CHAPTER XXXIII.

JOHANNA WALKS ABROAD IN DISGUISE.

But, amid all the trials, and perplexities, and anxieties that beset the

dramatis personæ of our story, who suffered like Johanna? What heart

bled as hers bled? What heart heaved with sad emotion as hers heaved?

Alas! poor Johanna, let the fate of Mark Ingestrie be what it might, he

could not feel the pangs that tore thy gentle heart. Truly might she

have said--

"Man's love is of his life a thing apart

'Tis woman's whole existence,"

for she felt that her joy--her life itself, was bartered for the

remembrance of how she had been loved by him whose fate was involved in

one of the most painful and most inscrutable of mysteries. Where could

she seek for consolation, where for hope? The horizon of her young life

seemed ever darkening, and the more she gazed upon it with the fond hope

of singing--

"The first faint star of coming joy,"

the more confounded her gentle spirit became by the blackness of

despair. It is sad indeed that the young, the good, and the gentle,

should be the grand sufferers in this world, but so it is. The exquisite

capacity to feel acutely is certain to find ample food for agony. If

human nature could wrap itself up in the chill mantle of selfishness,

and be perfectly insensible to all human feeling, it might escape, but

such cannot be done by those who, like the fine and noble-minded Johanna

Oakley, sympathise with all that is beautiful and great in creation.

Already the pangs of hope deferred were feeding upon the damask of her

cheeks. The lily had usurped the rose, and although still exquisitely

beautiful, it was the pale beauty of a statue that she began to show to

those who loved her. In the street people would turn to gaze after her

with admiration blended with pity. They already looked upon her as half

an angel, for already it seemed as though she had shaken off much of her

earthly lurements, and was hastening to

"Rejoin the stars."

[Illustration: The Schoolfellows, Johanna And Arabella.]

Let us look at her as she lies weeping upon the breast of her friend

Arabella Wilmot. The tears of the two young girls are mingling together,

but the one is playing the part of comforter, while the other mourns

over much.

"Now, Johanna," sobbed Arabella, "you talk of doing something to save

Mark Ingestrie, if he be living, or to bring to justice the man whom you

suspect to be his murderer. Let me ask you what you can hope to do, if

you give way to such an amount of distress as this?"

"Nothing--nothing."

"And are you really to do nothing? Have you not agreed, Johanna, to make

an attempt, in the character of a boy, to find out the secret of

Ingestrie's disappearance, and have not I provided for you all that you

require to support the character? Courage, courage, courage.--Oh, I

could tell you such stories of fine ladies dressing as pages, and

following gallant knights to the field of battle, that you would feel as

though you could go through anything."

"But the age of chivalry is gone."

"Yes, and why--because folks will not be chivalric. To those who will,

the age of chivalry comes back again in all its glory."

"Listen to me, Arabella: if I really thought that Mark was no more, and

lost to me for ever, I could lie down and die, leaving to Heaven the

punishment of those who have taken his life, but in the midst of all my

grief--in the moments of my deepest depression, the thought clings to

me, that he lives yet. I do not know how it is, but the thought of Mark

Ingestrie dead, is but a vague one, compared to the thought of Mark

Ingestrie suffering."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, and at times it seems as if a voice whispered to me, that he was

yet to be saved, if there existed a heart fair enough and loving enough

in its strength to undertake the task. It is for that reason, and not

from any romantic love of adventure, or hope of visiting with punishment

a bad man, that my imagination clings to the idea of going in boy's

apparel to Fleet-street, to watch, and perchance to enter that house to

which he last went, and from which, according to all evidence, he never

emerged."

"And you are really bold enough?"

"I hope so--I think, if I am not, God will help me."

A sob that followed these words, sufficiently testified how much in need

of God's help poor Johanna was, but after a few minutes she succeeded in

recovering herself from her emotion, and she said more cheerfully--

"Come, Arabella, we talked of a rehearsal of my part; but I shall be

more at ease when I go to act it in reality, and with danger. I shall be

able to comport myself well, with only you for a companion, and such

chance passengers as the streets of the city may afford for my

audience."

