Sweeney turned and headed for the steps leading up to his house. He placed a hand on the rickety bleached wood railing. It only made sense to head up. He could always come back down for food later. Plus, he smiled at the thought, if his Lucy was up there he might be able to have a home cooked meal.
He quickly made his way up the steps and flung the door open. His face instantly fell with disappointment. The room was covered in at least an inch of dust. The wallpaper was faded and peeling. He was inexplicably drawn to the cradle; it was covered in a sheet. He lifted it to find Johanna's doll. That meant they had left when Joanna was still just a little thing, right?
Where would they have gone? Sweeney backed against the was, sliding slowly down it to the ground with a thud. Lucy's parents where dead, he knew that. Did she have any other relatives? He wracked his brain, staring into the aged face of the doll still clutched in his hand but he couldn't seem to think. Misery filled his veins. How would he find them, if he even could? Would it be possible to track them down with out revealing his identity?
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Mrs. Lovett stopped what she was doing to look up at the ceiling. What was that? She could swear she'd heard something upstairs in the old apartment. Ah! There it was, a sort of scuffling about. Vaguely she wondered if another cat had found its way in. Curious she picked up her largest knife, what ever was up there would no doubt make for a delicious pie.
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Sweeny was searching the room for any hint of where they could have gone. He had emptied all the dresser draws on to the floor and was currently sifting through the muddled array of clothes at the bottom of the closet when he heard the bell above the door jingle. He spun quickly, hoping to see a gold haired goddess an instead saw a red headed witch, glaring at him, knife in hand.
"Who are you?" She barked. "Wot are you doin' in 'ere diggin' through the Barker's thins?" She stepped forward and he backed slightly. He quickly found his feet, not taking his eyes off the wild haired woman.
"I'm Sweeney, Ben's uhh..brother." He lied quickly, hoping she would by it.
"Like 'ell you are!" She retorted, taking another step closer. "Mr. B didna' 'ave any siblins ya liyin' fool!"
His mouth opened and closed as he tried to come up with a witty response. She used this time to step even closer, repeating her previous inquiry of who he was. Sweeney glared. This woman was too bold for her own good! Didn't she know what kind of trouble she could get her self in to confronting a strange man this way?
With that thought he quickly thought of a way to escape this predicament. He could easily over power this petite lady, knife of not, and make his way from the room.
The woman hesitated at the change in his demeanor and took half a step backwards. This was the sign he need. He rushed forward, confidante the woman would simply move out of his way if he made any direct movement.
She surprised him, slamming the door shut and stationing her self in front of the door. "I'll not be letting' you outta 'ere wit mista Barkers thins." She motioned with the knife to the picture frame and doll clutched in his hands.
He glared at the assertive woman. "Out of my way!" He yelled. She stood her ground glaring harder at him. He returned the look. How dare this poodle haired woman tell him what to do with his own stuff! He sat the doll down. He didn't need it.
"The picture frame too if you will." Her tone made it obvious this wasn't just a light inquiry.
His eyes flashed red. "NO!" He charged forward, the element of surprise allowing him enough time to catch the slender wrist of the hand holding the knife and pin it high above her head. She was looking up at him; eyes wide like a doe, breathing hard. He had certainly frightened her for she didn't say a word as he held her there.
His hand that had previously held the photo slipped in into his pocket, reaching up and taking the knife from her chalk white hand. He let go of her with out another word but she didn't move and they stood there, staring at one another for another quarter of a minute before he turned on his heals, stomping from the room.
He was halfway down the steps when he was stopped by a call.
"Ben?" The maroon haired woman was standing at the top of the steps. "Benjamin Barker? Is that you?"
He looked up at her, glaring. "Who are you?" He hissed.
"Nellie. I'm Eleanor Lovett, Sir." He raised his eye brows at this, looking up at her. She stood there, biting her bottom lip as her hands played with her skirt. This was little Nellie who had lived down stairs? The one who was always blushing and giggling with Lucy? The wife of that large baboon Albert? He walked back up the steps until there eyes met. Her hair was different. He had never seen it up before. Her face was covered in fine lines and dark circles had formed under her eyes.
