The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
The magistrate now hurried on as though those savoury steams that
scented the air from the bakehouse of Mrs. Lovett's pies were to him
more disagreeable than the horrible smell in the vaults that made
everybody shake again. In a few minutes he arrived at a room, for it
could not be called a vault. It had a floor of rough stone flags, which
seemed as though they had originally belonged to some of the vaults, and
had been pulled up and carried to this place to make a rude flooring.
There was nothing very remarkable about the walls of this place, save at
one part, and there there was evidently a door, across which was placed
a heavy iron bar.
"It is through there," said Sir Richard.
"But--but you do not intend to open it?"
"Certainly not. There is a small crevice through which there will be no
difficulty in maintaining a conversation with the imprisoned cook, if I
can only make him hear me from this spot."
CHAPTER LXVII.
THE REVELATIONS IN THE VAULTS.
The object of Sir Richard Blunt was, of course, to make the cook hear
him, but no one else. With this aim he took a crown-piece from his
pocket and tapped with the edge of it upon the stone-work which at that
place protruded from the wall to the extent of nearly a foot. The stone
shelves upon the other side were let into the wall in that fashion. The
monotonous ringing sound of the coin against the stone was likely enough
to reverberate through the wall, and that the cook was rather a light
sleeper, or did not sleep at all, was soon sufficiently manifest, for a
voice, which the magistrate recognised as his, cried from the other
side--
"Who is there? If a friend, speak quickly, for God knows I have need of
such. If an enemy, your utmost malice cannot make my situation worse
than it is."
Sir Richard placed his mouth close to a crevice, and said--
"A friend, and the same who has spoken to you before."
"Ah! I know that voice. Do you bring me freedom?"
"Soon. But I have much to ask of you."
"Let me look at the daylight, and then ask what you will, I shall not
tire of answering."
"Nay, the principal thing I have to ask of you is yet a little more
patience."
"Patience! patience! It seems that I have been years in this place, and
yet you ask me to have more patience. Oh, blessed liberty, am I not to
hail you yet?"
"Can you forget that you have another object--namely, to bring to the
just punishment of the law those who have placed you and others in this
awful position?"
"Yes--yes. But--"
"But you would forego all that to be free, a few short hours before you
would be free with the accomplishment of all that justice and society
required?"
"No--no. God help me! I will have patience. What is it that you demand
of me now? Speak."
"Your name?"
"Alas!--alas!"
"Surely you cannot hesitate to tell one, who has run some risks to
befriend you, who you are?"
"If, by my telling that, I saw that those risks were made less, I would
not hesitate; but, as it is, London, and all that it contains now, is so
hateful to me, that I shall leave it the instant I can. Falsehood, where
I most expected truth, has sunk deeply, like a barbed arrow, into my
heart."
"Well, I certainly had hoped you would have placed in me that amount of
confidence."
"No. I dare not."
"Dare not?"
"Yes, that is the word. The knowledge of my name spread abroad--that is
to say, my real name, would inflict much misery for all, I can just now
say to the contrary, upon one whom I yet wish all the happiness that God
can give his creatures in this world. Let it be thought that I and the
world have parted company."
"You are a strange man."
"I am. But the story I have to tell of the doings in this den of infamy,
will come as well from a Mr. Smith as from any one else."
"I wish you now, in a few words, to relate to me what you know, fully
and freely."
"Anticipating that a statement would be wanted, I have, with no small
amount of trouble, manufactured for myself pens and ink, and have
written all that I have to say. How can I give you the document?"
"There is a chink here in the wall, through which I am addressing you.
Can you pass it through?"
"I will try. I see the chink now for the first time since my long and
painful residence here. Your light upon the other side has made it quite
apparent to me. I think, by folding my paper close, I can pass it
through to you."
"Try it."
In about half a minute Sir Richard Blunt got hold of a piece of folded
paper, which was pushed partly through the chink. He pulled it quite
through, and handed it to the secretary, who, with a nod, at once put it
in his pocket.
"And now for how long," said the cook, "am I to pine for freedom from
this dreadful place? Recollect that each hour here has upon its passing
wings a load of anxieties and miseries, such as I only can appreciate."
"I have brought a letter for you," said Sir Richard, "which will contain
all the intelligence you wish, and give you such instructions as shall
not only ensure your safety, but enable you to aid materially in
bringing your persecutors to justice. Place your hand to the crevice and
take it."
"I have it."
"Well, read it at your leisure. Have you any means of knowing the time
of day in your prison?"
"Oh yes. There is a clock in the bakehouse, by which I am forced to
regulate the different batches of pies."
"That will do. Have you had any more threats from Mrs. Lovett?"
"None. As long as I perform my loathsome duty here, I see no one and
hear of no one."
"Be of good cheer, your desolate condition will not last long. It is not
easy under present circumstances to enter at large into matters which
might induce you to declare who you really are, but when you and I meet
in the bright sunshine from which you have been debarred for so long,
you will think very differently from what you do now upon many things."