"I am glad," said Arabella, "that you keep in this mind. Now come and

dress yourself, and we will go out together. You will be taken for my

brother, you know."

In the course of a quarter of an hour, Johanna presented the appearance

of as good-looking a lad of about fourteen as the world ever saw, and if

she could but have imparted a little more confidence and boyish bustle

to her gait and manner, she would have passed muster under the most

vigilant scrutiny. But as it was, nothing could be more unlikely than

that any one should penetrate her disguise, for what is not suspected,

is seldom seen very readily.

"You will do capitally," said Arabella, "I must take your arm, you know.

We will not go far."

"Only to Fleet Street."

"Fleet Street. You surely will not go so far as that?"

"Yes, Arabella. Now that I have attired myself in these garments for a

special purpose, let me do a something towards the carrying it out. By

walking that distance I shall accustom myself to the road; and,

moreover, a dreadful kind of fascination drags me to that man's shop."

Arabella, if the truth must be told, shook a little as they, after

watching an opportunity, emerged into the street, for although the

spirit of romantic adventure had induced her to give the advice to

Johanna that she had, her own natural feminine sensibilities shrunk from

the carrying of it out. Ashamed, however, of being the first to condemn

her own suggestion, she took the arm of Johanna, and those two young

creatures were in the tide of human life that ebbs and flows in the

great city. The modest walk and gentle demeanour of the seeming young

boy won Johanna many a passing glance as she and Arabella proceeded down

Ludgate Hill towards Fleet Street, but it was quite clear that no one

suspected the disguise which, to do Arabella justice, in its general

arrangement was very perfect, and as Johanna wore a cap, which concealed

much of the upper part of her face, and into which was gathered all her

hair, she might have really deceived those who were the most intimate

with her, so that it was no wonder she passed unobserved with mere

strangers. In this way, then, they reached Fleet Street without

obstruction, and Johanna's heart beat rapidly as they approached the

shop of Sweeney Todd.

"It will be imprudent to stop for even a moment at his door or window,"

said Arabella, "for, remember, you have no opportunity of varying your

disguise."

"I will not stop. We will pass rapidly on, but--but it is something to

look upon the doorstep over which the shadow of Mark has last passed."

In another moment they were on a level with the shop. Johanna cast a

glance at the window, and then shrunk back with affright as she saw,

occupying one of the upper panes of glass, the hideous face of Todd. He

was not looking at her though, for with an awful squint that revealed

all the whites of his eyes--we were going to say, but the dirty yellows

would have been much nearer the truth--he seemed to be observing

something up the street.

"Come on--come on," whispered Johanna.

Arabella had not happened to observe this apparition of Todd in the

window, and she looked round to see what occasioned Johanna's sudden

terror, when a young Temple clerk, who chanced to be a few paces behind

them, immediately, with the modesty peculiar to his class, imagined the

glance of the blooming girl to be a tribute to his attractions. He

kissed the end of a faded glove, and put on what he considered a

first-class fascinating aspect.

[Illustration: Johanna's Alarm At The Sight Of Sweeney Todd.]

"Come on--come on," said Arabella now in her turn.

Johanna, of course, thought that Arabella too had caught sight of the

hideous and revolting countenance of Sweeney Todd, and so they both

hastened on together.

"Don't look back," said Arabella.

"Is he following?"

"Oh, yes--yes."

Johanna thought she meant Todd, while Arabella really meant the Temple

gent, but, notwithstanding the mutual mistake, they hurried on, and the

clerk taking that as quite sufficient encouragement, pursued them,

putting his cravat to rights as he did so, in order that when he came up

to them, he should present the most fascinating aspect possible.

"No--no." said Johanna, as she glanced behind. "You must have been

mistaken, Arabella. He is not pursuing us."

"Oh, I am so glad."

