The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
made the door fast by slipping a bolt at the back of it. It was not very
often that immediately after the disposal of a batch of pies any
customers came in, and if they should attempt to do so for the purpose
of purchasing any stale pies, she was by far too intent upon what she
was come about, and considered it by far too important to heed what they
might think or say upon finding the door fast. She then opened the
seeming cupboard in the parlour, which conducted to the strong iron
door, with the small grating at the top of it. She reached that point of
observation with great rapidity, and peered into the cavernous
dungeon-like bakehouse. At first she could see nothing by the uncertain
light that was there, but as her eyes got accustomed to the absence of
daylight, she could just see the figure of the cook sitting upon a
stool, and apparently watching one of the fires.
"It is a long--long time."
"What is a long time?" cried Mrs. Lovett.
The captive cook sprang to his feet in a moment, and in a voice of
alarm, he said--
"Who spoke? Who is that?"
"I," replied Mrs. Lovett. "Do you not know me?"
"Ah," said the cook, directing his eyes to the grating above the door,
"I know you too well. What do you want with me? Have I failed in doing
your bidding here? Have I disappointed you of a single batch of those
execrable pies?"
"Certainly not, but I have come to see--if--if you are quite
comfortable."
"Comfortable! What an insult!"
"Nay, you wrong me."
"That is impossible. This is the commencement only of some new misery.
Speak on, madam. Speak on. I am helpless here, and condemned to suffer."
Notwithstanding these words of the cook there was a certain tone of
hilarity about him, that Mrs. Lovett might well be surprised at, and she
asked herself what does he hope. The fact is that much as he wished
still to enact the character of a man full of despair, the cook could
not get out of his head and heart the promises of Sir Richard
Blunt--promises which still rung in his ears, like a peal of joy bells.
"Come, come," said Mrs. Lovett, "you are getting reconciled to your
fate. Confess as much."
"I reconciled? Never."
"But you are not so unhappy?"
"Worse--worse. This apathetic condition that I am now in, and which to
you may look like the composure of resignation, will end, in all
likelihood, in raging madness."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, madam, I feel already the fire in my brain."
"Be calm."
"Calm--calm! Ha!--ha! Calm. It is all very well for you upon that side
of the iron door to talk of calmness, madam, but upon this side the
words sound strange."
"It will not sound so strange when I tell you that I have absolute
compassion upon you, and that the cause of my present visit was to talk
to you of some means by which the worst portion of your fate here might
be in some measure ameliorated, and your existence rendered tolerable."
CHAPTER LXXIV.
BIG BEN CREATES A SENSATION.
The cook was so surprised at these words from Mrs. Lovett that for some
moments he made no answer to them.
"Pray, speak again," he said at length, when he could find words in
which to express himself.
"I repeat," she said, "that I am desirous, as far as lies in my power,
to ameliorate your condition, of which you so much complain."
"Indeed!"
"Ah, you are too suspicious."
"Humph! I think, madam, when you come to consider all things, you will
hardly think it possible for me to be too suspicious."
"You are wrong again. I dare say now, in your mind, you attribute most
of your evils to me."
"Well, madam, candidly speaking, should I be far wrong by so doing?"
"You would be quite wrong. Alas! alas! I--"
"You what, madam? Pray, speak up."
"I am the victim of another. You cannot suppose that, of my own free
will, I should shut up in these gloomy places a person of your age, and
by no means ill-looking." "I have him there," thought Mrs. Lovett; "what
human heart is proof against the seductions of flattery? Oh, I have him
there."
The cook was silent for some few moments, and then he said, quite
calmly, as though the tribute to his personal appearance had not had the
smallest effect--
"Pray go on, madam, I am quite anxious to hear all that you may have to
say to me."
This composed manner of meeting her compliments rather discomposed Mrs.
Lovett; but after all, she thought--"He is only acting an indifference
he is far from feeling." With this impression she resolved to persevere,
and she added, in a kind and conciliating tone of voice--
"I grant that circumstances are such that you may well be excused for
any amount of doubt that you may feel regarding the honesty of my words
and intentions towards you."
"I quite agree with you there, madam," said the cook.
"Then all I have to do is, by deeds, to convince you that I am sincere
in my feelings towards you. As I have before said, I am in the power of
another, and therefore is it that, contrary to my nature, I may seem to
do cruel things at which my heart revolts."
"I cannot conceive anything so distressing," said the cook, "except
being the unfortunate victim as I am of such a train of circumstances."
"That is what I am coming to."
"Are you? I wish you were."
There was a tone of irony about the enforced cook which Mrs. Lovett did
not at all like; but she had an object to gain, and that was to fully
persuade him that the shortest way to his freedom would be to remain
profoundly quiet for a day or two, and then she would be able to make
her own arrangements and be off without troubling either him or Todd
with any news of her departure or her whereabouts.
"You still doubt me," she said. "But listen, and I think you will soon
be of opinion that although I have wronged you as yet, I can do
something to repair that wrong."
