AN: So we return for chapter two, huh?
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and who responded.
One frequently asked question was "Why didn't Sweeney kill the Judge?" and I'm so glad you asked, because I was thinking it in my mind, but not typing it, you know? I've changed that tiny bit so it makes sense.
Sweeney didn't kill the Judge because police were at the door to the shop, and he has said plenty of times how he wants to savor his revenge. So, killing the Judge quickly and painlessly was not what he wanted, so he's saving it for later. Like a piece of gum after dinner. :) The police at the door also explain why Sweeney and Toby used the sewers to escape in the first place.
So, this chapter is actually a prologue to the REAL first chapter, where everything will be set in motion. This chapter is really just a recount of all the important events that have taken place during the five years Mrs. Lovett is in a coma. It's long, but it'll be important to understanding the storyline.
Also, I know the musical (both versions) take place in about 1846, but I'm basing this one a bit further on, in the 1880's. Because I don't like doing complicated math. We shall say Mrs. Lovett was "killed" in 1880, and that all these new events take place in the years to follow.
Read on, and enjoy!
"I see your frown, and it's like looking down the barrel of a gun and it goes off!"
-- Mardy Bum by the Arctic Monkeys
"When you were young, you kept a list of the things you missed as you got older. I've known you in every life I've lived, yeah, I'm still a kid, but now I'm colder."
-- One Day, Robots Will Cry by Cobra Starship
Part I: A Recount of Events
The year is 1881.
The Judge Turpin retires from law due to complications from injuries sustained from an attempt upon his life, after being released from a hospital outside of Dublin from a seven month treatment. He can no longer walk for prolonged periods of time, speak for very long, or talk very loudly, which makes him a poor qualification for a judge anyways. He is wealthy enough to afford to hire a housekeeper, a woman a bit older than him, who moves him into Johanna's old bedroom, with all his books, so he can look out the window.
New birds have been bought for the birdcage, and the Judge sits in bed most of each day, contemplating this bitter irony. He wonders vaguely why the birds do not sing.
The Beadle Bamford, upon looking up to find the sun rising, and the night to be over, feels relief wash over him, accompanied by a feeling of shame. He wakes his servant, and orders a breakfast, and looking at himself in the mirror, he sees a cowardly man, with no power at all. The Judge is dead, and all his influence is but a memory. Finishing his tea, he resolves to become the most powerful man in Europe.
In Cairo, Egypt, Anthony and Johanna spend all of this year wandering about the pyramids, living in a small inn run by an English ambassador's wife and daughters. They learn all there is to learn about one another. Johanna feels a sense of wonder, gazing upon the Sphinx, and the temples to the ancient gods. She's read about them all, Alexander the Great, Cleopatra, and Moses. To stand there, walking where they walked, she feels a sense of excitement. Anthony gets a job lifting crates and assisting the crews down on the docks near the Nile, and she helps the ambassador's wife, cleaning the rooms and serving food. Anthony asks her to marry him. She says yes, and requests that they return to England to be wed.
In the same hospital in Dublin where the Judge Turpin resided, a woman lies in a comatose state, operated on every few weeks. She breathes steady, and her expression is peaceful. The doctor, a man named Alan Singer, takes to sitting near her bed, telling her of all his woes. She is a very good listener.
The tale of Sweeney Todd, and his killings, spread through London like wildfire. People ask and wonder about his whereabouts, and his motives. A small news story, recurring each Sunday, tells the story of Todd Benn, a man wronged by the law, and forced to homicidal tendencies. It is an immensely popular work of fiction, due to the assumption by the public that it is a recount of Sweeney Todd's life. It is not very well written, though it is emotional enough to attract the usual market of women and old men who have nothing better to do. It is re-printed several times, and makes a large amount of money, which is wired to a small town on the southern coast of England, to sit in the bank until a man with dark, wild hair, and even wilder eyes walks into town every Wednesday and collects the check, signing for the entire amount of money, and giving a slight nod to the banker. He never says a word, and no one seems to know where he lives, only that it is on the coast.
The year is 1882.
