The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
"It's John Smith," cried Lupin. "I am an officer of the police. Has
anybody anything to say to me here? They tell me in the court that some
odd noises were heard in the night."
"I don't know anything about it," said Mrs. Oakley, "but if you will
come in and wait until Mr. Lupin comes in, he may like to see you."
"Oh, no, no, no! It's no matter. Good morning, ma'am."
Down stairs went Lupin, thinking he had acted the officer to perfection,
and making no doubt in the world but that he had thoroughly deceived
Mrs. Oakley, who he was now quite satisfied knew absolutely nothing
about the murder.
In the course of a couple of minutes, Mr. Lupin in his own character
came gliding in.
"I am afraid I have kept you waiting, sister Oakley."
"Oh, not at all, but there has been a man there who says his name is
Smith, and he--"
"I met him! I met him! It is all right. He heard something going on in
the next house, I suppose, and mistook it for this. Pray cook the eggs
to your liking, sister Oakley, and help yourself to anything. Don't be
particular, sister Oakley, but make yourself at home."
"I will, reverend sir, I will."
Mrs. Oakley was really playing her part very well, but she fancied each
moment that the murderer would see something in her manner to give him a
suspicion that she knew too much for his safety.
She was wrong though, for upon the contrary, Mr. Lupin felt quite
satisfied that the secret of his guilt was confined to his own breast.
"I pray you, sister Oakley," he said, "to eat freely of my humble fare,
and after breakfast we will have a prayer."
It seemed to Mrs. Oakley, now that she had awakened to a sense of the
awful hypocrisy of Mr. Lupin, something very horrible for him to talk of
having a prayer; but she took care not to show what she felt in that
particular.
"How kind and good of you," she said.
"Ay, truly, sister Oakley, I am kind and good, and yet there are envious
folks in the world, who I dare say would not hesitate to give even me a
bad name."
"Impossible, surely."
"I would it were, I would it were, my dear sister Oakley, I would it
were impossible."
"It seems to me, reverend sir, as though it would not be in the power of
poor human nature to praise you too much; but it is time that I should
think of going home now, if you please."
"Well, sister, if you must go home among the heathens and the
Philistines, I will not hinder you; but with the hope of seeing you soon
again, I will now offer up a prayer."
It was truly sickening even to Mrs. Oakley, whose feelings the reader
will think could not be very fine, to see such an arch hypocrite
offering up a prayer to that Deity whom he must so bitterly have
offended by his awful crimes.
But Mr. Lupin cut the prayer tolerably short, and then giving to Mrs.
Oakley what he called the kiss of peace, and to which, loathsome as it
was from him, she felt herself forced to submit, he bade her good day.
And now, indeed, she began to entertain a sanguine hope, that she would
be released from his company, and she should soon be in a condition to
denounce him to justice for the awful crime which she had seen him
commit. She could not possibly avoid a slight feeling of satisfaction to
appear upon her face.
"You seem pleased," said Lupin.
"I am, reverend sir."
"May I ask what at?"
"Ah, how can I be otherwise than delighted, when I am assured by such a
saint upon earth as yourself that I am one of the elect?"
This was an answer with which, whether it was satisfactory or not, Mr.
Lupin was, as it were, compelled to put up with; but taking up his hat,
he said--
"Truly, sister Oakley, it will become me to see you a part of the way
home."
Mrs. Oakley expressed her satisfaction with the holy man's company, and
they both descended the stairs together. She felt, however, an exquisite
pang of alarm upon finding that Lupin led her down the staircase that
led to the chapel, and not down the one which would have conducted them
to the ordinary door of exit from the domestic portion of the building.
But even with all the dread upon her soul that he might be meditating
some awful act in the chapel, she felt that she must assume a calmness
though she felt it not.
"Why this leads to the chapel," she said. She thought it would sound
more natural for her to make that remark, than to say nothing about it.
"Yes, sister it does, and here is the trap-door that conducts to the
vaults."
He suddenly turned upon her, and clutched her by the arm, as he spoke.
Poor Mrs. Oakley then really thought that her last hour was come, and
that all along in pretending to have no suspicion of her, he was only
dissembling. It was a mercy she did not at that terrible moment commit
herself in some way. Surely Heaven supported her, for she did not.
"Reverend sir," she said, "what mean you?"
"What mean I? I mean will you descend to the vaults with me."
"And pray? Yes, if you wish it."
"Nothing--nothing," muttered Lupin. "What a fool I am. I might have been
well convinced long ago, and yet I cannot forbear new trials. All is
safe, all is safe. This way, sister Oakley, this way. I will only see
you to the corner of your own street."
"Many thanks."
They both emerged from the chapel. Lupin slammed the door after him, and
arm in arm they walked up the court together.
Poor Mrs. Oakley felt that to be the most trying moment of all for her
nerves. While she had much to do--while she was alone with Lupin in the
domestic portion of the chapel, and while she knew that the least slip
of the tongue, or the least want of control over her feelings might be
her death--she conducted herself gallantly; but now when she was fairly
in the open air, now that she was in comparative safety, her feelings
almost got the better of her.
It was only by a powerful effort that she could at all control them.
