We walked quickly across the bridge, took the main road into Westminster, and stopped halfway at a brightly lit stall.
"What cheer, Arthur?" he said to the burly man tending the stall. "Two teas for us, mate, milky and sweet. That all right for you, Gov?"
I nodded my head. I was glad he was doing the ordering.
Arthur eyed Jack warily. "You got money, Jack?"
The way Jack grinned in reply—half cheeky, half reassuring—said he was used to these kinds of questions and took no offence.
"It's all right; I'm paying," I said. "Give him what he likes, and I'll have the same."
"Right," said Jack, rubbing his hands together. "We'll have a ham sandwich apiece, a couple of boiled eggs to go with it, and two pieces of currant cake, big slices, mind."
Arthur piled up two tin plates.
"That'll be tuppence each for the sandwiches—that's four pence; a penny each for the eggs—that's four pence again; and tuppence each for the slices—another four pence. A shilling all told."
I scrabbled in my bag, not knowing what a shilling looked like, and selected a large silver coin.
"Not got the right money?" Arthur said, and not waiting for a reply, he reached into his pouch and brought out two smaller silver coins." There we go, half a crown tendered, and one and six change."
We took our plates and sat on a wall, both of us ready to make short work of our impromptu supper. I removed my scarf to eat and looked up to find that Jack was staring at me.
"Why, you ain't much older than me," he grinned.
"Them false teeth?" He added, peering closely at my mouth. "Ivory or some such? I have never seen Hounslows so white in my whole life."
"No, they're my own teeth, but why did you call them Hounslows?"
"Hounslow Heath" rhymes with teef. That's how we talk on this side. You're a stranger around here, ain't you?"
He didn't wait for a reply, and his thoughts tumbled out in a continuous babble.
"Seaman, maybe. I saw a geezer down the docks one time, his skin all brown with the sun like yours, and 'is 'air was yellow. He said he had just come back from the tropics, wherever that might be. Is that where you're from, mate? Cause God to be my witness; you don't speak like anybody I've ever heard before, and that's a fact."
"No, I'm not from London, Jack, but from a similar sort of place, well, mostly, but I have no idea how to get back or even why I am here."
Jack looked at me with his mouth open.
"No, it can't be," he muttered to himself, "but if it is, the silly baskets are all looking on the wrong side of the river, and I've come over the bridge without my recognising who he was. I 'ad him down for an old geezer; what with him wearing that long coat and his face covered up."
"What's the matter, Jack? Speak up. You look as if you have seen a ghost."
"Maybe I have," he said.
Jack leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Straight up, mate—your name ain't Peregrine, is it?"
My stomach knotted. How did he know? I opened my mouth, and closed it, too shocked to reply.
"You are," he breathed. "There's half of London's street boys looking for you, mate, and there's a price on your head."
"Enemies?" I asked.
"Nah, friends, I fink. Young woman, very worried about you she is, and offering a sovereign for knowledge of your whereabouts. Is she your sister or sumfin?"
Something occurred to Jack, and he frowned.
"Now listen to me, mate. You ain't on the run, are you? If you are, I ain't interested. Assisting a felon to escape gets big jail time in this borough."
"No, Jack, I'm not on the run, and she isn't my sister. Her name wouldn't be Montana by any chance, would it?"
"Nah, she said her name was Agnes."
My hopes fell, but this was still good news.
"How did she say to get in touch with her?"
"Down Lambeth Way is a commercial hotel called 'The Imperial.' We'll have to go back the way we came. You do want to go, don't you?"
"Most definitely, and I would be delighted to have you along with me to collect your reward. Here is one and six on account."
It was the change I had received for our supper, and I had no idea of its current worth, but Jack seemed happy enough. With that settled, we finished our meal, returned our tin plates to Arthur, and set off back across the bridge to Lambeth. The fog was noticeably thicker again when we crossed, and I realised it must be quite late at night. It made for an eerie atmosphere, and I pulled up my collar, turning my head to look back to see if anybody was behind us.
"It's not the best time to be walking the streets of Lambeth," said Jack, sounding worried.
"You carrying Peregrine?"
"Carrying?" I asked.
"A weapon. Shooter, Shiv, something of that sort."
"No, sorry, Jack, you?"
"Bit of lead piping that I can put to effective use so long as they don't come team-handed and rush me. I dare say you don't have much experience in that sort of work yourself."
He shook his head without waiting for me to answer.
"I didn't think so. You being a gentleman and all that. We are on a dangerous patch and must change places for a bit. I'm the boss now, and you do what I say, right?"