Beadle Bamford usurps control of all the opium dens in London through a stroke of good luck and bargaining, soon extending his control to all of Britain. He is accompanied everywhere by bodyguards, a group of fearsome looking men carrying heavy metal clubs, dressed in all black attire. He makes plans to take control of France and Italy, and perhaps Amsterdam, and plots to take over the business of the Red Light District. Money begins to flow in, and he is overcome with the newness of success, the power of success.
Johanna and Anthony return to England, wearing small gold engagement rings, holding hands as they disembark to be met by a boy of thirteen, wearing a black top hat. He bows low, pulling the hat off to reveal a head of white hair. He tells them that he is here to take them to Fleet Street, where they can stay in Mr. Todd's building. Upon mention of this, Anthony immediately understands. The boy leads them into London's dark streets, where they will meet a man dressed in black and white, with a grey coat and wild eyes. The two, the boy and the strange man, are the only others present in the church aside from the priest as he weds Anthony and Johanna. Upon the end of the ceremony, only Johanna seems to notice the man looks oddly proud, as if he's about to cry. He hugs her briefly, and whispers in her ear that she is surely as pretty as her mother was.
Dr. Alan Singer's wife begins to drift away from him, shying from his touch. He voices this concern to his companion, the sleeping red-haired woman whose pale skin is like porcelain. He also speaks of his mother, an able seamstress who has always told him she disapproved of his marriage. She lives by the sea, and upon mention of the freshness of the air by the ocean, Alan Singer can almost swear he hears the woman give a quiet sigh of wistfulness.
In 1882, Judge Turpin has counted scores of men and women walking past his window as he stares outside at the street below. He sees the Beadle walk past his window several times, but does not bother getting his attention. The spineless man has taken up company with the lowest scum of London, and even now, as an aging man, the former judge refuses to stoop so low as to allow such a man into his house, a former friend (or at least, as close as anything he's ever had). Instead, he limps about, feeding his birds that never sing, and reading his books of law and scandalous seduction.
Johanna and Anthony take up residence in a house in Venice, Italy, a three room flat above a baker's shop. Anthony begins to sail out for a week or so at a time, shipping things to Greece and the islands of the Mediterranean, and for the seven days he's gone every month, Johanna begins to wander about the cloisters and churches, marveling at their stained glass windows and arched ceilings. She imagines she's never seen such beauty. She also starts to receive small letters from the white-haired boy, Tobias, whose writing is messy and very poor, but seems to improve. Enclosed is always another letter, written in a perfectly neat scroll that reminds her of her own hand-writing, speaking of the sea, and the weather, and asking her of her health. She thinks of them as friends, and often composes letters to them in her head as she shelves bread in the bakery below. She feels she is happy, or at least content.
Beadle Bamford extends his control to the Red Light Districts of London, areas in France and in Venice, Italy. He is a very rich man. In this year, he becomes the most powerful man in the London underworld.
And in 1883, during December, as snow falls on London, as Judge Turpin sits, gazing out mournfully at the world outside, a tall, thin man with a frightening face and a icy presence shows up at his door, rapping hard on the polished wood of the entrance with pale knuckles.
The housekeeper, Ms. Emma Pearl, answers the door to a man of his early forties, who's wearing a gracious smile. He bows slightly.
"Hello, ma'am. I wondered if I might inquire after the former Judge Turpin? That is, if he's still residing here in this lovely house."
Surprised by such politeness coming from such a frightening and rather rough looking man, she returns his small bow with a curtsy, and ushers him into the parlor, sitting him in the nice red velvet chair.
"What brings you to call on poor Mr. Turpin?"
He folds his hands in his lap, and tilts his head to one side. "Ah, well, ma'am, I'm an old acquaintance of his, from many years back, and I've been traveling for quite a long while. I'm only to be in London for a few days before returning to the seas, to sail to Italy and see all the old buildings of Rome. And I don't have much to do, so I thought perhaps I should drop in, and say hello to him."
She nods, pouring him tea, which he thanks her for. After taking a sip, and assuring her that is the best tea he's tasted in quite a while, he sets down the cup and leans toward her.
