There was simply too much snow, Mrs. Lovett mused. It had been snowing since early in the day, and now, at night, it was falling thicker and harder than ever.
She peered out the window of her pie shop through a ring she had made with her fingers.
The glass of the pane was cold to the touch, but she was used to coldness—so used to it, in fact, that she had forgotten she was cold. The snow, though—that reminded her. And she didn't like that one bit.
"What're you doing?" The question came suddenly and sharply from behind her.
Mrs. Lovett turned, startled—the voice was familiar to her, of course, but it surprised her all the same.
Had she really been alone for so long?
Sometimes hearing other people in her home bothered her as much as seeing snow, because having others around reminded Mrs. Lovett that she had been lonely. And she didn't want to remember that.
"Just watching the snow," she murmured, turning again to face the window.
Sweeney Todd grumbled—his preferred form of communication—something about silliness before he joined her. As he stood beside her she stole a glance at him—his pale skin in the street light's glow, his sunken eyes, the odd streak of white in his otherwise black hair.
"D'you suppose it'll stop anytime soon?" She asked, not really interested. It was just an excuse to hear his voice respond to hers, and she knew that. He said nothing in response.
She glanced down to his fingertips and wondered vaguely if they were as cold as hers. It was an excuse to touch him, and she knew that—but reasons were reasons.
"Are you cold at all, Mr. Todd?" She asked quietly, her fingers reaching over to touch his.
He recoiled at her touch, his hand snapping away from hers. Mrs. Lovett flinched in surprise, her eyes searching his face.
It was contorted with fury, and his eyes flashed dangerously before he spun on his heel and walked stormily upstairs.
"Good night!" She called after him softly.
She heard the door to his shop slam from somewhere upstairs—his reply.
Mrs. Lovett knew that what he had done should have broken he heart. She knew that she should be hating him right now. But somehow she couldn't bring those feelings to light.
Instead she studied her hands, wondering vaguely what it was about them that was so repulsive to him. And, as she crowded herself near the window to look at them in the street light, she realized how empty they were. It became clear to her then that she was both cold and lonely, and that it hadn't been until Sweeney Todd had moved in upstairs that she had been able to recognize her feelings for what they were. Perhaps that was what bothered her the most—that she needed him around to figure something out that was so simple. And it bothered her that she wasn't able to make him realize something so important—like maybe that he was lonely, too.
As she realized this, a smile spread over Mrs. Lovett's face. She gathered up her skirts and all but ran to the parlor, where Toby was curled defensively around a bottle of gin.
She knelt down beside him and shook his shoulder gently. She flinched at the feeling of his icy sleeve, but she doubted if he felt cold (the bottle was quite empty).
He groaned softly before rolling over to look Mrs. Lovett in the eye. "Oh, g'morning mum," he mumbled, his words clumsy and slurred from the gin.
"It's not morning, dearie," Mrs. Lovett murmured. She had to suppress the excitement in her voice as she spoke.
Toby turned so that he could better look at her face.
"You're cold as ice, dearie!" she whispered.
Toby shook his head groggily. "'m fine, mum, really."
Mrs. Lovett shook her head impatiently. "You'll catch your death down here. Come with me. We'll go upstairs and sleep with Mr. Todd tonight."
Toby looked mildly alarmed at this. "No, mum. That's okay. I don' think he would be so happy about that. And besides," he said, rubbing his head gingerly, "I've got an awful headache."
Impatiently Mrs. Lovett tugged at his arm. "Come put on a night shirt and we'll go upstairs and we'll be warm and snuggly and happy all night, all right?"
Toby looked nervous as she took him by the arm and all but dragged him to put on a night shirt.
It was one of Albert Lovett's, and due to the man's gratuitous girth, the shirt was several sizes too big for Toby's tiny frame—but Mrs. Lovett told him it would fine. After all, he was only sleeping in it.
Mrs. Lovett didn't bother to change—she was far too jittery for that. She instead grabbed several blankets and a mattress (it was tatty and old, but still had some spring left in it.) from her dresser. She then took Toby's hand and led him upstairs to the barber shop.
The two of them braced themselves as they came outside—the wind was harsh and the snow hadn't let up at all.
Mrs. Lovett didn't bother to knock at the door. Instead, she wrenched it open.
Sweeney Todd was seated in his barber chair. He looked alarmed at their sudden entrance, but upon realizing who they were his confused face turned to one of angriness.
"What do you want?" He growled.
Toby hid behind Mrs. Lovett, his small hands gripping at the bustle of her dress. "We're sleeping here tonight, Mr. Todd," Mrs. Lovett told him bravely.
He laughed—the sound was shocking to her, one that she almost never heard.
"Ridiculous," he said, turning away from them.
As he spoke, the wind rattled the window and Toby trembled behind Mrs. Lovett. She turned to him kindly. "Toby, dearie, no need to be afraid. Wait here a minute, love."
She moved away from him and approached Todd, who was now staring out his window at the snow. "It's freezing downstairs, Mr. T," She whispered so that Toby couldn't hear her.
He said nothing, as usual.
"I'm not worried about myself, but what about Toby? It's not good for him, love. He needs the warmth we could provide him with."
