It had been another long day, and Mrs. Lovett was looking forward to collapsing in her parlour with a glass of gin. She could leave the filthy plates and countless ale mugs for the morning, when Toby was a bit more bright-eyed and didn't mind washing them all. She wiped her hands on her apron and was about to close the door when a young man rushed across the street towards her, catching her eye and gesturing desperately. He had once been impeccably dressed, but hours of wandering through London's smog-soaked streets had put paid to that. When he reached Mrs. Lovett's side, he was panting.
"A tumbler of ale, mum," he pleaded. "If you can spare it."
She could, but she didn't feel like it. A dirty mug was a dirty mug, she felt like telling him, no matter how eager he was for ale.
Then again… he had a nice healthy look about him, this one, and he wasn't running to fat like a lot of the young, well-looked-after youths she had through the shop. There would be a nice cut of meat from him, she could see.
"Anything for a soul in need, dearie," she declared warmly, clapping him on the back and sweeping him into the shop.
It worried her that she was so unfeeling about the whole thing, but really, what else could she do? The business was respectable, to all observers, and she had to make a living somehow, didn't she? And really, when you thought about it, it was no different than dear old Mr. Abernathy from the butchery slicing up pigs all day long. They said pigs were almost as clever as people these days, and in Mrs. Lovett's opinion a good deal of them were probably better company.
She pulled a pint for the poor bedraggled lad and slammed it down on the counter in front of him. He set about gulping it down eagerly.
"Drowning your sorrows, are you, love?" she asked, as the young man downed the pint almost in less time than it had taken her to pour it.
"Broken engagement," he explained sorrowfully, staring into the bottom of his (now empty) mug. His pose reminded her somehow of Mr. Todd when he'd come back to the shop after all those years in the colonies. This young boy had lost everything, and it didn't seem like his life had much of a point anymore.
That was all the excuse Mrs. Lovett needed. She took a breath. "Tell you what, son," she said, squeezing the young man's shoulder, "You just pop up and ask my tenant Mr. Todd for a shave."
It wasn't bad, not in a situation like this, she decided. She was doing the poor lad a favour. And he'd certainly be appreciated in death.
The youth paused a little uncertainly at the door, slightly confused at Mrs. Lovett's suggestion. She smiled encouragingly at him.
"You'll feel much better after this, you mark my words."