Death and Mr. Pickwick (76 page)

He was now fingering the items in a display called ‘Brummagem Buttons', devoted to early-nineteenth-century counterfeit coins, especially those manufactured in Birmingham. He picked up a half-crown, which an explanatory label described as ‘Pewter' – whatever the metal, it was certainly not the silver of the official coin of the realm.

‘I am not going to answer,' I said, ‘because I can tell you are itching to say more.'

‘I am. Let us suppose Boz
did
raise objections. Remember, we are not making any assumptions at all about what the scheme was – we are merely considering whether Boz raised objections, and suggested an alternative.' He opened a small refrigerator containing a tray of almond toffee, known in the nineteenth century as ‘hard bake', which Mary was required to produce at regular intervals, and he offered me a piece; I declined, but he took a piece himself, and he sucked and chewed as he continued his argument.

‘Let us suppose Boz suggested an almost complete overturning of Seymour's scheme, so that he, Boz, would be in charge, and that Seymour would follow his instructions. We shall further suppose that Boz suggested that the subject matter should not even follow the same course as Seymour's, and that insofar as anything originated by Seymour was left, it would just be a minor part. So instead of the writer writing up to the artist's pictures, the artist would be drawing up to the writer's words. Let us suppose, furthermore, that William Hall was
instantly
impressed by this young man, Boz.' He noisily worked his teeth on the hard bake. ‘Perhaps Boz speaks enthusiastically on behalf of his alternative proposal – his face is twice alive, as he walks around the room, explaining his ideas! His mouth twitches with energy, his eyes blaze, the passion runs through his body, the voice at times approaches a shriek, as he says: “
This
is what is wrong with Seymour's idea,
this
is what I would do instead,
this
is what I can
only
do, nothing else.” He swallowed the remnants of the toffee. ‘Because you see, Scripty, this overturning of Seymour's scheme is what Boz said happened. Let me tell you what he says about how he argued for the overturning.'

He had brought with him, to the Footnotes Room, one of his many files, which he now opened.

‘Boz claims that he declared – and I quote – “that I should like to take my own way with a freer range of English scenes and people, and was afraid I should ultimately do so in any case, whatever course I might prescribe to myself at starting”. He also said – again I quote – “it would be infinitely better for the plates to arise naturally out of the text”.'

He closed the file and stood beside an antique microscope, whose structure incorporated a gas lamp as illumination.

‘So, Scripty, Boz claims he actually turned down the scheme presented to him. He says that even if he agreed to do it, he would find himself doing what he, Boz, wanted to do instead. And this hard, unimaginative businessman, William Hall, is so instantly impressed that he wants to sign up Boz for this new scheme on the spot. There is just one little problem, Scripty. Even if Hall wanted to do this, he surely could not – at least, not unilaterally.'

‘Because there are two other parties involved – his business partner Edward Chapman, and Robert Seymour.'

‘Exactly! The response of Hall, if presented with an alternative scheme, would surely be: “Well, you have totally convinced me, Boz – but I'm afraid I shall have to consult my partner and, above all, Mr Seymour, to see whether they think the same. I shall report back to you as soon as possible.” That seems logical, does it not?'

‘It does.'

‘But let us look at the letter that Boz wrote that very Wednesday evening to his fiancée.' The file opened again. ‘Boz had returned from a session of parliamentary reporting on, among other things, a petition in favour of a railway from Brighton to London. He gets in, sits down, and writes to his fiancée. And he says – and I quote – “I am to make my estimate and calculation and to give them a decisive answer on Friday morning. The work will be no joke but the emolument is too tempting to resist.” Now, note that – he is to give
them
, Chapman and Hall, a decisive answer the day after next. But there is a problem here isn't there? Because we have already agreed that if Boz had objected to Seymour's scheme, it would be a case of
William Hall going back to Boz
– it would certainly not be Boz going to see Chapman and Hall with his final decision. Do you see the problem?'

