The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.

"My friend," said Sir Richard Blunt, "that is a very philosophical remark, and I compliment you upon it. But now answer me truly one question, and for your own sake, and for the sake of justice, I beg you to answer me truly." "What is it?" "Are you in present fear of death?" "No. Not while I continue to make the pies." "Very good!" "Very good? Now by all that's abominable, I only wish you had but to make them here for one week, and at the same time know as much as I know--I rather suspect that you would never say very good again." "One week?" "Yes, only a week." "Pray how long have you been here?" "I have lost count of the long weary days and the anxious nights. Oh, sir, be you whom you may, do not sport with me, for I am very--very wretched!" "If I could but be sure that you are a victim of the woman who lives above," said Sir Richard. "Sure that I am a victim? Oh, God, you suspect me of being her accomplice. Well, well, it is but natural, finding me here--I ought to expect as much. What can I say--what can I do to convince you of the contrary?" "Reveal all." "Do you not know then that--that--" "That what? I may suspect much, but I know nothing." "Then--then--" The man's voice sunk to a husky whisper, and when he had spoken a few words there was a death-like silence between him and Sir Richard Blunt. The latter at length said-- "And you affirm this?" "I am willing to swear to it. Release me from here and take me to any court of justice you please, and I will affirm it. If you have any suspicion of my good faith, manacle me--bind me up in iron until I tell all." "I am convinced." "Oh, joy, I shall look upon the blessed sun again. I shall see the green fields--I shall hear the lark sing, and drink in the odour of sweet flowers. I--I am not quite desolate." Sir Richard Blunt could hear him sobbing like a child. The magistrate did not interrupt this burst of feeling. He was, on the contrary, quite glad to be a witness of it, for it convinced him of the sincerity of the man. He could not think it possible he should find attending upon Mrs. Lovett's ovens so consummate an actor as it would have taken to play that part. After a few moments, however, he spoke, saying-- "Now, my friend, are you one who will listen to reason in preference to merely acting upon the feelings and suggestions of the moment?" "I hope so." "Well, then, I think I could set you free to-night, but to do so would materially interfere with the course of that justice which is about speedily to overtake Mrs. Lovett. By remaining here you will keep things as they are for the present, and that, I assure you, is a great object. You say that while you continue making pies, your life is not in positive peril; I ask of you, for the sake of justice, to put up with your present position a short time longer." "Liberty is sweet." "It is, but you would not like such a woman as Mrs. Lovett to take the alarm and escape the consequences of her crimes." "Oh! no--no. I will remain. For how long will it be?" "I cannot say exactly, but the time may be counted by hours, and not one shall be lost. Have but a little patience, and I will come to you again. When next you hear my voice at the grating, it will be to give the signal of liberty." "How can I thank you?" "Never mind that. Good night, and take care of yourself. All will be well." "Good night. Good night." CHAPTER LVII. BIG BEN MAKES A DISCOVERY. At seven o'clock on the morning following these strange events, there were early prayers at St. Dunstan's, and the bells called together the devout at half-past six. Todd was there! Is the reader surprised? Has he never yet in his mundane experience met with a case of sanctimonious villany? Does he think that going to prayer is incompatible with such a life as Todd's? Pho--pho! Live and learn. Todd met the beadle upon the steps of the church. "Ah, Mr. T.," said that functionary. "It does one good to see you, that it does--a deal of good. I say that, of all the tradesmen in Fleet Street, you is the _piousest_." "We owe a duty to our creator," said Todd, "which all the pomps and vanities of this world ought to make us neglect." "Have you heard o' the suicide in Norfolk Street?" Todd shook his head. "Why, the beadle of St. Clement's was asking of me only last night, what sort of man you was." "I?" "Yes, to be sure. It's a gentleman as you went to shave, and as you lent a razor to, as has cut his blessed throat in Norfolk Street." "God bless me," said Todd, "you don't mean that? Dear! dear! We are indeed here to-day and gone to-morrow. How true it is that flesh is grass;--and so the gentleman cut his throat with my razor, did he?" "Above a bit." "Well, well, it is to be hoped that the Lord will be merciful to the little frailties of his creatures." "Conwulsions! Do you call that a little frailty?" Todd had passed on into the body of the church, and any minute observer might have noticed, that when he got there, there was a manifest and peculiar twitching of his nose, strongly resembling the evolutions of a certain ex-chancellor. Then, in a low tone to himself, Todd muttered-- "They make a great fuss about the smell in St. Dunstan's, but I don't think it is so very bad after all." Perhaps one of Todd's notions in going to early morning prayers was to satisfy himself upon the point of the stench in the church. The morning service was very short, so that Todd got back to his shop in ample time to open it for the business of the day. He gave a glance at the window, to be quite sure that the placard announcing the want of a pious lad was there, and then with all the calmness in the world he set about sharpening his razors. Not many minutes elapsed ere a man came in, leading by the hand a boy of about thirteen years of age. "Mr. Todd," he said, "you want a lad." "Yes." "You don't know me, but I am Cork, the greengrocer in the market." "Oh," said Todd. "You see this is Fred, by the first Mrs. C., and the second Mrs. C. thinks he'd better go out to something now; if you will take him 'prentice we will provide him, and he can run into our place for his meals and tell us all the gossip of the shop, which will amuse Mrs. C., as she's in a delicate condition, and I have no doubt you will find him just the lad for you." "Dear! dear!" said Todd. "What's the matter, Mr. T.?" "I'm so aggravated.