Dodger (24 page)

Perhaps, Dodger thought, he should have said that the process was not difficult but occasionally worrying, because Mister Tenniel would scribble and scribble and then suddenly dart a glance towards Dodger, which pinned him like a butterfly, and then just as soon disappear as Mister Tenniel got back to the scribbling again. Only the top of his head could be seen as the artist bent over his work, while Solomon sat drinking coffee and reading a complimentary issue of
Punch
.

To Dodger’s amazement, being drawn didn’t take very much time, and finally Tenniel made a sudden few last-minute adjustments to the portrait on his easel and turned it towards Dodger with a grin. ‘I’m pretty pleased with this, Mister . . . may I call you Dodger? I think I have your essence down pat, but of course the paper is always somewhat cluttered, and I will be expected to add a few other details to give the public some vision of what
transpired
in Mister Sweeney Todd’s shop. I need to draw Mister Todd too, you know – the public demands both hero and villain.’

Dodger swallowed. ‘But Mister Todd wasn’t really a villain, sir—’ he tried.

Tenniel cut him off with a wave of his brush. ‘I hear that Talavera was a most dreadful battle. They say that Wellington simply threw men forward into the mouths of the cannons in abandon, and to great loss of life. One can only hope that the deaths were worth the sacrifice, if that could be possible.’ He shook Dodger by the hand and went on, ‘Mister Dickens told me the truth about what happened on that day in Fleet Street, and it is wonderful, is it not, how the public perception of what is true these days seems always biased towards the macabre? It would seem that the common man likes nothing so much as an ’orrible murder.’ He paused and added, ‘Is there something the matter, Mister Dodger?’

As often as Tenniel had closely scrutinized Dodger, so had Dodger in his turn scrutinized him. He had seen not what was there, but at one point seen something very subtly out of kilter. It took a while for him to see it properly and to find the words.

Embarrassed at being caught staring, he decided to make a clean breast of it and said, ‘I believe you have something wrong with your left eye, don’t you, Mister Tenniel? I hope it ain’t too much of a drawback in your profession?’

The artist’s face froze and then thawed into a lopsided smile. ‘The scar is so small, I believe that you are the first man I have met to notice it. In fact, it was a trivial childhood accident.’

Dodger, watching the smiling face, thought: Not, I think, so trivial.

‘Charlie was right in what he said about you the other day!’

‘Oh? Mmm, and what
did
Charlie say about my friend Dodger the other day, if you please, sir?’ Solomon rumbled, standing up and packing the magazine into the depths of his coat. ‘I would very much like to know.’ He smiled, of course, but the wording was emphatic.

This was most certainly picked up by Tenniel, who blushed and said, ‘Since I have put my foot in it, sir, I can do no more than tell the truth – will you please not tell Mister Dickens that I mentioned it? What he said, in fact, was: “Mister Dodger is so sharp that one day his name will be known on every continent, possibly as a benefactor of mankind, but also quite possibly as the most charming scoundrel ever to be hanged!”’

Mister Tenniel took a step backwards in amazement when Solomon, laughing, said, ‘Well, at least Mister Dickens is a wonderful judge of character, and directness in a man such as himself is admirable. But should you meet him before I do, please tell him that Solomon Cohen is endeavouring to see that the first option will prevail! Thank you very much for your time, sir, but please excuse us now, because I must go with the young ruffian to a place where he will get cleaner than he’s ever been in his life, because this evening we are due to go to a very important dinner engagement in the West End. Good day to you, sir, and thank you, but now we really must take our leave.

‘No time to dawdle, Dodger,’ said Solomon as the door closed behind them. ‘You know how keen I am on bathing? Well, we are today going to have a Turkish bath, with all the trimmings.’

This was news to Dodger, but Solomon’s wisdom and efforts at basic hygiene had kept him alive so far, so it was almost inconceivable for Dodger to thwart his friend on this occasion; he dared not argue for fear that Solomon’s righteous zeal would cause him to
drag
Dodger there by the ear. Acquiescence was better than becoming a laughing stock in all the rookeries and stews. And so, putting a brave face on it, he followed the old man out into what was really a drizzle with smoke in its eye, where they unhooked Onan from the lamppost where he had been tethered in the certain knowledge that nobody would ever want to steal him.

