Collecting the dead

The smog filled streets of old London were thick with merciless thieves, pick-pocketing from dawn to dusk, but their victims weren't just the living, the dead were plundered too.
"Where dare's a will, dare's a way, Willie," said Charlie Stubbs. He thumped his tankard on a table in the Dog and Duck pub and leaned forward and scratched his chin. "Dat's my motto. Dem richies are brimmin' wiv gold and little treasures. An I'm 'avin some."
"'But Charlie, what if we get caught?" whispered Willie.
"Caught?" said Charlie. "'Ow many people, d'you fink are wondrin' about in da middle of da night, in a cemetry?"
Willie shrugged his shoulders. Charlie clipped him round the ear with his flattened palm.
"Nun, stoopid."
Charlie took another swig of his beer. "Nah listen up. Dem tombs are tough. Old Bludger told me da doors are made of iron. So we'll need a crowbar.You got one?"
Willie thought for a moment. "I fink so. I'll 'ave to 'ave a look."
"Well, get to it," Charlie said before downing his beer. "I'll meet ya at da gate, da chapel gate."

As the tinny chime of Big Ben rang twelve times through the 'pea-soup' air Willie Edwards stomped up the cobbled street to the chapel gate entrance of Marsden Cemetary. Charlie was already there rubbing his arms to stave off the cold.
"Where you bin?" spat Charlie.
"Sorry, Charlie. Couldn't find a crowbar," said Willie.
"You ain't got one?"
"I 'ave now. 'ad to borrow one from Georgie."
"Da Blackie?"
Willie nodded.
Charlie stepped closer to Willie, his eyes narrowed and serious. "You didn't tell 'im 'bout wot ya wanted it for, did ya?"
Willie hurriedly shook his head. "No Charlie, cause not."
"Right den," said Charlie. "Dat's alright den."
Charlie marched past Willie and grabbed hold of the high fence that skirted the cemetary. He hauled himself up, got a foot hold between the fence post and leapt down on the other side, landing heavily amongst the roots of a thick trailing ivy. Willie followed.
"So who are we lookin' for den, Charlie?"
Charlie climbed over a felled tree and entered a high stone gothic arch, with smooth stone columns either side.
"Joseph Franks. He was a tradesman, in gold and silva. Sold stuff to da Indies and de Americas. Right ol' richie he was. Prime for da pickin'."
Charlie marched through the darkened archway and up a avenue of tombs enclosed overhead by the boughs of tall cedars. Willie tried to stay silent while Charlie checked the names above each tomb but his curiosity got the better of him.
"Wot's da picture on da doors mean, Charlie? Da upside down torch?" he asked.
"S'posed to mean deaf. The extinguishment of life. De end, in uva words," Charlie said as he stopped outside the last tomb in the avenue. He studied the carved names, carefully running his fingers over the stone. "Dis is the one," he snickered.
"It is just 'im in dare den?" asked Willie.
"Don't be stoopid. Dare's 'bout twelve folk in 'ere. Two 'undred and sixty guineas day cost, accordin' to old Bludger."
"Two 'undred," Willie gasped.
"Yeah, nah 'urry up an give me da crowbar."
Willie reached inside his tattered coat and pulled out a long black metal bar and handed it to Charlie.
Charlie wedged the bar between the door and the door frame and pushed his weight against it. He heaved and heaved and gradually the door inched open. When it cleared from the frame enough to get a grip of the door Charlie dropped the bar and clasped his hands round the door. "Give me a 'and, will ya?" he said as he placed a foot against the stone front of the tomb, for leverage, and pulled.
Willie grabbed it and pulled and the door creaked open. A puff of musty air escaped and made Willie cough.
"Dat's the stench of deaf for ya," said Charlie with a wry smile.
"It's 'orrible," said Willie, waving a hand in front of his face.
"Ah quit ya whingin' an' come on inside," Charlie said and squeezed through into the tomb.
Inside Willie saw the shelves either side upon which laid wooden coffins. Some were already showing signs of age; their brass fixings tarnished and the wood damp and mouldy.
"Which one is it, Charlie?"
"Dunno," Charlie replied.
"We'll just have to open 'em all and take whatever's in 'em."
"But, dare's bodies and stuff," said Willie, timorously. "Dey'll be all decomposed an' rotten an' 'oribble."
"Oh don't be such a jelly legs, 'an help me wiv dis one," Charlie said as he pulled out the end of the coffin on the lower shelf.
Willie grabbed the other end and helped Charlie rest the coffin on the stone floor.
"Now what?" asked Willie.
Charlie ignored him and used the crowbar to prise the lid off the coffin. "Almost dare, almost off," said Charlie as the last nail popped from the coffin. "We're 'bout ta become richies ourselves now."
As Willie helped Charlie lift the lid off the coffin the black suited man laid inside suddenly sat bolt upright and gasped, as though struggling for air.
Willie screamed and bolted out through the door, hotfooted by Charlie who called after him.
"Never again, Charlie. I ain't comin' 'ere ever again. He can keep 'is gold it's 'is," said Willie.
That was the last time Willie, and Charlie, ever went graverobbing.