The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
window of Sweeney Todd glancing at him. This eye appeared as if it were
set in the centre of a placard, which announced in glowing language the
virtues of some condiment for the hair or the skin, and it had a most
ferocious aspect. Big Ben looked fascinated and transfixed to the spot,
and then he muttered to himself--
"Well, if that's his eye, it's a rum 'un. Howsomdever, it's no use
staying outside: I'll pop in and get shaved, and then I shall be able to
look about me. Who's afraid?"
As Ben turned round, he saw a plainly-attired man close to his elbow;
but he took no notice of him, although from his close proximity to him
it was quite impossible that the plain-looking man could have failed to
overhear what Ben said. In another moment Big Ben was in Todd's shop.
"Shaved or dressed, sir?" said Todd.
"Shaved," said Ben, as he cast his eyes round the shop.
"Looking for anything, sir?" said Todd.
"Oh, no--nothing at all. Only a friend of mine, you see, said this was
such a nice shop, you understand, to be shaved in."
"Was your friend finished off here, sir?"
"Well, I rather think he was."
"Pray sit down. Fine weather, sir, for the season. Now, pussy, my dear,
get out of the way of the hot water." Todd was addressing an imaginary
cat. "Are you fond of animals, sir? Lord bless me, I'm fond of all the
world. God made us all, sir, from a creeping beetle to a beef-eater."
"Very likely," said Big Ben, as he seated himself in the barber's chair.
"And so," added Todd, as he mixed up a lather, and made the most
horrible faces, "we ought to love each other in this world of care. How
is your friend, sir, who was so kind as to recommend my shop?"
"I should like to know."
"What, is he in eternity? Dear me!"
"Well, I rather think he is."
"Was it the gentleman who was hung last Monday, sir?"
"Confound you, no. But there's somebody else who I think will be hung
some Monday. I tell you what it is, Mr. Barber, my friend never got
further than this infernal shop, so I'm come to enquire about him."
"What sort of man, sir?" said Todd, with the most imperturbable
coolness.
"What kind of man?"
"Yes, sir. If you favour me with his description, perhaps I may be able
to tell you something about him. By the bye, if you will excuse me for
one moment, I'll bring you something that a gentleman left here one
day."
"What is it?"
"I will satisfy you directly, sir, and I'm quite certain your mind will
be at rest about your friend, sir, whoever he was. Remarkable weather,
sir, for the time of year."
Todd had got only half way from the shop to the parlour, when the
shop-door opened, and the plain-looking man walked in--the very same
plain man who had stood so close to Big Ben at Todd's window.
"Shaved," he said.
Todd paused.
"If, sir, you will call again in a few minutes, or if you have any call
to make and can conveniently look in as you come back--"
"No, I'll take a seat."
The plain-looking man sat down close to the door, and looked as calm and
as unconcerned as any one possibly could. The look with which Todd
regarded him for a moment, and only one moment, was truly horrible. He
then quietly went into his back parlour. In a moment he entered with a
common kid glove, and said to Ben--
"Did this belong to your friend?--a gentleman left it here one day."
Ben shook his head.
"I really don't know," he said. "Come, Mr. Barber, finish the shaving,
for that gentleman is waiting."
Ben was duly shaved; while the plain-looking man sat quietly in the
chair by the door, and when the operation was finished, Ben looked in
Todd's face, and said, solemnly--
"A string of pearls."
"Sir," said Todd, without changing countenance in the least.
"A string of pearls.--Murder!"
"A what, sir?"
Ben look staggered. He well knew that if he had cut any one's throat for
a string of pearls, that such words said to him would have driven him
frantic, but when he saw no change in Todd's face, he begun to think
that, after all, the accusation must be unfounded, and muttering to
himself--
"It must be nothing but the child's fancy after all," he hastily threw
down twopence and left the shop.
"Now, sir," said Todd, to the plain-looking man.
"Thank you."
The plain-looking man rose, and as he did so he seemed just to glance
through the door into the street as it was opened by Ben. Immediately
his face was full of smiles, as he cried--
"Ah, Jenkins, is that you? Ha, ha! I missed you this morning.--Excuse
me, Mr. Barber, I'll look in again. My old friend Jenkins has just gone
by."
With this, out he flew from Todd's shop like a shot, and was gone
towards Temple Bar, before the barber could move or lay down the shaving
cloth which he had in his hands all ready to tuck under his chin. Todd
stood for a few moments in an attitude of irresolution. Then he spoke--
"What does all this mean?" he said. "Is there danger? Curses on them
both, I would have--; but no matter, I must be wrong--very wrong. That
string of pearls may yet destroy me.--Destroy! no--no--no. They must
have yet more wit before they get the better of me, and yet how I
calculated upon the destruction of that man. I must think--I must
think."
Todd sat down in his own strong chair, and gave himself up to what is
popularly denominated a brown study.
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE VAULTS OF ST. DUNSTAN'S.
A ponderous stone was raised in the flooring of St. Dunstan's church.
The beadle, the churchwarden, and the workmen shrunk back--back--back,
until they could get no further.
"Ain't it a _norrid_ smell," said the beadle.
Then the plain-looking man who had been at Sweeney Todd's advanced. He
was no other than Sir Richard Blunt, and whispering to the churchwarden,
he said--
"If what I expect be found here, we cannot have too few witnesses to it.