Dodger felt better when he cogitated on the word ‘Turkish’. Somebody, probably Ginny-Come-Lately – a nice girl with a laugh that made you very nearly blush; they had been quite close once upon a time – had told him about Turkey. She had filled his mind with exciting images of dancing girls and light-brown ladies in very thin vests. Apparently, they would give you a massage and then oil you with what she called ‘ungulates’, which sounded very exotic, although to tell you the truth, Ginny-Come-Lately could make anything sound exotic. When he had mentioned this to Solomon – Dodger had been much younger then, and still a bit naïve – the old man had said, ‘Surely not. I have not travelled widely in the countries of the Levant, but whatever else they do to their goats, I am quite sure they don’t rub them all over their own bodies. The goat has never been distinguished by the fragrance of its aroma. I suspect you mean “unguents”, which are perfumes distilled from fragrant oils. Why’d you want to know?’

The younger Dodger had said, ‘Oh, no reason really, I just heard somebody say the word.’ Right now, though, whatever way you put it, the word Turkish conjured up visions of eastern promise, and so he became quite optimistic as he strolled through the streets all the way to the Turkish baths in Commercial Road.

There were, of course, bathhouses all over the place, often used even by those who were really poor, when – as one old lady had put it to Dodger – ‘sometimes you need to knock the lumps off ’.
Often
, the baths were ordered just like the rest of the world, in that the more you paid the more likely it was that you got the hottest and cleanest water which was, at least before the soap went in, transparent. Dodger was aware that in some of those places the water that the nobs had bathed in ended up in the baths habituated by what you might call the middle classes, travelling afterwards to the great bath for the lower classes, where at least it arrived soapy, which if you took the cheerful view meant a saving. Even though you might never sit down at a table with mayors and knights and barons, at least you could share their bath, which made you proud to be a Londoner.

The rain was falling faster now, rain that was undeniably London rain, already grubby before it hit the ground, putting back on the streets what had been taken away by the chimneys. It tasted like licking a dirty penny.

The door to the bathhouse was up some steps, although there was nothing much else to recommend it; it certainly didn’t look like a haven for nubile Nubians of any kind. Once inside, however, they were greeted by a lady, which sent Dodger’s spirits up a bit, although the fact that she turned out to be quite old and had something of a moustache lowered them once again. There was a muted conversation between her and Solomon. The old boy would haggle over the price of a penny bun but had apparently now met his match in the old woman, whose expression suggested that the price was that well-known one, ‘take it or leave it’, and as far as she was concerned she would be very happy if he left it, as far away as possible.

Solomon was not often thwarted in his determination to haggle the cheapest price for everything, and Dodger heard him mutter the word ‘Jezebel’ under his breath, just before paying for
what
turned out to be the keys to a couple of lockers. Of course, Dodger had been to the ordinary public baths many times before; but this one, he hoped, might be more adventurous. He was rather open to the prospect of being oiled.

So, clothed only in large towels, their feet slapping on marble, Solomon and Dodger stepped out into a huge room which looked rather like Hell would look if it had been designed by somebody who thought people deserved another chance. It was full of the strange echoes you get when steam, stone and humanity are all in one place. To Dodger’s dismay, there were no signs of the eagerly anticipated ladies in thin vests, but shadowy figures – male figures – were visible everywhere in the steaming gloom. At this point, Solomon put a hand on Dodger’s shoulder and whispered, ‘Be careful of the Percys, a word to the wise.’

This word to the wise left Dodger no wiser until the penny dropped, and he said, as they were stepping down into the nearest bath, ‘This isn’t the first bath I’ve been in, you know, but I think it’s the prettiest. The Percys never bothered me before.’

‘God seems to have really taken against them,’ said Solomon as the hot water rose up their legs. ‘For myself, I can’t see why, because it seems to me that, in a small way at least, they are doing this small planet something of a service by not helping to fill it with unnecessary people.’