Arabella looked back, and the Temple gent kissed his dilapidated glove.

"Oh, Johanna," she said, "how could you tell me he was not following,

when there he is."

"What, Todd?"

"No. That impertinent ugly puppy with the soiled cravat."

"And you meant him?"

"To be sure."

"Oh, what a relief, I was flying on, fancying that Todd was in pursuit

of us, and yet my judgment ought at once to have told me that that could

not be the case, knowing nothing of us. How our fears overcome all

reason. Do you know that strange-looking young man?"

"Know him? Not I."

"Well, my darling," said the gent, reaching to within a couple of paces

of Arabella, "how do you do to-day?--a-hem! Are you going far? Ain't you

afraid that somebody will run away with such a pretty gal as you--'pon

soul, you are a charmer."

"Cross," whispered Arabella, and the two young girls at once crossed

Fleet Street. It was not then so difficult an operation to get from one

side of that thoroughfare to the other as it is now. The gent was by no

means disconcerted at this evident wish to get out of his way, but he

crossed likewise, and commenced a series of persecution, which such

animals call gallantry, and which, to any respectable young female, are

specially revolting.

"Now, my dear," he said, "St. Dunstan's is just going to strike the

hour, and you will see the clubs hit the bells if you look, and I shall

expect a kiss when it's all over."

"You are impertinent," said Johanna.

"Come, that's a good joke--why, you little whipper snapper, I suppose

you came out to take care of your sister. Here's a penny to go and buy

yourself a cold pie at Mrs. Lovett's. I'll see to your sister while you

are gone. Oh, you need not look so wild about it. Did you never hear of

a gent talking to a pretty gal in the street?"

"Often," said Johanna, "but I never heard of a gentleman doing so."

"Upon my word, you are as sharp as a needle, so I'll just pull your ears

to teach you better manners, you young rascal--come--come, it's no use

your kicking."

"Help--help!" cried Arabella.

They were now just opposite the principal entrance to the Temple, and as

Arabella cried "help," who should emerge from under the gateway but Ben

the Beef Eater. The fact is, that he was on his way to the Tower just

previous to the meeting with Colonel Jeffery and Tobias. Arabella, who

had twice or thrice seen him at the Oakley's, knew him at once.

"Oh, sir," she cried, "I am Johanna's friend, Miss Wilmot, and

this--this gent won't leave me and my cousin here alone."

The gent made an effort to escape, but Ben caught him by the hinder part

of his apparel, and held him tight.

"Is this him?"

"Yes--yes."

"Oh dear no--oh dear no, my good sir. It's that fellow there, with the

white hat. There he goes, up Chancery Lane. My dear sir, you are quite

mistaken; I wanted to protect the young lady, and as for the lad, bless

his heart. I--oh dear, it wasn't me."

Still holding the gent by the first grasp he had taken of him, Ben

suddenly crossed the road to where a parish pump stood, at the corner of

Bell Yard, and holding him under the spout with one hand, he worked the

handle with the other, despite the shrieks and groans of his victim, who

in a few moments was rendered so limp and wet, that when Ben let him go,

he fell into the sink below the pump, and there lay, until some small

boys began pelting him. During the confusion and laughter of the

bystanders, Arabella and Johanna rapidly retreated towards the City

again, for they thought Ben might insist upon escorting them, and that,

in such a case, it was possible enough the disguise of Johanna, good as

it was, might not suffice to save her from the knowledge of one so well

acquainted with her.

"Let us cross, Arabella," she said. "Let us cross, if it be but for one

moment, to hear what the subject of the conversation between Todd and

that man is."

"If you wish it, Johanna."

"I do, I do."

They crossed, and once again passed the shop of Todd, when they heard

the man say--

"Well, if he has gone he has gone, but I think it is the strangest thing

I ever heard of."

"So do I," said Todd.

