John Schettler: Touchstone

Nordhausen smiled, wondering whether Mr. Simms was angling for the lady’s affections or a good meal. Still, the simple humanity of these people was immediately impressed upon him. They were not ‘historical figures,’ subjects for his intellectual digestion and study. They were real flesh and blood now, with quirks and foibles and all too familiar gestures as they spoke to one another in that brief passing. He rubbed his palms together, experiencing a moment of excitement. He was here at last, and this was going to be far more interesting that he could possibly imagine.

He was beside the shop window of Wm. Hycross, Shirtmaker, displaying his wares on fashionable stuffed torsos. Across Baker Street was Curtis and Co., Chemists. Each appeared to be open for business, although neither appeared to have any traffic at the moment. Nordhausen wondered what Mr. Hycross would think about his style. In his preparations, he had shopped eBay for period clothing, and accessorized at the San Francisco antique shops. Dressed as he was, he suddenly felt naked. He hoped he would not appear too au bas du style . What if Mr. Hycross should see a fashion idea that was not to appear for another 10 years! He was certain that his beautiful woolen overcoat with fur collar and lapels was no earlier than 1906. What year was it? He decided to go across the street to the Chemists.

The shop took up the corner of Baker and Crawford Street, and he smiled at the surprise when he realized that Paddington had been renamed here. The establishment had large windows on the intersection, displaying a variety of compounds in attractive jars, bottles, boxes, envelopes. The labels held drawings of happy children, attractive young people, hale and hearty elders, with names like Professor M’omber’s Vegetable Hair Grower, Hemsley’s Worm Destroying Spirit, Dr. J. Hedge’s Fever and Ague Annihilator, Heimbold’s Compound Fluid Extract Buchu (for diseases of the bladder and kidney, obstruction of the urine, chronic gonorrhea and gleets); Taylor’s Celebrated Electric Oil.

Nordhausen’s excitement and curiosity got the better of him. He simply had to go in and have a brief look, so he pushed the heavy door in. It set a bell on a wire to tinkling. He shut the door, and made his way through aisles of display cabinets to the counter in the back of the store. The sudden warmth on his face was comforting, and he caught the distinctive odor of good tobacco in the air. The only light came from a desk lamp, from which the no doubt Mr. Curtis sprang up sprightly to serve him.

“Well, sir, let me see, let me see, what can I prescribe for you today?”

“No, I am…”

“No sir, now don’t tell me. You have come to consult Henry Curtis, the principal prescribing chemist in this part of London, pray allow me to serve you. I see that you are not from these parts, sir?” He peered intently at Nordhausen.

“Yes, I…”

“No, no, sir, let me diagnose.”

Mr. Curtis pursed his lips and looked Nordhausen up and down. He cocked an eyebrow.

“I observe, sir, that although you exhibit signs of radiant good health, you suffer from an insidious internal weakness in your kidneys. Tell me, do you complain of,” he looked about as if a lurker might be eavesdropping, “sporadic urination?”

Nordhausen was taken aback. “Sporadic?”

“Yes, I was certain of it! As well, I observe your color is high. This is a sure sign of an unnatural effusion of blood in the peripheral system. I shall prescribe an anti-apoplectine and a specific for your kidney congestion, perhaps Grover’s Tasteless Elixir.”

He made a few notes on a small pad, then looked back up.

“Where might you be from, sir? Let me see. I observe your clothing was not made by a London tailor, so I take it that you have come recently from foreign shores. Am I not correct, sir?”

“Yes, only just now.”

“You are plainly an American gentleman, your accent is discernible.”

“Yes, I am newly arrived from San Francisco.”

“From San Francisco, indeed! That is a long journey, to be sure. Allow me to recommend Miss Plimsy’s Restorative. Although made for the ladies, between you and me, sir, it has powers for the masculine sex. And I believe it is an American product, containing an invigorating mixture of cocaine tempered with a dash of morphine. Believe me, your first evening in London will be a pleasure!”

“Thank you, no!” Nordhausen burst in. “No doubt you are dead on in your diagnosis, however, I… I… rely on my own physician for treatment of those very ills! Your acuity is remarkable.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you,” Mr. Curtis lowered his voice, “I may say certain crowned heads have graced this shop floor for relief, and gone away satisfied.” He resumed a normal speaking tone. “However, allow me to press on you this bottle of Miss Plimsy’s Restorative, a gift, as it were, of friendship across the waters.”

Nordhausen accepted the gift in the spirit with which it was offered, and shuddered to wonder what other ingredients the bottle might contain.

“So, sir, if you have not come to shop, how else can I serve you?”

“Well, Mr. Curtis, as you have discovered, I am here from America, and I find myself lost in your metropolis, unable to find my station, my hotel or my bags.”

“How did that happen, sir?” Mr. Curtis was concerned.

Nordhausen’s mind flew, beginning to weave tangled webs.

“I had loaded my trunks on a cab at South Kensington Station. When I turned away for a moment, the cab took off with all my baggage. I tried to chase it through the streets, got lost, and now I am here.”

“My dear sir, we must report this to the police, at once!”

“No!” Nordhausen shouted. “I mean, no. I don’t desire to call the police at this time.”

“But, sir, all your effects!”

“No,” Nordhausen said, firmly, “No, sir, I prefer not to. Please respect my wishes in this.”

Mr. Curtis was taken aback, but when presented to him like that, he had no choice. “Very well, sir, but what shall you do?”

“Perhaps you can direct me to a hotel in the neighborhood, where I can spend the night, and determine what to do in the morning?”

Mr. Curtis considered. “I think Halliday’s Private Hotel would serve you well, in Little George Street, which is quite nearby. You will be certain to find good accommodations there, and my cousin is the manager.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Curtis.”

“Not at all, sir, it is a duty and pleasure to assist tourists to our fair city. I strongly recommend you reconsider your decision not to inform the police. This is not only an extreme inconvenience to you, but a stain on London, and its corps of honest, hardworking cabbies. No doubt you were recognized as a foreigner by that robber, just as easily as I recognized it!

“Come, let me direct you, and, if I may say, please consider returning for my own patented rapid hair restorer and scalp calmative, made principally of lead paste with a soupcon of arsenic. Don’t take it orally, of course.”

Nordhausen believed he was supposed to laugh, so he did. Mr. Curtis smiled as his non-failing punch line worked again.

Mr. Curtis directed him down several blocks, and in short order, with the golden currency of Mr. Curtis’ referral, Nordhausen was installed in a third floor room, with bow windows overlooking Little George Street. The check-in was remarkable. No one asked him for money, much less a credit card. Only the most general information was needed for the register, and his word was unquestioned. In fifteen minutes he was lying on his back on the rather firm bed, catching his breath, and reviewing everything that had happened.

It hadn’t taken a clothier to view his ensemble with suspicion, and his clever explanation had almost landed him in the police station. Yet, his chance encounter with Mr. Curtis had gotten him lodging for the night he needed. He might even venture out for the evening.