title vanilla
author pinkeop
summary The one thing Mrs. Lovett remembered the most baout Lucy, was her hair. [ ToddLovett [ one shot
authors note Instert my very first Sweeney Todd fiction- but not by means my last. 8D I enjoy writing such things. Read and review, you damn leeches. Love ya all. mwuah
Lucy had been beautiful- no one should wonder then why she and a young Benjamen Barker had been so perfect together. She was a real lady, always very sfot and warm and clean. She was a soft spoken girl with pink cheeks and pale skin. Nellie Lovett had always really admired Lucy Barker- if not a little envious and bitter towards her. She had been sweet and quiet, while Nellie had been a bit more brash and raw- still was, for Lucy was perfectly dead to the world. Nellie made sure of that.
And yet, as "dead" as she was, Lucy still stupidly remained in every fiber of the old house. When the days had been warm, Lucy used to travel from her room upstairs and sit in Mrs. Lovett's parlor, the landlady not yet widowed, with little Johanna while Benjamen was away, shaving the faces of many a men, saving up the pounds to buy Lucy pretty things. The chair Lucy used to sit in was still pushed in the corner of the small parlor by the window, untouched as dust ate away at the one charming cream color. Not even the oak piano survived the time.
The one thing Mrs. Lovett remembered the most about Lucy was her hair. Her beautiful, long, blonde, yellow hair. It always smelt like vanilla- Mr. Barker always bought her this good smelling hair wash. It was expensive, but he always bought it in big bottles so she never ran out of her hair wash. When Lucy would hug her, Mrs. Lovett would be dizzy with the smell of vanilla. Sometimes the barber would even smell of the sweet vanilla hair was. Mrs. Lovett loved those days.
But days after Lucy retreated from being her tenent, Mrs. Lovett's room above the shop began smelling liek dust, rather than sweet vanilla. Soon, the smell was forgien to her. Weeks after Benjamin had been taken away, and after young Johanna was stolen from her young mother , Mrs. Lovett would go down to the market and stare longingly at the different sized bottles of hair wash. But even then poverty had her in his grip, for her dear Albert's health was depleting, and all the money went to meat and medicine. Soon, it all went to medicine. When Albert died, no one was buying pies, and Mrs. Lovett sold what she could baked into dough.
When Mr. Todd moved in, Mrs. Lovett's spirits lifted again. Even now, at that moment, as he brooded up stairs in his barber chair, longingly gazing out the window, Mrs. Lovett's mood couldn't be damaged. A trip to the market was in order, a purse full of frivilous pounds waiting to be spent, seeing as the meat was always taken care of.
"Toby?" she called brightly as she tucked her jacket around her shoulders, pushing her arms through the sleeves. The little brunette bounced from around the parlor corner.
"Yes, Mum?" he asked. Mrs. Lovett's smile was warm on her lips. She tossed him his scrabby jacket.
"Come on, then," she told him. "It's just you an' me today, lit'le love. Mr. Todd is in a mood an' ain't up to the market."
Toby grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door, excitedly spouting thick gibberish. The boy was so easily amused. Mrs. Lovett, in a motherly gesture, squeezed his hand and warned him to stay close as they crossed over to Fleet Street market.
Shopping with Toby was a joy. He was much more enthusiastic than Mr. Todd, who never enjoyed large crowds. Mrs. Lovett smiled calmly. She held a basket full of fruits and a few potatoes that weren't too badly bruised or rotted, and some tea bags. The shopping excursian was going along mighty well- she felt almost at peace -if she didn't keep wishing her brooding moody barber were at her side.
Sighing, Mrs. Lovett wheeled to a casual stop by a stand. Her eyes traveled over it's contents, chewing her lip. A familiar sensation tugged at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite place it. But a fond smile streched over her face from ear to ear.
"Are ya lookin' fer somethin', M'am?" A gruff looking man questioned. Mrs. Lovett's fingers ran over the glass bottles with creamy liquid inside. "Finest sham-poos this side o' London, miss!"
Mrs. Lovett glanced down at Toby, who was sniffing a small bottle with a ribbon around the throat. "Here, mum!" Toby crowed, holding it up in his small, but capable hands. "This one would smell pretty in your hair!" To appease him, she grabbed the bottle and took a sniff.
It reminded her of warm sunny days, of a smiling yellow haired beauty, the gurgle of a young baby, sunshine on a bright wood floor. It reminded her of a young, happy if not foolishly niave barber, of piano music and biscuits in the oven. Her mind reeled over itself as she carefully peeled the bottle away from her nose. She capped it and rolled it between her fingers.
"How much?" she asked, her hand already digging for a few notes.
"Five pound for the small'un, Miss," the man said. Mrs. Lovett smiled down at Toby as she handed the man her five quid and tucked the shampoo against her breast. Toby grabbed her hand and began pulling her along again. Mrs. Lovett vaugely wondered if Mr. Todd recalled the smell that his Lucy once wore, the familiar vanilla hair soap. Or had his young foolish self taken that for granted as well? Or did he miss it some days as much as she did?
