Author's Note: These oneshots are the easiest for me to write. I should be working on one of my other stories, but I just want something posted, and chapters take too long. But, holy crap, I had no way to upload this chapter because I temporarily had no internet access, so it took way longer than it should have.
((You can skip the following paragraph:))
After looking over "String of Pearls" and this oneshot, I decided to have a series named for them. These oneshots tell one of my WIPs, The Untold Story from Benjamin's POV. The Story is taking so darned long because it focuses heavily on the development of not just the pairing (Turpin/Barker) but on Turpin himself. Oh, you'll still hate him, but you'll sympathize with him. A bit.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd, nor do I make any money from these works.
Warnings: mentions of slash
Summary: Benjamin meets Lucy for the first time.
The Strangers at Lovett's
Benjamin whistled as he made his way through the sunlit London street back to Mrs Lovett's pie shop, over which was his barber shop. He had spent Saturday night and all of Sunday with Turpin, and he found himself anticipating their next meeting happily. It wasn't normal, the way he looked forward to those meetings most days now -- he wasn't accustomed to craving one person's company so much -- but then again, he had never felt so strongly for anyone before.
"Mr B, is that you out there?" he heard Mrs Lovett call from within, and soon her door opened with a cheerful ding-ingof the bell hanging from it.
"Good morning, Mrs Lovett!" he chirped, bringing her in his arms and dancing her into the shop while he enjoyed her laughter, spinning her round and humming a spontaneous little song as light as his mood. He always did love the way her clever eyes shone when she laughed.
When he finally released her and let her clutch onto the counter so she could catch her breath, he picked up a pie from the tray of freshly made ones. He didn't notice that two were missing, only that his was delicious -- as always. When she scolded, "Now, Mr B --" he groaned and turned to tell her how he would pay her of course, when he saw the two yellow-haired persons sitting at one of the tables and eyes watching him with unveiled amusement.
He swallowed the last bit in his mouth without chewing (it only burned a bit) and slid his widened eyes to Mrs Lovett who had her eyebrow raised and head tilted and said as-a-matter-of-factly, "Tried to tell ya, Mr B, but you didn't give me a spare breath. Mr Oakley's been waitin' here for you a while now."
He smiled at her meekly and set down the pie and walked over to the table, saying as he did with his hands clasped behind his back and looking sheepish, "I'm terribly sorry sir --"
"Oh, nonsense," the man interrupted with a chuckle, "You were obviously in a very chipper mood, and I'm in no rush. Go on, finish your pie," he encouraged, his brown eyes soft under the spectacles on his round face. "They're quite wonderful," he directed to Mrs Lovett, who turned away with a smile and a "Thank you, sir, I try."
Benjamin visibly relaxed and strolled back to the counter to retrieve his pie, smiling winningly to Mrs Lovett as she brandished her rolling pin in a mock threat at him. "Don't be so modest; you know very well these pies are called the best in London!"
"And you're called the best barber in the Temple, aren't you?"
Nothing that morning -- not the furiously passionate manner in which the Judge woke him that morning, or the adoring, gentle way he saw Benjamin off -- could have compared to the way Benjamin's heart swelled at the sound of that voice. He turned quickly, his hair probably looking a bit more of a mess simply because he hoped it looked better, and the heat rose to his face just as he wished it wouldn't when her gaze met his.
What was this beautiful creature doing, sitting so comfortably in the shop? How could he not have noticed her, with those roses on her cheeks and lips like petals, curving into a smile? What was this strange magic she had on him that made him draw nearer to her without thinking to move his feet? And God, how could he get her to talk again, with the melodious voice full of laughter and life and loveliness?
And she spoke again without hearing his plea.
"My name is Lucy Oakley. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Barker."
He found himself grasping her hand, but he stopped himself before his lips touched her skin more than was appropriate.
What was he thinking?
He drew back and began to apologize again to Mr Oakley, only to see the man shaking in his seat with laughter.
"It's fine, my boy, but please, just take me up to your shop before you ask me for her hand!"
Embarrassed that his state of mind was so obvious, he took a step back and bowed his head.
"Father!" Lucy reprimanded, her face probably only half as red as Benjamin's. She ushered the old man from the table after plucking a few coins from his purse. "Go on, and stop teasing Mr Barker, won't you?"
Before Benjamin could beg her to call him by his Christian name, if she would grant him the privilege of addressing her by hers mindless of Mr Oakley leading them out the shop and up the stairs, but the damned bell cut off Lucy's call for Mrs Lovett, who seemed to have disappeared to her back room.