There wasn’t just one bath in the baths; there were sweat baths, cold baths, hot baths and, right now, clambering down into the bath with the two of them was a gentleman wrapped in towels and with biceps bigger than most people’s thighs, who said in a voice like a grinding mill, ‘Would either of you gentlemen require a massage? Very good, very thorough, you will feel the benefit and afterwards you will be as right as ninepence, yes?’

Dodger looked at Solomon, who nodded and said, ‘You should try it, by all means. They tend to be rather brisk in here, but afterwards you will feel the glow.’ He nodded to the man and said, ‘I will take a massage myself alongside my young friend, and we can talk and relax.’

Afterwards, Dodger considered that the massage had not been relaxing, unless it was that you felt so much better when it stopped, but while the two masseurs twisted and pummelled with no other interest in their victims/clients, he unloaded his thoughts to Solomon, occasionally punctuated with an ‘ouch’.

‘I’m glad that Simplicity is safe where she is,’ he said, ‘but she will be in danger every time she goes for a walk, and as far as I can see there ain’t nobody in the government who wouldn’t do nothing to help her (ugh!).’

‘Mmm,’ said Solomon. ‘That is because mmm the government thinks mostly about all the people – they are not very good at individuals – and undoubtedly there would be those in the country who consider that handing her back against her will might save any bad blood between two countries. And indeed, although I fear to say it, it would be a Christian act, since after all she is a wife in the eyes of God – although, Dodger, God sometimes appears to be looking the other way and I have often told Him so. The wishes of the husband are mmm invariably considered more important than those of the wife.’

‘That man last night was working for a cove called Sharp Bob, who is (ouch!) interested in Simplicity and me,’ Dodger said between blows. ‘Wants to know where she is, so there must be money in it for him. Do you know him? I heard tell he’s a legal kind of gentleman.’

‘Sharp Bob,’ Solomon mused. ‘Mmm, I believe I have heard of
him
. And yes, he’s a lawyer – for criminals, you might say. I don’t mean getting them off in front of the beak. He does do that, certainly, but he is more a sort of mmm go-between, you might say. Someone will approach him and say, as it might, “There’s a gent in our town who I might like to see inconvenienced.” Nobody would say anything about killing or chopping off an ear because it would be done simply by looks, and a touching of the nose and little signals like that – just so that Sharp Bob himself can say that he knew nothing about the matter or why somebody’s dining room had blood all over it.’ Solomon sighed. ‘You say his men are those who attacked Miss Simplicity?’

‘Yes, and now I need to find him,’ Dodger said. ‘Soon as we’ve got this business tonight out of the way. I oughta have got the whereabouts of this Sharp Bob off that cove last night, but I was (ouch!) kicking him in the crotch at the time and forgot to do anything about it. I think I had perhaps punched him heavily on the conk as well, flattened it over his face, so all he could say was grunts.’

‘Let that be a lesson to you,’ said Solomon. ‘Violence is not always the way to resolve things.’

‘Solomon, you have a six-barrelled pistol back at home!’ said Dodger.

‘Mmm, I said, not always.’

‘Well, if you know where he might be, let me know ’cos tomorrow I’m after him anyway,’ Dodger said. ‘Maybe he reckons someone would be happy to hear that Simplicity was dead. Not because they hate her, but just because she is (ugh!) in the way.’

There was a very long mmm from Solomon, which at first Dodger thought was because of an extra-special twist from the masseur, then Solomon said quietly, ‘Well then, Dodger, you have
answered
your own little conundrum. Let them hear that Simplicity is mmm dead. No one hunts a dead man. Mmm, just a point that crossed my mind, of course. No reason to take it seriously.’

Dodger looked at Sol’s expression and his eyes were shining. ‘What do you mean!?’

‘I mean, Dodger, that you are a very resourceful young man, and I have given you something to think about. I suggest you think about it. Think about people seeing what they want to see.’

A fist came down on Dodger with a thump, but he barely noticed it as his brain started to clamour and then began to spin. He looked back at Solomon and just nodded with a glint in his eye.