The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
intrusted by Sir Richard Blunt with the conduct of the whole business
connected with Mrs. Lovett's capture.
"It were," said Crotchet, "and that coachman ain't the sort of fellow to
move on till I tell him. I knows him."
"Very good, then we must make a dash for it, and get her away by main
force, it must be done, let the risk and the consequences be what they
may, and the sooner the better, too. Come on, madam."
"Death--death!" said Mrs. Lovett. "Kill me here, some of you, kill me at
once; but do not let me be torn to pieces by a savage mob. Oh, God, they
yell for my blood! Save me from them, and kill me here. A knife! oh, for
a knife!"
"And a fork too, mum," said Crotchet; "in course, if you wants 'em. I
tells you what it is, Mr. Green, that there mob is just savage, and we
have about as much chance of getting her down to Fleet Street with her
head on her shoulders, as all of us have of flying over the blessed
house tops."
"We must. It is our duty, and if we fail, they must kill us, which I
don't think they will do. Come on."
"I will go with you," said the cook, starting up from the chair upon
which he had on account of his weakness been compelled to seat himself,
"I will go with you, and implore the people to let the law take its
course upon this woman."
"In the cupboard, in the parlour," said Mrs. Lovett, speaking in a
strange gasping tone, "there is a letter addressed by me to Sir Richard
Blunt. It will be worth your while to save it from the mob. Let me show
you where to lay your hands upon it, and if you have any wish to take a
greater criminal than I, go to the shop of one Sweeney Todd, a barber,
in Fleet Street. His number is sixty nine. Seize him, for he is the head
of all the criminality you can possibly impute to me. Seize him, and I
shall be content."
"The man you mention," said Mr. Green, "has been in Newgate an hour
nearly."
"Newgate?"
"Yes. We took him first, and then attended to you."
"Todd--captured--in Newgate--and I in fancied security here remained
wasting the previous moments upon which hung my life. Oh,
fool--fool--dolt--idiot. A knife! Oh, sirs, I pray you to give me the
means of instant death. What can the law do, but take my life? What have
you all come here, and plotted and planned for, but to take my life? I
will do it. Oh, I pray you to give me the means, and I will satisfy you
and justice, and die at once."
Another loud roar from the infuriated people without, drowned whatever
the officer might have said in reply to this appeal from Mrs. Lovett,
and again arose the wild shouts of--
"Out with her!--Out with her!--Hang her!--Hang the murderess!--Hang her
in the yard!--Out with her!"
"Forward!" cried Mr. Green. "To hesitate is only to make our situation
ten times worse. Forward!"
"Hold a bit," cried Crotchet, "let me speak to the people; I knows how
to humour 'em. Only you see if I don't get her along. Come, mum, just
step this a-ways if yer pleases. Open the door, Mr. Cook, and let me out
first."
The cook opened the door, and before the mob could rush into the place,
Crotchet stepped on to the threshold of the shop, and in a tremendous
voice that made itself heard above all others, he cried--
"Hurrah! Hurrah!"
Nothing is easier than to throw a cry into a crowd, and to get it echoed
to your heart's content; and so some couple of hundred voices now
immediately cried--"Hurrah!" and when the vast volume of sound had died
away, Crotchet in such a voice that it must have been heard in Fleet
Street quite plainly, said--
"My opinion is, that Mrs. Lovett ought to be hung outright, and at once
without any more bother about it."
"Hurrah!--Hang her!--Hang her!" shouted the mob.
"And," added Crotchet, "I propose the lamp-post at the top of Fleet
Market as a nice public sort of place to do the job in. She says she
won't walk, but I have a coach in Fleet Street, and we will pop her into
that, and so take her along quite snug."
"Yes, yes," cried the people. "Bring her along, that will do."
"Oh, will it?" muttered Crochet to himself. "What a precious set of
ninnies you are. If I get her once in the coach, and she gets out again
except to step into the stone jug, may I be hanged myself."
"I think you have managed it, Crotchet," whispered Mr. Green, "I think
that will do."
"To be sure it will, sir. All's right. Bless your heart, mobs is the
stupidest beasts as is. You may do anything you like with them if you
will only let them have their own way a little, but if so be as you trys
to fight 'em, they is all horns and _porkipines_, quills and stone
walls, and iron rails, they is!"
"You are right enough, Crotchet; and now then let Smith stay here and
mind the house, and shut it all up snug till the morning; when it can be
thoroughly searched, and you and I and Simmons here will go with Mrs.
Lovett."
"And I too," said the cook. "We can go to Sir Richard's afterwards."
"So we can--so we can. Come on, now."
"You will deliver me up to the mob," screamed Mrs. Lovett. "Mercy!
Mercy! I shall be torn limb from limb. Oh, what a death! Are you men or
fiends that you will condemn me to it? Mercy!--mercy!"
This sudden passion of Mrs. Lovett's was the very thing the officers
would have desired, inasmuch as it materially helped to deceive the mob,
and to prevent any idea upon the part of the infuriated people, that
there was any collusion between the officers and Mrs. Lovett, for the
purpose of getting her safely to prison.
They dragged her out into Bell Yard, and then the shouts that the mob
set up was truly terrific.
"Lights! Links!" cried a voice. "Let's show her the way!"
