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Teresa left her house and walked slowly down the street. She knew Dilch was nearby and had already extorted an apple from the fruit seller. A child had brought word of the man’s arrival half an hour ago, and Eliza had been dispatched immediately to do her part. It was time to finish this.
Right on cue, she heard heavy footsteps at her back. Dilch came up to flank her, matching her steps and leering. “Looking fine as a fivepence today, see-nora,” he said. It was one of his stock openings. The man had as little imagination as courtesy. He took a messy bite of his stolen apple and chewed. Then, predictably, he dropped his voice to a whisper as he sidled closer. “Not but what you’d look a deal better out of those clothes than in ’em. I could help you withthat.”
Rather than stride on, eyes on the ground, teeth gritted, as she usually did, Teresa stopped and faced the man. Dilch looked startled, and for a moment slightly daunted by the anger in her eyes. Then he grinned and came closer, leering. He even reached out as if to touch her arm. Suppressing a strong desire to hit him, Teresa moved to one side, shifting Dilch into position. She saw Eliza appear at the end of the street with Dilch’s wife and mother-in-law in tow. She brought them close enough to hear, but kept them behind Dilch’s back.
The builder’s youngest son came by, passing much closer to Dilch than he would normally dare. Dilch gave the little boy a casual box on the ear, knocking him sideways. As agreed, the child fell to the earth and set up a howl, rather than simply fleeing.
His father shot from a narrow alleyway where he’d been waiting. The muscular builder took hold of Dilch’s lapels and lifted the man onto tiptoe. “What do you mean by hitting my son?” he growled.
“And insulting respectable women with your disgusting suggestions,” said Teresa in a voice meant to carry down the street.
“Stealing from honest folk who’ve worked hard to get what they have,” cried the greengrocer’s wife from the front of her shop.
The pub owner stepped from a shadow, hefting a cudgel. He looked more than capable of using it. Dilch’s eyes rolled to take in the extent of his adversaries. He let the apple core fall as if hoping no one would notice it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he blustered. “This is outrageous. Unhand me, lout.”
“Lout, is it?” The builder shook him a little.
Dilch’s wife and mother-in-law surged forward. They were small, stoutly built women, neatly but not lavishly dressed. Their bonnets and gloves spoke of determined respectability. Here was the crux of the matter, Teresa thought. She hoped that their scene would have the desired effect. Of course it could go wrong in several ways.
“If you come into this street again, you’ll suffer the same treatment you’ve handed out,” the builder told Dilch. “Only more so!” With a final shake he released him.
“What are you doing, Mr. Dilch?” said the man’s wife. She glared at Teresa.
Teresa cast her eyes down, took a step back, looked as pious as a nun, and said nothing. This was a precarious point.
“You said as how you had a job coming up,” the woman added.
“He’s too lazy to find work,” said Mrs. Dilch’s mother.
“I was just on my way to inquire about it,” Dilch claimed.
“You hit achild,” said Mrs. Dilch. Her emphasis on the last word suggested a long, sad tale.
Dilch didn’t seem to notice. “A grubby street urchin,” he said with a dismissive gesture.
Next to him, the builder growled. Dilch shifted quickly away from him.
“What abouther?” asked Mrs. Dilch, indicating Teresa with a flick of her fingers.
He rolled his eyes at Teresa, ogling as if this was an irresistible reflex. “I can’t help it if the women come after me,” he replied.
Clearly this was a man who engineered his own doom. Teresa blinked with astonished respectability. “Come after?” called the greengrocer’s wife, her voice full of outrage. “Run when they see you coming, more like. With your pinches and your filthy talk.”
“Shut your mouth, slattern,” replied Dilch reflexively. Then, at last seeming to take in the panorama of glares surrounding him, he hunched.
“He’s doing it again, Catherine,” cried his mother-in-law. “He’s going to shame us. I’ve had my fill and more of picking up and moving, just when we’re settled, because of this gormless idiot’s tricks. Itoldyou not to marry him.” She grasped one of Dilch’s sleeves, looking as if she wished it was his ear.
Dilch sputtered defiance. “Now then, dearie,” he said to his wife. “You know that last move weren’t my fault.”
“The butcher chased you home with a cleaver because you insulted his wife!” The man’s mother-in-law jerked at his coat.
Mrs. Dilch hesitated.
“Put a hand up her skirt when she turned to fetch the round of beef youweren’tactually buying,” the older woman added.
Her daughter scowled. She grabbed Dilch’s free arm, and the two women began to drag him away. The older one’s scolding voice could be heard all the way to the corner of the street.
Teresa watched them go. If Dilch showed defiance or a hint of retribution, she would have to plan further action. But the bully didn’t look back. He cringed and whined and grew increasingly cowed. She was as sure as she could be that he wouldn’t be back tothisstreet, though other London thoroughfares might not be so fortunate.
