A Dodge, a Twist and a Tobacconist

by Sophronia Belle Lyon

  Chapter Fourteen

  I walked slowly down the street between Dr. Twist and Visha. My euphoria over being able to get out of bed and finding Visha waiting for me had long since faded and my wound ached ferociously. Oliver Twist had offered to send for the mail coach/airship to pick us up on the hotel roof but Visha insisted we had to walk to the place where she would deliver her message to Dodge.

  “We must be seen together,” she explained. “Dodge does not like to do things entirely by message. He needs ‘eyes on’ to be convinced that something is true. So I have to bring you to the place where I know you will be seen with me, and I will flirt and flatter you, and appear to be seducing you. Those in that place will be able to testify to my intentions to Dodge. I am so sorry. It is only a little farther.”

  I leaned on both of them and soldiered on. Oliver Twist had not spoken a word except to lament an interrupted experiment, but his grumbling was brief and good-natured. The omnipresent tablet peeked out of his overcoat pocket and I could hear it ticking along. Twice Dr. Twist seemed about to consult it but kept his supporting arm firmly in mine instead.

  “Here is the place,” Visha said as she led us into a small cafe called Uncle Vanya’s. She and Oliver got me seated at a small table near the door and Visha approached a man who came out of the curtains behind the counter.

  “Three Turkish coffees and some of your wonderful bread balls, Vanya. I also have an item to add to the morning menu,” she said, indicating me. “‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.”

  The short, thickset, black-bearded man looked long and hard at me with bright jet eyes. Visha came to my side and let her hand drift along the back of my neck. Her fingers clung briefly to my hair and I could have sworn it all stood on end. The man disappeared behind the curtain and came out with a small chalkboard. He thumped it down on the counter with a white lump beside it.

  “You write,” he grunted. Visha approached the bar again and wrote what she had told him while he disappeared again behind the curtain.

  “Who iss odder?” demanded the man, suddenly reappearing and slamming a hand down on the counter. All three of us jumped and Visha cast a puzzled look at Oliver Twist.

  “He tells me he is a mad scientist,” she improvised, whispering to Vanya. “Friend of my friend, and apparently inseparable from him.” She rolled her eyes. “I have been trying all night to get rid of him, but he does seem to have a lot of money.” She raised her voice and looked over her shoulder. “You are paying for breakfast, right, Ollie?”

  “Too right, Sweet,” Doctor Twist chirped. Vanya studied the three of us for a long time before vanishing with the chalk and menu board. Visha came and sat back down with us, casting another uncertain look in the direction of the curtain.

  “Dodge is here,” I said, very softly. My two companions stared at me. “He is here, and he has some unexplained interest in you, Doctor Twist.”

  “Dodge? Here?” Oliver’s hand stole toward his tablet.

  “Don’t,” I hissed. “Don’t do anything to excite more interest. Is it only because he’s with me, Visha, or can there be some other reason?”

  Visha’s color had drained away. “I have never met him here,” she whispered. “It’s just a place to leave him messages. He has never been here before. I cannot think of a single reason why he would be interested in--”

  “I want him,” Oliver Twist interrupted with a sudden ferocity. “You two can leave. I’ll call Tod to bring the coach round for you. I cannot walk out of this place knowing he’s here.”

  A sweet, pretty, dark girl in a white apron brought a tray with little bronze cups of fragrant coffee and a plate of heavenly-smelling cinnamon and sugar-coated objects. Visha grabbed one of them and popped it into her mouth.

  “Tell Vanya they are perfect, as always,” Visha called loudly to the girl as she retreated behind the curtain.

  “Doctor Twist, now is not the time,” I murmured under cover of Visha’s compliment.

  “No, now is certainly not the time,” fumed Oliver. “Twenty years ago was the time, when I was born in a workhouse and my mother died the same night after walking in the sleet with bleeding feet God only knows how many miles. She had to flee from her home and family because my father died and left her at the mercy of a stepson who was three-quarters demon from hell and one quarter pursuing hound. That man Dodge is another pursuing hound, murdering and plotting for money and power, and I mean to stop him, here and now.”