I wasn't about to argue.
"Yes, of course."
"If we get jumped," said Jack," then you scarper. I will hold 'em off as long as I can."
He held up his hand to stop my protests.
"No time to argue; do as I say. If it comes to a battle, run down to the end of this road, take a sharp right, then a second left. The hotel is straight ahead. You can't miss it. Agnes said she would be sitting in the lobby and would wait there till midnight. If you don't see her, ask at the desk for the lady who booked in today with her father and their servant. That is the plan if anything goes wrong, but with a bit of luck, we may not need it."
He shivered and buttoned up his ragged jacket.
"Hardly see a foot in front of you now. Walk slowly, Peregrine, and stop talking. Keep the white of your face covered, and don't make any noise."
And so, we began what felt like the longest walk of my life.
I heard the sound of scuffling feet and hushed whispering on the other side of the road, but we could see nothing in the fog, and then a series of low whistles that could only be signals. I imagined we were walking through a jungle in the dead of night, and unseen predators were stalking us like prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Jack put a finger to his lips and indicated for us to stop. I could feel the tension in the air. My heartbeat increased, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins, and my body shook with suppressed energy. It was the classic fight-or-flight response. Neither option appealed, but the enemy was close by and could be within touching distance in this pitch darkness without us even knowing. We remained silent and motionless, but I was ready to repel any attack that came from the shadows.
Jack clutched his lead piping, and the seconds ticked slowly by.
Then came the sound of a violent confrontation some way behind us, but the footpads seemed to have chosen the wrong victim.
There was a shout of "Stand back, you rogue, or I fire," and the sound of two pistol shots and a scream of agony. The gang took flight, and Jack and I pressed our backs against the wall as they raced past us, but there was more to come; the piercing blast of a police whistle and the pounding of heavy boots on the road echoed through the fog as four or more constables joined in the pursuit of the villains.
Cold air burned in my lungs, sweat slicking my collar despite the chill. Footsteps thundered behind us—too close. If the police came upon us, they would be sure to think that we were part of the gang and arrest us. With the crooks in front and the police behind us, we set off at a good pace to escape from the trap. I had recovered from my recent ordeal, and Jack, for all his half-starved look and those ill-fitting boots, was a fine runner. We soon made ground on the gang, and no doubt thinking we were the police, they swerved down a side street as we continued down the road.
We began to get tired; this foul air did little to sustain our efforts, and all the time we were listening out to discover which group the police would follow. We heard shouts and then the sound of heavy boots as the police went after the gang down the side street, and slowed down, thinking we were safe, but to our horror, we once again heard the unmistakable sound of pursuit.
The police must have thought the gang had split up and divided their forces into two. Unfortunately for us, the policemen who had opted to follow us seemed to be the younger and fitter of the bunch, and they had almost caught us up when Jack signalled for me to go on. Then he turned around, headed back to the way we had come, and yelled out.
"Come on, Sam, follow me down this side passage; they'll never catch us."
He ran down the opposite side of the road, and I heard him shout.
"Good man, Sam, stay by my side, nearly there."
The police came to a halt, and I had the sense to stop myself in case they were still listening out for anybody ahead. Seemingly satisfied, they went in pursuit of the voice in the dark.
Jack's trick had worked.
I vowed I would somehow find Jack and reward him handsomely for his self-sacrifice and put up his bail, if necessary, but now my head began to spin, and I became dizzy and disoriented. Far too much had happened in a brief period, and I was temporarily unable to cope. I needed to get out of the open, and I crawled under a hedge and into the garden of one of the houses that bordered the road. There was a small, unlocked shed not far away, and I squeezed myself past a stack of gardening tools and found a heap of sacking at the rear. I quickly made up a rough bed, lay down, and closed my eyes, but sleep would not come. The thought of Jack and his selfless act of bravery made it impossible for me to hide myself away like this.
I stuck it for a couple of minutes and then hurriedly abandoned my makeshift bed, leaving the garden by the same route that I had entered. Jack's directions were easy to follow, and I soon found myself standing outside the Imperial Hotel—a grand name for a very modest establishment.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure who might be waiting for me inside, but taking a deep breath, I climbed the steps and went into the hotel. Straight in front of me was a furnished lounge area, and a young woman, smartly dressed in the fashion of the day, was seated in a plush armchair.
She rose, smoothing unseen creases from her skirts and scanning my face. "Peregrine?" Her handshake was firm—steady, as if reassuring herself I was real. Her voice held relief—but also hesitation.
"I'm Agnes Wickfield."
It was the woman I had seen in the hansom cab.