"If you're quite done staring at my daughter, I'd like a quick shave -- and don't you start apologizing again, or I'll take that razor and hack some of that fine hair right from your head."
"I -- ah -- Thank you?" he tried, letting out a breath of relief when Mr Oakley turned only to pat Benjamin's shoulder.
"Oh, this is quite a shop!" Mr Oakley commented as he seated himself on the chair planted in the middle of the room. His eyes roved over the angled window looking over morning London, the sizeable bureau along one wall, the modest chair before the mirror. He stripped his neck of the scarf and opened up his shirt, baring his neck as he sat in the seat, and Benjamin systematically made his own preparations unconsciously with only thoughts of his customer's daughter in him. Lucy Oakley…
And yet as soon as he had finished spreading the lather and pressed the blade to his skin, his mind quelled under the concentration needed for his task.
By the time half of the skin was revealed under the white substance, Benjamin had gathered himself enough to say, "About what you said before… Does it happen often… ?" So maybe he wasn't the most courageous…
"… that a man asks for her hand?" Mr Oakley's sigh allowed some of the happiness he exuded to escape, and the Mr Oakley in the looking-glass looked a bit dimmer. "No, of course not, not with the small dowry we have to offer. That's not to say it has never happened."
"May I ask why--?" he attempted, knowing he was treading on inappropriate conversation when Lucy made her entrance.
Benjamin swore that from that moment, his shop never looked quite the same to him. She carried with her a grace unwarranted for her class, and a beauty that emanated from within her and reached out to the dark corners under the window and behind the chest beside the door. London could not remain the gray, hazy city if Lucy were to walk through every street and allow her life's light to permeate every walkway, every building, every dreary face.
Benjamin studiously fixed his gaze on Mr Oakley, thinking of how embarrassing it would be to have Lucy see him nick her father's chin just when he received such a wonderful commendation from her.
When he finally finished his work, he let Mr Oakley wipe the excess lather off and examine his freshly shaven face in the mirror. Benjamin was just cleaning his blade when he saw her by the vase of flowers Turpin had given him.
Her thin, pale fingers danced gently over the flower petals of the yellow bellflower, stroking along the stem of the purple irises, staring at them as he had (and probably still) stared at her.
"These are quite beautiful," she commented when she caught Benjamin's eyes on her, self-consciously retracting her hand.
"I know," he answered. He caught himself when her brow furrowed. "Oh, I only meant -- you needn't explain. When I first got them, I was quite stunned myself. I think I spent a good amount of time just deciding where they looked best. Then I decided I wanted nearer to me, easier for me to look at -- It was quite a complicated process."
"I can imagine," she whispered with a secret smile and a raised eyebrow, as if in her mind's eye she saw exactly the way Benjamin had fretted this way and that, seeking the perfect place for the wonderful gift.
He found himself offering a smile of his own, and them something more:
"You can take one, if you like."
One part of his mind rebelled -- Turpin had given those flowers to him! It wasn't right to just relinquish such a token -- and the other seemed quite satisfied with the look she gave him, the breathy, "Thank you," to the bellflower he tucked over in her hair over her ear.
He wondered how long they could have stood there, smiling at each other as if there were a perpetual stream of conversation between them and not an intangible connection of partiality if Mr Oakley hadn't cleared his throat and startled them both. He had redone his buttons and scarf and stood calmly at the door, as if he had just walked in.
"I hope my service was to your satisfaction," Benjamin started humbly, all the while, thinking of a clever way to inquire whether he would grant Benjamin his patronage again, when Mr Oakley snorted (and ruined the peaceful image he had created for himself):
"Of course it was, you only spent half the morning shaving me cleaner than a newborn! I'll come by again next week. And don't worry," he staged whispered, "I'll bring the girl."
He guided Lucy to the door, and Benjamin, of course, had no idea that he was following until he called to them from the head of the stairs as they reached the street, "I hope to see you again soon."
Lucy stopped and half-turned. "So do I," she admitted -- then flushed and hurried past her father, the man's chuckles trailing after her.
Later that day, when Benjamin was in Judge Turpin's home, in his bed, in his arms, he told him of Lucy Oakley.
And he, Turpin, told Benjamin that he sounded smitten.
Yes, in fact, he decided when Turpin had fallen asleep and thoughts of the yellow-haired girl still prodded him, Benjamin Barker was quite smitten with Lucy Oakley.