It was a bit past midday when Mrs. Lovett and Toby meandered back into the shop on Fleet street. They spoke in loud merry voices as they walked into the shop. Toby was the first to sober, and Mrs. Lovett not long after when it was to be discovered that Sweeney Todd sat at the stool behind the counter, looking forboding and almost a little annoyed at their gayity.
Still chuckling and slightly out of breath, Mrs. Lovett pat Toby on the back and ushered him into the parlor. "I'll put away the things, lit'le love. You go entertain yourself while I talk to Mr. Todd."
Toby frowned, looking mighty unhappy. "I'll put away the groceries, mum---"
"Out!" she said sternly, slapping the back of his head in an endearing manner. Mrs. Lovett turned back around to face her barber, smiling a wide smile in his direction. "Got some fruit, and potatoes. Make us a fine dinner, just us three." She placed the basket on a counter. Mr. Todd said nothing, but he did eye the strawberries with a mischevious glint in his eyes. The baker smiled even wider.
"An'... well, I get yeh a gift. I couldn't really resist, ya know... me gentle heart an' all." she continued. Mr. Todd looked at her now.
"You shouldn't have," he said in a low voice. The way he said it, it could have easily mean, you really shouldn't have.
Mrs. Lovett swallowed thickly.
"Well, I know... but..." she fumbled to take the bottle out of the cup of her dress. She held it up- it was yellow, a warm pale yellow. "Do you remember, Mr. Todd? It was so long ago, but... Lucy..." Mr Todd's eyes burned with either pain or anger for her daring to speak his wife's name. "Lucy always smelt like this, it's vanilla. You used to buy it for her in big bottles." Mrs. Lovett swallowed and twirled the bottle through her fingers. "Sometimes you would even smell like it. You don't have to use it... but I got it for you, an' I would like it if you at least kept it, love."
Mr. Todd looked across the counter at her, his cold black eyes, for a moment, soft. The baker couldn't tell what hew as thinking, if he was remember all those years ago. Did he even remember, did he know? Something broke on his face, and he looked pained. Mrs. Lovett's heart shattered for the poor abandoned soul. She kept her eyes on his face as she moved around the counter. When she was at his side, Mr. Todd reached out one large, callused hand for the tiny bottle. Something inside her swelled up and she promptly placed it to cradle in his palm. The fingers of that hand snapped shut like a rap and before she could get her barings, Mr. Todd stood from the stool and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. Tenderness was not one of his practiced emotions. Mrs. Lovett let out a surprised yelp before she was forced down onto the stool, her barber's tough hands yanking out the pins that kept the wild, unkempt curls in place.
"Mr. Todd, what do you think you're doin'?" The baker demanded sourly as her barber turned on the faucet. But of course, he said nothing, nor did he look at her. Suddenly, he pressed his palm to her forehead and forced it back until her neck hurt with the effort. Scalding hot water hurt her scalpe a bit as he forced the top of her head under the stream, kneading his big fingers through her damaged ringlets. Mrs. Lovett stared sourly past him at the ceiling, but his calm face was in her view. He looked at ease, not all the face of her homicidal tenent, but that of a young barber that used to live above her.
She could smell the sharp scent of the vanilla wash. Mr. Todd's face was still peaceful and Mrs. Lovett's mind raced. His intension was lost to her as his hard fingers worked into her hair, scrubbing the soapy fragrent vanilla wash. No matter how skilled he was with those hands, Mrs. Lovett couldn't help feeling sorry for his customers that lived through a shave. Those years away had roughened him and he long forgot how to be gentle and tender, but he did his best she supposed. Her eyes closed and she tried to remember her dear Mr. Barker and how he had been so gentle. Mr. Todd, though the same man, was no where near the same barber that had once smelled of the same wash he was working into her tresses.
When her eyes opened, Mr. Todd's face was very close to hers, but he was looking past her, into the sink. His fingers were now rinsing the wash away very carefully, as if afraid to take out the scent. The faucet was shut off sharply and Mr. Todd stepped back, reaching behind him and grabbing up a towel. He cupped the back of her head, and pulled her up, wrapping the towel around her shoulders to keep the water from dripping onto her pretty pressed dress.
Mrs. Lovett looked up at him with curious eyes, as if waiting for him to snap back into that could, heartless person. But his arms were around her, tightly, and his cheek was pressed against her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the fact that she now reminded him more of his dear, poor, good as dead, dead to him Lucy. He twisted on of her curls around his finger, then let it fall. He stepped back, giving her a hard look, before spinning around and strutting from the room, leaving Mrs. Lovett dripping, confused, and a little hurt.
The next morning, Mrs. Lovett was up early, cleaning the house. As she menuvered into the bathroom, a basin of water on her hip and a wash cloth in her hand, her eyes landed on an object that seemed so out of place in the dimly lit bathroom. Surprise washed over her face, and she set down the basin and the cloth. "Well, what do we 'ave 'ere?" She asked herself as she reached for the large, warm, pale, yellow bottle. She uncapped it and put her nose to it.
Vanilla wafted her sense. A little piece of paper was tied to the neck with ribbon. Scrawled across it was her name, Mrs. Lovett ( for Mr. Todd never cared for her real name, and now would be no different ) in a rough hand written ink.
Nellie Lovett smiled and looked upward, the sound of her barber's pacing foot steps staring up almost as if he knew she had found his gift.