  “How will you stop him?” I demanded. “Odds are he has gone already, with the information that you are a scientist, and rich, and called something like ‘Ollie’. Before daybreak he will know who you are and where to find you, if he does not already. You must come into exile with us.”

  “Why? What possible interest can he have in me? I need to be here, and even if he is not here in this place at this moment, he is in London. Therefore I need to be in London. I will not run and I will not hide. I am not a helpless woman ready to die in a ditch. I will right this wrong, since I couldn’t right the other.”

  “Dodge needs money.” During this whole insanely intense conversation we had kept our faces straight and had drunk coffee and eaten bread balls as if nothing were wrong. I fixed Oliver Twist with a look that pleaded with him to understand. “If there is nothing else he wants from you, it is money. He cannot get control of you or your funds if he does not know where you are. Come with us. Plot his destruction from a distance. Call your coach, now, and let us go.”

  Oliver dug in his pocket as if searching for money and both Visha and I saw him twist a knob on his tablet. The young girl approached with a smaller silver tray. Oliver threw a five-pound note on it while vaulting onto his feet.

  “The gentleman mistakes,” the girl protested. “Ten shillings only, for three coffees and papa’s bread balls.”

  “They were so scrumptious, they should cost ten times as much!” Oliver shouted. He grabbed the girl and kissed her. She cried out in astonishment and Vanya erupted from the back with a cast-iron rolling pin aimed at Oliver’s head.

  “Sorry, sorry, so sorry,” I babbled, staggering up, holding my side and almost falling into Oliver while shielding him from Vanya’s charge. “No offense, Uncle Vanya. He just loves a good pastry. And the coffee! You are an artist. We must come back here again. Good night, or should I say good morning!”

  Visha and I propelled Oliver out into the street, much against his will. We looked up to see a flicker of something like blue and brazen lightning chasing swirls of fog around in the night sky, and then the mail coach plummeted into view and landed in the middle of the street without a sound. I just managed to stumble through the entry port and collapse on one of the deeply-cushioned leather and bronze benches. The growing pain in my side finally overpowered me and I let the darkness come.

  “It’s still coming out red,” Doctor Mac Campbell reported the next time I opened my eyes. The doctor tied off a new bandage around my midsection. “Good morning, Prince Charming. Nope. Don’t bother telling me I can’t call you that because you’ve charmed that Poison Maiden right into the Kingdom of God. Only cost you a few ounces of blood this time instead of a few pints. Will she keep on our side just on principle, now, do you think, or must we keep drawing her along with alarms about your tenuous grasp on this life?”

  Once again I found myself reduced to a blanket and a bandage. This time, however, I rejoiced in the fact that only Doctor Mac seemed to be there to see it. “Thank you, Doctor Campbell. I could tell it was bleeding again, but the scene in London had to play itself out.”

  “Yeah, well, no more playacting for you, sir,” Doctor Mac growled. “You have been out for two solid days and running a high fever. Annabelle neglected to notice that a piece of that dagger chipped off against your rib. I found it just a few minutes ago. You’d have been headed for peritonitis if I hadn’t got it out. The next scene in the drama goes onstage sans Florizel Prince of Bohemia. He exits Act Three, prone, supine, doesn’t matter which, stage left, and may p
erhaps be seen again in Act Five, unless he’s very naughty and doesn’t mind his doctor.”

  “I am yours to command, sir.” I closed my eyes when I saw the bowl full of bloody rags Doctor Mac picked up to carry out. I felt weaker than I had when the stabbing first took place.

  “The now non-poisonous maiden has been aching to see you, by the way. I prescribed a course of unpleasant but necessary purgatives, which she has been faithfully following through with, and she looks almost as near death’s door as you do. But, in her case, she’ll mend quickly as soon as she can have a full meal or two again. Shall I admit her?”

  “May I have some clothes?”

  “No.”

  “Then I would humbly beg to--”

  “Defer the visit until you get clothes? That will be a solid week from now. You are not stirring again without some real rest. Do you want her to wait that long?”

  I caught the resolute expression on the towering doctor’s face and sighed. “Very well. Let her come.”