"Well, sir, perhaps I shall."
"Good night to you. Take what rest and refreshment you can, my good
friend, and believe that there are better days in store for you."
"I will strive to think so.--Good night."
There was such a mournful cadence in the voice of the imprisoned young
man, as he said "Good night," that the secretary remarked in a low voice
to Sir Richard--
"Would it not be a mercy now to let him free, and take him away with
us?"
"I don't like his concealing his name, my lord."
"Well, it is not the thing exactly."
"His imprisonment now will be of very short duration indeed, and his
liberation is certain, unless by some glaring act of imprudence he mars
his own fortune. But now, gentlemen, I have a sight to show you in these
vaults that you have come to see, and yet, that I think it would have
been wise if you had left unseen."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. You will soon agree with me in opinion."
Sir Richard, bearing the lantern in his hand, led the way for a
considerable distance back again, until they were fairly under the
church, and then he said--
"A large vault belonging to a family named Weston, which is extinct I
fancy, for we can find no one to claim it, has been opened near this
spot."
"By whom?"
"That you will have no difficulty in guessing. It is that vault that I
wish to show you. There are others in the same condition, but one will
be enough to satiate your appetites for such sights. This way,
gentlemen, if you please."
As the light from the two lanterns fell upon the faces of Sir Richard
Blunt's companions, curiosity and excitement could be seen paramount
upon their features. They followed him as their guide without a word,
but they could not but see that he trod slowly, and that now and then a
shudder crossed his frame.
"Even you are affected," said the secretary, when the silence had lasted
some minutes.
"I were something more or less than human," replied Sir Richard Blunt
"if I could go unmoved into the presence of that sight, that I feel it
to be my duty to show to you."
"It must be horrible indeed."
"It is more horrible than all the horrors your imagination can suggest.
Let us go quicker."
Apparently with a desperate feeling of resolution, such as might actuate
a man who had some great danger to encounter, and who after shrinking
from it for a time, should cry "Well, the sooner it is over the better,"
did the magistrate now quicken his steps, nor paused he until he arrived
at the door of the vault of which he had spoken.
"Now, Mr. Villimay," he said. "Be so good as to hold up your lantern as
high as you can, at the same time not to get it above the doorway, and I
will do the same by mine. All that we want is a brief but clear view."
"Yes, yes. Quite brief," said the secretary.
Sir Richard Blunt laid his hand upon the door of the vault, which was
unfastened, and flung it open.
"Behold!" he said, "one of the vaults of old St. Dunstan's."
For the space of about a minute and a half no one uttered a word, so it
behoves us to state what that vault contained, to strike such horror
into the hearts of bold educated men. Piled one upon each other on the
floor, and reaching half way up to the ceiling lay, a decomposing mass
of human remains. Heaped up one upon another, heedlessly tossed into the
disgusting heap any way, lay the gaunt skeletons with pieces of flesh
here and there only adhering to the bones. A steam--a foetid steam rose
up from the dead, and upon the floor was a pool of corruption, creeping
along as the declivities warranted. Eyes, teeth, hands half denuded of
flesh--glistening vermin, shiny and sleek with the luxurious feeding
they there got, slipped glibly in and out of the heaped-up horror.
"No more--no more!" cried the secretary.
"I sicken," said his friend, "I am faint."
Sir Richard Blunt let go the door, and it slammed shut with a hollow
sound.
"Thank God!" he said.
"For--for what?" gasped Mr. Villimay.
"That you and I, my friend, need not look upon this sight again. We are
all sufficient evidence upon our oaths that it is here to see."
"Yes--yes."
"Come away," said the secretary. "You told me something of what was to
see, Sir Richard Blunt, but my imagination did not picture it to be what
it is."
"I told you that likewise, my lord."
"You did--you did."
With hurried steps they now followed the magistrate; and it was with a
feeling of exquisite relief that they all found themselves, after a few
minutes, fairly in the body of the church, and some distance from that
frightful spectacle they had each thought it to be their duty to look
upon.
"Let us go to the vestry," said the secretary, "and take something. I am
sick at heart and stomach both."
"And I am everything, and hungry too," cried a voice, and the Lord Mayor
popped his head up from the churchwardens' pew.
No one could help laughing at this, although, to tell the truth, those
men, after what they had seen, were in no laughing mood, as the reader
may well imagine.
"Is that our friend, the King of the City?" said the secretary.
"It is," said Sir Richard.
"Well, I must say that he has set a good example of bravery in his
dominions."
"He has indeed."
"Gentlemen--gentlemen," added the Lord Mayor, as he rolled out of the
churchwardens' pew, "don't think of going into the vestry without me,
for it was I who gave a hint to have refreshments put there, and I have
been dying for some of them for this last half-hour, I assure you."
CHAPTER LXVIII.
RETURNS TO JOHANNA.
We return to Johanna Oakley.
"What is the meaning of all this?" said Sweeney Todd, as he sat in his
shop about the hour of twelve on the morning following that upon which