‘I do.' I sat at the stool in front of the largest object in the room, a so-called ‘square piano', a rectangular predecessor to the upright piano. On its music stand was a page of sheet music, ‘The Old Hundredth', and a section of the libretto from
The Waterman
, an opera by Charles Dibdin. ‘My initial response is – there is something wrong with your analysis. We need to backpedal. Perhaps Hall
did
unilaterally agree to an overturning of Seymour's scheme. Perhaps Hall thought he could convince Chapman and was prepared to ride roughshod over Seymour.'

‘Ah, the riding-roughshod hypothesis. We shall consider that, Scripty, in due course. But you might ask yourself whether the work
looks
like a work in which Seymour's ideas were ridden roughshod over.' He uncorked a jar which, according to its label, once contained rappee snuff – he inhaled, pulled a face, and tapped down the cork again. ‘I shall demonstrate that it is not. The conclusion I reach is that Boz raised no objections to the scheme at the meeting he had with Hall. Go on, Scripty, grow your devil's advocate's horns.'

I said: ‘Hall visited Boz in the morning. Correct?'

‘Correct.'

‘The letter you mention was written in the evening. Correct?'

‘Correct again.'

I stood, and walked around, and came to a halt beside a slender longcase clock, in burr walnut, made by Thomas Tompion. ‘Perhaps Boz raised his objections to Hall, Hall went back to the office in the Strand, persuaded Chapman of the wisdom of going along with Boz's ideas, and then Seymour happened to pop into the office. They asked his views, he agreed, and a messenger was sent to Boz, and so he knew that everyone had agreed to the changes he had suggested. So he wrote the letter to his fiancée, saying that all he has to do is give Chapman and Hall his final answer on Friday. It all fits, and there is no contradiction.'

‘Bravo, Scripty, Bravo!' He walked towards a glass-stoppered bottle, etched with the words ‘Camphor Julep'. There was a teaspoon beside the bottle, which he filled, and held out to me. I shook my head so he swallowed the spoonful himself, and appeared to enjoy the experience. He added that the mixture was useful for keeping calm and then said: ‘You are ignoring one very important piece of evidence, Scripty: the copy of
Sketches by Boz
which was to be passed to Seymour. Let us consider when Seymour examined that work. One moment.' He wiped his lips upon a long towel with the ends sewn together, which hung from a roller: it was embroidered every few inches with the words ‘Jack Towel'. I knew that replacing this towel with a clean one, at periodic intervals, was another of Mary's duties.

‘First of all, is it possible that, by coincidence, Seymour had read
Sketches by Boz
prior to the meeting between Hall and Boz? I think that is
vanishingly
unlikely. It had been published just days before the meeting; and moreover, there were so few copies available that the publisher actually had to ask Boz to return his complimentary copies. The earliest that Seymour could have read
Sketches by Boz
was Wednesday, after Hall had taken the marked copy back to the office. And here is the interesting thing, Scripty – we possess written evidence about Seymour reading
Sketches by Boz.
'

 

*

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, SEYMOUR
returned to Islington in a good mood, carrying
Sketches by Boz
– for, after delivering pictures to Charles Whitehead, Seymour had heard, and warmly greeted, the news that a certain parliamentary journalist and sketch-writer might take on the task of providing letterpress. He had
not
so warmly greeted the whimsical suggestion of Edward Chapman that, as Boz's work looked so splendid in a two-volume illustrated format, so too would the adventures of the Pickwick Club. William Hall had knocked down the suggestion himself, and Chapman had apologised for a passing idea that was not thought through.

When Seymour entered the house in Park Place West, he immediately heard a burst of laughter and then a voice that seemed familiar, but which he could not identify with any certainty. He listened at the parlour door.

‘My friend Mr Buss,' said the voice, ‘has a man who is his regular beard model, for paintings of Old Testament prophets and so on, and this man is
always
threatening to shave his whiskers off to extort more money. “I had the razor
this
close to the whiskers last week, Mr Buss,” he says, “and I nearly did it. I even soaped up.”' The imitation of a whining voice for the beard model brought on another bout of laughs, and at that point Seymour opened the door.

