The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
Fogg's physical powers appeared to be upon the wane.
"Nothing, nothing."
"Nothing?--Well, I never knew anybody look so white with nothing the
matter. Come, I want a drop of brandy; where is it?"
"In that cupboard; I want some myself likewise. Get it out, Watson. You
will find glasses there."
Watson was not slow in obeying this order. The brandy was duly produced,
and, after Fogg had drank as much as would have produced intoxication in
any one not so used to the ardent spirit as himself, he spoke more
calmly, for it only acted upon him as a gentle sedative.
"You wished to say something to me, Watson."
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"I am tired, completely tired, Fogg."
"Tired? Then why don't you retire to rest at once, Watson? There is, I
am sure, nothing to keep you up now; I am going myself in a minute."
"You don't understand me, or you won't, which is much the same thing. I
did not mean that I was tired of the day, but I am tired of doing all
the work, Fogg, while you--while you--"
"Well--while I--"
"Pocket all the profit. Do you understand that? Now hark you. We will go
partners, Fogg, not only in the present and the future, but in the past.
I will have half of your hoarded up gains, or--"
"Or what?"
Mr. Watson made a peculiar movement, supposed to indicate the last kick
of a culprit executed at the Old Bailey.
"You mean you will hang yourself," said Fogg. "My dear Watson, pray do
so as soon as you think proper. Don't let me hinder you."
"Hark you, Fogg. You may be a fox, but I am a badger. I mean that I will
hang you, and this is the way to do it. My wife--"
"Your what?"
"My wife," cried Watson, "has, in writing, the full particulars of all
your crimes. She don't live far off, but still far enough to make it a
puzzle for you to find her. If she don't see me once in every
forty-eight hours, she is to conclude something has happened to me, and
then she is to go at once to Bow Street with the statement, and lay it
before a magistrate. You understand. Now I have contrived, with what I
got from you by fair means as well as by foul, and by robbing the
patients besides, to save some money, and if you and I don't agree, Mrs.
Watson and I will start for New Zealand, or some such place, but--but,
Fogg--"
"Well?"
"We will denounce you before we go."
"And what is to be the end of all this? The law has a long as well as a
strong arm, Watson."
"I know it. You would say it might be long enough to strike me."
Fogg nodded.
"Leave me to take care of that. But as you want to know the result of
all this, it is just this. I want to have my share, and I will have it.
Give me a couple of thousand down, and half for the future."
Fogg was silent for a moment or two, and then he said--
"Too much, Watson, too much. I have not so much."
"Bah! At your banker's now you have exactly £11,267."
Fogg writhed.
"You have been prying. Well, you shall have the two thousand."
"On account."
Fogg writhed again. "I say you shall have so much, Watson, and you shall
keep the books, and have your clear half of all future proceeds. Is
there anything else you have set your mind upon, because if you have,
while we are talking about business, you may as well state it, you
know."
"No, there's nothing else--I am satisfied. All I have to add is, that
you had better put your head into the fire than attempt to play any
tricks with me. You understand?"
"Perfectly."
Watson was not altogether satisfied. He would have been better pleased
if Fogg had made more resistance. The easy compliance of such a man with
anything that touched his pocket looked suspicious, and filled the mind
of Watson with a thousand vague conjectures. Already--aye, even before
he left Fogg's room, Watson began to feel the uneasiness of his new
position, and to pay dearly for the money he was to have. Even money may
be given an exorbitant price for. When he was by himself, as he
traversed the passage leading to his own sleeping room, Watson could not
forbear looking cautiously around him at times, as though gaunt murder
stalked behind him, and he fastened his bed-room door with more than his
usual caution. The wish to sleep came not to him, and sitting down upon
his bed-side he rested his chin upon his hand and said to himself in a
low anxious shrinking kind of whisper--
"What does Fogg mean to do?"
Nor was the recent interview without its after effects upon the
mad-house keeper himself. When the door closed upon Watson he shook his
clenched hand in the direction he had taken, and muttered curses,
"Not loud, but deep."
"The time will come," he said, "Master Watson, and that quickly too,
when I will let you see that I am still the master spirit. You shall be
satisfied for the present, but your death-warrant is preparing. You will
not live long to triumph over me by threats of what your low cunning can
accomplish."
He rose and drank more raw brandy, after which, still muttering
maledictions upon Watson, he returned to his bed-room, where, if he did
not sleep, and if during the still hours of the night his brain was not
too much vexed, he hoped to be able to concoct some scheme which should
present him with a prospect of exemplary vengeance upon Watson.
CHAPTER XXXV.
MRS. LOVETT'S NEW LOVER.
Mrs. Lovett was a woman of luxurious habits. Perhaps the constant
savoury hot pie atmosphere in which she dwelt contributed a something to
the development of her tastes, but certainly that lady, in dress,
jewellery, and men, had her fancies. Did the reader think that she saw
anything attractive in the satyr-like visage of Todd, with its
eccentricities of vision? Did the reader think that the lawyers' clerks
frequenting her shop suited her taste, varying, as all the world knows
that class of bipeds does, between the fat and flabby, and the white and
candle looking, if we may be allowed the expression? Ah, no,--Mrs.