Without lingering, and so perhaps exciting Todd's attention and

suspicion, they could hear no more, but Johanna had heard enough to give

the spur to imagination, and when they had again crossed Fleet-street,

and were making their way rapidly up Ludgate-hill, she whispered to

Arabella--

"Another! another!"

"Another what, Johanna? You terrify me by that tone. Oh, be calm. Be

calm, I pray you. Some one will observe your agitation."

"Another victim," continued Johanna. "Another victim--another victim.

Did you not hear what the man said? Was it not suggestive of another

murder? Oh, Heaven preserve my reason, for each day, each hour, brings

to me such accumulating proof of horrors, that I fear I shall go mad."

"Hush! hush! Johanna--Johanna!"

"My poor, poor Mark--"

"Remember that you are in the street, Johanna, and for my sake, I pray

you to be calm. Those tears and that flushed cheek will betray you. Oh,

why did I ever advise you to come upon such an enterprise as this? It is

my fault, all my fault."

The terror and the self-accusation of Arabella Wilmot did more to bring

Johanna to a reasonable state than anything else, and she made an effort

to overcome her feelings, saying--

"Forgive me--forgive me, my dear friend--I, only, am to blame. But at

the moment I was overcome by the thought that, in the heart of London,

such a system of cold-blooded murder--"

She was unable to proceed, and Arabella, holding her arm tightly within

her own, said--

"Do not attempt to say another word until we get home. There, in my

chamber, you can give free vent to your feelings, but let the danger, as

well as the impropriety of doing so in the open street, be present to

your mind. Say no more now, I implore you; say no more."

This was prudent advice, and Johanna had sufficient command of herself

to take it, for she uttered not one other word until they were both

almost breathless with the haste they had made to Arabella's chamber.

Then, being no longer under the restraint of locality or circumstances,

the tears of Johanna burst forth, and she wept abundantly. Arabella's

romantic reading did sometimes, as it would appear, stand her in good

stead, and upon this occasion she did not attempt to stem the torrent of

grief that was making its way from the eyes of her fair young friend.

She told herself that with those tears a load of oppressive grief would

be washed from Johanna's spirit, and the result fully justified her

prognostications. The tears subsided into sobs, and the sobs to sighs.

"Ah, my dear friend," she said, "how much have you to put up with from

me. What a world of trouble I am to you."

"No," said Arabella, "that you are not, Johanna; I am only troubled when

I see you overcome with too excessive grief, and then, I confess, my

heart is heavy."

"It shall not be so again. Forgive me this once, dear Arabella."

Johanna flung herself into her friend's arms, and while they kissed each

other, and Arabella was about commencing a hopeful kind of speech, a

servant girl, with open mouth and eyes, looked into the room, transfixed

with amazement.

"Well, Miss Bella," she cried at last, "you is fond of boys!"

Arabella started, and so did Johanna.

"Is that you, Susan?"

"Yes, Miss Bella, it is me. Well I never! The idea! I shall never get

the better of this here! Only to think of you, Miss Bella, having a boy

at your time of life."

"What do you mean, Susan? How dare you use such language to me? Get you

gone!"

"Oh, yes, I'm a-going in course; but if I had anybody in the house, it

shouldn't be a little impudent looking boy with no whiskers."

"She must know all," whispered Johanna.

"No, no," said Arabella, "I will not, feeling my innocence, be forced

into making a confidant of a servant. Let her go."

"But she will speak."

"Let her speak."

Susan left the room, and went direct to the kitchen, holding up her

hands all the way, and giving free expression to her feelings as she did

so--

"Well, the _idea_ now, of a little stumpy looking boy, when there's sich

a lot of nice young men with whiskers to be had just for the wagging of

one's little finger. Only to think of it. Sitting in her lap too, and

them a kissing one another like--like--coach horses. Well I never. Now

there's Lines's, the cheesemonger's, young man as I has in of a night,

he is somebody, and such loves of whiskers I never seed in my born days

afore; but I is surprised at Miss Bella, that I is--a shrimp of a boy in

her lap! Oh dear, oh dear!"