Olivia Twist ~ The True Story ~3

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Angel
    
Olivia Twist
~
The True Story

By Susan Brown

Chapter 3

In which I see the sights of London ~ Meet Mr Fagin ~ Have a shock ~ Encounter a rather unpleasant man and his dog.

 

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Master John Dawkins took my arm and led me away from the busy market and into the back streets of London. The roads and lanes that I was taken through gradually lost respectability and became shabbier by the minute.

There was a constant odour and vile smelling buckets being emptied from upstairs widows on to the muddy roads below. Dirty dogs and cats roamed the streets and there were fights taking place outside more than one tavern we passed.

I had to walk with my dress held up slightly with one hand, so as not to make it dirtier than it already was. All this time, Dodger, as he insisted I call him, was chattering on about how good the gentleman was and how many friends already lived at his residence.

‘Yus, ’e’s good an’ kind. ’E ’as a few strange ways but easy to get used to.’

‘How many live there with him?’ I enquired trying to keep up a conversation and my mind away from the filth and degradation surrounding me.

‘At the last count twelve. That’s seven boys and five girls.’

‘They are all children then?’

‘Yus, ’e prefers that.’

‘Oh.’

‘Anyway, we are nearly there.’

I looked around; the area, if anything was worse than those we had passed through. Many of the buildings were in a ruinous state of repair. It was what I now know to be a tenement area. We had to pick our way through muddy puddles and excrement and the smell nearly overpowered me before we could reach our destination. At last we reached some wooden stairs that were on the outside of one of the tenements. I was led up the rickety steps until we came to a heavy wooden door. Dodger rapped three times and then twice again.

The door opened with a creak and the head of a boy peeped through.

‘Dodger, there you are. Fagin’s in a bad temper, cos you’re late again.’

‘No fear, Charlie, I’m ’ere and I brought a new friend.’

‘Erm, p’raps if Mr Fagin’s angry, I should go?’ I queried.

‘Don’t worry, Olivia, it’s only that he worries. He thinks of us as his children.’

The other boy stifled a laugh for some reason as he let us through and bolted the door behind us. I followed Dodger through the gloom and up a staircase.

At the top of the staircase was a door, which Dodger opened. He went into the room and with some trepidation I followed. The room was surprisingly large and when I looked up, I realised that it was an attic and that it probably covered the whole of the roof space.

As I looked around, I saw various beds–well shelves really–with rough bedding on top. There were several children roaming around the room, some playing games others just sitting and smoking. None of them were dressed well. Then my attention was drawn to the middle of the room. There was a fireplace and by the fire was an old gentleman, cooking food at the grate. He looked up as we came in.

‘Dodger, where have you been you know I––’

‘Fagin,’ interrupted Dodger, may I hintroduce a young lady wot I found wandering round the market. She needs lodgin’s an’ I said that you might ’ave room for ’er.’

Mr Fagin looked directly at me. He wore a long shabby black coat. His hair was long and black, but greying in places. He had a long nose, to which my eyes were drawn. He smiled at me, showing that he had a few teeth missing.

‘Ah, my dear, ’how do you do and may I say ’how pretty you look in your black bonnet and silk dress?’

‘Thank you sir.’ I said in a small voice, bobbing a curtsy, not terribly happy at the way he was looking at me.

‘Come over by the fire, my dear, so that you can catch its warmth.

I was pushed in the back by Dodger and I felt myself going towards the darkly-dressed Fagin. I could feel rather than see many eyes on me and what conversation there had been ceased at that moment.

As I came close to Fagin, I could see him eying me up and down.

‘Now, Olivia,–such a pretty name–come sit by my side while I cook this feast for us all.’

I sat on the stool he indicated and looked up at the strange man.

‘Now, Olivia, tell me a bit about yourself.’

‘Well, sir,’ I whispered.

‘Speak up, my dear; we are all friends here.’

I coughed and then proceeded. ‘I am an orphan, sir. I was ill-used by the people I was apprenticed to and I had to run away.’

‘So you have no parents?’

‘None sir.’

‘And where was it you lived.’

I told him.

‘Do you think that you would be looked for?

‘I think not, sir, as I was travelling on the road for some time and I saw no one pursuing me.’

‘So you are all alone in the world and you came to London.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Why London?’

‘So that I could find a position and improve myself, sir.’

Fagin looked at me for a moment and then smiled. ‘Sausage?’

‘Yes please, sir!’

