The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™

by Oscar Wilde

  They had no resource but to leave the shop; and when they had gone, Sweeney Todd, as he stropped the razor he had been using upon his hand, gave a most diabolical grin, muttering,-

  ‘Clever—very ingenious—but it wouldn’t do. Oh dear no, not at all! I am not so easily taken in—diamond merchants, ah! ah! and no objection, of course, to deal in pearls—a good jest that, truly a capital jest. If I had been accustomed to be so defeated, I had not now been here a living man. Tobias, Tobias, I say!’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the lad, dejectedly.

  ‘Have you forgotten your mother’s danger in case you breathe a syllable of anything that has occurred here, or that you think has occurred here, or so much as dream of?’

  ‘No,’ said the boy, ‘indeed I have not. I never can forget it, if I were to live a hundred years.’

  ‘That’s well, prudent, excellent, Tobias. Go out now, and if those two persons who were here last waylay you in the street, let them say what they will, and do you reply to them as shortly as possible; but be sure you come back to me quickly, and report what they do say. They turned to the left, towards the city—now be off with you.’

  * * * *

  ‘It’s of no use,’ said Colonel Jeffery to the captain; ‘the barber is either too cunning for me, or he is really innocent of all participation in the disappearance of Thornhill.’

  ‘And yet there are suspicious circumstances. I watched his countenance when the subject of jewels was mentioned, and I saw a sudden change come over it; it was but momentary, but still it gave me a suspicion that he knew something which caution alone kept within the recesses of his breast. The conduct of the boy, too, was strange; and then again, if he has the string of pearls, their value would give him all the power to do what he says he is about to do—viz., to retire from business with an independence.’

  ‘Hush! there did you see the lad?’

  ‘Yes; why it’s the barber’s boy.’

  ‘It is the same lad he called Tobias—shall we speak to him?’

  ‘Let’s make a bolder push, and offer him an ample reward for any information he may give us.’

  ‘Agreed, agreed.’

  They both walked up to Tobias, who was listlessly walking along the streets, and when they reached him, they were both struck with the appearance of care and sadness that was upon the boy’s face.

  He looked perfectly haggard, and careworn—an expression sad to see upon the face of one so young, and, when the colonel accosted him in a kindly tone he seemed so unnerved that tears immediately darted to his eyes, although at the same time he shrank back as if alarmed.

  ‘My lad,’ said the colonel, ‘you reside, I think, with Sweeney Todd, the barber. Is he not a kind master to you that you seem so unhappy?’

  ‘No, no, that is, I mean yes, I have nothing to tell. Let me pass on.’

  ‘What is the meaning of this confusion?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’

  ‘I say, my lad, here is a guinea for you, if you will tell us what became of the man of a seafaring appearance, who came with a dog to your master’s house, some days since to be shaved.’

  ‘I cannot tell you,’ said the boy, ‘I cannot tell you, what I do not know.’

  ‘But, you have some idea, probably. Come, we will make it worth your while, and thereby protect you from Sweeney Todd. We have the power to do so, and all the inclination; but you must be quite explicit with us, and tell us frankly what you think, and what you know concerning the man in whose fate we are interested.’

  ‘I know nothing, I think nothing,’ said Tobias. ‘Let me go, I have nothing to say, except that he was shaved, and went away.’

  ‘But how came he to leave his dog behind him?’

  ‘I cannot tell, I know nothing.’

  ‘It is evident that you do know something, but hesitate either from fear or some other motive to tell it; as you are inaccessible to fair means, we must resort to others, and you shall at once come before a magistrate, which will force you to speak out.’

  ‘Do with me what you will,’ said Tobias, ‘I cannot help it. I have nothing to say to you, nothing whatever. Oh, my poor mother, if it were not for you—’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘Nothing! nothing! nothing!’

  It was but a threat of the colonel to take the boy before a magistrate, for he really had no grounds for so doing; and if the boy chose to keep a secret, if he had one, not all the magistrates in the world could force words from his lips that he felt not inclined to utter; and so, after one more effort, they felt that they must leave him.

  ‘Boy,’ said the colonel, ‘you are young, and cannot well judge of the consequences of particular lines of conduct; you ought to weigh well what you are about, and hesitate long before you determine keeping dangerous secrets; we can convince you that we have the power of completely protecting you from all that Sweeney Todd could possibly attempt. Think again, for this is an opportunity of saving yourself perhaps from much future misery that may never arise again.’

  ‘I have nothing to say,’ said the boy, ‘I have nothing to say.’

  He uttered these words with such an agonised expression of countenance, that they were both convinced he had something to say, and that, too, of the first importance—a something which would be valuable to them in the way of information, extremely valuable probably, and yet which they felt the utter impossibility of wringing from him.

  They were compelled to leave him, and likewise with the additional mortification, that, far from making any advance in the matter, they had placed themselves and their cause in a much worse position, in so far as they had awakened all Sweeney Todd’s suspicions if he were guilty, and yet advanced not one step in the transaction.