"May I ask, ma'am, why you call him poor? I heard he retired from his position, but I have heard little about his health. Is he alright?"
She sighs sadly. In some ways, despite how cruel a man the Judge was in his day, she feels sorry for him, pent up indoors all day, staring out the window with such a lonely expression on his face. She also secretly thinks him handsome, in a way, but she never shows it, for fear of him discovering it. Sitting down for a moment, she leans in.
"Well, you see, sir, Mr. Turpin was attacked by some awful man, a barber named Sweeney Todd, who had some sort of grudge against him. And-- Oh, well, surely you know the story...?"
He shakes his head. She gives him a look of distress at this news, and continues.
"Well, he was attacked. It was quite horrid. He spent almost a year in a fancy hospital up in Scotland, I hear. He can't walk for much longer than ten minutes, and he can't speak very well. Poor thing, I feel sorry for him. He's quite kind to me, actually."
If the housekeeper had paid attention to the man's face as he listened, she would have seen his eyes glint mysteriously at this profession of the Judge's kindness, and would have noticed his mouth, pulled in a kind smile, twist upwards at one corner, turning the harmless expression into one of maliciousness and cynicism.
But she did not notice. Hearing no response to her story, she wrings her hands nervously, and then stands, making for the stairs.
"I'll go and tell him you're here to visit, Mister...?"
He sits up a bit straighter. "Barker. Benjamin Barker."
She nods. "Yes. I'll be right back, Mr. Barker."
When he's sure she's left, he rises from the chair quickly, lifting lids on small, ornately decorated boxes on the mantelpiece, peering in each one, pulling back in disappointment to see nothing of value inside them. Finally, he comes to a rough, plain looking jar of porcelain, chipped at places, with no decorations. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he feels a stirring of recognition within him. He's seen the jar before...on a windowsill, holding flowers he would buy each Sunday...His hand darts inside quickly, pulling out a silver necklace, with a small heart locket attached. It has a rose engraved on the front, and as he turns it in his hand, he recalls how lovely it looked against his wife's neck, how perfect it--
Hearing the footsteps on carpet again, he tucks it into his coat pocket, darting back to his chair, and reclining in a resting position, one leg crossed over the other, tapping his foot. He turns slowly, smile back on his face as he pretends to only have just noticed the housekeeper's return.
"He'll see you right away, Mr. Barker."
"Excellent." He looks to the polished wood floor, and allows a brief smirk to cross his features as he stands, and follows the woman upstairs, eying with disgust the painting of half-clothed women lounging in forest glens, serving grapes and wines to men who look like gods chiseled from marble.
The last door in the narrow hallway is open slightly, light flowing through in a small line. He nods to the housekeeper, and feels briefly sorry for what he's going to put her through. Pushing open the door, he slips into the room, locking the door swiftly behind him, and striding over to the bedside, where a chair is waiting for him. He sits, back facing a window that looks out onto the street below. Above him, a cage of birds sways slightly. The small creatures inside utter no sound. Folding his arms, he looks over to the figure in the bed.
An old man now, he thinks, seeing the Judge again. Greying hair hangs near his eyes now, and his neck, exposed, has a ugly red line running halfway across it. He's got the blankets tucked up to his torso, dressed in a maroon robe, and a white shirt. Turning his head, he stares at Sweeney Todd, nodding, a smile crossing his withered features, knowingly.
"So," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "You've come at last, then."
Scratching his neck, Todd gives him a jerk of his head in acknowledgment.
"Well, I figured nearly three years was enough to wait. No one even recognized me."
Folding his pale hands in his lap, Turpin continues to nod, eyes shining with fear and what looks almost like relief.
"I thought it would be a blessing to be alive."
Sweeney Todd gives a genuine chuckle of amusement. "Sorry, old man. But living when everything you loved is lost is a fate worse than death. I'm sure you know what I mean."
Turning his body about in bed, the Judge sits straighter. "Yes." It's a murmur, a realization of the motive behind keeping him alive. "Yes. I've been shut away, away from the air, and the streets. And the birds..." He points a shaking finger to the cage, mournfully sighing. "They do not sing for me. They didn't even sing for Johanna."
