London - Edward Rutherfurd [463]
For the last eighteen years, the most splendid theatre in London had been the new one at Covent Garden. When the audience came out after dark, besides the ranks of sedan chairs for hire, there would also be a crowd of fellows with lamps on sticks – the link-men – offering to guide those who preferred to walk home through the unlit streets. Many a gentleman, deciding to patronize the cheerful little boy standing among them and finding himself five minutes later deprived of his money by some ruffian near Seven Dials, would have been surprised indeed to discover that despite his apparent terror and tears during the assault, a calm and cynical Sam would collect his reward from the robber the following morning.
“The Runners won’t trouble with me,” he’d reassure Sep. “Anyway, they couldn’t prove nothing.”
When it came to his other line of theft, however, Sep joined him gladly. They stole from Mrs Dogget. It wasn’t, they agreed, really even stealing. After all, it was only their rightful share of the family’s money. If they didn’t take it, they knew where it would go.
“Better us,” Sam said, “than Needle and Pin.”
If asked what he needed the money for, Sam at least could answer precisely. He wanted to be a costermonger like his father; and since his elder brother was going to inherit the barrow, he needed money to set himself up and buy his own. Street-sellers were not licensed; there was no guild, so you could start when you wanted as long as the senior costermongers let you. “I’ll do more trade than him by the time I’m fifteen,” he had sworn with a grin. And until he was five Sep had supposed that he wanted the same thing. Until, that was, he had made an exciting discovery.
There were a number of great events that marked the year in Georgian London. Most, of course, had been going on for centuries: Christmas, Easter, May Day, and the great water procession for the new Lord Mayor. But during Harry the costermonger’s childhood a new, though more modest attraction had also been added. It was a boat race, run at the very start of August: six boats competed, each rowed by a single waterman, from London Bridge upstream to Chelsea for a prize of a rich coat and a solid silver badge. It had been set up by the will of a comedian and theatre manager. But the thing that seemed truly wonderful to young Sep was the name of this benefactor of the watermen. For it was Thomas Dogget. His own family name. And Dogget’s Coat and Badge Race was watched by all London.
“Is it something to do with us?” little five-year-old Sep had eagerly asked his father when he had first been taken to watch.
“’Course it is. That was my old Uncle Tom,” the costermonger had cheerfully lied. Whether Thomas Dogget, who had originally come from outside London, was even remotely connected to his own humble family, Harry had not the faintest idea, but it amused him to see the little boy flush with pride.
From that moment, however, in Sep’s mind, the river and its watermen had acquired a completely new significance. A costermonger, of course, was a fine thing to be; but how could it compare with the glory of the river – the river where Doggets, he felt, truly belonged? Hardly a day went by when he did not dream of joining the colourful fellows on the water. And rather to his surprise, when he had confided this to his father one day, the costermonger had encouraged him. Not only was the waterman’s life a pretty fair one, Harry informed him, but there was another side to it he had not realized.
“You could be a fireman as well,” he explained.
It was the insurance companies who had started