Mrs. Lovett woke up to find her ceiling staring back at her. She loved Sundays. The day where she could just relax, and do whatever the hell she liked- without having to butcher various corpses for the insufferable man living upstairs. A smiles graced her pale lips when she realised that she could stay in bed for a while longer, and she turned onto her side, drifting off back into a blissful sleep.
After waking up for the second time that morning, the baker stretched sleepily, resting in bed for a few minutes and thinking about Mr. Todd- as usual. He was usually the first thing on her mind when she woke up, as miserable as it sounded. It's not as if he actually acknowledged her at all, or even had the courtesy to thank her for everything that she did for him. Eventually she pulled the bed covers off herself with a deep sigh, and dragged herself out of the warmth of her bed. The London air was extremely chilly that particular morning, and the dull clouds outside made the sky look as if it was about to rain. She was tempted to just stay in bed all day, but remembering that her pie shop could do with another clean, she went over to her vanity and got dressed. She didn't even bother trying to look nice; she just sort of bunched her auburn hair up messily from her fair, and wore one of her old work dresses. She had tried to look nice for Mr. Todd countless times before, splashing out on fancy new dresses, and even bothering to put some makeup on, but he hadn't ever seemed to notice.
She trudged out of her bedroom and made her way to the pantry, where she put together the barber's breakfast. She just wished that he would forget about Lucy, Johanna and revenge, and that he would spend more time with her instead of brooding and pacing in his shop. He barely even spoke to her, unless it was crucial for him to do so. But, no. All he cared about was his past family. A life which he could never, ever get back. He doesn't even sleep or eat anymore- hell, she'd be surprised if he even spent time washing himself properly. And here she was, slaving over his breakfast which she knew he wouldn't eat.
She carried the tray of food upstairs, where he would undoubtedly be pacing. She didn't even bother knocking, knowing that he'd probably be too lost in his own dark world to hear her, anyway. And, there he was, just as expected. Stood stoically in front of the grimy window overlooking the London street, his arms behind his back and the room so hauntingly quiet. She had to admit that she did feel sorry for him. Did he even know what happiness felt like, anymore? She put on a cheery smile in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, and set the tray down for him.
"Brought you some breakfast, dear. Farm fresh eggs, a dollop of lovely clotted cream, only the best for my…" She stopped when she realised that he wasn't listening to her, her heart sinking at how he wore his obsession like a cloak.
"I'm going out," he announced gruffly, blanking whatever it was that she had previously been saying, "to the market'.
"There are a few things that I need to get, now that you've mentioned it. I might as well come-"
"I'm going alone," he cut in sternly, his cold gaze remaining on the passers-by outside.
"Oh, right. Well, then. Your breakfast in on the side," her smile had vanished, and she looked away from him in defeat, heading back to the shop door. She didn't even know why she'd suggested it; why would he choose to spend time with her, anyway? After casting the barber another long and concerned glance, she went back down to her pie shop and through to her parlour.
She found that Toby was once again sprawled across the floor, loosely cradling an empty bottle of gin. It seemed as if he'd also been drooling over it. As she had said before, the boy drank like a bloody sailor. She tugged the bottle away from him and returned it to its original place in the alcohol cabinet, wiping her gloved hand down on her dress and then carrying the boy onto the sofa. God, he was getting heavy now.
After returning to her shop again, she sank down into a chair, thinking. She had woken up feeling so cheerful, and now the barber had completely ruined her mood. After another ten minutes of her sulking, she decided that she should start with the cleaning. Of course, she would much rather go out for a walk to the market, since she did need to stock up on pie ingredients. However, even the thought of bumping into the barber after he told he wanted to be alone made her shiver. She collected her sweeping brush, a wash cloth and a bucket, filling it with warm and soapy water. She had never been one for cleaning like most women, but it needed to be done, and Toby wasn't awake to do it. She decided to start by sweeping up the dirty floor, and began to gather all of the dust and bits of food into a corner. She had nearly finished this task, when Mr. Todd walked in to alert her that he's leaving. After he'd gone to the market, the baker proceeded with her cleaning, wiping down the windows as she occasionally muttered about how much of a bloody nuisance the barber was. She soon heard a knock at the door and her brows furrowed, since her shop was closed, and the barber had only recently left.
"Come in," she called, putting down her wash cloth and straightening her dress up a bit. It was only Anthony.
"Morning, ma'am. Is Mr. Todd in here, at all? It's only, he didn't answer when I knocked on his shop door, and I need to speak to him," he said upon entering. He sounded quite urgent.
"He's just nipped out, but I'm sure he'll be back soon, if you really want to wait for him," she gave him a warm and welcoming smile, before going back to scrubbing the window she was previously cleaning, "I can get you a drink, if you like,"
"I suppose I'll wait, then. No drink, thank you," he answered, rubbing his hands to warm them up a bit, and leaning against the wall next to her, "would you like some help?"
