The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 124: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX THE LAST BATCH OF THE DELICIOUS PIES It would have been clear to anyone, who looked at Sweeney Todd as he took his route from his own shop in Fleet Street to Bell Yard, Temple Bar, that it was not to eat pies he went there. No; he was on very different thoughts indeed intent, and as he neared the shop of Mrs. Lovett, where those delicacies were vended, there was such a diabolical expression upon his face that, had he not stooped like grim War to “Smooth his wrinkled form”, ere he made his way into the shop, he would, most unquestionably, have excited the violent suspicions of Mrs. Lovett, that all was not exactly as it should be, and that the mysterious bond of union that held her and the barber together was not in that blooming state that it had been. When he actually did enter the shop, he was all sweetness and placidity. Mrs. Lovett was behind the counter, for it seldom happened that the shop was free of customers, for when the batches of hot pies were all over, there usually remained some which were devoured cold with avidity by the lawyers’ clerks, from the offices and chambers in the neighbourhood. But at nine o’clock, there was a batch of hot pies coming up, for of late Mrs. Lovett had fancied that between half-past eight and nine, there was a great turn-out of clerks from Lincoln’s Inn, and a pie became a very desirable and comfortable prelude to half-price at the theatre, or any other amusements of the three hours before midnight. Many people, too, liked them as a relish for supper, and took them home quite carefully. Indeed, in Lincoln’s Inn, it may be said, that the affections of the clerks oscillated between Lovett’s pies and sheep’s heads; and it frequently so nicely balanced in their minds, that the two attractions depended upon the toss-up of a halfpenny, whether to choose “sang amary Jameses”* from Clare Market, or pies from Lovett’s. Half-and-half washed both down equally well. Mrs. Lovett, then, may be supposed to be waiting for the nine o’clock batch of pies, when Sweeney Todd, on this most eventful evening, made his appearance. Todd and Mrs. Lovett met now with all the familiarity of old acquaintance. “Ah, Mr. Todd,” said the lady, “how do you do? Why, we have not seen you for a long time.” “It has been some time; and how are you, Mrs. Lovett?” “Quite well, thank you. Of course, you will take a pie?” Todd made a horrible face, as he replied, “No, thank you; it’s very foolish, when I knew I was going to make a call here, but I have just had a pork chop.” “Had it the kidney in it, sir?” asked one of the lads who were eating cold pies. “Ves, it had.” “Oh, that’s what I like! Lor’ bless you, I’d eat my mother, if she was a pork chop, done brown and crisp, and the kidney in it; just fancy it, grilling hot, you know, and just popped on a slice of bread, when you are cold and hungry.” “Will you walk in, Mr. Todd?” said Mrs. Lovett, raising a portion of the counter, by which an opening was made, that enabled Mr. Todd to pass into the sacred precincts of the parlour. The invitation was complied with by Todd, who remarked that he hadn’t above a minute to spare, but that he would sit down while he could stay, since Mrs. Lovett was so kind as to ask him. This extreme suavity of manner, however, left Sweeney Todd when he was in the parlour, and there was nobody to take notice of him but Mrs. Lovett; nor did she think it necessary to wreathe her face in smiles, but with something of both anger and agitation in her manner, she said, “And when is all this to have an end, Sweeney Todd? you have been now for these six months promising me such a division of spoil as shall enable me, with an ample independence, once again to appear in the salons of Paris. I ask you now when is this to be?” “You are very impatient!” “Impatient, impatient? May I not well be impatient? do I not run a frightful risk, while you must have the best of the profits? It is useless your pretending to tell me that you do not get much. I know you better, Sweeney Todd; you never strike, unless for profit or revenge.” “Well?” “Ts it well, then, that I should have no account? Oh God! if you had the dreams I sometimes have!” “Dreams?” She did not answer him, but sank into a chair, and trembled so violently that he became alarmed, thinking she was very, very unwell. His hand was upon a bell rope, when she motioned him to be still, and then she managed to say in a very faint and nearly inarticulate voice,— “You will go to that cupboard. You will see a bottle. I am forced to drink, or I should kill myself, or go mad, or denounce you; give it to me quick—quick, give it to me: it is brandy. Give it to me, I say: do not stand gazing at it there, I must, and I will have it. Yes, yes, I am better now, much better now. It is horrible, very horrible, but I am better; and I say, I must, and I will have an account at once. Oh. CORniclooo S CO)