"They never will you know, when they're captive." Sweeney stands, pulling off his jacket to reveal a leather holster, with a glittering silver razor in it. He pulls it out carefully, with reverence. His only friend...
Turpin stays silent, staring at the yellow birds, who stay still.
"I do wish I had killed you, that night. I had so wanted to. But unfortunate events made that impossible. I suggest you appreciate these extra years. You'll soon be wishing you could sit in bed all day, gazing out at London."
"Wait." Turpin holds up a hand, sliding out of bed and getting to his feet shakily. "Answer me one question, Barker."
"It's Sweeney Todd."
"I don't care," he says, waving his hand to dismiss this correction. "Tell me, Barker. Where is Johanna?"
At this, Sweeney Todd's gaze darts to the birds in the cage, and back to Turpin. He rolls his eyes.
"What a sad old man you've become. In love my daughter, even after all she has done to hurt you. Even knowing such an impossibility as love from any woman is,for you, impossible. You are nothing. Not anymore."
The Judge Turpin steps forwards, gripping the collar of Sweeney Todd's shirt, eyes full of longing.
"Please." He pleads, knuckles white against the fabric of the shirt.
With a look of revulsion, as if a very filthy animal has come too close to him, Todd pushes him away.
"She is happy. Married. And she is not with you," he snaps, brushing his shirt front.
And in this instant, Judge Turpin's heart (or what was left of it) breaks. He slumps back in bed, staring off into the distance, mind somewhere far away.
Giving a sigh, Sweeney Todd flips open his blade, gazing deeply into the silver in his hand. It is beautiful, the most beautiful thing he's ever looked at. It whispers to him, pleading for blood.
"Yes...I know, it's been too long, my friend."
His dark eyes fall upon the Judge, lying on the sheets. Pulling up near him, like a predatory beast, Todd feels as if cold water is washing over him, cleansing him of all his inhibitions. After this, he can be free. He can do what he pleases.
"And what if none of their souls were saved? They went to their maker impeccably shaved..."
He whispers it, a true smile crossing his lips as he lowers the blade slowly.
Downstairs, the housekeeper is startled out of a small nap by a horrible scream, hoarse and painful, and a racket from upstairs. Running up as fast as she can, she disregards knocking on her employer's door and bursts into the room. What she sees almost makes her faint.
There's blood pouring from the Judge Turpin's open throat, spraying the ceiling and windows. His eyes are wide, and already are becoming lifeless.
In the opened window, the birdcage hangs, swaying in the wind, empty.
Outside, two streets away already, Sweeney Todd can hear them sing.
In 1884, the pale woman Alan Singer has begun to refer to as Miss Ghost is transferred to another ward, where permanent residents are kept. No-one seems to believe she'll ever wake up, and as they pass Alan, they snicker at his foolish optimism. He sits there, each day, for about a half hour, speaking to her of his daughter, Evangeline, who's fifteen years old, and a wonderful artist. She is the light of his life, mailing him pictures of birds and the wide open fields of the countryside, where she is staying with her uncle and aunt. He tells the woman that he believes she'll wake up one day. As he sits there, he notes her scars, remembering how awful her injuries had been, when she had been first admitted. As he gazes at this mystery woman, he wonders what sort of a person would have done such a thing. A true demon, surely.
Sweeney Todd is sitting in his old barber's chair on a visit to London, Toby rummaging through the wooden chest in the corner, nose scrunched as he stares at the blood stains on the inside surface. Turning to his guardian, he frowns.
"You know, you really didn't keep this thing clean at all, Mr. Todd. S'not very good for selling, see, cos it's so stained on the inside."
Smiling at this ironic description of his own self, he leans his head back, shrugging his shoulders.
"It doesn't matter to me, Tobias. This world is full of desperate people. Someone will purchase it, and not care a bit about the bloody stains."