In a moment an oil-shop opposite to Mrs. Lovett's was plundered of a
score or two of links, and being lighted with great rapidity from the
solitary oil-lamp that there stood in the middle of Bell Yard, they sent
a bright lurid glare upon the sea of heads, that seemed so close they
might have been walked upon all the way to Fleet Street. Another shout
echoed far and near, and then Crotchet took hold of one of Mrs. Lovett's
arms, and Mr. Green hold of the other, and the cook and the other
officers following, they all began slowly to make way through the mob.
"Let's get along with her," cried Crotchet. "I have her tight. She won't
get away. Some of you get a good stout rope ready, and make a noose in
it. We will hang her on the lamp-post at the top of the market. Bring
her along. Make way a little. Only a little!"
Mrs. Lovett shrieked as she saw the sea of angry faces before, behind,
and on all sides of her. She thought that surely her last hour was come,
and that a far more horrible death than any she had ever calculated upon
in her worst moments of depression, was about to be hers. Her eyes were
blood-shot--she bit her under lip through, and the blood poured from her
mouth--she each moment that she could gather breath to do so, raised a
fearful shriek, and the mob shouted and yelled, and swayed to and fro,
and the links were tossed from hand to hand, flashing, and throwing
around them thousands of bright sparks, and people rapidly joined the
mob.
CHAPTER CXIV.
THE COOK WAITS UPON SIR RICHARD BLUNT AND HEARS NEWS.
It took a quarter of an hour to reach the coach from the door of Mrs.
Lovett's shop, a distance that in twenty steps any one might have
traversed; and, oh! what a quarter of an hour of horrible suffering that
was to the wretched woman, whose crimes had so infuriated the populace,
that with one voice they called for her death!
The coach door was opened, and Crotchet pushed his prisoner in. Mr.
Green, and the other officer and the cook followed her.
"I will go on the box," said Crotchet.
"Very well," said Green, "but be mindful of your own safety, Crotchet."
"All's right. There ain't any more o' my sort in London, and I know I am
rather a valuable piece o' goods. Has anybody got the rope ready for the
lady?"
"Here you are," said a man, "I have one."
"You get up behind then," said Crotchet, "for of course you know we
shall soon want you."
"Yes, I will. That's right! It's all right, friends. I am to get up
behind with the rope. Here's the rope!"
"Three cheers for the rope!" cried somebody, and the cheers were given
with deafening violence. What will not a mob give three cheers for--ay,
or any number of cheers you like to name? A piece of poor humanity in
tinsel and fine linen, called a king or queen--a popular cry--a
murderess--a rope--anything will suffice. Surely, Mr. Crotchet, you know
something of the people!
"Now," said Crotchet to the coachman, "are you as bold as brass, and as
strong as an iron file?"
The coachman looked puzzled, but Mr. Crotchet pursued his queries.
"Will these 'osses, if they is frightened a bit, cut along quick?"
"Rather," said the coachman. "The blessed fact is, that they won't cut
along unless you do frighten them a bit; and as for me being an old file
and having lots o' brass, I doesn't consider as I'm a bit worser nor my
neighbours."
"You is as hignorant as a badger!" said Crotchet. "Make yourself easy
and give me the reins. The mobs o' people thinks as we is a going to
hang the woman at the corner of Fleet Market, but if I lives another ten
minutes, she will be in Newgate. There may be something of a scuffle,
and if anything happens to you, or to the coach or the 'osses, the
county will pay handsomely, so now give me the reins. You may not like
to whip through them, but I haven't the least objection."
The coachman looked scared and nervous, but he gave up the reins and the
whip to Crotchet, and then leaning back on the box, he waited with no
small trepidation the result of the expected disturbance, while he had
only Mr. Crotchet's word that the county would pay for handsomely.
The short distance from the corner of Bell Yard to the end of Fleet
Market was rapidly traversed, and when that interesting point was
reached, the dense mass of people set up another shout, and began to
surround the lamp-post that was there, and to fill up all the avenues.
"Get the rope up," said Crotchet.
"Yes, yes. Hurrah! hurrah! Pull her out, and hang her!"
The highly interesting process of getting the rope fixed upon the little
projecting piece of iron, upon which the lamplighter was wont to rest
his ladder, had the effect that Crotchet expected, namely, to attract
general attention; and then, taking advantage of the moment, he seized
the whip and used it with such effect upon the horses, that, terrified
and half maddened, they set off with the coach at a tearing gallop.
For a moment or two--and in that moment or two Mr. Crotchet with his
prisoner got to the corner of the Old Bailey--the mob were so staggered
by this unexpected elopement of the hackney-coach, that not a soul
followed it. The idea that the horses had of their own accord started,
being probably alarmed at the links, was the first that possessed the
people, and many voices called out loudly--
"Pull 'em in--pull 'em in! Saw their heads off!"
But when they saw Mr. Crotchet fairly turn into the Old Bailey, the
trick that had been played upon them became apparent; and one yell of
indignation and rage burst from the multitude.
The pursuit was immediate; but Mr. Crotchet had too much the start of
the mob, and long before the struggling infuriated people, impeding each
other as they tore along, had reached the corner of the Old Bailey, Mrs.
Lovett was in the lobby of the prison, and the officers safely with her.
She looked like a corpse. The colour of her face was that of soiled
white wax.
But mobs, if they cannot wreak their vengeance upon what may be, for
distinction's sake, called the legitimate object of their displeasure,