Author's Notes: Yay! New story! If you've read my other stories, good for you; if you haven't, go and read!!
I'm not including any singing in this story. And I'm not sticking exactly to the dialogue, either. It's going to be a mix of the movie and the original production.
I'm also going to be adding characters, and changing the plot line a little bit. But you knew that was coming, didn't you? To me, Toby didn't seem right as a young boy, so my Toby is going to be around 16 or 17. Don't like it? Too bad.
So here you go!
Chapter 1:
Nellie Lovett sighed as she stared longingly out of the grimy window of her pie shop. It was already past midday, and she had not seen a single customer. But she was used to this by now. After all, her pies were often referred to as the "worst pies in London" around Fleet Street.
Mrs. Lovett tore her eyes away from the goings-on out in the street, and turned her attention back to the pies that were sitting on the counter in front of her. Their smell still bothered her after all these years. "No 'onder nobody comes in 'ere," she muttered to herself, pounding some fresh dough on the counter.
She looked back out of the window then, and glanced across the street, and a little ways to the left. Near the end of the street was Mrs. Mooney's pie shop. Mrs. Mooney happened to be standing outside of her shop just now, greeting customers, and ushering them inside. She looked over to Mrs. Lovett's pie shop, and gave a little wave, smiling smugly. Mrs. Lovett glared, then waved, and smiled fakely back, but her eyes remained cold and icy. As soon as Mrs. Mooney turned her back, Mrs. Lovett stopped smiling, and her glare returned.
"That insufferable woman," she muttered, grabbing hold of her butcher's knife. "The nerve of kill'n them pussy cats as meat!" She slammed the knife down into the dough so hard that it stuck into the counter. She looked down and blinked at it, then shrugged, and grabbed another hunk of dough and started kneading it. "I'd be right to tell everyone what she's been put'n in them pies…"
Just then the bell above the door tinkled, announcing the arrival of a customer. Mrs. Lovett glanced up to see a man entering the shop. The poor fellow looked rather confused and lost. This was probably his first time in London, and he knew nothing of the reputation of her pies. This was good.
"A customer!" Mrs. Lovett exclaimed. The bloke took a step back. "Oh, come off it, dearie," she cooed. "I don' bite. And you looks like you could use somethin' to eat." She looked up into the man's face, taking in his pale complexion, his sunken eyes, his untrusting stare. There was something eerily familiar about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it. "Come on. Sit down, dear. Right over there, that's it," she said, leading the mad over to the table in the corner of her shop.
The man slumped into the seat, and rested his elbows on the table. Mrs. Lovett felt his gaze on her as she went around the counter to fetch him a pie. "There you are, love," she said, sliding a plate across the table at him. "A nice lovely pie for you." She smiled at him. "Eat up, now."
The man continued to stare at her for a few more seconds, then he glanced down at the pie in front of him. Mrs. Lovett smiled at the man, then she walked back to the counter, and started working on another batch of pies.
After a few seconds, she looked up at the man. There was something familiar about him… The man the cautiously picked his pie up, and sniffed it. His nose wrinkled, and he dropped it back onto the plate. He glanced up at Mrs. Lovett, and his eyes looked as though they were speaking to her, saying to ignore his reaction, and that the pie was really good. He then proceeded to take a bite, a shudder running through his body as he did so. Then he looked back up at her, then same expression on his face, only now his mouth was full of pie that he dared not swallow.
Then a thought hit Mrs. Lovett. Hadn't the bloke who had lived about the shop looked at her like that? But, no, it couldn't be. He had been shipped off to Australia for life. But those eyes…
Mrs. Lovett suddenly snapped out of her thoughts, and turned back to her customer. "Oh, spit it out, dear," she said, bustling over to the table. "Right there on the floor's fine. There's worse things than that down there." The man spit his mouthful out on the floor, and made a face of disgust. He looked up at Mrs. Lovett, and smiled weakly at her. She could see his mouth moving slightly, attempting to get the taste f the meat pie to go away.
"How 'bout a drop of ale for 'ya?" Mrs. Lovett asked. The mad nodded his head, and she walked back over to the counter. She reached for a mug, looked into it, and noticed a thick layer of dust congregated on the bottom, She blew into the mug, making most of the dust vanish. She then filled it up with some ale, and walked back over to the man.
He gulped down the ale quickly, then looked back up at Mrs. Lovett, the weak smile still on his face. That smile was so familiar… This man couldn't possibly be the same one who had lived above her shop. What was his name? Then it all came flooding back into her brain. Benjamin Barker, the barber, had lived upstairs. Him and his wife and little daughter. How could she have forgotten him? She always had a soft spot for him in her heart.
Mrs. Lovett was brought back to reality by the man coughing, "Oh, dearie, the ale won't do much for that 'orrible taste. Why don't you come back into me parlor, and I'll give you some gin. She gestured for the man to follow her, which he did. Mrs. Lovett could still feel his gaze on her back as they walked. Could this man really be Benjamin Barker? The man she had longed to notice her for so long would do nothing but look at her now. Mrs. Lovett was determined to find out who he was.