The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
countenance of Colonel Jeffery of deep concern, and that look, at one
glance that was bestowed upon it by Johanna Oakley, was quite sufficient
to banish all hidden hopes that she might yet have cherished regarding
the character of the news that he had to impart to her. Arabella Wilmot,
too, was of the same opinion regarding the physiognomical expression of
the colonel, who bowed to her profoundly.
"I have brought my dearest friend with me," said Johanna, "from whom I
have no secrets."
"Nor I," said the colonel, "now that I hear she stands in such an
enviable relation to you, Miss Oakley."
Arabella slightly bowed; and Johanna fixing her eyes, in which tears
were glistening, upon him, said--
"You have come to tell me that I may abandon all hope?"
"No--no; Heaven forbid!"
A bright flush came over the face of the young girl, and clasping her
hands, she said--
"Oh, sir, do not play with feelings that perhaps you scarcely guess at.
Do not tamper with a heart so near breaking as mine. It is
cruel--cruel!"
"Do I deserve such a charge," said the colonel, "even by implication?"
"No--no," said Arabella. "Recollect yourself, Johanna. You are unjust to
one who has shown himself to be your friend, and a friend to him whom
you hope to see again."
Johanna held out her little child-like hand to the colonel, and looking
appealingly in his face, she said--
"Can you forgive me? It was not I who spoke, but it was the agony of my
heart that fashioned itself at the moment into words my better judgment
and my better feelings will not own. Can you forgive me?"
"Can I, Miss Oakley! Oh, do not ask me. God grant that I could make you
happy."
"I thank you, sir, deeply and truly thank you; and--and--now--now--"
"Now, you would say, tell me my news."
"Yes. Oh, yes."
"Then let us walk upon this broad path, by the river, while, in the
first instance, I tell you that it was only from a deep sense of duty,
and a feeling that I ought not, upon any consideration, to keep anything
from you, that I came here to-day to give you some more information, and
yet fresh information."
"You are very--very good to me, sir."
"No--no, do not say that, Miss Oakley. I am a friend. I am only very
selfish; but, in brief, the lad who was in the barber's service at the
time we think Mark Ingestrie called at the shop with the string of
pearls in his possession, has told us all he knows upon the subject,
freely."
"Yes--yes; and--and--"
"He knows very little."
"But that little?"
"Just amounts to this:--That such a person did come to the shop, and
that he is quite clear that he never left it."
"Quite clear that he never left it!" repeated Johanna--"that he never
left it. Quite clear that--that--"
She burst into tears, and clung to Arabella Wilmot for support. The
colonel looked inexpressibly distressed, but he did not speak. He felt
that any common-place topics of consolation would have been an insult;
and he had seen enough of human feelings to know that such bursts of
passionate grief cannot be stemmed, but must have their course, and that
such tears will flow like irresistible torrents into the ocean of
eternity. Arabella was greatly distressed. She had not expected that
Johanna would have given way in such a manner, and she looked at Colonel
Jeffery as though she would have said--"Is it possible that you can say
nothing to calm this grief?" He shook his head, but made no reply in
words. In a few moments, however, Johanna was wonderfully recovered. She
was able to speak more composedly than she had done since the
commencement of the interview.
"Tell me all, now," she said. "I can bear to hear it all."
"You know all, Miss Oakley. The poor boy, in whose fate I have felt
sufficiently interested to take him into my care, says that such a man
as Thornhill did come to his master's shop. That he (the boy) was sent
out upon some trivial errand, merely to get him out of the way, and
that, pending his return, the visitor disappeared. He deposes to the
fact of the dog watching the door."
"The dog?"
"Yes. Thornhill, it seems, had a faithful dog with him."
"Ah, Arabella, we must have seen that dog."
"Has not the creature, then, fallen a victim to Todd's malevolence?"
"We think not, sir," said Arabella.
"Go on--go on," said Johanna; "what more?"
"The boy states that he is certain he saw the hat of the visitor with
the dog in Todd's house, after Todd had declared he had left, and
proceeded to the city."
"The hat--the dog. Alas! alas!"
"Nay, Miss Oakley, do not forget one thing, and that is, that neither
you nor any one else have as yet identified this Mr. Thornhill as Mr.
Ingestrie."
"No, not positively; but my heart tells me--"
"Ah, Miss Oakley, the heart is the slave of the feelings and of the
imagination. You must not always trust to its testimony or emotions upon
cold fact."
"There is yet hope, then, Johanna," said Arabella. "A bright hope for
you to cling to, for, as this gentleman says, there is nothing positive
to prove that Mr. Thornhill was Mark Ingestrie. I would not, were I you,
abandon that hope on any account, while I lived, and could still clutch
it. Would it not be a great thing, sir, if any papers or documents which
this Thornhill might have had about him, could be recovered?"
"It would indeed."
Arabella at first seemed upon the point of saying something contingent
upon this remark of the colonel's, or rather this acquiescence of his in
her remark, but she thought better of it, and was silent, upon which
Johanna spoke, saying--
"And that is really all, sir?"
"It is, Miss Oakley."
"But will nothing be done? Will no steps be taken to bring this man,
Todd to justice?"