Let the workmen be dismissed."
"As you please, Sir Richard. Faugh! what an awful--fuff!--stench there
is. I have no doubt they won't be sorry to get away. Here, my men,
here's half-a-crown for you. Go and get something to drink and come back
in an hour."
"Thank yer honour!" cried one of the men. "An' sure, by St. Patrick's
bones, we want something to drink, for the stench in the church sticks
in my blessed throat like a marrow bone, so it does."
"Get out," said the beadle; "I hates low people, and _hirish_. They
thinks no more of beetles than nothink in the world."
The workmen retired, laughing; and when the church was clear of them,
the churchwarden said to Sir Richard Blunt--
"Did you ever, Sir Richard, smell such a horrid charnel-house sort of
stench as comes up from that opening in the floor of the old church?"
Sir Richard shook his head, and was about to say something, when the
sound of a footstep upon the pavement of the church made him look round,
and he saw a fat, pursy-looking individual approaching.
"Oh, it's Mr. Vickley, the overseer," said the beadle. "I hopes as yer
is well, Mr. Vickley. Here's a horrid smell."
"God bless me!" cried the overseer, as with his fat finger and thumb he
held his snub nose. "What's this? It's worse and worse."
"Yes, sir," said the beadle; "talking of the smell, we have let the cat
out of the bag, I think."
"Good gracious! put her in again, then. It can't be a cat."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Vickley, I only spoke _anatomically_. If you
comes here, sir, you'll find that all the smell comes out of this here
opening."
"What! An opening close to my pew! My family pew, where I every Sunday
enjoy my repose--I mean my hopes of everlasting glory? Upon my life, I
think it's a piece of--of d--d impudence to open the floor of the
church, close to my pew. If there was to be anything of the sort done,
couldn't it have been done somewhere among the free sittings, I should
like to know?"
"Mr. Vickley," said Sir Richard, "pray be satisfied that I have
sufficient authority for what I do here; and if I had thought it
necessary to take up the flooring of your pew while you had been in it,
I should have done it."
"And pray, sir," said Mr. Vickley, swelling himself out to as large a
size as possible, and glancing at his watch chain, to see that all the
seals hung upon the convexity of his paunch as usual--"who are you?"
"Oh, dear--oh, dear," said the beadle. "Conwulsions!--conwulsions! What
a thing it is to see authorities a-going it at each other.
Gentlemen--gentlemen. Conwulsions!--ain't there lots of poor people in
the world? Don't you be a-going it at each other."
"I am a magistrate," said Sir Richard.
"And I am an over--seer. Ah!"
"You may be an overseer or an underseer, if you like. I am going to
search the vaults of St. Dunstan's."
The churchwarden now took the overseer aside, and after a while
succeeded in calming down his irascibility.
"Oh, well--well," said Mr. Vickley. "Authorities is authorities; and if
so be as the horrid smell in the church can be got rid of, I'm as
willing as possible. It has often prevented me sleeping--I mean
listening to the sermon. Your servant, sir--I shall, of course, be very
happy to assist you."
The beadle wiped his face with his large yellow handkerchief as he
said--
"Now this here is delightful and affecting, to see authorities agreeing
together. Lord, why should authorities snap each other's noses off, when
there's lots o' poor people as can be said anything to and done anything
to, and they may snap themselves?"
"Well, well," added Mr. Vickley. "I am quite satisfied. Of course, if
there's anything disagreeable to be done in a church, and it can be done
among the free seats, it's all the better; and indeed, if the smell in
St. Dunstan's could have been kept away from the respectable part of the
congregation, I don't know that it would have mattered much."
"_Conwulsions!_" cried the beadle. "It wouldn't have mattered at all,
gentlemen. But only think o' the bishop smelling it. Upon my life,
gentlemen, I did think, when I saw the Right Rev. Father in God's nose a
looking up and down, like a cat when she smells a bunch o' lights, and
knowed as it was all owing to the smell in the church, I did think as I
could have gone down through the floor, cocked hat and all, that I did.
_Conwulsions_--that was a moment."
"It was," said the churchwarden.
"Mercy--mercy," said Mr. Vickley.
The beadle was so affected at the remembrance of what had happened at
the confirmation, that he was forced to blow his nose with an energy
that produced a trumpet-like sound in the empty church, and echoed again
from nave to gallery. Sir Richard Blunt had let all the discourse go on
without paying the least attention to it. He was quietly waiting for the
foul vapours that arose from the vaults beneath the church to dissipate
a little before he ventured upon exploring them. Now, however, he
advanced and spoke.
"Gentlemen, I hope I shall be able to rid St. Dunstan's of the stench
which for a long time has given it so unenviable a reputation."
"If you can do that," said the churchwarden, "you will delight the whole
parish. It has been a puzzle to us all where the stench could come
from."
"Where is the puzzle now?" said Sir Richard Blunt, as he pointed to the
opening in the floor of the church, from whence issued like a steamy
vapour such horrible exhalations.
"Why, certainly it must come from the vaults."
"But," said the overseer, "the parish books show that there has not been
any one buried in any of the vaults directly beneath the church for
thirty years."
"Then," said the beadle, "it's a very wrong thing of respectable
parishioners--for, of course, them as has waults is respectable--to keep
quiet for thirty years and then begin stinking like blazes. It's