  Visha did not come immediately, however, and as I left Doctor Mac opened the drapes and windows and let sunlight and air pour into the small, charmingly decorated bedroom. The bedding was white and decked with ivy. The furniture was white wicker and the walls repeated the ivy motif. I observed that the yard seemed to be filled with children laughing and chasing each other about. I tried to remember which families the fair and dark children belonged to. It was easy to spot the Indian lad, Mowgli and Abdalla Gafur’s son. Four sons and daughters of Africa, doubtless the offspring of Zambo and Sahara, romped along with the rest. There were even two Eurasians. I had not known there were so many children among the Alexander Legacy Company.

  Pecos Bill sat motionless beneath a tree with his attendant Dobbs. Again my heart wrenched to see him so, and again I marveled at the constancy of his ruggedly handsome wife. I spotted Oliver Twist under another tree at the edge of the play yard, fiddling with his tablet.

  The Indian lad, pulling a little Eurasian girl along by the hand, stopped before the scientific gentleman and said something. I half-expected Dr. Twist to ignore the children or impatiently send them off but he did neither. The tablet slid away into a jacket pocket and Oliver Twist rose and joined in a game with the children. I wondered where that nearly-apoplectic creature determined to beard Dodge in his den had gone, but I smiled.

  A tap on the door announced the arrival of Visha. When she entered Mrs. Rose Campbell accompanied her. I was not encouraged by the sharp contrast between the two women. Rose Campbell glowed with health and beauty, rivaling her namesake for color and life in a royal blue gown, her golden hair loose and her cheeks flushed. Visha, on the other hand, went beyond pale and drawn. Doctor Campbell had not been exaggerating her drained state.

  “Well, I have no looking glass, but I fear Doctor Campbell’s cures have drawn you down more than my wound has me, Visha,” I said in alarm. I realized that if tiny Madame Rose had not been supporting her the girl would not have made the short walk from the door to a white rattan chair by my bedside.

  “I am told I shall be mended sooner than you are, Florrie,” Visha said with a weak smile. “My poisons are all gone, and I am emptied and beginning to be filled with the knowledge of Christ, thanks to this sweet lady.”

  Rose blushed. “We have lessons every day with the children,” she explained. “This is going to be our most eager student. The little ones clamor for the studies to be over and our Keramion starts and says we cannot be done so soon.”

  “Keramion?” I recognized the word as Greek but could not recall its meaning.

  “A vessel unto honor,” Rose supplied. “I told her she must have a new name, and we have decided to call her Kera Mion from now on, once she told us of Phoebe’s admonition as you left.”

  “So, finally, you will get well, my father in Christ?” Kera asked me in such a faint voice I could scarcely make out her words. “I thought I had killed you with my foolishness.”

  “Doctor Campbell has made certain I shall get a week’s undisturbed rest,” I said ruefully. tucking my blankets tighter around my chin. “So, yes, it is very likely that I shall be properly mended this time.”

  Kera drew a fine silver chain from her bosom and showed me a small metal sliver. “Doctor Campbell says he took this from beneath your heart. Now it lies over my heart, my father in Christ.”

  I colored at the expression on Rose’s face, both tender and teasing. “Mac thought you might want the souvenir yourself,” she volunteered, “and got the blacksmith in the village to put it on a chain. He has a rather gruesome sense of humor at times. Kera seems to think she must be the possessor, however, and Mac says you two must settle that matter between you. Shall I leave you to it?”

  Without waiting for an answer Rose patted Kera’s arm and left the room. The two of us sat in silence, too exhausted to do anything but gaze at each other.

  “How did you know Dodge was in the cafe?” Kera asked finally. “How could you be so sure?”

  “Why would Uncle Vanya care to know who Twist was?” I glanced out the window at the angelic child-man playing Blind Man’s Bluff with the children. He was “It,” and flailed about in the direction of their giggles and provoking foot-stamps.

  “Why would Dodge, other than the fact that he wants to know everything intruding into his sphere?”

  “Oliver’s costume might be absurd-looking, but it reeks of money. Perhaps Dodge saw him as a revenue source, now that Lady Anne’s and the Campbells’ fortunes seem to be beyond his grasp. I greatly feared Twist might be kidnapped on the spot.”

