The String of Pearls 52The Vaults of St. Dunstan'S
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The String of Pearls 52
The Vaults of St. Dunstan'S
PrestEnglish
A ponderous stone was raised in the flooring of St. Dunstan's church. The beadle, the churchwarden, and the workmen shrunk back--back--back, until they could get no further.
"Ain't it a norrid smell," said the beadle.
Then the plain-looking man who had been at Sweeney Todd's advanced. He was no other than Sir Richard Blunt, and whispering to the churchwarden, he said--
"If what I expect be found here, we cannot have too few witnesses to it. Let the workmen be dismissed."
"As you please, Sir Richard. Faugh! what an awful--fuff!--stench there is. I have no doubt they won't be sorry to get away. Here, my men, here's half-a-crown for you. Go and get something to drink and come back in an hour."
"Thank yer honour!" cried one of the men. "An' sure, by St. Patrick's bones, we want something to drink, for the stench in the church sticks in my blessed throat like a marrow bone, so it does."
"Get out," said the beadle; "I hates low people, and hirish. They thinks no more of beetles than nothink in the world."
The workmen retired, laughing; and when the church was clear of them, the churchwarden said to Sir Richard Blunt--
"Did you ever, Sir Richard, smell such a horrid charnel-house sort of stench as comes up from that opening in the floor of the old church?"
Sir Richard shook his head, and was about to say something, when the sound of a footstep upon the pavement of the church made him look round, and he saw a fat, pursy-looking individual approaching.
"Oh, it's Mr. Vickley, the overseer," said the beadle. "I hopes as yer is well, Mr. Vickley. Here's a horrid smell."
"God bless me!" cried the overseer, as with his fat finger and thumb he held his snub nose. "What's this? It's worse and worse."
"Yes, sir," said the beadle; "talking of the smell, we have let the cat out of the bag, I think."
"Good gracious! put her in again, then. It can't be a cat."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Vickley, I only spoke anatomically. If you comes here, sir, you'll find that all the smell comes out of this here opening."
"What! An opening close to my pew! My family pew, where I every Sunday enjoy my repose--I mean my hopes of everlasting glory? Upon my life, I think it's a piece of--of d--d impudence to open the floor of the church, close to my pew. If there was to be anything of the sort done, couldn't it have been done somewhere among the free sittings, I should like to know?"
"Mr. Vickley," said Sir Richard, "pray be satisfied that I have sufficient authority for what I do here; and if I had thought it necessary to take up the flooring of your pew while you had been in it, I should have done it."
"And pray, sir," said Mr. Vickley, swelling himself out to as large a size as possible, and glancing at his watch chain, to see that all the seals hung upon the convexity of his paunch as usual--"who are you?"
"Oh, dear--oh, dear," said the beadle. "Conwulsions!--conwulsions! What a thing it is to see authorities a-going it at each other. Gentlemen--gentlemen. Conwulsions!--ain't there lots of poor people in the world? Don't you be a-going it at each other."
"I am a magistrate," said Sir Richard.
"And I am an over--seer. Ah!"
"You may be an overseer or an underseer, if you like. I am going to search the vaults of St. Dunstan's."
The churchwarden now took the overseer aside, and after a while succeeded in calming down his irascibility.
"Oh, well--well," said Mr. Vickley. "Authorities is authorities; and if so be as the horrid smell in the church can be got rid of, I'm as willing as possible. It has often prevented me sleeping--I mean listening to the sermon. Your servant, sir--I shall, of course, be very happy to assist you."
The beadle wiped his face with his large yellow handkerchief as he said--
"Now this here is delightful and affecting, to see authorities agreeing together. Lord, why should authorities snap each other's noses off, when there's lots o' poor people as can be said anything to and done anything to, and they may snap themselves?"
"Well, well," added Mr. Vickley. "I am quite satisfied. Of course, if there's anything disagreeable to be done in a church, and it can be done among the free seats, it's all the better; and indeed, if the smell in St. Dunstan's could have been kept away from the respectable part of the congregation, I don't know that it would have mattered much."
