Mrs. Lovett tip-toed her way up the stairs leading to Sweeney Todd's barber shop so as not to disturb him. When she opened the door, much to her relief, the barber was nowhere to be found. She approached the table slowly and picked up one of his razors. She admired how clean he kept them, the way they shined in the dimmest of light.
She knew if he found her in his shop and touching his razors, he would kill her, so without bothering to put the razor back in its place, she pocketed it and dashed out of his shop, shutting the door quickly behind her.
Once in the safety of her own room, she took out the razor and examined it more closely. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she slid the cool blade across her wrist, watching as the blood slowly flowed from the cut. Surprisingly, she found it did not hurt. On the contrary..it felt quite...pleasant. As if all her troubles were being washed away. After setting the razor on her beside table, she laid down wearily on her bed, giving in to the wave of sleep that washed over her.
Sweeney opened the door to his barber shop stiffly. He had just returned from his walk around town, and as he entered, he sensed something wasn't quite right. He noticed his razor case was open on the table and upon further inspection, realized that one of his precious razors was missing. He made his way slowly down the stairs and began to walk down Fleet Street to clear his mind. Who had taken his razor, and why? These two simple questions, yet he had no answer.
Perhaps Mrs. Lovett would know, he decided. He turned and headed back toward Mrs. Lovett's pie shop, opening the door slowly. The boy, he saw, was in a drunken sleep on the couch, and though it was in the middle of the day, Mrs. Lovett was nowhere to be seen. He tried checking the kitchen, but found it was in vain. He pushed open her bedroom door, feeling a bit uncomfortable, because she had not given him permission to enter.
His uneasiness vanished when a gleam of silver caught his eye: his razor. Relieved that he now held it between his slender fingers, he now wondered how and why his razor had come to be in her room. He noticed the droplets of blood that were spattered on the blade and now grew angry at the thought of someone else using his razor.
He roughly shook Mrs. Lovett and when she pulled away, he grabbed her wrist, not noticing when she cried out in pain.
"Mrs. Lovett..May I inquire as to how my razor came to be in your room?" he whispered dangerously.
He gripped her wrist tighter and she whimpered. He released her wrist and found blood on his fingertips. He pulled the sleeve of her dress back and located the source of the blood: a thin cut on her wrist.
"Mrs. Lovett...What is going on here?"
"Mr. T..I—I can explain.." she began.
"Then please do so."
She tried to pull away, but he did not loosen his grip.
"It..it helps.." she tried again.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Helps, Mrs. Lovett?"
"With the pain, Mr. Todd."
He still appeared confused, so she attempted to explain further.
"You see...It helps the pain not to be so bad. It's like all your troubles are drippin' away. It really does 'elp." They stared at each other, barber and baker, eyes locked in place, the moment broken only when they turned as they heard Toby's voice calling to her through the door. She whipped around to face him, alarm written on her face plainly.
"Cover it up," he ordered in a whisper, "Then tell the boy you're tired and want to be left alone."
She did as he asked, and when Toby's footsteps retreated, she found him standing behind her at the bowl filled with water, dipping a cloth slowly into it. He wrung it out, and approached her again. As he reached for her wrist, she shrank back and he sighed, irritated.
"Hold still, woman. I can't clean this if you keep moving. "
Too wary to challenge him, she remained still, wincing slightly as he applied pressure to her wrist as he wrapped the cut to control the flow of fresh blood. He tied the cloth securely in place, and continued to stare at the floor. He could feel her eyes on him, watching him, following his every move, and when he looked up at her, she shrank away slightly.
"That should hold. Now, if I ever catch you using one of my razors for anything other than killing the judge, I can guarantee you will never forget it."
"What if I don't use one of your precious razors?" she murmured softly.
"Let me rephrase," he whispered, dangerously close to her ear, "If I ever catch you using one of my razors or anything like a razor for something like that again, I guarantee you will never forget it."
He stood and walked away, shutting her door behind him. She leaned back against her pillow, silently fuming. Who was he to order her around as if she were a child? She blew her candle out and laid down to sleep, cursing under her breath.