttered.
"Who…who are ya?"
This was Dodger, trying to establish the situation.
"Well, I'm Norman," said Norman proudly. "An' this 'ere is Frankie. Then there's Ezra, Tom, Jake, Eddie, Archie, Ricky an' James. An' we ain't the only ones neither!"
Dodger nodded slowly, trying to put names to faces. Norman's rapid speech didn't help any.
"Well," said Frankie, raising an eyebrow. "Are ya just gonna lie 'ere all day or are ya gonna come get grub?"
"Grub," Dodger said, getting to his feet.
Frankie put his arm around Dodger's shoulders, and Norman copied him.
"Now don't you worry 'bout a thing mate. We're all a bit mad 'ere but tha' can't be 'elped; 's all Fagin's fault. You stick wiv us, alrigh'?"
That was fine by Dodger; he'd just pinched Frankie's pocketwatch. He wondered briefly how long it would take him to notice.
The majority of the gang were seated round the breakfast table when Bill emerged, closely tailed by Nancy. He had neglected to tell her about the arrival of the Dodger and thus she was very surprised at seeing him there, wolfing down breakfast like nobody's business.
"Who've we got 'ere then?" she asked as she and Bill approached the table.
"Bill didn't tell you?" said Fagin, glancing disapprovingly at his oldest charge. "Nancy, my dear, meet the Dodger. The Artful Dodger."
Dodger looked up at Nancy; she smiled warmly at him before taking her accustomed seat. But, in those few fleeting seconds, Dodger was bowled over. Head over heels in love. Even after the conversation had changed tack he found himself sitting there with a soppy grin on his face (that is until Frankie elbowed him and told him to pass the bread).
Breakfast over at last, Fagin instructed the boys to go out on the job. He eagerly anticipated how the lads would react to their newest mate's amazing pick pocketing skill. Sure, Bill didn't like him, but then Bill was one to hold a grudge.
"So…Nancy…" Dodger said, attempting to strike up conversation as they made their way towards the Cripples to hitch their rides. "How'd you come to meet up with Fagin an' this lot?" He was genuinely interested, but at the same time it was the only thing that came into his head as a suitable excuse to talk to Nancy, being the curious new kid and all.
Nancy opened her mouth and was about to reply, but Bill chose that moment to catch up to the pair of them, Bulls-Eye at his heels. The dog had taken to following him around again, battered and scarred as it was, but Bill found he didn't mind. It came in useful with his new method of picking pockets after all.
"Good mornin' Mister Sykes!" said Dodger, not missing a beat. "An' Bulls-Eye too!"
Bill rolled his eyes at Dodger's tone; he appreciated the affection, certainly, but all the same, the painful memories his enthusiasm made resurface were not at all pleasant, not endearing Dodger to him in the slightest.
Dodger, sensing it was useless to attempt conversation, hurried on to catch up with Norman and Frankie, his whole demeanor becoming all the more rambunctious in their presence. He was like a brother to them; fun-loving and full of laughter just as they were.
Bill walked beside Nancy, hands jammed deep in his pockets, eyes trained on the cobblestones. Nancy noticed this and looked worriedly up at him.
"Wot's wrong Bill?" she asked gently.
"Tha' kid…" growled Bill. "Tha's wot's wrong."
"Wot's wrong wiv him? 'E seems nice enough!"
Bill shook his head.
"Right. Nice."
Nancy frowned.
"Why're you getting' so 'et up about 'im?"
"Why d'ya think? 'Ave you seen the way 'e acts, like 'e's the best of the best? An' the way 'e looked at you? Didn't ya notice that?"
"Wot's wrong wiv 'im lookin' at me?"
"Never mind."
Clearly Nancy had failed to notice the look in Dodger's eye, or his stupid sappy grin. But Bill had noticed, and all the worse for the Dodger that he had.
Much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, but Bill was jealous.
Dodger could pick pockets just as good as he once had, even better perhaps. And it made perfect sense, really, if he fell for Nancy…they were about the same age, both very open in their feelings…that was one thing Bill wasn't. He bottled his frustration, his anger, his every natural feeling inside; he hid his true emotions behind a mask.
Could he ever admit how he felt about Nancy?
And could she ever feel the same way about him?
--
The days pick pocketing passed quickly; Bill stuck close to Nancy's side all day as he usually did, while Dodger went off with Norman and Frankie. They all met up again at the coach station, Dodger laughing heartily at a joke one of the others had told.
Bill didn't laugh along with them as he once might have done. He simply glowered. Dodger's carefree, cheerful laugh…it spooked him how much he sounded like Jeremy. Or was he imagining that? Was he just thinking that so he had more reason to hate Dodger?
Nancy noticed his frown, but said nothing, thinking it best not to pester Bill. He didn't like when people pestered him; like Jeremy had, like Dodger had. Best to leave him be.
--
"What've you got then, my dears?" said Fagin eagerly as the gang trooped in, Norman closing the door behind before hurrying to join them.
The boys distributed the day's pickings onto the table with pride, Fagin making appropriate and encouraging remarks as they did so. What little Bill had picked was still as good as ever; three heavily lined wallets, a pocketwatch and a large silver snuffbox.
Fagin gave a low whistle of approval, commending Bill as 'a true professional' before robbing the wallets of their contents, half of which he handed to the housebreaker.
Then it was Dodger's turn. The boys and Nancy watched, astonished, as Dodger produced from various pockets ten handkerchiefs, eight wallets and two pocket watches, one inlaid with what looked to be emeralds.
Fagin's eyes sparkled as bright as the jewels.
Nancy gasped.
Bill's frown deepened.
--
A/N: Can you say awkward moment? =/
Please R&R! ^^
