March
Eleanor had been silent that day – too silent. Mr. Todd wasn't surprised when she had broken down at last once they had come home. But her crying hadn't decreased; although she had seemingly calmed down several times that afternoon, she had always began to sob again, the sounds of it reaching his ears through the wooden floor of his barber shop.
He didn't blame her. In fact, if he hadn't felt so awkward when he had stood right behind her at the small grave, he would've been proud of her for controlling her emotions the way she had, only surrendering to her grief when no one else could see her. She had proven to be a strong woman once more. It was because of her that he had resisted the urge to kill the unfortunate human being that was under the impression not only that Sweeney was the father of the child that was being buried, but that he was married to Mrs. Lovett as well.
He hadn't wanted to go to the funeral, but he had done so because she had asked him to. It was not that he was glad that the boy was dead; even though he couldn't stand the young lad, Sweeney knew that Eleanor was very fond of him and loved him as if he actually were her son. And so, for her sake, he had joined her. It was the least he could do after all that she had done for him.
But as the hour grew late and her crying didn't cease, he couldn't stand it anymore and he knew that he had to do something. The sobs that tormented her weren't doing his nerves any good either. Besides, he was tired after having been forced to behave civilly among mourning people for the greater part of the afternoon, but sleeping would be even harder this way than it usually already was.
Half a minute later, he entered the pie shop, he too feeling that something was missing as he beheld the now completely silent pie shop. Usually the boy would've been working there, casting suspicious glances at the barber like he had done that one time that he had come downstairs at night to visit the baker.
He opened the door to Mrs. Lovett's parlour quietly, not knowing what to find there.
It was even worse than he had feared. The baker was in the middle of the room, lying on the floor, her head buried between her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs, hugging herself. There were only a few rays of moonlight that illuminated the parts of the room that were closest to the window, but, the lack of light couldn't hide how horrible she looked.
Except for the tears that flowed down her cheeks, there were bags under her eyes, as if she was desperate for sleep but couldn't find the peace of mind that resting required. She had doubtlessly hardly slept since the boy had died two days earlier. Her hair was one big mess, the pins that usually kept it relatively neat having lost the battle against the wild curls at last. There was dirt on her clothing and the memory of how he had pulled the baker off Toby's grave only hours ago briefly entered his mind.
He didn't know what to do. It was obvious that she needed comfort, but he wasn't the right person to offer it. However, there was no one else who could help her now; even the last person who had cared for her was gone now.
And thus the demon barber himself sat down on the hard floor next to her, awkwardly placing a hand on her shoulder. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she turned around to face him and threw herself in his arms.
He was horrified; no one, no one, would voluntarily touch him. And she... she embraced him. For a moment he wondered if grief had driven had mad, but then he understood that she probably needed more than mere words of comfort. He wasn't sure whether he was still capable of doing so, but really, who else could she turn to?
Because of their few brief conversations earlier, he had found out that it was a somewhat pleasant thing to know that one wasn't entirely alone. The baker had taught him this, without being aware of it herself.
And now, she was the one who was alone and had just seen her entire world come crashing down around her. His humanity wasn't completely destroyed yet; he recognized that she needed him now for once. He decided that he would at least try to comfort her.
He moved one of his hands to the small of her back, rubbing it gently. He vaguely remembered that this had always been a good way to calm his wife when she was distressed. Mrs. Lovett however only cried harder and there was nothing else for him to do than holding her.
Sweeney couldn't tell how long they sat there on the floor. The baker clung to him, the grip of her arms around his chest almost painful, but he didn't mind. Basically having lost a child himself, he knew very well what she was going through.
And so he held her, for a seemingly infinite amount of time, her tears soaking his vest and her lose hair tickling his face.
"It's so unfair," she whispered at last, her voice almost inaudible because it was hoarse from crying and her face was pressed against the fabric of his clothing. "He was just a boy. He didn't deserve this. Not so suddenly... not like this."
Sweeney agreed with her. No matter his dislike for the boy, Toby's fate was cruel. However it had happened exactly, Sweeney wished that it hadn't, if only because of the baker. She hadn't been the same since she had seen the young boy's broken and blood covered body right after the carriage accident.
Knowing this from his own experiences, she would never be the same again. The death of her husband hadn't influenced her much, but Sweeney knew now that she hadn't really cared for him. She did love Toby, like a mother loved her son – she still did. The boy that she had adopted had become the child that her husband had never given her.
"And I'll never know," she muttered, more to herself than to him, tears still dropping off her face, "why it happened. Perhaps the carriage driver wasn't paying attention, or Toby didn't look around when he crossed the street, or there might have been something wrong with the horse that pulled the carriage..."
The barber understood her. He too had been trying to find answers to such kind of useless questions, as if this would make it easier to accept the passing of his wife and the disappearance of his daughter. He had learned that the answers didn't exist and he knew that Mrs. Lovett would realize the same thing. He could only hope that it wouldn't take her as long as it had taken him to see this.
"I'll never see him grow up, never know how he would've..."
The rest of the sentence was impossible to understand because another wave of sadness washed over, accompanied by a new river of tears.
Knowing that there was nothing more that he could do, that there was nothing that could ease her grief at that moment, he held her tightly and didn't stop doing so when she ran out of tears at last and fell asleep in his arms.
When he was sure that she wouldn't wake, he lifted her up and carried her to the couch that they had sat on only a few weeks ago, when life hadn't been pleasant either but still, much better than this.
He intended to lay her down and leave her there, but when they were seated on the couch together, it was clear that this was impossible. She was holding him so tightly that he couldn't get away from her without hurting her; it seemed as if she was literally clinging to the last person in her life that was left, even though she was asleep.
Mr. Todd also didn't really want her to be alone when she'd wake. He had experienced himself how horrible it was to wake up all alone, the presence of understanding human beings nothing but a memory.
And thus he stayed with her that night, making himself as comfortable as he could while he held the still slightly trembling woman in his arms, eventually falling asleep himself.