  And then to make matters all the more perplexing, there was still the possibility that they might be altogether upon a wrong scent, and that the barber of Fleet-street had no more to do with the disappearance of Mr Thornhill than they had themselves.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE STRANGER AT LOVETT’S

  Towards the dusk of the evening in that day, after the last batch of pies at Lovett’s had been disposed of, there walked into the shop a man most miserably clad, and who stood for a few moments staring with weakness and hunger at the counter before he spoke.

  Mrs Lovett was there, but she had no smile for him, and instead of its usual bland expression, her countenance wore an aspect of anger, as she forestalled what the man had to say, by exclaiming,-

  ‘Go away, we never give to beggars.’

  There came a flash of colour, for a moment, across the features of the stranger, and then he replied,-

  ‘Mistress Lovett, I do not come to ask alms of you, but to know if you can recommend me to any employment?’

  ‘Recommend you! recommend a ragged wretch like you!’

  ‘I am a ragged wretch, and, moreover, quite destitute. In better times I have sat at your counter, and paid cheerfully for what I have wanted, and then one of your softest smiles has been ever at my disposal. I do not say this as a reproach to you, because the cause of your smile was well-known to be a self-interested one, and when that cause has passed away, I can no longer expect it; but I am so situated that I am willing to do anything for a mere subsistence.’

  ‘Oh, yes, and then when you have got into a better case again, I have no doubt but you have quite sufficient insolence to make you unbearable; besides, what employment can we have but pie-making, and we have a man already who suits us very well with the exception that he, as you would do if you were to exchange with him, has grown insolent, and fancies himself master of the place.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said the stranger, ‘of course there is always sufficient argument against the poor and destitute to keep them so. If you will assert that my conduct would be of the nature you describe it, it is quite impossible for me to prove the contrary.
’

  He turned and was about to leave the shop, when Mrs Lovett called after him, saying—‘Come in again in two hours.’

  He paused a moment or two, and then, turning his emaciated countenance upon her, said, ‘I will if my strength permits me—water from the pumps in the streets is but a poor thing for a man to subsist upon for twenty-four hours.’

  ‘You may take one pie.’

  The half-famished, miserable-looking man seized upon a pie, and devoured it in an instant.

  ‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Jarvis Williams: I’ll be here, never fear, Mrs Lovett, in two hours; and notwithstanding all you have said, you shall find no change in my behaviour because I may be well-kept and better clothed; but if I should feel dissatisfied with my situation, I will leave it and no harm done.’

  So saying, he walked from the shop, and after he was gone, a strange expression came across the countenance of Mrs Lovett, and she said in a low tone to herself.—‘He might suit for a few months, like the rest, and it is clear we must get rid of the one we have; I must think of it.’

  * * * *

  There is a cellar of vast extent, and of dim and sepulchral aspect—some rough red tiles are laid upon the floor, and pieces of flint and large jagged stones have been hammered into the earthen walls to strengthen them; while here and there rough huge pillars made by beams of timber rise perpendicularly from the floor, and prop large flat pieces of wood against the ceiling, to support it.

  Here and there gleaming lights seem to be peeping out from furnaces, and there is a strange, hissing, simmering sound going on, while the whole air is impregnated with a rich and savoury vapour.

  This is Lovett’s pie manufactory beneath the pavement of Bell-yard, and at this time a night-batch of some thousands is being made for the purpose of being sent by carts the first thing in the morning all over the suburbs of London.

  By the earliest dawn of the day a crowd of itinerant hawkers of pies would make their appearance, carrying off a large quantity to regular customers who had them daily, and no more thought of being without them than of forbidding the milkman or the baker to call at their residences.

  It will be seen and understood, therefore, that the retail part of Mrs Lovett’s business, which took place principally between the hours of twelve and one, was by no means the most important or profitable portion of a concern which was really of immense magnitude, and which brought in a large yearly income.

  To stand in the cellar when this immense manufacture of what, at first sight, would appear such a trivial article was carried on, and to look about as far as the eye could reach, was by no means to have a sufficient idea of the extent of the place; for there were as many doors in different directions, and singular low-arched entrances to different vaults, which all appeared as black as midnight, that one might almost suppose the inhabitants of all the surrounding neighbourhood had, by common consent, given up their cellars to Lovett’s pie factory.

  There is but one miserable light, except the occasional fitful glare that comes from the ovens where the pies are stewing, hissing, and spluttering in their own luscious gravy.

  There is but one man, too, throughout all the place, and he is sitting on a low three-legged stool in one corner, with his head resting upon his hands, and gently rocking to and fro, as he utters scarcely audible moans.

  He is but lightly clad; in fact, he seems to have but little on him except a shirt and a pair of loose canvas trousers. The sleeves of the former are turned up beyond his elbows, and on his head he has a white night-cap.

  It seems astonishing that such a man, even with the assistance of Mrs Lovett, could make so many pies as are required in a day; but the system does wonders, and in those cellars there are various mechanical contrivances for kneading the dough, chopping up the meat, &c., which greatly reduce the labour.