"I am all attention, madam."
"Then, in the first place, you are quite tired of eating pies, and must
have some other kind of food."
"You never said a truer thing in all your life, madam."
"That other food, then, I will provide for you. You shall, within an
hour from now, have anything to eat or to drink that you may please to
name. Speak, what is it to be?"
"Well," he said, "that is kind indeed. But I can do without food further
than I have here, for I have hit upon a mode of making cakes that please
me. Nevertheless, if you can bring me a bottle of brandy, in order that
I may slightly qualify the water that I drink, I shall be obliged to
you."
"You shall have it; and now I hope you will be convinced of the
sincerity of my desire to be of service to you."
"But my liberty, madam, my liberty. That is the grand thing after all
that I must ever pant for."
"True, and that is what you shall have at my hands. In the course of
two, or it may be three days, I shall have perfected some arrangements
which will enable me to throw open your prison for you, and then--"
"Then what?"
"May I hope that you will not think so harshly of me as you have done?"
"Certainly not."
"Then I shall be repaid for all I do. You must believe me to be the
victim of the most cruel circumstances, of which some day you may be
informed. At present, to do so, would only be to involve both you and
myself in one common destruction."
"Then don't mention it."
"I will not. But beware of one thing."
"What is that?"
"Simply this, that any attempts upon your own part to escape from here
previous to the time when I shall have completed my arrangements to set
you free, will not only derange all that I am planning for you, but end
in your utter destruction; for he who has forced me into my present
cruel situation will not for one moment hesitate at the murder of us
both; so if you wish to be free in a few days you will try nothing, but
if on the contrary you wish to destroy both yourself and me, you will
make some attempts to rescue yourself from here."
Mrs. Lovett waited rather anxiously for his answer to this speech.
"I dare say you are right," he said at length.
"You may be assured I am."
"Then I consent."
Mrs. Lovett drew a long breath of relief, as she muttered to herself--
"It will do--I have him in the toils; and come what may, I am free from
the torturing thought that he may achieve something that may have the
effect of delivering me up to the hands of justice. When I am gone, he
may remain where he is, and rot for all I care."--"You have done
wisely," she said aloud, "and if anything could more powerfully than
another incite me to the greatest exertions to liberate you, it would be
the handsome manner in which you have placed confidence in me."
"Oh, don't mention it."
Again there was that tone of sarcasm about the cook's voice, which
created a doubt in the mind of Mrs. Lovett if, after all, he was not
merely playing with her, and in his heart utterly disregarding all that
she said to him. It is quite questionable if this doubt was not in its
bitterness worse than the former anxieties that had preyed upon the mind
of the lady; but she found she could do nothing to put an end to it, so
she merely said--
"Well, I feel much happier now; so I will go at once and get you the
brandy that you ask for." "I hope he will drink it freely--it will aid
him in drowning reflection."
"Thank you," said the cook, "I shall expect it with impatience."
"Confound her, she can't very well put anything queer in the brandy. I
will take care to taste a very small portion of it first; for Sir
Richard Blunt has cautioned me particularly to be careful of poison."
"I am going," said Mrs. Lovett.
"Good-bye, madam; I only hope you will be able to carry your benevolent
intentions into effect--and," added the cook to himself, "that I may
some fine morning have the pleasure of seeing you hanged."
"Farewell," said Mrs. Lovett; and she, too, had her _aside_ as she
ascended the stairs, for she muttered--"If I were only a little better
assured than I am that you meditated something dangerous, I would steal
upon you while you slept, and with a knife soon put an end to all
trouble regarding you."
Now, it happened that when Mrs. Lovett reached her shop, she saw three
people outside the window. The actions of these people attracted her
observation. One was a big stout man, of such a size as was rarely seen
in the streets of London. The other was a young girl, nicely attired,
but with a look of great grief and agitation upon her countenance. The
third person of the group was a gentlemanly-looking man, attired in a
great coat which was buttoned up to his chin. The big stout man was
making a kind of movement towards the door of the pie-shop, and the
gentleman with the great-coat was holding up his hand and shaking his
head, as though forbidding him. The big stout man then looked angry; and
then Mrs. Lovett saw the young girl cling to him, and heard her say--
"Oh, no--no; I said I wanted nothing.--Come away."
Then the gentleman with the great-coat pulled his collar down a little;
upon which the young girl sprang towards him, and, clasping his arm,
cried in tones of intense interest--
"Ah, sir, is it indeed you? Tell me is she saved--oh, is she saved?"
"She will be," was the reply of the gentleman in the great-coat. "Come
away."
The big stout man appeared to be getting rather furious at the idea of
the gentleman with the great-coat dictating what he and the young girl
should do; but she by a few words pacified him; and then, as if they
were the best friends in the world, they all walked away towards the
Strand, conversing very seriously and rapidly.
"What does this mean?" said Mrs. Lovett.
Terror overspread her countenance. Oh, conscience! conscience! how truly