The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
"but I see no signs of that, yet, it is almost a gale already."
At that moment there came such a gust of wind howling down the street,
that Todd mechanically withdrew his head, as though it were some
tangible enemy come to seek him.
"Always something to foil me here," he said; "always something; but out
I must go. Let it look as strange as it may, I cannot stay a night in
this house, for if I were to do so, that would involve the staying a day
likewise; and it would be this time to-morrow before I dared venture
abroad; and who knows what awful things might happen in that space of
time? No, I must go to-night. I must go to-night."
He could not help feeling that his going out while the weather was in
such a state would excite a great amount of wonder in the house; but
that was a minor event in comparison to what might possibly ensue from
remaining, so he put on his hat.
Tap--tap! came against the panel of his door.
Todd muttered an awful oath, and then said,--
"Come in."
Mrs. Hardman entered the room.
"I hope I don't intrude upon you, sir, but I was so very anxious to know
if the tea was just as you like it, sir?"
"Oh, yes--yes. I am going out a little way, my good madam. Only a little
way."
"Out, sir?"
"Yes, and why not?--why not? Oh, dear me! How bad my cough is to be
sure, to-night. Eugh!--eugh!"
"Goodness gracious! my dear sir, you will not think of venturing out
to-night? Oh, sir!"
"Why not, madam?"
"The wind, sir--the rain, sir--and the wind and the rain together, sir.
Oh, dear! It isn't a night to turn out a dog in, not that I like dogs,
but I beg, sir, you won't think of it. Only listen, sir. How it does
blow, to be sure!"
"Madam!" said Todd, putting on a solemn look, "I must go. It is my duty
to go."
"Your duty, sir?"
"Yes. Whenever the wind blows and the rain comes down, I put a quantity
of small change in my pocket, and I go out to see what objects of
distress in the streets I can relieve. It is then that I feel myself
called upon in the sacred name of heavenly charity to see to the wants
of my poorer fellow-creatures. It is then that I can find many a one
whom I can make happy and comfortable for a brief space, at all events;
and that's the way that I am always, you see, madam, with a bad cold."
"Generous man!" said Mrs. Hardman, wiping her eyes with the corner of
her apron.
"Not at all, madam, not at all. It is one's duty, and nothing else. I
feel bound to do it. But I shall want a little something for supper. A
nice boiled chicken, if you please, and you will be so good as to get it
for me, madam. Take this guinea, if you please, and we can talk about
the change, you know, when I want anything else, my good madam."
"My word!" thought Mrs. Hardman. "He is a wonderful lodger, for he
forgets all about his change. I feel that it would only vex the poor old
gentleman to remind him of it, and that I do not feel justified in
doing. A-hem! yes, sir. Oh, certainly, I will get the finest chicken,
sir, that can be had."
"Do so, madam, do so. Now I'm going."
"Oh, Lord! there's a gust of wind!"
"I like it--I like it."
"And there's a dash of rain!"
"So much the better. Delightful, delightful, my dear madam, I shall find
plenty of poor objects to relieve to-night. Under gateways, I shall find
them, crouching upon door-steps, and shivering on spots where a little
shelter can be found from the inclemency of the weather. This is my time
to try and do a little good with that superfluous wealth which
Providence has given me."
Mrs. Hardman made no further opposition to the benevolent intentions of
a lodger who continually forgot his change, and Todd fairly left the
house.
Little did the landlady think, while she was grasping at the guineas,
that there was a reward of a thousand pounds for the apprehension of her
lodger, and that it would every penny-piece of it have been duly paid to
her at the Treasury, if she could but have managed to lock him in a room
until the officers of justice could be sent for, to pounce upon him and
load him with irons, and take him off to prison.
But poor Mrs. Hardman had really no idea of how near she was to fortune;
and when the street-door closed upon Todd, she little suspected that she
shut out such a sum as one thousand pounds sterling along with him.
"That is managed so far," said Todd, as he shrank and cowed before the
storm-laden gale that dashed in his face the rain, as he reached the
corner of the street.
There Todd paused, for a new fear came across him. It was that no
waterman would venture upon the river with him on such a night; and yet
after reasoning with himself a little time, he said--
"Watermen are human, and they love gold as much as any one else. After
all, it only resolves itself into a question of how much I will pay."
Full of this idea, which, in its way, was a tolerably just one, he
sneaked down the Strand until he got right to Charing Cross. He had
thought of going down one of the quiet streets near that place, and
taking a boat there; but now he considered that he would have a much
better chance by going as far as Westminster Bridge; and, accordingly,
despite the rain and the wind, he made his way along Whitehall, and
reached the bridge.
A few watermen were lounging about at the head of the stairs. They had
little enough expectation of getting a fare at such a time, and upon
such a day. One of them, however, seeing Todd pause, went up to him, and
spoke--
"You didn't want a boat, did you, sir?"
"Why, yes," said Todd, "I did; but, I suppose, you are all afraid to
earn a couple of guineas?"
"A couple of guineas?"
"Yes, or three, for the matter of that; one more or less don't matter to
me; but it may to you."
"Indeed, it does, sir. You are right enough there. But where do you want
to go to sir? Up or down?"