  But what a miserable object is this man—what a sad and soul-stricken wretch he looks! His face is pale and haggard, his eyes deeply sunken; and, as he removes his hands from before his visage, and looks about him, a more perfect picture of horror could not have been found.

  ‘I must leave to-night,’ he said, in coarse accents—‘I must leave to-night. I know too much—my brain is full of horrors. I have not slept now for five nights, nor dare I eat anything but the raw flour. I will leave tonight if they do not watch me too closely. Oh! if I could but get into the streets—if I could but once again breathe the fresh air! Hush! what’s that? I thought I heard a noise.

  He rose, and stood trembling and listening; but all was still, save the simmering and hissing of the pies, and then he resumed his seat with a deep sigh.

  ‘All the doors fastened upon me,’ he said, ‘what can it mean? It’s very horrible, and my heart dies within me. Six weeks only have I been here—only six weeks. I was starving before I came. Alas, alas! how much better to have starved! I should have been dead before now, and spared all this agony!’

  ‘Skinner!’ cried a voice, and it was a female one—‘Skinner, how long will the ovens be?’

  ‘A quarter of an hour,’ he replied, ‘a quarter of an hour, Mrs Lovett. God help me!’

  ‘What is that you say?’

  ‘I said, God help me! surely a man may say that without offence.’

  A door slammed shut, and the miserable man was alone again.

  ‘How strangely,’ he said, ‘on this night my thoughts go back to early days, and to what I once was. The pleasant scenes of my youth recur to me. I see again the ivy-mantled porch, and the pleasant green. I hear again the merry ringing laughter of my playmates, and there, in my mind’s eye, appears to me, the bubbling stream, and the ancient mill, the old mansion-house, with its tall turrets, and its air of silent grandeur. I hear the music of the birds, and the winds making rough melody among the trees. ’Tis very strange that all these sights and sounds should come back to me at such a time as this, as if just to remind me what a wretch I am.’

  He was silent for a few moments, during which he trembled with emotion; then he spoke again, saying,-

  ‘Thus the forms of those whom I once knew, and many of whom have gone already to the silent tomb, appear to come thronging round me. They bend their eyes momentarily upon me, and, with settled expressions, show acutely the sympathy they feel for me.

  ‘I see her, too, who first, in my bosom, lit up the flame of soft affection. I see her gliding past me like the dim vision of a dream, indistinct, but beautiful; no more than a shadow—and yet to me most palpable. What am I now—what am I now?’

  He resumed his former position, with his head resting upon his hands; he rocked himself slowly to and fro, uttering those moans of a tortured spirit, which we have before noticed.

  But see, one of the small arch doors opens, in the gloom of those vaults, and a man, in a stooping posture, creeps in—a half-mask is upon his face, and he wears a cloak; but both his hands are at liberty. In one of them he carries a double-headed hammer, with a powerful handle, of about ten inches in length.

  He has probably come out of a darker place than the one into which he now so cautiously creeps, for he shades the light from his eyes, as if it was suddenly rather too much for him, and then he looks cautiously round the vault, until he sees the crouched-up figure of the man whose duty it is to attend to the ovens.

  From that moment he looks at nothing else; but advances towards him, steadily and cautiously. It is evident that great secrecy is his object, for he is walking on his stocking soles only; and it is impossible to hear the slightest sound of his footsteps. Nearer and nearer he comes, so slowly, and yet so surely towards him, who still keeps up the low moaning sound, indicative of mental anguish. Now he is close to him, and he bends over him for a moment, with a look of fiendish malice. It is a look which, despite his mask, glances full from his eyes, and then, grasping the hammer tightly in both hands, he raises it slowly above his head, and gives it a swinging motion through the ai
r.

  There is no knowing what induced the man that was crouching upon the stool to rise at that moment; but he did so, and paced about with great quickness.

  A sudden shriek burst from his lips, as he beheld so terrific an apparition before him; but, before he could repeat the word, the hammer descended, crushing into his skull, and he fell lifeless without a moan.

  * * * *

  ‘And so Mr Jarvis Williams, you have kept your word,’ said Mrs Lovett to the emaciated, careworn stranger, who had solicited employment of her, ‘and so Mr Jarvis Williams, you have kept your word, and come for employment.’

  ‘I have, madam, and hope that you can give it to me: I frankly tell you that I would seek for something better, and more congenial to my disposition if I could; but who would employ one presenting such a wretched appearance as I do? You see that I am all in rags, and I have told you that I have been half starved, and therefore it is only some common and ordinary employment that I can hope to get, and that made me come to you.

  ‘Well, I don’t see why we should not make a trial of you, at all events, so if you like to go down into the bakehouse, I will follow you, and show you what you have to do. You remember that you have to live entirely upon the pies, unless you like to purchase for yourself anything else, which you may do if you can get the money. We give none, and you must likewise agree never to leave the bakehouse.’

  ‘Never to leave it?’

  ‘Never, unless you leave it for good, and for all; if upon those conditions you choose to accept the situation, you may, and if not you can go about your business at once, and leave it alone.’

  ‘Alas, madam, I have no resource; but you spoke of having a man already.’