First thing first: Sweeney Todd doesn't belong to me, but Eva does.

Oh, and to those who've read 'Always second best' it's the same Eva, only she was born later to fit in with this story. Please reveiw, bu no Flames, PLEASE!

Eva Lucinda Lovett stepped off the boat, and looked around her in trepidation. The Dock she now saw was darker than she remembered, but, she reasoned with a shrug, the last time she had stood here, she had been 5 years old, and everything had seemed brighter. She was now 18 years old, and had already been exposed to much of the world's cruelty. She gave a small sigh, and, wrapping her thin cloak further around her shoulders, she headed off in the direction of Fleet street.

"Yes, that's correct, sir, we bake all our pies fresh." Toby plastered a smile on his face. The man at the other side of the counter nodded, and grunted:

"Alrigh' then. Three meat pies."

"Very good, sir. Anything else: Ale, Gin…?"

"No." Toby's smile became even more forced, as he called over his shoulder

"Henry? Three meat pies, if you'd be so kind!" He turned to face his customer. "Please, sir, take a seat."

It seemed like a lifetime since Mrs Lovett had died, and he had… given Mr T a taste of his own medicine. On that fateful night, Anthony had burst into the bakehouse, seen the carnage and swept Toby out under his arm. For a while, Toby had been happy, until his 19th birthday when had started to grow restless, tired of the house by the sea where Anthony and Joanna had retired. Anthony had recognised that in the boy, having experienced it himself. He had given Toby a little money, and his blessing, and Toby had left the life that he had known to travel the world. At least, that had been the plan. Instead, on his way to the docks, he had decided to see how the old pie shop was doing. He was shocked to see that it had fallen into disrepair, and there whispers about it being haunted. Toby had always been fearless, and so he had invested the money he had for travelling in the small business, and now, 11 years on, trade was flourishing, with all thoughts of ghosts driven away when the customers smelt the piping hot pies through the doorway. Shaking his head to clear it of such thoughts, Toby surveyed the room from his vantage point. Most of his customers were fat, balding men, occasionally with their wives, usually with women too young to be their wives. There was the odd mother spoon feeding pie filling to a wailing infant, sometimes a sailor, and more often than not a student from the university further up the street. Life was good.

Life was not so good for Eva, however. Her midnight blue cloak was doing nothing to protect her from the pouring rain the was now soaking her, and she could not see for the heavy raindrops and the strands of water-logged ebony hair falling over her eyes.

"Oh, Lord!" She muttered, sweeping her curls away from her face with one small, pale hand. Her eyesight restored, she tapped an old man, walking with a cane on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir…"

"Thief!" he shrieked, hitting out at her.

"Ouch! Forgive me, sir, I did not wish to startle you…" Despite her hasty apologies and protests, the man carried on screaming. After a certain amount of time, Eva realised that no one was coming to the man's aid.

Well, she thought, either people here are ruder than I imagined or remembered, or this is one of those poor dears from Fogg's, who no one pays any heed to. She continued to walk along, noticing that no one tried to stop her and, sure enough, the man stopped crying out and carried on along his way as though nothing had happened. That poor creature should be helped, Eva mused.

"Now, which way to the Pie shop?"