"Yes, everything will be done; and indeed, anything that can be done
consistently with sound policy is actually now. Sir Richard Blunt, one
of the most acute, active, and personally daring of the magistrates of
London, has the affair in hand, and you may be quite assured that he
will pursue it with zeal."
"And what is he doing?"
"Collecting such evidence against Todd, that at a moment the law will be
enabled to come upon him with a certainty that by no ingenious quibble
can he escape."
Johanna shuddered.
"I thank you, sir, from my heart," she said, "for all the kindness
and--and--I need not again trespass upon your time or your patience."
"Ah, Miss Oakley, will you deny me your friendship?"
"Oh, no--no."
"Then why deny me the privilege of a friend to see you sometimes. If I
cannot say to you anything positively of a consoling character regarding
him whom you so much regret, I can at least share your sorrows, and
sympathise with your feelings."
Johanna was silent, but after a few moments she began to feel that she
was acting both with harshness and injustice towards one who had been
all that the kindest and most generous friend could be to her. She held
out her hand to the colonel, saying--
"Yes, sir, I shall be always happy to see you."
The colonel pressed her hand in his, and then turning to Arabella
Wilmot, they parted at the garden.
CHAPTER LIX.
THE PROPOSAL OF ARABELLA.
"Johanna," said Arabella Wilmot, as they passed out of the Temple by the
old gate at Whitefriars, "Johanna, if there had been no Mark Ingestrie
in the world, could you not have loved some one else truly?"
"No, no--oh, no."
"Not such a one as Colonel Jeffery?"
"No, Arabella, I respect and admire Colonel Jeffery. He comes fully up
to all my notions of what a gentleman should be, but I cannot love him."
Arabella sighed. The two young girls passed Todd's shop upon the other
side of the way, and Johanna shuddered as she did so, and repeated in a
low voice--
"He went there, but he never left."
"Nay, but you should remember that was Thornhill."
"Yes, Thornhill, alias Ingestrie."
"You will cling to that idea."
"I cannot help it, Arabella. Oh, that I could solve the dreadful doubt.
You speak to me of finding consolation and hope from the possibility
that this Thornhill might not have been Ingestrie; but I feel, Arabella,
that the agony of that constant doubt, and the pangs of never ending
thought and speculation upon that subject will drive me mad. I cannot
endure them--I must be resolved one way or the other. It is suspense
that will kill me. I might in the course of time reconcile myself to the
fact that poor Mark had gone before me to that world where we shall
assuredly meet again; but the doubt as to his fate is--is indeed
madness!"
There was a manner about Johanna, as she pronounced these words, that
was quite alarming to Arabella. Perhaps it was this alarm which went a
long way towards inducing her, Arabella, to say what she now said to
Johanna--
"Have you forgotten your idea of going disguised to Todd's, Johanna? And
have you forgotten what Mr. Ben, your friend from the Tower, told you?"
"What? Oh, what, Arabella--what did he tell me that I should remember?"
"Why that Todd had placed a placard in his window, stating that he
wanted a boy in his shop. Oh, Johanna, it would be so romantic; and to
be sure, I have read of such things. Do you think you would have courage
sufficient to dress yourself again in my cousin's clothes, and go to
Todd's shop?"
"Yes, yes--I understand you--and apply for the vacant situation."
"Yes, Johanna; it might, you know, afford you an opportunity of
searching the place, and then, if you found nothing which could assure
you of the presence at one time there of Mark Ingestrie, you would come
away with a heart more at ease."
"I should--I should. He could but kill me?"
"Who? who?"
"Sweeney Todd."
"Oh, no--no, Johanna, your stay would not exceed a few short hours."
"Oh, what long hours they would be."
"Well, Johanna, I almost dread the counsel I am giving to you. It is
fraught probably with a thousand mischiefs and dangers, that neither you
nor I have sufficient experience to see; and now that I have said what I
have, I beg of you to think no further of it, and from my heart I wish
it all unsaid."
"No, Arabella, why should you wish it unsaid? It is true that the course
you suggest to me is out of the ordinary way, and most romantic, but,
then, are not all the circumstances connected with this sad affair far
out of the ordinary course?"
"Yes, yes--and yet--"
"Arabella, I will do it."
"Oh, Johanna, Johanna--if any harm should come to you--"
"Then absolve yourself, Arabella, from all reproach upon the subject.
Remember always that I go upon my own responsibility, and against your
wishes, feelings, and advice. All that I now ask of you is that you will
once more lend me that disguise, and assist me in further making myself
look like that I would represent myself, and I shall then, perhaps, ask
no more of your friendship in this world."
Arabella was horrified. The plan she had proposed had, from her course
of romantic reading, such charms for her imagination, that she could not
have forborne mentioning it, but, now that in earnest Johanna talked of
carrying it out, she became terrified at what might be the consequences.
In the open streets she was afraid of making a scene by any further
opposition to Johanna, whose feelings, she saw, were in a great state of
excitement; but she hoped that she would be able yet to dissuade her
from her purpose when she got her home.
"Say no more now of it, Johanna, and come home with me, when we will
talk it over more at large."
"I am resolved," said Johanna. "The very resolution to do something bold
and definite has given me already a world of ease. I am different quite