The Snake-Oil Dickens Man

‘At last, when calm returned and I could face my cakes with an equanimity unimaginable the day before, my thoughts turned again to our illustrious passenger and I pondered the problem of how I might meet with Dickens. The initial excitement passed, it came to me that encountering him now might actually harm my cause. How seriously could he take the babblings of a steward about some unlikely book? I was cast low for a full day but was then inspired by what appeared as a brilliant idea: once arrived in America, this hero of the people would surely be in need of an aide, a secretary perhaps, for the duration of his stay. It was impossible that he should deal personally with the deluge of correspondence that would inevitably follow in the wake of such an august event. I decided upon approaching him on land, in the guise of a free citizen of the United States.

‘The difficulty would lie in securing an introduction to the great man. I turned over innumerable schemes that I thought might achieve this end but rejected them all and was in low spirits during our brief stop at Halifax. My optimism was fully restored when we finally berthed at the busy port of Boston. No sooner had the painter been tossed upon the quay and the planks let down than the ship was boarded by piratical members of the Eastern press, some local dignitaries and by a certain luminary whose face I was startled to recognise. This was the artist, Francis Alexander, in whose employ my brother George now was and whom I had espied as he left his house, the morning I had paid a visit to his pupil, before taking ship for England.

‘The commotion on the forward deck was immense. Reporters were swarming like so many bees, the crew were tying off gangplanks and crowds on the quay were cheering anyone who made use of them. In this confusion, I was able to approach quite close to the bearskin-coated young writer and hear him receive Alexander’s introductions and note that Dickens had agreed to sit for his portrait during his stay in Boston.

‘I hugged myself in joy. To further my design now, I had only to make my way to Alexander’s studio and confide my plans to George and then to take up my position as secretary to Charles Dickens. And then, when Dickens realised what a protégé he had, what a world might be mine!’

‘And did it work out?’ I asked, forgetting my role as secretary yet knowing something of Elijah’s more recent history I felt I could answer this myself.

Before he could form his answer, I heard a commotion upon the stairs and then the door flew open and Merriweather burst in, with Silas Amory on his heels.

‘Is that you, Merriweather?’ said Elijah, angered by the unprecedented interruption. ‘You had better have good reason for this.’

‘Damn right I have, you old fool,’ Merriweather cried. ‘We’ve been robbed. Somebody cleared out the safe!’

I looked at Merriweather, his face crimson with emotion, his small black eyes fixed on me like the sights of twin rifles. Amory regarded us both, coolly and dispassionately and then Merriweather too, with equal impartiality.

‘Does something go forth here, is something afoot, gentlemen?’ he breathed, with the sibilance of snakes. Elijah rocked in his chair and continued to stare at a vacancy somewhere between us all.

Chapter Five (#ulink_e1d0d110-3216-5fd4-9772-d01266cc703d)

I

ELIJAH BROKE A moment’s silence.

‘So you have been robbed of a few days’ takings. What of it? I don’t suppose it amounted to much,’ he said.

‘I’m smashed, you fool,’ said Merriweather. ‘And by heaven if you had anything to do with this, I’ll break you too.’

‘Keep a tongue, Merriweather. Everyone gets robbed sooner or later, one way or another.’

I had seen Merriweather out of sorts before, enraged and in a drunken fury more often than I would ever want to remember but this was something different. He was frightened, abstracted, his eyes publishing the turmoil of his mind as he circled Elijah’s chair like a coyote about a big fire. Elijah followed the sound of his boot heels and said: ‘How can you be smashed?’

‘I ain’t about to explain my business,’ Merriweather snapped, fixing us both with his squinty gaze. ‘You tell me what you know now ‘fore the trail goes cold.’