He gave me a hot sausage which I took gratefully, blowing in my hands to cool it and then ate as fast as I could.

‘You seem a might hungry, my dear.’

‘I’ve not eaten much for a long time, sir.’

‘Well, you are among friends now.’

‘Does that mean I can stay sir?’

‘Of course. A young pretty thing like you should not be out on the streets by yourself at night. It is a dangerous place out there is it not, Dodger?’

‘Yus, Fagin. It certainly is.’

Fagin then looked up and shouted. ‘Food up.’

In the blink of an eye, he was surrounded by the other children. I noticed once again that they were ill dressed, some would say very poorly, not quite rags but very close.

I looked down at my dress and realised that I was the best dressed person there!

After the children had taken their food away Fagin looked at me again.

‘Are you still hungry, Olivia?’

‘A bit, sir,’

‘Well have another sausage. We do not stand on ceremony ’ere, take one from the pan, but watch out, they’re hot.’

I thought that Fagin was a kindly man to look after me like this. The other children seemed fond of him as well. Perhaps my first impressions of the gentleman were false. After I finished my sausage, I was offered some beer to wash it down. Not used to the strong beverage, I drank it down too quickly. My head started spinning a bit and then I felt rather sleepy.

I nearly fell off the stool on which I was sitting and one of the girls, Betty or Betsy, I think she said, came over and led me to a shelf with some bedding.

‘Sleep ’ere, Olivia. Don’t worry abaht Fagin. ’Is bark’s worse than ’is bite. ’E’ll look after you, no fear.’

She left me to it. It was still daytime, but the combined lack of sleep, hot food and beer all made me feel decidedly drowsy. I took off my bonnet. My hair felt damp, after being enclosed for so long. I seemed so tired; I just lay down and fell asleep.
 
 

2

 
 
When I awoke, it took some time for me to realise where I was. I sat up and immediately wished I hadn’t as my head felt as if it was splitting. Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I finally looked around me. The place seemed empty.

I yawned and then looked down at myself. Something was wrong. Then I realised, I no longer had my pretty black dress on. Instead, I wore a sort of shapeless grey dress that went down to my calves. I blanched at the thought of someone changing me in my sleep. Had they noticed that I was a boy?

I quickly lifted my dress and noticed that my silk stockings were gone but the pantaloons remained. I sighed with relief as I realised that it was probable my secret was safe and no one had thought to completely undress me. I looked around and then saw Mr Fagin in the corner by the fireplace with a casket or wooden box in his hands.

I watched as he placed it on the ground and then took a string from around his neck. Attached to the string was a key and he used it to open the box. As soon as it was open, Mr Fagin started to take items out of the box. I could see glittering in the light of the candle he had burning nearby. I thought, though I could not see clearly, that it must be jewellery of some kind. He was looking closely at the item and was oblivious to my presence.

I suddenly felt a tickle in my nose and I sneezed loudly.

In a trice, Mr Fagin’s head whipped around and he saw that I was watching him.

He threw the jewels back in the box and locked it; then picked up a knife and ran over to me.

I was terrified as the knife went to my neck.

‘Tell me, girl, what did you see?’ he shouted, eyes wide with anger.

‘Erm, I am sorry, sir, I’ve just woken up.’

‘But what did you SEE!’

‘I–I’m not sure, sir, I thought I saw something sparkle but I don’t know what it was.’

I was petrified–I could feel the point of the knife in my neck–and I thought that my next breath would be my last. Mr Fagin’s glaring eyes gradually lost their anger and he took the knife away from my throat.

‘I’m sorry, my dear, for frightening you. I worry about thieves and robbers, taking away my little trinkets. I’m an old man and they are my pension and savings for when I can no longer look after myself. Do you understand, Olivia?’

‘Y—yes, sir. I meant no harm by looking.’

‘I’m sure, my dear. Let’s just keep it our little secret, shall we?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good girl. Now,’ he said standing up, ‘d’you feel better for your little sleep?’

‘Yes sir, much better, though my head hurts a bit.’

‘Drink some water from the bowl over there and then we shall have a little talk.’

I did as I was bid and then went over to the fire. The casket or box was nowhere to be seen.

‘Sit you down, girl.’

I sat down beside him.

Sir, may I ask what has happened to my dress?’

‘Such a polite girl. Well, Olivia, it is such a fine dress, it looked somewhat dirty, so I have sent it out to be cleaned. In any case, it is too fine to wear in normal circumstances so I asked a few of the girls to change you into something more practical for day-to-day use.’