She felt that by suddenly quitting the arm of Lupin, and making a rush
for it, she might escape him, but then she did not want him to escape
the consequences of his crime, for Mrs. Oakley had a woman's sympathy
with the fate even of the not very respectable Mrs. Lupin. Besides, with
all the vindictive hate that he might be supposed to feel upon finding
that his guilt was known, he might yet pursue her, and before she could
find aid, kill her.
"I must still dissemble," she thought, "and speak this most monstrous
villain fairly."
"Quite a charming morning, reverend sir," she said.
"Very," said Lupin.
"I really am afraid that I am sadly intruding upon your time, by letting
you come with me?"
"Oh, no--no--no."
He seemed to be getting very thoughtful, and Mrs. Oakley was
proportionably more and more upon her guard, for she felt convinced that
if he really thought she knew anything of his guilt he would kill her.
Now they emerged from the court; but it was yet rather an early hour in
the morning, and but very few passengers were in the streets. The only
person that was tolerably close to them was an elderly woman, and Mrs.
Oakley much as she panted for an opportunity of separating herself from
Lupin, felt that the time to do so had not yet come.
On they went, in the direction of Mrs. Oakley's house, that house that
she now began to feel she had so much neglected, to look after what, in
the language of scripture, might truly have been termed "Strange
Idols"--that home which she now looked to as a haven of safety from the
terror of death itself.
"How silent you are, sister," said Lupin.
"Yes, I was thinking."
"Of what?" he said, fiercely.
"Of how much I should be able to take from Mr. Oakley's till, to bring
to you, this day week."
"Oh! oh!"
"You may depend, reverend sir, it shall be as much as possible. Of
course I must be cautious, though."
"Oh, yes--yes."
They had now reached within a few paces of the corner of the street, and
yet Mrs. Oakley had seen no one upon whom, from their appearance, she
thought she could rely to call to for aid against the murderer. Suddenly
then round the corner, there came a bulky form. The heavy tread of some
one of unusual weight sounded upon the street pavement.
Big Ben, the beef-eater, with his arms behind him, and in a very
thoughtful mood, came pacing slowly along.
As Mrs. Oakley said afterwards, her heart, at that moment, was in her
mouth.
She could not dissemble an instant longer with Lupin, but with a loud
shriek that echoed far and wide in the streets, she suddenly sprang from
him, crying--
"Ben, Ben, dear strong Ben, seize this man! He is a murderer!"
"D--n! Done at last!" cried Lupin.
He turned to fly, but treading upon a piece of cabbage-leaf that was
upon the pavement, down he fell.
"Easy does it," said Ben, and he flung himself upon the top of Lupin,
spreading out his arms and legs, and holding him by sheer weight as
firmly to the pavement as though he had been nailed there.
"Help, help, help! Murder! help!" shouted Mrs. Oakley. "Murder, murder,
murder!"
People began to flock to them from all parts. Lupin succeeded in getting
a knife from his pocket, but Mrs. Oakley held him by the wrist with both
hands, and in a minute more he was in the grasp of two strong men, one
of whom was a police-officer, and who gloried in the job.
CHAPTER CVIII.
RETURNS TO MRS. LOVETT, AND SHOWS HOW SHE GOT OUT OF THE RIVER.
Our readers have been aware for a long time past that Mrs. Lovett was no
common, everyday, sort of woman, and what we are about to relate
concerning her, will be further proof that way tending, if it should be
by any sceptical person in any way required.
To all appearance, Todd had seen the last of her on the river. But Todd
was born to be deceived, and at the time he should have recollected an
old adage, to the effect that, folks who are born to be hanged are very
seldom drowned.
We shall see.
Mrs. Lovett did go down, but as fortune and the amazingly strong current
of the river would have it, she came up again, with a barge between her
and Todd, and involuntarily laying hold of the side of the barge, there
she remained, too exhausted to cry out, until Todd was far off.
She was seen at last by a man who was at the window of a public-house,
and in the course of ten minutes after Todd had began to congratulate
himself upon the demise of Mrs. Lovett, she was in a warm bed at the
public-house, and her clothes drying at the kitchen-fire.
She had scarcely been for a moment at all insensible; and as she lay in
bed she had a most accurate perception of all that happened. The reader
may suppose that the feelings of Mrs. Lovett towards Sweeney Todd, were
by no means ameliorated by the morning's proceedings.
And yet how calculating she was in her rage!
As the effects of her submersion wore off, and her ordinary strength
came back to her, her mind became intently fixed upon but one object,
and that was how to be completely and bitterly revenged upon Todd.
"He shall hang," she said. "He shall hang, but I must think of the
means, while I likewise take care to avoid the gallows myself; but he
shall hang, let the consequences be what they may."
The landlady of the public-house was very assiduous in her attention to
Mrs. Lovett, and while she was thus thinking of her revenge upon Todd,
she (the landlady) made her appearance in the room with a steaming glass
of mulled and spiced wine.
"I hope you are better," she said; "and if you will give me the name and
address of your friends, I will send to them at once."
"Friends!" said Mrs. Lovett. "How came you to think that I had any
friends?"
"Well, I hardly thought you were without. Don't most folks have friends
of some sort or another?"
"Ah, I had forgotten. I have a friend with me--a very dear friend, who