What Now?

Everyone must decide on a plan of action.

Morning dawned bright and early. Bet awoke to the sound of someone knocking at her room door. She sat up in bed and beckoned the visitor to enter. Miss Doris came in along with Leanne. Leanne appeared to have been crying for tears had stained her cheeks and her face was red. Bet immediately got out of bed and wrapped herself up in a dressing gown. She hastily asked Miss Doris what the matter was.

“It’s Bill . . . He left Leanne alone all night and hasn’t shown a bit of himself,” she set her daughter on her lap and began to caress her hair in a soothing manner.

“Really?!” Bet was slightly shocked, but knew that such actions were not new to Bill. “Have you told Mr. Brownlow?”

“Yes, and he wonders whether or not to contact the police now. You know we were going to wait on that.”

“I know,” Bet busied herself with making some tea. “I think you should tell them. Although,” she paused, “He is a slight threat to Fagin and Dodge. He could tell on them, but I swear that Fagin has changed. I told you about what he said.”

Linda nodded, “I believe you. But I don’t know what to do. Leanne has gotten quite attached - and why shouldn’t she? The man is her father.”

“I agree. Here. Do you want any sugar in that?” Bet handed Linda a small cup and saucer.

“Yes, please. My, I dearly hope he has not done anything rash. Do you have a handkerchief or something that I can use to wipe Leanne’s eyes with?”

“Yes, let me look in my purse,” she fished through her purse and, finding what she was searching for, handed it to Miss Doris.

“I was polite to him last night - I guess,” Linda went on. She sighed, “I fear I may have said something.”

“No you didn’t,” Leanne spoke up for the first time.

Linda looked down at her daughter and gave a small smile, “What are you talking of, Sweetie?”

“I told him that Fagin and Dodger had moved and then he got angry and left,” the girl sniffed. “It’s my fault!”

“Leanne, don’t cry, sweet-pea! It had nothing to do with you!”

“That’s right!” Bet added, “Bill doesn’t like Fagin - I am sure you know that.”

Leanne nodded, unable to continue.

“I think we should get Mr. Brownlow and Oliver. Then, we should go consult Fagin,” Bet began to look through her bags for some clothing.

“You’re probably right. It will be strange though; I haven’t seen Fagin since I left Bill - and that only once!” Miss Doris stood up. “We’ll wait for you down in the lobby.

“I’ll only be a few minutes!” called Bet as Linda guided her daughter out of the room.

Down in the lobby, they gathered once more. After a few quick words with Mr. Brownlow, they all headed out. Leanne was left behind in the care of Oliver (which was in no way dissatisfactory for her) and the adults headed out into the streets to hail a carriage. Within ten minutes, they were dropped off in front of Terry’s smithies shop. Terry was inside at work and you could hear the sounds of his hammer hitting an anvil with a mighty amount of force. Mr. Brownlow tapped at the glass door, after first squinting in through the ashes that covered the panes in order to make sure of the place.

Terry paused in his work and heard the tapping. He set down his hammer, pulled off his heavy gloves, and opened the door.

“We would like to see Mr. Fagin,” Mr. Brownlow said.

Terry nodded in understanding and pointed up the stairwell.

“Thank you!” Mr. Brownlow led the way up the stairs. Bet and Linda followed behind him. They came to a small landing and a door.

“Should we just walk in?” asked Miss Doris. “I don’t like to just walk in on people.”

“It should be just fine!” Bet assured the other two. A grin spread across her face, “They’re friends of mine and I know they won’t mind at all.” She turned the knob and went right in.

The den was well-lit even so early in the morning. A fire was glowing in the hearth, several lamps were lit, and the curtains were drawn back. Dodge was sitting on the couch and had both of his booted feet upon the coffee table. He seemed to be in deep thought because his eyes were glazed over, his left hand rubbed at his chin, and his face bore all the signs of deep concentration.

“Dodge!” Bet called his name as she stepped into the room.

“Bet! Hi! What are . . . You want to see Fagin?” he stared at Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris in curiosity.

“This is Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris,” Bet said.

Dodge nodded and then repeated, “Do ya want to see Fagin? He’s in the office - over there.” He pointed to a door on the right, “He’s working, but . . .”

“We need to speak to him immediately,” Linda blurted out.

Dodge nodded again.

“Come on,” Bet went over to the door and knocked.

There was the sound of several papers crinkling and a quill being placed in a glass ink bottle. Something shifted within and then there was a voice, “Come in, my dear!”

