A/N: Written for the Diversity Challenge, A54 – write a drabble of exactly 300 words.

What Became of Monks?

Sometimes, he wondered what became of that man.

Often he forgot about him. He had a wonderful life now: a wonderful family. Mr Brownlow raises him into a proper gentleman, and it is less a task than they both fear. His friends of crime that had scraped him off the streets but had almost seen him hung from the raptors were either dead or redeemed. Even the Dodger was doing alright in Australia. By some miracle, society might say. Oliver was just happy at the news because the Dodger had been a kindly old chap to him. After a fashion.

But he didn't know about Monks. The man had left no way to get in touch, and no-one quite cared to do so. Pity was all fine and proper, but he good and frightened Oliver as well. So long as that half of his inheritance was of some help, that was fine. It would simply do his heart good to know it was.

But that was Oliver, who despite his life was still remarkably naïve. Who believed in giving second chances to a man who wouldn't have flinched at the sight of his broken and bloody body hanging from rooftops. A man who had wanted to strip him of everything he'd had…and hadn't. Everything he was. A man who'd conspired with the likes of what had gotten Nancy who'd been kind so horribly killed – but then again, which of them weren't guilty of that crime? Save noble people like Mr Brownlow of course. Oliver had been remarkably lucky…and he knew that, to an extent.

If he'd known how lucky he'd been in his entirety, he wouldn't be wondering about Monks at all. Because he'd know exactly where the former Edward Leeford lay: buried with nameless others in a prison grave.