The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
"Not a doubt of it," said the other.
"Do you think so? Well--well, perhaps it may. Here's my friendship to
both of you, gentlemen; and I hope we shall none of us repent of this
happy meeting. I am much pleased, gentlemen, to see you both, and hope
the brandy-and-water will do us all a world of good. I will give you a
toast, gentlemen."
"Ah, a toast!--a toast!"
"But mind gentlemen, you must take a good draught, if you drink my
toast--Will you?"
"Will we? Ay, to be sure, if you will."
"I promise, gentlemen; so here's the toast--It's to the very cunning fox
who laid a trap for another, and caught his own tail in it!"
"What a droll toast!" said the two thieves. They paused a moment, but as
they saw their new friend drink at least one-half of his
brandy-and-water in honour of the toast, they did the same thing, and
looked at each other quite contented and pleased as possible that the
drugged spirit, at the very first pull, had been so freely partaken
of--for they had found, by experience, the victims they would have made
perceived a disagreeable taste, and would not drink twice.
"Hilloa!" said Todd.
"What's the matter, old gentleman?"
"Do you know, this is very good brandy-and-water?"
"Glad you like it."
"Like it?--I couldn't be off liking it. It's capital! Let's finish these
glasses, and have others at once."
As he spoke he finished his glass, and the two thieves were so delighted
that he had taken it all, that they at once finished theirs likewise;
and then they looked at him, and then at each other, until one said to
the other, as he made a wry face--
"I say, Bill, I--I don't much like my glass. How did yours taste, eh,
old fellow?"
"Very queer."
"How strange," said Todd; "mine was beautiful! I hope, gentlemen, you
have not made a mistake and put anything out of the way in your own
glasses instead of mine?"
"Oh, dear. Oh--oh! I am going, Bill."
"And so am I. Oh, murder! My head is going round and round like a
humming-top as big as St. Paul's."
"And so is mine."
"Then, gentlemen," said Todd, rising, "I shall have the pleasure of
bidding you good day, and I hope you have just sense enough left to
appreciate the toast of the 'cunning fox that laid a trap for another,
in which he caught his own tail,' and I have the further pleasure of
informing you that I am Sweeney Todd."
The two thieves, quite overcome by the powerful and death-dealing
narcotic they had placed in the liquor, fell to the floor in a state of
perfect insensibility, and Todd very calmly walked out of the
public-house.
"This will not do," he said, when he reached the west-end of Holywell
Street. "I must not run such risks as this. I must now be off. But where
to? That is the question. Out of London, of course. The river, I
think--ay, the river. That will be the best. I will house myself until
night, and then I will hire a boat and go to Gravesend. From there I
shall not find much difficulty in getting on board some foreign vessel,
and with what I have in my pockets I will bid adieu to England for a
little while, until I can sell my watches and jewels, and then I will
come back and have my revenge yet upon those whom I only live now to
destroy."
Full of these thoughts, Todd went down one of the narrow streets leading
to the Thames, and as he saw a bill in a window of lodgings to let, he
thought he should be safer there than in a house of public
entertainment. He resolved upon taking a lodging for a week at any cost,
and then leaving it in the evening after he should have had some rest at
it, which he might do for the remainder of the day, provided the people
would take him in, which he had very little doubt of them doing, as he
did not intend to object to their terms, and he did intend to pay in
advance.
Todd knocked at the door.
It was answered by a woman of the true landlady species, who, upon
hearing that it was the lodging Todd was after, was all smiles and
sweetness immediately.
"I have come up from the country, madam," said Todd, "and my luggage is
at an inn in Gracechurch Street. I intend to send for it in the morning;
and as I am weary, if you can accommodate me with a lodging, as I have
some business to transact for my son, the Deacon, in London, I shall be
much obliged."
"Oh, dear, yes sir; walk in. We have every accommodation. The
drawing-room floor, sir, at three guineas and a few extras."
"That will just do," said Todd. "Will you be so good as to show me the
rooms, madam?"
Todd saw the rooms, and of course admired them very much; and then he
said, in the blandest manner--
"I think the rooms very cheap, madam, and will take them at once, if you
please. The reference I will give you, is to the Principal of Magdalen
College, Oxford, the Reverend Peter Sly, madam. My own name is Bones,
and my son is the Reverend Archdeacon Bones. I will pay you now a week
in advance; and all I have to beg of you is, that you do yourself
justice as to charges. I will lie down and rest for a few hours, if you
please, madam."
"Oh, dear, sir! yes, certainly, Mr. Bones. There shall be no noise to
disturb you, and anything you want, if you will be so good as to ring
for, I will supply you with the greatest pleasure."
"Thank you, madam."
Thus then was it that Todd secured himself what appeared to be a
wonderfully safe asylum until night. He got into the bed with all his
clothes on; for he did not know how sudden the emergency might be that
might induce him to rise; and he soon fell into a deep sleep, for he had
undergone the greatest fatigues of late.
CHAPTER CLVI.
SIR RICHARD BLUNT IS VERY NEAR TAKING HIS PRISONER.
We left the poor beadle in anything but a pleasant situation in the
pulpit of St. Dunstan's Church.
