Any other person would've screamed upone hearing the sliding of a body don a chute, at the sound of bone smashing against the cobbled floor of the cellar, but Margery Lovett didn't even look up from what she was doing. Once she finished shoving the trays of pies into the big bake oven, carefully, to make sure none of the precious cargo was lost, the pie maker moved over to the body, nudging the man with the tip of one delicate high heeled boot before grabbing him by the wrsit and dragging him across the room into the part of the building where her own bloody work was done.
She first raided the pockets, expert fingers prying into every cranny of his clothing in search for hidden notes and coins. Once that was done, she stripped the body, practiced eyes not lingering anywhere for too long. The woman depostied the clothing into the pile for the day, which alter she would go through and see if there was anything that would fit the man on the second story or the boy sweeping the floor of the room above her. In a swift motion she moved on, pale fingers gripping the carving knife as she sawed into the flesh, the metallic smell as welcoming as a head of cattle to her.
If there was a record for de-boning a human body, Margery would have it. She finished the body before her mind even thought about what it was doing, and soon she was tossing the meat and organs into the grinder.
In this form, you would never know what it was.
With a quick sigh Mrs. Lovett wiped her hands off on a rag before throwng it to the side and making her way upstairs, maknig sure to check herself in the laternlight for any traces of what she had done.
As she reached the top of the stairs, a sound was heard. A gentle shoop, then a crack.
She was begining to feel more like a butcher then a pie maker.