  “I should not have said that he was rich. I put him in danger. I put you both in danger. Uncle Vanya has always been kind to me. It was the only place I felt safe since the day my aunt sold me. The smells of his cinnamon and coffee were a haven to me. I had no idea Dodge would ever come there.”

  “He has probably been most impatiently looking out for a message from you, to know whether Trevor has indeed been able to find his own financial resources.”

  “Other than the Moore-Campbell donation he has obtained nothing.”

  “Might he think I am a rich fowl you mean to pluck and perhaps forget Twist exists?”

  “It is possible. He knows that Trevor hinted you ought to be able to donate generously to his campaign if you only would, so he may conclude that his information about you living in poverty was a blind and your riches are hidden deeper than he has yet discovered.”

  “Good. He may assume you will drain me dry before you drain my life away and Twist will be safe. You said he had some interest in Master Fun. Does he know they are also wealthy?”

  “I believe he thinks that most merchants are like Shakespeare’s Venetian, with all their ventures at sea. Rarely do merchants have much ready capital. He has not spoken of seeking to rob Fun.”

  “We must know if he intends to tap some other source for income.”

  “I am sure the Company in London is working hard to discover his next move.” Rose Campbell breezed in with a tray bearing a tea service and two bowls of broth. “You are promoted from clear broth to beef, Kera. And you, Florizel, must also get back some color and life. Have your lunch and then you both must nap and laze about and stop intensely worrying about what is not your concern, for a week, at least.”

  “May I not have coffee?” Kera pleaded. “I am so tired of tea. I didn’t even get to finish my cup at Uncle Vanya’s, and I do love Turkish coffee.”

  “My Uncle Alec, who became my guardian after my father’s death, found out on the day after he arrived that my aunts were giving me coffee, thinking to strengthen me. He threw it, cup and all, out the window to smash on the paving stones below, and had me drink milk from a wood cup carved like an elephant.

  “I still have that cup, and I shall make a gift of it to you, Kera. It will smell like home to you, for Uncle brought it from India and it is sandalwood. You shall have fresh goat’s milk three times a day, since you are far sicker than I ever was. I shall become your nu
rse, my dear little vessel, and I shall fill you with health and strength as my uncle filled me.

  “He had a year, and I only have a week, so I had better hurry off and get a goat to milk so I can begin my cure. My husband can look after you, Florizel, though he could never be quite as good a doctor as Uncle Alec, being of the surgical and research bent rather than the patient care bent. I am sure, however, that he will manage to pull you through.”

  Rose skipped away, rather like a playful kid herself. Kera and I looked into each other’s eyes again and managed a smile at the matron lady’s artful, ageless enthusiasm.

  As we finished our lunch, instead of Rose, the thin, sallow girl I had learned was called Dulcinea, the Campbells’ adopted daughter, entered, bearing a cunningly carved elephant cup of fragrant wood brimming with frothy milk.

  “Thank you, Dulcy,” Kera said warmly. I started, noticing that the child’s left hand was only a withered claw. She did not speak, either, just bobbed and awkward curtsey to both of us and left.

  “Rose told me Doctor Mac rescued Dulcy from a hospital after her indigent mother died,” Kera sighed. “And Rose adopted her before they were married. Dulcy was the beginning of Rose’s ministry to orphans. She is so blessed to have those two as parents. All of these children are so blessed, to be covered in prayers and taught to praise.”

  She looked wistfully out the window as Rose darted by, having apparently challenged Oliver to a race. The two had comets’ trails of children screaming and running joyfully after them.

  “Doctor Twist spent his childhood starving, cleaning hemp and making coffin-linings. He told me the coffin-maker made him march in the funeral processions because he had such a sweet face and looked so like a mourning angel, wearing a black top-hat and bearing ostrich plumes. He said the man thought to have him made into a mute -- that it would make him more valuable as a mourner and people would pay more for funerals. I thought my upbringing was a horror story.”

  She fell silent and I saw that she was nodding off over the last of her milk. “Are you strong enough to get yourself off to bed?” I asked.

  “I can manage.” Kera rose slowly and approached my bed. “Now I can kiss you and you need not fear me.” She bent down and placed her lips on his forehead. “Rest well, my father in Christ.”