A/N: Hi there! Emily here, with a Sweeney Todd fic that really has little to do with Sweeney at all. It's all about Toby!

I'll warn you now that I've taken liberties with this fic, both with the Sweeney Todd story (Anthony says he "doesn't know anyone in London", but I've given him parents there) and historical figures (creating nonexistent additions to families that did exist), but since taking liberties is what fanfiction is all about, I hope you'll forgive me.

I don't own Sweeney Todd, any of the Sweeney Todd canon, or any of the real historical people; the ones that you don't recognize are the ones that belong to me. I think there are about two...

Anyhoo, this is just a short little fic based on an idea that I had. Enjoy!

-Emily

London, March of 1875

It was dark, but after comprehending what he'd been living through the past few weeks Toby Ragg was hardly afraid of the dark. His haste in running away from Fleet Street was more out of fear of what he had left there. Sweeney Todd was dead—Toby'd cut the man's throat himself—but the boy wouldn't have put it past the demon to come back to life.

Hot tears drenched his face as he bemoaned the fate of Mrs. Lovett. Stupid woman, to trust a man like Todd! Toby had thought she'd been misled, but no—she'd known all about it. Hearing their conversation...it had quite broken Toby's heart, to know that the woman he loved so much had been one of the bad people.

The pounding of his feet on the cobbled street slowed and ceased as the boy finally came to a halt. He'd reached the river Thames. If he kept going, he'd end up back at the workhouse. He wouldn't have thought that so bad, after Pirelli, but Mrs. Lovett, however evil, had always treated him better than that. He didn't think he could stand the workhouse now.

Toby found himself a corner and pressed his back firmly against it, sliding down until he was curled up, looking out on the empty square. He'd try to sleep, and ask around for work at the Market tomorrow.

Mrs. Anne Hope bounced into the Dunstan St. Market like a biddy on a mission. Her husband, Richard Hope, was a surgeon; though he was skilled enough to be surgeon to the royal family, Mrs. Hope was sure, he was too kind-hearted. He offered his services, at much lower prices, to the poor folks in Whitechapel. She was stopping at the market on her way to what she'd been told was a good workhouse to see about hiring a house boy, who could help her when he was home, and give assistance to Mr. Hope, should he have a call.

A voice carried over the hubbub of the market and caught her ears:

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please! Do you find yourself heavy with too many charges and not enough time to attend to them all? About ready to fall? Well, ladies and gentlemen, look no farther for aid! I will swear on my life that I'll always be there to take on your burden with marvelous care—please allow me to share!"

Mrs. Hope turned around and saw a boy, almost five feet tall, with hair that might have been brown, large eyes, large ears, and an altogether gangly appearance. He was dirty and rumpled, but his voice was so earnest Mrs. Hope's heart was warmed, and she approached him.

"Are you looking for work, lad?" she asked.

"I am, mum," the boy replied. He looked a bit distant in the eyes, Mrs. Hope thought, but with the sort of life he must've had up until then she didn't wonder that he'd be a bit distant. Time'll take care of that, she assured herself, time and goodwill.

"Well, as it happens, I am looking for a house boy," she said with a smile. "My name is Mrs. Anne Hope."

"Tobias Ragg, mum," the boy replied, bowing his head. "But everyone calls me Toby."

"And about how old do you think you are?"

"I'd guess around twelve, mum."

"And you're a strong lad?"

"Yes mum. I'd prove it now but, beggin' your pardon, I'm stronger when fed," Toby said. He had a slightly sick look on his face for a moment, but it passed and he smiled earnestly at Mrs. Hope.

"Then we shall get you fed, my boy!" Mrs. Hope said amiably, putting her hand on his shoulder.

She was a proper middle-aged lady, with none of Mrs. Lovett's character, but Toby supposed he'd been lucky that she'd taken a liking to him. He'd expected much worse than house boy to a small-time surgeon.

Mrs. Hope hired a chaise and four to take them back to the Hopes' town home on Bridge St., across the Thames. Bridge St., Toby knew, wasn't far from the workhouse, but now that he was employed he wasn't so worried about that place. Mrs. Hope spent most of the ride telling Toby about Mr. Hope and the good things he was doing for the people of Whitechapel. Toby was silent. He tried to be as impressed as Mrs. Hope wanted him to, and he apparently convinced her with a few smiles here and there; but he just couldn't seem to care. In his mind's eye he saw his idea of Mr. Hope, a tall masked man with surgical knives in both hands. They glinted with light from an unknown source, and reminded Toby of a pair of barber's razors...