He turned to look at her now, his eyes flashing dangerously again. "We, Mrs. Lovett? We? Madness," he hissed.
Mrs. Lovett crossed her arms and glared at him. He didn't falter at the cruelty of her gaze, for who knew crueler gazes better than Sweeney Todd?
"Leave," he told her then, crossing his own arms as he said it.
She didn't move.
"Now," he said.
She didn't budge.
He took her by the shoulder and shoved her roughly against the wall. She stood her ground, though inside her heart threatened to burst from her chest.
His eyes were insane, bloodthirsty—Mrs. Lovett was frightened, but she didn't show it. Instead, she said what she had been planning to say all along. "What would Lucy have wanted you to do?"
Todd flinched at the sound of his wife's name. His grip on Mrs. Lovett's neck loosened, but he still held her. "What?" He asked.
Mrs. Lovett knew that he had understood her perfectly. "I said, 'what would Lucy have wanted you to do?' Would she have wanted you to turn out a pair of freezing people in need of your help?"
Todd released her. He turned away to instead look through the window. But she wasn't finished with him yet.
"Mr. Todd, aren't you lonely up here all alone?"
He didn't answer her. Instead he stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to pace. He's like a child, Mrs. Lovett thought. He hates to lose. "Alright," he said suddenly, his voice strangled. "Sleep here. With me."
Mrs. Lovett looked over at Toby—he looked exhausted, but he was undoubtedly delighted at Todd's reply.
"Lovely," Mrs. Lovett murmured.
She took the tatty old mattress she and Toby had brought up and rolled it out onto the floor. Todd watched her from the side, clearly frustrated that he had lost. Blankets from his chest of drawers and her room were piled onto the mattress. Toby lay down in the center of the mattresses. He smiled drowsily up at Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney Todd as they stared down at him. "Thank you," the boy whispered genially.
Todd and Mrs. Lovett looked down at him, neither quite sure of what to say.
"You're welcome, love," Mrs. Lovett murmured. But Toby wasn't listening—he had already fallen asleep.
When she turned away from the child's sleeping face, Mrs. Lovett saw that Todd was looking at her. But, for perhaps the first time since he had come to live with her, he was actually looking into her eyes. His face was not angry or contemptuous like it usually was—it was sad, and somehow gentle.
His look embarrassed her. A blush was creeping over her cheeks—she could feel it. She turned to look out the window, where the snow was still falling swiftly.
"I'm not," he said suddenly.
She looked at him again. "Not what, love?"
He looked confused, as though he didn't know how to say what he had to say. "I'm not lonely. I like it…I like being alone. And if I do feel lonely, I have my memories. And…" he looked embarrassed to have to say it "and you."
Mrs. Lovett felt something catch in her chest. She was breathless with happiness. "Mr. T," She asked, just because she wanted to hear his voice again, "d'you suppose the snow'll stop anytime soon?"
Instead of answering her, he took her hand. She felt her heart begin to race as his cold fingers touched hers. "Get in the bed," he grumbled. "Your fingers are like ice." She took her hand away and playfully said, "So are yours. Tuck in, love."
He gave her a look. "Mrs. Lovett," he said flatly, "I am not sleeping with you and that boy."
Mrs. Lovett gave him a look. "But Mr. T. I'm too small! I can't keep the poor lad warm all by myself!"
"That's what the blankets are for, love."
She frowned at him. He was still holding her hand, and she didn't want him to ever let go. "Please?" She asked.
"Why would you ever think that would work?"
She sighed heavily. Her plan was falling apart and it had barely been set in motion. "Won'tcha just…lay down? You can get up as soon as I fall asleep, I promise."
He rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous, Mrs. Lovett."
She shrugged. "Just do it, Mr. Todd."
He looked unhappy about it, but he obliged.
Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett lowered themselves to the floor almost simultaneously; both were keeping as quiet as possible to refrain from waking Toby. She lay down on Toby's right and Mr. Todd lay down on his left. She draped one arm over Toby's chest and Toby, in his sleep, smiled and held her arm with his own.
"G'night, Mr. T," she whispered dreamily. He grunted in response.
Mrs. Lovett closed her eyes. She wasn't going to sleep—she wanted to know whether or not Mr. Todd would fall asleep or whether he would stay true to his word and stay awake.
Unfortunately, she drifted off before she saw a thing.
When Mrs. Lovett's eyes opened, she had no idea where she was. She looked to her right and saw naught but the underside of a dresser she didn't recognize. She looked to her left and—her heart leapt into her throat—found herself nose to nose with Sweeney Todd. "Oh!" She cried in shock and alarm. And then the memories of the previous night came flooding back to her.
"Ooh, Mr. T, you lied to me," she whispered.
He was sleeping soundly, his face angelic and soft. If she hadn't known any better, Mrs. Lovett would have almost described him as "innocent".
And speaking of innocent, where was Toby?
Had he woken up, seen them contently sleeping and left them be?
Mrs. Lovett wasn't certain.
She turned herself so that her entire body was facing his—she even snuggled a bit closer to him. He didn't budge.
Wherever Toby was, Mrs. Lovett made a mental note to thank him when she saw him.