Disclaimer: I don't even own the toffees.
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Toby wanted to talk to her. Mrs. Lovett couldn't see any harm in that, really.
Although… He wanted to tell her about little things, like what he'd been thinking. Poor dear Toby, in his simple little brain he'd been mulling things over and thinking them through and he'd come up with something so daft-minded it was probably almost true.
Mrs. Lovett couldn't bear to look at him lest she give something away. She felt sure her eyes must be saying, "Yes, love, we did it, you clever boy. Now run and tell the Beadle."
But he was so simple. Good Lord, she wasn't that careless, was she? It wasn't like she left pieces of finger lying on the counter, or polished the skulls and lined them up on the mantelpiece. How could he have worked anything out, let alone exactly where all Mr. T's customers ended up?
He did have a good pair of eyes on him, she supposed. He must have noticed all them gentlemen- some of them barely gentlemen- walking up the stairs to their doom and he must have noticed how few of them came back down. Mrs. Lovett closed her eyes as Toby squeezed her fingers, hoping that if she disregarded everything he said, he'd give up.
That wasn't like her Toby, though, persistent little nipper that he was. He kept right on, swearing that he wouldn't let anything hurt her. She smiled and nodded and pretended that she didn't know what was going on, while her fingers began to itch and she suddenly longed for the easy lack of conscience she had been so afraid of in Mr. Todd. How simple would it be to smother the dear boy with a pillow? Or to simply wrap his fingers around the hot poker and make him swear never to tell?
The moment she thought of this, Mrs. Lovett was horrified with herself. How could she even think of doing such a thing? Poor little Toby didn't know what he was talking about, that was all. Probably some daft old beggar had accosted him in the street and made him all paranoid like. She got up and turned away from his innocent, hopeful face.
She walked over to the mirror and fluffed at her hair. It certainly was looking a lot nicer since they'd had a bit more money coming in and she could afford to wash it regular. "What are you talking about?"
It was about Mr. Todd, he said. Mrs Lovett froze where she was. So she was right. Her nightmares of being found out were all coming true. And for all this trouble to come from the boy! She'd thought he was such a dear thing, all eagerness and heart, not a cunning thought inside his lovely head…
She needed to distract him. All these thoughts weren't fully formed in his mind yet, and if she could get him to think about something else for long enough, hopefully they might all slip back out his ears to the four winds.
"Haven't we had enough of this foolish chatter?" she asked brightly, pasting a smile on her face even though her back was to him. She reached into her dress, and her fingers closed around the dusty velvet of the old Eye-talian's purse. Deserved to die, he did, and all, for roughing her Toby up like that.
"Here, look," she continued. "How about I give you a nice, shiny new penny, and you go and get us some toffees?"
Toby grinned broadly, and Mrs. Lovett breathed an inward sigh of relief that caught in her throat a moment later when the boy's face fell, and he cried, "That's Senor Pirelli's purse!"
She clutched it to her breast protectively. How could she have been so dim? Of course he would recognise the purse. He'd probably snuck a good few quid out of it in his time. She protested her innocence, but he would have none of it. He was getting out of hand now, she decided, as she forced him to sit on the sofa next to her, whispering placating words.
"How could you think such a thing of Mr. T?" she asked him, stroking his lovely hair and holding him close. Silly thing, she loved him like a son. She couldn't bear to hear him talk this way about Mr. Todd, even if what he was saying was the truth.
"He's been so good to us," Mrs. Lovett whispered, but she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince. And it was then that it hit her: she would have to choose between them. Now that Toby had this notion in his head there was no shaking him, she could tell now. If she didn't find a way to quiet him, he would go to the law, and they'd take Mr. Todd from her again.
But if she did let them take Mr. T, at least she'd still have Toby, and they could get by. They could manage perfectly, the two of them, and she could find a butcher who wouldn't mind giving them the odd cut of meat a few pennies cheaper, and they could take holidays by the seaside. He would love the sea.
Toby had fallen silent, now, and she held him tight, her mind whirring. It had to be one or the other, but how could she choose between the only two people she had ever loved? Her poor dear lost Mr. Todd, forever pacing up there in his room, forever ignoring her, but still giving new meaning to her life with each passing day, making her feel alive again… or sweet little Toby, so naïve he wouldn't know the smell of blood if it pervaded every inch of him?
She couldn't decide. She didn't know what to do. She was at a total loss, for the first time in her life. Nellie Lovett had never been helpless before, and now was a fine time to start, she scolded herself.
She looked down at Toby, and she thought of Mr. Todd upstairs, probably even now finishing off some poor sod.
And she chose. God help her, she chose.
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