"Nah, I'm quite alright. What was it that you needed him for?"
"Just needed to ask him something, ma'am. Could do with his opinion,"
"Ah, right," she answered, backing up a few steps to admire her handy work. However, she had forgotten about the bucket she had left out and walked straight into it with a crash, losing her balance.
Almost immediately, Anthony grabbed her hand to steady her and to stop her from falling, but he ended up falling down with her. They hit the hard shop floor with a dull thud, Anthony on top of Mrs. Lovett with their faces inches away from each other. Coincidentally, it was at that moment when the moody barber entered the shop, almost dropping his paper bag at the sight of them both. Because of the pain caused by the impact, the sailor and the baker both groaned loudly, too hurt to even think about getting up. To the barber, however, this groan sounded like something completely different was happening. He cleared his throat impatiently, his eyes narrowed. Shit. Eyes wide, Mrs. Lovett swallowed hard, and Anthony scrambled to roll off her and stand up, his head making it feel like the room was spinning.
"M-Mr. Todd," he stuttered, dusting himself down to distract himself from Todd's hard glare, even though the floor had just been cleaned and there was absolutely no dust on him.
"What the hell were you doing?" The barber's voice was harsh and low as he stared at Anthony, and then at Mrs. Lovett. Not only did he looked shocked, but he also seemed angry at whatever he thought was happening. Mrs. Lovett shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, looking down and realising that her skirts had been hitched up to her waist in the fall. She patted them down quickly, her cheeks going bright red once she'd realised what it had looked like they'd been about to do.
"We fell!" Anthony answered, also realising what this must have looked like to Mr. Todd, who really didn't look to convinced.
"You… fell?" He hissed, edging towards them at a scarily slow pace.
"I swear that's what happened. Please, I tried to stop her from falling, but she took me down with her," the sailor's voice became louder and more desperate as Todd reached down for one his straight razors. Of course, Mr. Todd couldn't understand why this bothered him so much. She was only his landlady. He gritted his teeth, inwardly assuring himself that he was only angry because he didn't want Anthony to betray his Johanna like this.
"It's really not what it looks like," Anthony was trembling now, glancing at the door and then running like hell to get away from the insane-looking barber. Right now, he really didn't want to stay to ask him whatever he was going to, before this had all happened. Mrs. Lovett slowly got to her feet, wincing at all the aches and pains she felt as she went to head to her bedroom. She really didn't want to be around him, either.
"Where exactly are you going?" His words were like venom, low and sharp.
"My bedroom," she answered, her voice much quieter and much less confident than usual.
"You can go to your bedroom, once you've explained to me what happened," he growled, his razor tight in his fist.
"Nothing happened; he was telling the truth,"
"Mrs. Lovett, he was on top of you, and your… your dress was up to your waist, and…" he couldn't bring himself to carry on, and he actually sounded quite hurt.
"Yes, but not for that reason,"
Sweeney shook his head, still refusing to believe her.
"Just you wait until I see that boy again, the little bastard. I'll..."
Mrs. Lovett's mouth opened, and she quirked a brow slightly. Maybe, just maybe, he was in fact jealous.
"Why would you care, anyway? It's none of your business what we were doing," she said, much more confidently than before as she cut off his sentence. She crossed her arms over her chest, intrigued by why he was so mad, but annoyed that he'd even think that she'd sleep with the bloody sailor boy.
"Yes it is," he said, not looking at her now.
"How come?" She stared at him. He had started to look uncomfortable, and he paused for an embarrassingly long amount of time.
"Don't want him betraying my daughter like that," he managed to answer, although he wasn't completely sure that this was the only reason. He'd definitely assumed they were about to have sex, and he really didn't enjoy the thought of Mrs. Lovett doing… that, with Anthony. Doing that with anybody, really. He grew more annoyed- mainly at himself, and still refused to even look at her.
"You thought that we were going to have sex," she stated bluntly, making his cheeks turn unusually pink by how blatantly she had said it.
He didn't answer her.
"So, what if we were?" She asked slyly, wanting nothing more than for him to admit that he's envious. Of course, he could be telling the truth about him only being concerned for his daughter, but she still had hope.
"You can't just open your bloody legs for everyone, god dammit!" He suddenly bursted, growling in frustration, "I don't want you touching any man!"
He then strode out of the room, slamming the door forcefully behind him and leaving her alone in the shop. She was absolutely stunned, and slowly stumbled to a chair, needing to sit down. And, very slowly, a broad grin appeared across her face.
Gotta love jealous Sweeney.
Thanks for reading.