Jane's father and mother, Thomas and Susanna Holmes, were sitting in the parlour, along with Edward Holmes; but Seymour was more surprised by the presence of a trio of young artistic associates, whom he did not know well, but whom he had sometimes encountered at a printing firm when waiting for proofs. He had extended the invitation to all three to call at his residence any time they happened to be in the area.

Seymour kissed his Aunt Susanna, a kindly and matronly woman, who was a plumper version of his late mother, except with more gaiety in her person; and he shook hands enthusiastically with his Uncle Thomas, a portly retired manufacturer of muslin.

‘I was just talking to our friends here about you, Robert, just a couple of minutes ago,' said Thomas. ‘I said that art is all very well, but if you had stayed in the calico printing trade, you would have kept Jane in shawls for the rest of her life.'

Seymour shook hands with the artists, who sat together on the sofa. Taken together, they made an amusing and contrasting group. One had slicked-down hair, one had hair sticking up like a brush, and the third centre-parted his hair with great symmetry, though additional character was imparted to his face by a nose which took a crooked path. This third man had told the tale of his friend's beard model. Seymour remarked on this, and said that he knew of Mr Buss's work, though the two had not met.

Tea was poured and an easy conversation flowed. Thomas asked Seymour about the two volumes he had carried in, which he had placed on the floor by his chair. After Seymour explained that the writer of these volumes might provide letterpress for a pictorial scheme he had in mind, he said: ‘Shall we have a read of this Boz's work?'

Seymour read aloud, to the great fascination of the assembled party, passages from a story called ‘Mr Bung's Narrative', including the line: ‘I felt as lonesome as a kitten in a wash-house copper with the lid on.'

‘Now that line,' said Edward Holmes, ‘suits your taste
exactly
, Robert, when you are in one of your nasty moods towards cats.'

‘It does!' said Seymour.

‘Don't encourage him, Edward,' said Jane. ‘I wish that Robert was
always
kind to cats.'

‘Now, Jane, I am often kind to cats. But sometimes – but forget that for now. Let us dip into another part of the work.'

He read a sketch concerning a literary lion: ‘“We must confess that we looked forward with no slight impatience to the announcement of supper; for if you wish to see a tame lion under particularly favourable circumstances, feeding-time is the period of all others to pitch upon.”'

‘I could imagine myself using the idea of literary lion like this,' said Seymour.

‘Let's read some more,' said Susanna.

‘Listen to this,' said Seymour, dipping elsewhere. He read: ‘“The orator (an Irishman) came. He talked of green isles – other shores – vast Atlantic – bosom of the deep – Christian charity – blood and extermination – mercy in hearts – arms in hands – altars and homes – household gods. He wiped his eyes, he blew his nose, and he quoted Latin. The effect was tremendous – the Latin was a decided hit. Nobody knew exactly what it was about, but everybody knew it must be affecting, because even the orator was overcome.”'

The joyous result was that the parlour became, over the following hours, a catalogue of all the types of amusement and entertainment that
Sketches by Boz
could produce. The readings continued until a late hour of the night, often accompanied by convulsions of laughter.

‘I admit this Boz seems like the perfect man to work with you,' said Edward Holmes, ‘assuming you must collaborate. I myself sometimes have misgivings about collaboration. Consider the opera
Isidore de Merida
, when five composers were involved. Awful! Unless by some friendship the various minds become as one, collaboration does not bode well for an endeavour.'

‘I say throw aside caution and grab this opportunity!' said the brush-haired man.

‘I agree,' said Seymour. ‘It's a blessing the other writers the publishers approached turned it down.'

‘No one else can do it but this man, Mr Seymour,' said the man with the slicked-down hair.

‘He's fairly amusing, yes,' said Jane. ‘But how much does he expect to be paid for the work?'

‘According to Mr Whitehead,' said Seymour, ‘he was paid nothing for his tales in the
Monthly Magazine
.'

‘
Nothing
!' she said.

‘But Chapman and Hall have offered him fourteen pounds a month.'