"Conwulsions!" cried the beadle. "It wouldn't have mattered at all, gentlemen. But only think o' the bishop smelling it. Upon my life, gentlemen, I did think, when I saw the Right Rev. Father in God's nose a looking up and down, like a cat when she smells a bunch o' lights, and knowed as it was all owing to the smell in the church, I did think as I could have gone down through the floor, cocked hat and all, that I did. Conwulsions--that was a moment."
"It was," said the churchwarden.
"Mercy--mercy," said Mr. Vickley.
The beadle was so affected at the remembrance of what had happened at the confirmation, that he was forced to blow his nose with an energy that produced a trumpet-like sound in the empty church, and echoed again from nave to gallery. Sir Richard Blunt had let all the discourse go on without paying the least attention to it. He was quietly waiting for the foul vapours that arose from the vaults beneath the church to dissipate a little before he ventured upon exploring them. Now, however, he advanced and spoke.
"Gentlemen, I hope I shall be able to rid St. Dunstan's of the stench which for a long time has given it so unenviable a reputation."
"If you can do that," said the churchwarden, "you will delight the whole parish. It has been a puzzle to us all where the stench could come from."
"Where is the puzzle now?" said Sir Richard Blunt, as he pointed to the opening in the floor of the church, from whence issued like a steamy vapour such horrible exhalations.
"Why, certainly it must come from the vaults."
"But," said the overseer, "the parish books show that there has not been any one buried in any of the vaults directly beneath the church for thirty years."
"Then," said the beadle, "it's a very wrong thing of respectable parishioners--for, of course, them as has waults is respectable--to keep quiet for thirty years and then begin stinking like blazes. It's uncommon wrong--conwulsions!"
Sir Richard Blunt took a paper from his pocket and unfolded it.
"From this plan," he said, "that I have procured of the vaults of St. Dunstan's, it appears that the stone we have raised, and which was numbered thirty, discloses a stone staircase communicating with two passages, from which all the vaults can be reached. I propose searching them; and now, gentlemen, and you, Mr. Beadle, listen to me."
They all three looked at him with surprise as he took another letter from his pocket.
"Here," he said, "are a few words from the Secretary of State. Pray read them, Mr. Vickley."
The overseer read as follows--
"The Secretary of State presents his compliments to Sir Richard Blunt, and begs to say that as regards the affair at St. Dunstan's, Sir Richard is to consider himself armed with any extraordinary powers he may consider necessary."
"Now, gentlemen," added Sir Richard Blunt, "if you will descend with me into the vaults, all I require of you is the most profound secrecy with regard to what you may see there. Do you fully understand?"
"Yes," stammered Mr. Vickley, "but I rather think I--I would as soon not go."
"Then, sir, be silent regarding the going of others. Will you go, sir?" to the churchwarden.
"Why yes, I--I think I ought."
"I shall be obliged to go. I may feel the want of a witness. We will take you with us, Mr. Beadle, of course."
"Me--me? Conwulsions!"
"Yes--yes. You go, you know, ex officio."
"Ex, the deuce, I don't want to go. Oh conwulsions! conwulsions!"
"We cannot dispense with your services," said the churchwarden. "If you refuse to go, it will be my duty to lay your conduct before the vestry."
"Oh--oh--oh!"
"Get a torch," said Sir Richard Blunt, "and I will lower it down the opening in the floor. If the air is not so bad as to extinguish the light, it will not be too bad for us to breathe for a short space of time."
Most reluctantly, and with terrible misgivings of what might be the result of the frightful adventure into which he was about to be dragged, the beadle fetched a link from the vestry. It was lighted, and Sir Richard Blunt tying a string to it, let it down into the passage beneath the church. The light was not extinguished, but it burnt feebly and with but a wan and sickly lustre.
"It will do," said Sir Richard. "We can live in that place, although a protracted stay might be fatal. Follow me; I will go first, and I hope we shall not have our trouble only for our pains."