‘Thank you for getting my dress cleaned and looking after me under your roof.’

‘That is perfectly all right, my dear.’

‘How can I repay you?’

‘Well, Olivia, I’m glad that you have mentioned that. All the boys and girls here go out and manage to find things for me, like, say handkerchiefs or purses, things that get lost or are found. Would you like to do that?’

‘If it would help, yes, sir.’

‘Good girl, When Dodger, Charlie, Betsy and the others return, we’ll teach you the best way of, um, finding the items,’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Just then I could hear the barking of a dog and the heavy tread of footsteps on the stairs outside. Looking at Mr Fagin, I could see that his face had turned white and his hands were shaking slightly.

The door opened with a crash and a mangy dog walked in, he looked as if he had been through the wars, he had scabs and scars all over its body.

‘Heel Bullseye, you mangy cur!’

I looked up and in the entrance was an ill dressed, large thickset man with an evil face and he did not look happy.

‘Fagin, you old devil. I want you!'
 


 
‘Bill, Bill, how happy I am to see you.’

‘Don’t lie to me you avaricious old fool.’

‘Bill, ladies present.’

He saw me for the first time.

‘So, anuvver urchin dragged orf the streets. Wot’s yer name?’

‘Olivia, sir,’ I whispered.

‘Can’t ’ear yer.’

‘Olivia, sir.’

‘Well don’t trust Fagin. ’E’d sell yer as much as look at yer.’

‘Bill, don’t put funny ideas into young Olivia’s head. She’s new to London and has asked for my protection.’

'Protection ha! She’s the one who needs protection from you!’

‘You must joke Bill Sykes. Where is Nancy?’

‘Working at the tavern. I’m going there when we finish our business.’

Mr Fagin looked at me.

‘Ah yes, um, Olivia, why don’t you go back to bed and lie down. Your head may get better if you do.’

‘Yes, sir.’ I said, standing up and going over to my bed.

I glanced behind me and saw Mr Fagin and Mr Sykes in close conversation, but as they were whispering I did not know what they were talking about.

As I lay down, I wondered what I had got into and whether it had been a good idea to allow the Dodger to lead me to this place. The people were frightening; especially Mr Fagin and Bill Sykes and I felt in my bones that no good would come of me if I stayed in this place for much longer.

To be continued….

 

Angel

 
~~~~*~~~~

 
 
My thanks go to Kristina.L.S for editing this piece.

Also to Gabi for helping making sense out of madness.


 
 
Please leave comments as these are the lifeblood of authors like wot I is.

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Comments

Those Upstairs Widows

joannebarbarella's picture

(line 4)They are all really dirty people! No wonder their husbands passed away. They were probably murdered, by being submerged in faeces.
I love it,Susan. Atmospheric London and Bill Sykes and Fagin thrown in.Superb! Keep 'em coming,
Joanne

Phewww!

Hi Joanne,

Yes I think that it was a truly pongy time and washing wash the exception rather than the rule.

Glad you like it

Hugs
Sue

olivia twist

verry good story i wood love to see a lot more of this all i can say is wow verry good thanks for shareing i love it

mr charlles r purcell
verry good story i wood love to see a lot more of this all i can say is wow verry good thanks for shareing

Twist

This is so like Dickens that I'm amazed because it's not! The atmosphere and descriptions are top notch! Please Sir can we have some more? :)
hugs
grover

Evocative writing.

I love the way that you convey the naivety of the hero(ine)in the same style as the original.

Many will be familiar with Dickens' wordy description of detail and you manage, with fewer, well chosen, words, to cause the reader to draw upon their own reading experience to subconsciously fill in the finer details.

It is fitting that this is being serialised, since most of Dickens stories were also written in installments, appearing weekly.His purpose was to draw the attention of the more affluent social classes to the filth and degradation of the conditions in which the poorer classes lived, especially in the major urban areas.The story was the 'hook' and the detailed description was the message that he hoped would lead to social change.

I have always enjoyed reading your stories, and this one promises to be at least as good.

Andy

p.s. Are you a former graduate of the Ernie Wise School of Dramatic Writing?

Ernie Wise

Hi Andy,

Have you seen some of the plays wot I wrote?

I think Ernie learned everything he knew from me. It took a very large postage stamp!

Glad you like the story. I was trying get the feel of Dickens. As you say, he did tend to get wordy and for the sake of brevity, I have tried to avoid too much description.

Hugs
Sue