"To Greenwich."
Todd thought if he mentioned Gravesend, he might frighten the man at
once.
"Greenwich? Whew!" The waterman perpetrated a long whistle; and then,
shaking his head, he said--"I'm very much afraid, sir, that it isn't a
question of guineas that will settle that; but I will speak to my mate.
Halloa Jack!--Jack! I say, old boy, where are you?"
"Here you are," said an old weather-beaten man coming up the steps.
"I've only been making the little craft fast. What is the row now,
Harry--eh?"
"No row, old mate; but this here gentleman offers a matter of three
guineas for a cruise to Greenwich."
"Ay, and why not, Harry?"
"Why not? Don't you hear how it's blowing?"
"Yes, I do, Harry; but it won't blow long. I've seen more gales than you
have, lad, and I tell you that this one is all but over. The rain, in
another quarter of an hour, will beat it all down. It's fast going now.
It will be a wet night, and a dark night; but it won't blow, nor it
won't be cold."
"If you say as much as that, Jack," said the younger waterman, "I will
swear to it."
The old man smiled, as he added--
"Ah, dear me, yes, and so you may, Harry. I haven't been so long out of
doors that I don't know the fancies of the weather. I can tell you
a'most what it's a going to do beforehand, better than it knows itself.
There, don't you hear how it's coming in puffs, now, the wind, and each
one is a bit fainter nor the one as comed afore it? Lord bless you, it's
nothing! We shall get a wet jacket, that's all; and if so be, sir, as
you really do want a cruise down to Greenwich, come on, and Harry and me
will soon manage it for you."
These words were very satisfactory to Todd. He had no objection in the
world to its being rather a bad night on the river; but he certainly had
a great objection to risking his life. Discomfort was a thing that gave
him no concern. He knew well that that would pass away.
"If you are willing," he said, "let us, then, start at once, and I will
not hold you to your bargain if the weather should happen to turn very
bad. We can, in such a case, easily, I dare say, put in at some of the
numerous stairs on one side or other of the river."
"There will be no need of that, sir," said the old waterman. "If you go,
and if you choose to go all the way, we will put you on shore at
Greenwich."
"How about London Bridge?" said the younger man, in a tone of some
anxiety.
"Better than usual," said Jack. "It is just the time to shoot it nicely,
for the tide will be at a point, and won't know exactly whether to go
one way or the other."
"It's all right, then?"
"It is."
Todd himself had had his suspicions that the passage of old London
Bridge would be one of no ordinary difficulty on such a night as that,
but he knew that if the tide was at that point which the old man
mentioned, that it might be passed with the most perfect safety, and it
was a matter of no small gratification to him to hear from such a
competent authority that such was the fact just then.
"Let us go at once," he said.
"All's right, sir. Our wherry is just at the foot of the stairs, here. I
will pull her in, Harry."
The old man ran down the slippery stairs with the activity of a boy, and
as Todd and Harry followed him, the latter said, in quite a confidential
tone of voice--
"Ah, sir, you may trust to his judgment on anything that has anything to
do with the river."
"I am glad to hear it."
"Yes, sir, and so am I. Now I thought I knew something, and I shouldn't
have ventured to take you, or if I had, it would have been with rather a
faint heart; but now that the old man, sir, says it's all right, I feel
as comfortable as needs be in the matter."
By this time they had reached the foot of the steps, which was being
laved by the tide, and there the old man had the boat safely in hand.
"Now for it, sir," he said. "Jump in."
Todd did so, and the younger waterman followed him. He and his aged
companion immediately took their places, and Todd stretched himself in
the stern of the little craft.
The rain now came down in absolute torrents as the boat was pushed off
by the two watermen into the middle of the stream.
CHAPTER CLX.
THE POLICE-GALLEY ON THE THAMES.
What an anxious and protracted glance Todd cast around him when he found
that he was fairly upon the river. How his eyes, with fox-like cunning,
glistening like two lead-coloured stars, were here, and there, and
everywhere, in the course of a few moments. Then he contrived to speak,
as he thought, craftily enough.
"There are but few boats on the river."
"No, sir," said the young waterman. "It isn't everybody that cares to
come on the water in such weather as this."
"No--no. But I have business."
"Exactly so, sir. That's it."
"Yes," added Todd, in quite a contemplative tone of voice, "the fact is,
that I have just heard that at Gravesend there resides a family, with
whom I was once intimate, but had lost sight of. They have, as I hear,
dropped into poverty, amounting to destitution, and I could not rest
until I had gone after them to relieve them."
"Did you say Gravesend?" said the old man.
"Why, yes; but I don't ask you to go so far. I will try and find a
conveyance on land at Greenwich; but--if--you like to pull all the way
to Gravesend, I don't mind paying, for I prefer the water."
"Couldn't do it," said the old man.
"Certainly not," said the young one.
Todd felt mortified that his plan of getting to Gravesend, by the aid of
the boat, was thus put an end to; but he could not help feeling how very
impolitic it would be to show any amount of chagrin upon such a subject,
so he spoke as cheerfully as he could, merely saying--
"Well, of course, I don't want you to do it; I merely offer you the job,