Lovett's dreams of man had a loftier range, but we must not anticipate.
Facts will speak trumpet-tongued for themselves.
It is the hour when lawyers' clerks
From many a gloomy chamber stalk;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Are heard in every Temple walk.
Mrs. Lovett was behind her counter all alone, but the loneliness
continued but for a very brief period, for from Carey-street, with a
nervousness of gait highly suggestive of a fear of bailiffs--bailiffs
were there in all their glory--comes a--a what shall we say? Truly there
are some varieties of the genus homo that defy minute classification,
but perhaps this individual who hastened down Bell Yard was the nearest
in approximation to what used to be called "a swaggering companion,"
that can be found. He was a gent upon town--that is to say, according to
his own phraseology, he lived upon his wits; and if the reader will
substitute dishonesty for wits, he will have a much clearer notion of
what the swaggering companion of modern days lived upon. He was tall,
burly, forty years of age, and his bloated countenance and sleepy eyes
betrayed the effects of a long course of intemperance. He wore mock
jewellery of an outrageous size; his attire was flashy and gaudy--his
linen ... the less we say about that the better--enormous black whiskers
(false) shaded his cheeks, and mangey-looking moustache (real) covered
his upper lip--add to all this, such a stock of ignorance and impudence
as may be supposed to thoroughly saturate one individual, and the reader
has the swaggering companion before him. At a rapid pace he neared Mrs.
Lovett's, muttering to himself as he went--
"I wonder if I can gammon her out of a couple of guineas."
Yes, reader, this compound of vulgarity, ignorance, impudence and
debauchery was Mrs. Lovett's gentle fancy--her taste--her--her, what
shall we say?--her personification of all that a man should be. Do not
start; Mrs. Lovett has many imitators, for, without libelling the
fairer, better, and more gentle of that sex, who can be such angels as
well as such--a-hem!--there are thousands who would be quite smitten
with the "swaggering companion." When he reached the shop-window, he
placed his nose against it for a moment to reconnoitre who was in the
shop, and seeing the fair one alone, he at once crossed the threshold.
"Ah, charmer, how do the fates get on with you?"
"Sir--"
A smile upon the face of Mrs. Lovett was a practical contradiction to
the rebuff which her reception of him by words of mouth seemed to carry.
"Oh, you bewitching--a--a--"
The remainder of the sentence was lost in the devouring a pie, which the
"swaggering companion" took from the shop counter.
"Really, sir," said Mrs. Lovett--"I wish you would not come here, I am
all alone, and--"
"Alone? You beautiful female.--Oh you nice creature.--Allow me."
The "swaggering companion" lifted up that portion of the counter which
enabled Mrs. Lovett to pass from one side of it to the other, and as
coolly as possible walked into the parlour. Mrs. Lovett followed him,
protesting at what she called his impudence. But for all that, a bottle
of spirits and some biscuits were procured. The "swaggering companion,"
however, pushed the biscuits aside, saying--
"Pies for me. Pies for me."
Mrs. Lovett looked at him scrutinisingly as she said--
"And do you really like the pies, or do you only eat them out of
compliment to me?"
"Really like them? I tell you what it is; out of compliment to you, of
course, I could eat anything, but the pies are delicacies.--Where do you
get your veal?"
"Well, if you will have pies you shall, Major Bounce."--That was the
name which the "swaggering companion" appended to his disgusting
corporealty.
"Certainly, my dear, certainly. As I was saying, I could freely, to
compliment you, eat old Tomkins, the tailor, of Fleet Street."
"Really. How do you think he would taste?"
"Tough!"
"Ha! Ha!"
It was an odd laugh that of Mrs. Lovett's. Had she borrowed it from
Todd?
"My dear Mrs. L.," said the major, "what made you laugh in that sort of
way? Ah, if I could only persuade you to go from L to B--"
"Sir?"
"Now, my charmer, seriously speaking:--Here am I, Major Bounce, a
gentleman with immense expectations, ready and willing to wed the most
charming woman under the sun, if she will only say 'yes.'"
"Have you any objection to America?"
"America? None in the least.--With you for a companion, America would be
a Paradise. A regular garden of, what do you call it, my dear? Only say
the word, my darling."
The major's arm was gently insinuated round the lady's waist, and after
a few moments she spoke.
"Major Bounce, I--I have made money."
"The devil!--so have I, but the police one day--a-hem!--a-hem!--what a
cough I have."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing--nothing--only a joke. You said you had made money, and
that put me in mind of what I read in the 'Chronicle' to-day of some
coiners, that's all. Ha-ha!"
"When I spoke of making money, I meant in the way of trade, but having
made it, I should not like to spend it in London, and be pointed out as
the well-known pie-woman."
"Pie-woman! Oh, the wretches--only let--"
"Peace. Hold your tongue, and hear me out. If I marry and retire, it
will be far from here--very far indeed."
"Ah, any land, with you." The major absolutely saluted the lady.
"Be quiet. Pray, in what service are you a major?"
"The South American, my love. A much higher service than the British."
"Indeed."
"Lord bless you, yes. If I was now to go to my estates in South America,
there would be a jubilee of ten days at the very least, and the people
as well as the government would not know how to make enough of me, I can