Bet opened the door and was met with several large stacks of paper. Fagin stood and replied, “Hello, my dear!” He looked at Bet with a smile, which then faded slowly from his face as his eyes turned to see Mr. Brownlow. And then, he changed again to a look of unbelief as he turned to face Linda Doris. He rubbed his eyes and then said, “More guests, my dear - surely not?”

“No, Fagin, We need to discuss something. It’s urgent.”

“Yes?”

“You know that Bill is here right?”

“Certainly! Bill is hard not to notice, my dear!” Fagin cringed a bit and began to move the papers about.

“Well, he had Linda’s daughter with him - or did. He left Leanne in the public house last night and hasn’t shown up since!”

Fagin paused and looked up at Bet. “Left, my dear? Well, well . . ,” he began to mumble to himself. Bet caught just enough of his babbling to infer that he was cursing. After a moment, he went quiet and leant back in his chair.

“Mr. Fagin?” urged Linda in a small voice, “Do you know where he might have gone?”

Fagin shook his head; not in a way that showed he knew not where Bill was, but in a way that meant he was not yet collected enough to respond. He turned to face the window that was directly behind him. He said, “If he has gone, my dears, there is no tracing his steps. He has gotten too much time!”

“You mean we are too late - and it’s no use?” Linda sounded as if she was about to be in tears by this point.

Fagin turned back around and tried to smile, “You’re better off without him, my dear! Far better off! You might as well go home. I cannot help you.”

“Fagin!” Bet was in no way pleased by this response, “We need to find Bill; Leanne loves him and if you love Leanne (which is obvious!) I should expect that you would take her views into account before you go sliding this whole mess clean off your plate!” She stopped, a look of determination on her face.

The old Jew rubbed his eyes and (placing his chin in the cup of his hand) eyed Bet. Slowly lowering his gaze, he sighed, “My dear, it is not that simple. I . . .” He paused to think, “I . . . You aren’t going to go to the police are you?” Fagin’s eyes widened and he looked meekly back up at the three visitors as if pleading with them to leave him be.

“Of course not,” Bet said, “We just hoped that you might have some idea about where he might go; you know, someplace Bill-ish!”

Fagin made a face as that last word hit him and he seemed to come to life, “My dears, there are certain places that Bill will go. First,” he held up his index finger, “There is the pub - but that was where he was and he left that. Second, there is the pub, third . . .”

“Fagin!” Bet was becoming aggravated, “Think!”

“My dear! Other than that, Bill would go to a rich district to rob, but that seems to be a silly thing for him to do about now, knowing the circumstances. He has probably left the area. Gotten a carriage, my dears or perhaps gone on another boat. You can ask around, but that is all I can say. I have not spoken to him for a while now.”

“I guess there is nothing else to do,” Mr. Brownlow replied. He took up his hat and added, “Thank you, Mr. Fagin!”

“No trouble, my dear!” the old Jew replied and dipped his quill into the ink well in preparation for more writing. “Oh and Bet, my dear, could I have a word with you?”

“Go on, I’ll be outside in a moment,” she told Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris. They left the room and Bet turned to face Fagin.

The Jew grinned nervously. “Bet, my dear, you do love Dodge don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There is one thing, my dear, . . . I do not mean to alarm you . . .”

Bet’s expression became sullen and she glanced questioningly at Fagin’s grey-green eyes.

“My dear, I have come to a conclusion. I wish it were something pleasant, but here it is; I have found a way that I might use to get back to London.”

“How?”

“Marriage, my dear.”

Bet caught a laugh before it escaped her mouth and the Jew noticed, “It is not funny! My dear, I am serious!”

“Sorry,” Bet smiled, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Fagin shook his head and responded, “You, my dear!”

“Me?!”

“If we were to bind ourselves together, I under your legal protection could easily pass back over the border,” he gazed at Bet with great intensity.

Bet’s mouth had dropped and she was in a state of immense controversy within. She did love Fagin, but not as a romantic partner; as a close friend and confidant. She did see his point though, and it did seem to be the only choice. “And what of romance?” she asked finally.

Fagin raised his eyebrows and responded, “Haven’t I loved you, my dear?”

“Yes . . . but.”

“But what, my dear? Bet, you are being silly - romance is nothing; just childish crushes, my dear - not a lasting factor. Companionship, tender-understanding, and support when in need; that is real love. I have always loved you - cared for you, kept you happy and safe.”

Bet nodded and Fagin took her hand and kissed it. She smiled at him and replied, “You’re right. I will marry you and then we can go back to London.”

I bet that chapter was surprising! Thanks for reading. Please leave a review!! - Elaine Dawkins