Now it so happened that the beadle was particularly wanted at home; and
as he did not make his appearance, his wife repaired to the church to
search for him; but it was locked by Todd, who had swung the door shut
after him, and as he had taken the key with him, she could not make her
way into the sacred edifice.
As she stood at the door, however, she distinctly heard deep groans
issuing from some one within the church; and in a state of great alarm,
she ran off to one of the churchwardens, who had a duplicate key, and
related what she had heard.
The churchwarden not being one of the most valorous of men, rather, upon
the whole, declined to go into the church with no other escort than the
beadle's wife; and as he, too, upon listening at the key-hole, heard the
groans distinctly, he called upon the passers-by to assist, and got
together quickly enough about twenty people to go into the church with
him.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I don't know what it is, but there's groans; and
in these horrid times, when, for all we know, Sweeney Todd is about the
neighbourhood, one can't be too cautious."
"Certainly," said everybody.
"Then, gentlemen, if we all go in together when I open the door, it will
be the very best plan."
This was duly agreed to; and the churchwarden, with a trembling hand,
turned his key in the lock, and opened the door. He then stepped aside,
and let all the crowd go in first, thinking that, as he was a man in
office, the parish could not afford to lose him, in case anything
serious should happen.
"Well, gentlemen," he cried, "what is it?"
"Nothing," said everybody.
"Then I will soon let nothing see that I, a churchwarden, am not to be
frightened with impunity--that is to say, when I say frightened, I don't
exactly mean that, but astonished, I mean. Come, come--if any one be
here, I call upon them to surrender in the king's name!"
A deep groan was the only response to this valorous speech; and the
moment the churchwarden heard it, he bolted out of the church, and ran
right across the way into a shop opposite.
For a moment or two, this precipitate retreat of the churchwarden had
something contagious in it, and the whole of the men who had been
induced to stop and go into the church with him were inclined to retreat
likewise; but curiosity detained some three of four of them, and that
gave courage to the others.
"What was it?" said one.
"A groan," said another; "and it came from the pulpit."
"The pulpit!" cried everybody.
"Who ever heard of a pulpit groaning?" cried a third.
"You stupid!" cried the second speaker: "might it not be some one in the
pulpit?--and--Oh Lord--there's a head!"
At this they all took to flight; but at the door they encountered a man,
who called out--
"What's the matter? Can't you tell a fellow what the blessed row
is--eh?"
This was no other than our old friend Crotchet, who was returning from a
conference with Sir Richard Blunt at his private office in Craven
Street.
"Oh, it's a ghost! A ghost!"
"A what?"
"A ghost in the pulpit, and there is his head."
"You don't say so?" said Crotchet, as he peered into the church, and
shading his eyes with his hand, saw the beadle's head just peeping over
the side of the pulpit in a most mysterious kind of way. "I'll soon have
him out, ghost or no ghost."
Courage is as contagious as fear, especially when somebody else
volunteers to run all the risk; and so when Crotchet said he would soon
have the somebody out of the pulpit, the whole crowd followed him into
the church, applauding him very greatly for his prowess, and declaring
that if he had not then arrived, they would soon have had the ghost or
no ghost out of the sacred building, that they would. But they kept
within a few paces of the door for all that, so that they might be ready
for a rush into Fleet Street, if Mr. Crotchet should be overcome in the
adventure.
That was only prudent.
But Crotchet was not exactly the man to be overcome in any adventure,
and with an utter oblivion of all fear, he marched right into the middle
of the church, and commenced the ascent of the pulpit stairs.
"Come--come," said Crotchet. "This won't do, Mr. Ghost, if you please;
just let me get hold of you, that's all."
"Oh!" groaned the beadle.
"Oh, yer is remarkably bad, is yer? but that sort of thing won't answer,
by no means. Where is yer?"
Crotchet opened the pulpit door, and reaching in his hand, he caught
hold of the beadle by the leg, and fairly dragged him out on to the
little spiral stairs, down which he let him roll with a great many
bumps, until he landed in the body of the church all over bruises.
"Why, goodness gracious!" cried the beadle's wife, "it's my wretch of a
husband after all!"
The beadle had just strength to assume a sitting posture, and then he
cried--"Murder!--murder!--murder!" until Mr. Crotchet, seizing a cushion
from a pew, held it up before his mouth, to the imminent danger of
choking him, and said--
"Hold your row! If you wants to be murdered, can't you get it done
quietly, without alarming of all the parish? If you has got anything to
say, say it; and if you has got nothink, keep it to yourself, stupid."
"Todd!" gasped the beadle, the moment the pew-cushion was withdrawn from
his mouth. "Todd--Sweeney Todd!"
"What?" cried Crotchet.
"Here!--he has been here, and I'm a dead man--no, I'm a beadle. Oh,
murder! murder!"
"Don't begin that again. Be quiet, will you? If you have got anything to
say about Todd, say it, for I'm the very man of all the world as wants
to hear it. Speak up, and don't wink."
"Oh, I've seen him. He's been here. I came to dust the bellowses, you
see, after my wife had thrown the pulpit at my head, for asking her to
come with me."
"Oh, he's a-raving gentlemen," said the wife. "As I'm a sinner, it was
the bellowses as I throwed at his stupid head, and not the pulpit as
never was."