"You don't look yourself." He commented. She smiled and he heard it in the small giggle that escaped. It was her.
"You do not look the same either Mista B. Look at cher hair!" She was staring at him with an affection he hadn't seen in many years. Her eyes took in everything. The paleness of his skin, his sunken, haunted eyes, the ragged jacket he was wearing. "Come one Mista B." She caught his shoulder and turned him, leading him down the steps. "Lets get you somefin t' eat."
"No." He said, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. "Not Barker. That man is dead. Its Todd now, Sweeney Todd." She smiled wanly at him.
"Of course Mista Todd. Now lets get some food in you."
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She led him to her parlor and told him to sit. Sweeny looked around from his place on the plush blue couch. The walls where covered in a faded rose wallpaper. There was a piano in one corner, a carriage holding a few dolls under the window, knick knacks of owls and vases of dried baby's breath where set randomly about the room.
She came back in handing him a pie on a dingy china plate. "'ere you are dearie. 'Fraid it's not th' bes' food around but its all I've got." She sighed, sitting down in the chair adjacent to him as he took a bite. He grimaced at the taste wondering just how long the pie had sat.
"Is it that bad?" She inquired at the look on his face. "Guess I've gotten used to the taste of me own pies but no one else's been in th' shop in weeks."
He wasn't surprised. If this was what she feed her costumers it was a wonder she still owned the shop at all!
"Mind you I can hardly blame them." She continued, now rustling about through a cabinet. "These are probably the worst pies in London." She paused looking up. He wondered briefly if she was waiting for him to protest the point. When he didn't she continued as she pored something from a bottle into a mug of questionable cleanliness.
"No wonder with the price of meat wot it is, when you get it. Men'd think it was a treat finding poor animals wot are dying in the street."
"Mrs. Lovett!" He said loudly as he pushed his pie away. He really didn't want to know what was in it or where she found it.
She frowned. She had been rambling, she knew that but she couldn't help it. She knew sooner or later he'd ask about-
"What happened to them?" His voice was low. She sat next to him. That was the question she'd been trying to avoid.
She sighed, the story would have to come out sooner or later. "Turpin, the judge that 'ad you sent away was in love with your Lucy." She began, eyes looking not at him, instead down at her twiddling fingers. "Wanted her like mad. Evrey day head send her a flower. They piled up in the room the did, covered the whole top of the trunk till finally I took 'em all and stuffed 'em in the trash." She paused, knowing she was again straying from the topic. "She wouldn't leave her room. Sat up there and sobbed by the hour. Poor fool."
Sweeneys eyes flashed at the slight insult to him wife but he didn't say anything.
"So she was left with no money and a year old kid. Coulda married Turpin, had the moon on a string but did she use her head, oh no, god forbid." She shook her head. "Poor fool. So late one night Beadle calls on her all polite, tell her the judge's all contrite." She looked up at Sweeney. He was looking not at her but instead staring out as though to picture the words in his head. "It was well past midnight but he insisted she come to his house that night so she left little Johanna with me and they took off. When she goes there but they're having this ball all in mask and there's no one there she knows so she starts to drink and gets her self nice and tipsy. Than when she's off guard Turpin takes her, right in the middle o' the room. Everyone figured she had to be daft so all of them stood there and laughed, you see. Poor soul, poor thing."
"Nooo!!" Sweeney cried out, clenching his eyes against the thoughts. No, not his Lucy! "Would no one have mercy on her?"
She didn't bother to say anything, merely shook her head no. Sweeney looked about to cry. "Where's Lucy? Where's my wife?"
Nellie hesitated. What should she say? Should she tell him she was dead, 'cause in all honesty any part that used to be Lucy was gone or should she tell him the truth that she was a mindless beggar wondering the streets?