Toby chuckles. Mr. Todd can be humorous, sometimes, when he is in a particular mood. Even more so, now that he's killed the Judge. Toby has come to think of him as something of a father, or uncle. Mr. Todd's even taught him how to read and write, and he writes to Johanna, in Italy, once a month.
At the thought of Johanna, Toby feels his cheeks flush. He knows that Mr. Todd's daughter is older than he is, but only by five years, and he's already fifteen.
Once they escaped, Mr. Todd had spoken of all the reasons behind his killing of Judge Turpin, and his life before, when he had been married and happy, and Toby had realized then why Mrs. Lovett had trusted him; the motive behind the murders was certainly enough justification for him, and he resolved then, permanently, to trust Mr. Todd. He knew, somehow, that the man would not kill him, though he did not know why. He decided to be grateful for it, and do all he could to help this strange man, whose personal demons kept him from sleep and any rest.
It's better now, that the cursed Judge is dead, the murderer of Mrs. Lovett, the evil man who ruined countless lives. Much better.
They both take one end of the heavy wooden chest, carefully going downstairs, and then selling it off to a man who runs an underground opium den in his basement, then take the money and go off to buy some lunch.
In the opium den's upstairs parlor, Beadle Bamford watches from behind the counter as Sweeney Todd lifts the heavy chest onto the table and holds out a hand for his payment. Terror grips him, and upon the demon's disappearance, he straightens, and begins his plans to eliminate this threat once and for all.
Judge Turpin's funeral is paid for by Ms. Pearl, his housekeeper. Incidentally, she is the only one who shows up at his funeral, crying freely. She lays a small white flower on his grave, and speaks aloud her love for him, how sorry she felt for him. How sorry she was that she hadn't known before about the strange man with his flattering smiles and kind eyes, and his secret. She is probably the only one who misses him for his company.
In the year 1885, Johanna receives a letter telling her that she is the sole inheritor of all of Judge Turpin's estate, and funds. Anthony is more pleased with the man's death than the inheritance. Johanna does not sell the home, instead simply choosing to keep it empty. She has no wish to return to her prison.
Beadle Bamford writes to the hospital in Dublin, and sits down in his chair, downing a gin, smiling. All he must do now is wait.
Alan Singer wakes up as usual on the day of March, the 11th, 1885. He has his usual breakfast of tea, eggs and toast, with his daughter sitting across from him, sixteen now, telling him of how she's been commissioned by the newspaper to do drawings. He is so proud of her.
He dresses in his white doctor's uniform, and he walks through town to the hospital, greeted by the nurse at the front area, making his morning rounds at an easy pace, the way a man who's done his work every day, and knows it with his eyes closed. He walks the two flights of stairs to the ward where his friend is kept, opening the door to her small room quietly.
Today is a good day, he feels.
Sitting on his stool, he greets her, and then tells her excitedly of his daughter's new job, and of his plans to buy her a new set of paints and an easel.
As he speaks, he leans back staring at the ceiling, no longer looking at his patient.
On the crisply made bed of white sheets, Mrs. Lovett lies, peaceful. As he speaks of how to cut the ends of paint brushes off, she breathes steadily.
"It's best to use a razor to sort of saw away at it, to keep it even, at least, that's what Evie tells me. The girl's smart as a whip, I tell you..."
Razor. Silver, glinting, a razor...His friend, his faithful, only friend, even though she was always there, always, so ready to listen and help. She was warmer than any razor, and she could have been...Oh, they could have been happy. Truly happy.
A razor...
Her eyes snap open.
AN: Oh jeez, I hope it isn't repetitive...
Some little tid-bits:
Dr. Alan Singer shares his last name with Marla Singer of the movie and book Fight Club, who Helena Bonham-Carter played as well.
And the serial news publishing of Sweeney Todd's tale is an actual book now. Much like Charles Dickens' works, it was released as a newspaper story each week. Sort of like Prince Valiant, or some weird drama comic in a newspaper today. I had Sweeney write it himself because it seemed fitting, and also to give him a means of some income.
I know Toby's hair didn't turn white in the movie, but it was something I always liked in the musical, so I added it in.
Next chapter:
Part II: The Years Have Changed Me