--Is he pious?" "Decidedly." "Does he know his catechism and his belief?" "Oh, yes. Only ask him, Mr. Todd. Only ask him." "Come here, my dear boy. Who was Shindrad, the great uncle of Joshua, and why did Nebuchadnezar call him Zichophobattezer the cousin of Neozobulcoxacride?" "Eh?" said the boy. "Lor!" "What learning!" said the greengrocer. "Ah, Mr. Todd, you are one too many for Fred, but he knows his catechiz." "Well," said Todd, "if the boy that I have promised to think about don't suit me, I'll give you a call, Mr. Cork. But, you see, I am such a slave to my word, that if I promise to think about anything, I go on thinking until it would astonish you how I get through it." "Well, I'm sure we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Todd. Come along, Fred." "Indeed!" said Todd, when he was once more alone. "That would suit me certainly. A lying, gossiping boy, to be running home three or four times a day with all the news of the shop. Good--very good indeed." Todd stropped away at the razors with great vehemence, until he suddenly became aware that some one must be blocking up nearly the whole of the window, for a sudden darkness, like an eclipse, had stolen over the shop. We have before had occasion to remark that Todd had a kind of peephole amid the multifarious articles which blocked up his windows, so that he was enabled to look out upon the passing world when he pleased. Upon this occasion he availed himself of this mode of ascertaining who it was that had stopped the light from making its way into the shop. It was no other than our old acquaintance, Big Ben from the Tower, who was on his way to Mr. Oakley's. The heart of Ben had been sensibly touched by the distress of Johanna, and he was going to give her a word or two of comfort and encouragement, which would wholly consist of advising her to "never mind." But still Ben's intention was good, however weak might be the means by which he carried it out. As for passing Todd's window without looking in, he could no more help having a good stare, than he could help doing justice to a flagon of old ale, if it were placed before him; and upon this occasion the little placard, announcing the want of a pious youth, fixed the whole of Ben's wonder and attraction. "A pious lad!" said Ben. "Oh, the villain. Never mind. Easy does it--easy does it." "Curses on that fellow!" muttered Todd. "What is he staring at?" "A pious lad!" ejaculated Ben. "Pious--oh--oh. Pious!" "Shaved this morning, sir?" said Todd, appearing at his door with a razor in his hand. "Shaved or dressed? Polish you off surprisingly, in no time, sir." "Eh?" "Walk in, sir--walk in. A nice comfortable shave makes a man feel quite another thing. Pray walk in, sir. I think I have had the pleasure of seeing you before." Ben cast an indignant look at Sweeney Todd; and then, as upon the spur of the moment--for Ben was rather a shrewd thinker--he could not find anything strong enough to say, he wisely held his peace, and walked on. Todd looked after him with a savage scowl. "Not much plunder," he muttered, "but suitable enough in another point of view. Well--well, we shall see--we shall see." Ben continued his course towards the city, ever and anon repeating as he went--"A pious lad!--a pious lad. Oh, the rascal." When he reached within a few doors of the spectacle-maker's, he saw a boy with a letter in his hand looking about him, and probably seeing that Ben had a good-humoured countenance, he said to him-- "If you please, sir, can you tell me which is Mr. Oakley's?" "Yes, to be sure. Is that letter for him?" "No, sir, it's for Miss Oakley." Ben laid his finger upon the side of his nose, and tried to think. "Miss Oakley," he said. "A letter for Miss Oakley;" and then, as nothing very alarming consequent upon that proposition presented itself to him, he said, "Easy does it." "Do you know the house, sir?" asked the boy. "Yes, to be sure. Come along, boy." "Yes, sir." "Who's the letter from?" "A gentleman, sir, as is waiting at the Unicorn, in Addle Street." "A gentleman as is waiting at the Addle in Unicorn Street," said Ben; and then, not being able still to hit upon anything very outrageous in all that, he contented himself once more with an "Easy does it." The boy accompanied him to the door of Mr. Oakley's, and then Ben said to him-- "I'll give the letter to Miss Oakley if you like, and if you don't like, you can wait till I send her to you. Easy does it." "Thank you, sir," said the boy, "I'd rather give it to the young lady myself." "Very good," said Ben. "Rise betimes, and hear early chimes." With this effort of proverbial lore, Ben marched into the shop, where old Oakley was, with a magnifying glass fitted to his eyes, performing some extraordinary operation upon a microscope. Ben merely said "How is you?" and then passed on to the back-room, having received from the old optician a slight nod by way of a return of the friendly salutation. Ben always esteemed it a stroke of good fortune when he found Johanna alone, which, in the present instance, he did. She rose to receive him, and placed one of her small hands in his, where for a moment or two it was completely hidden. "All right?" said Ben.