Mrs. Lovett giggled to herself as a few improper thoughts drifted into her mind. She smiled a little, thinking of what the two of them could have done up against the wall. She stood sighing as reality again dawned on her. She moved to the door, ready to let the first lot of rowdy customers into the store..
Chapter Three
Despite the cold weather, the line outside her now famous meat pie emporium had almost doubled since she last checked. The widow shook her head, with Toby missing she'd have to deal with the morning rush by herself. No doubt the barber would sit upstairs and brood, not caring if she busted both her ankles serving customers. As soon as this thought had escaped her mind, she heard the heavy thud of Mr. Todd's shoes descending the stairs. Odd. Mrs. Lovett barely had time to straighten her skirt before he appeared at the landing, looking rather awkward. For a moment, both stood entirely still, neither willing to be the first to speak. She studied him closely in the stubborn silence. He didn't seem angry, or even resentful of her actions of the previous night. He wasn't grasping at his razor, nor pacing. If Mrs. Lovett didn't think that odd enough, she could have sworn she saw him blink back a tear. A surge of compassion washed over her, and she almost moved to hug the man. No, she knew better. He was only upset for the moment, but she knew that one fateful move from her was all it took to send him reeling into an uncontrollable rage. She decided it best to ignore him, and she moved to let in the hungry customers. As she moved towards the old wooden door Mr. Todd stepped forwards into the room.
"Mrs. Lovett," he said, his voice hoarse, almost strained.
Mrs. Lovett didn't turn, trying her best to ignore the man, and proceeded to unlock the door.
"Mrs. Lovett," he spoke louder, his voice echoing through the cold room.
She jumped a little, not expecting the man to pursue her attention.
"Oh, yes?"
He stood silently, staring at the doors behind her.
"Do not open those doors, we're not opening today."
Mrs. Lovett gave him an odd look. He sounded tired, even more so than usual. His voice was dry and rough. He seemed different, but she couldn't place it. He wouldn't look at her, even when she spoke. But then again, he never did.
"Don't," he repeated when she turned back to the door.
She studied him closer, confused. Mrs. Lovett swore she could see tear streaks on his sullen face. If she didn't know him better she would have sworn he'd been crying. Even so, she couldn't afford to close for a day: she needed to finish off what was left of the unfortunate tourist that lay downstairs. She needed the money too, and couldn't understand why he'd close. For once, she could conceive no answer, and figured he must have been joking.. not that the barber was one for jokes.
"Love," she started almost playfully, "you know as well as I do the stink if I 'av to chuck the waste of pies down the sewer. 'sides we need the business. We're opening."
"No," he spoke coldly, still avoiding her eyes, "we're not."
"Mr.T, I can't afford to lose me customers jus' 'cos you got out of the wrong side of the bed this mornin,'" she spoke a little too insistently, instantly regretting it.
He glared at her resentfully.
"Fine. You open. I don't."
Mrs. Lovett stared at him in shock. She had just said something far to bold for her rank, and yet here she was, unscathed. Wasn't he angry? Wasn't he going to push her up against the wall and watch as she writhed beneath him, amber eyes pleading for her life? Wasn't he going to push his cold metal blade to her neck? She stared in disbelief as he turned slowly away from her. Where was his rage? He should have nearly killed her for her bold words! The widow was shocked. Shocked and somehow disappointed. In those times of terror, the pure fear for her life excited her. His cold hands and dark eyes bearing down on her tiny frame exhilarated her. She hated it, but oh how she loved it. And now, Sweeney Todd was not angry. He was not raging at her, nor glaring at her dangerously. He was acting far too strange for Mrs. Lovett's liking. He was a puzzle and she would solve it.
"Mr.T, might I remind ya tha' I need a fresh supply of bodies to keep them damned pies coming?"
"Well then," he said, walking toward the door, "I guess you will close after all."
He walked straight over to the doors, and, much to the crowds' despair, pulled the blinds close. A few angry shouts from disgruntled customers cut through the cold air, before it was totally silent again.
She stared at him, bewildered. It wasn't just her imagination, he was upset. Curiosity struck Mrs. Lovett right in her middle.
"Why ain't ya openin' anyway?"
He merely grunted in return, a fair warning to her, but one which, as always, she ignored.
"Mr.T, out with it."
Mrs. Lovett was more than curious. The one thing she could never handle was puzzles, she needed an answer. All of hell could open up and the barber would not quit his merciless job, and yet here he was demanding a day off. Math was never her strong point, but her limited common sense told her it didn't add up. Mr.T wasn't the sort for holidays. A bit of a workaholic, as it were. Nothing could tear him from his friends until the last person on the streets had turned in for the night. His work was the only thing that kept him sane. Well, relatively so.
"Can't a bloke take a day off without a bloody reason?" he all but yelled, "I just need a break," he finished, calming himself.
Mrs. Lovett was not convinced. The widow may be crazy, but she certainly wasn't stupid; he was hiding something.
"No, a bloke can't jus' quit 'is job for a day without no reason' she retorted a-matter-of-factly.
He turned quickly to her. Mrs. Lovett half expected him to kill her then and there.
He hated her. He hated how she tested him, taunted him, until he had to give her answers. Tonight, she was not going to get any. No, tonight he would let her suffer. He advanced towards her, avoiding her eyes, but the baker did not move from her place. He continued to advance. She shifted uneasily: he wasn't doing it right! He looked upset, not annoyed or angry. He wasn't glaring threats at her nor thumping loudly towards her. He was simply walking. It wasn't like him, and it made her uneasy. She thought herself as good as dead. If she was going out, she wasn't going out without a fight.
"So Mr.T," she challenged, her voice a little higher, "what's ya reason?"
He looked at her, his eyes for once devoid of any anger. For a split second, their eyes met, locking for a few precious seconds. She gasped, he had been crying!
"I just," he said almost pleadingly, "need a break."
He looked at her once more before severing their eye contact and turning away. This one time when he actually wouldn't kill her and she wouldn't shut her much-too-big mouth. He just wanted to be alone, in peace. That should be an easy task. He was alone, utterly, totally and horribly alone. No-one knew Sweeney Todd. No-one accepted him for what he was. He was forced to act: unwillingly taking on the mannerisms and habits of a normal man. He was not normal, far from it. Nobody knew him, nobody cared. And then there was Mrs. Lovett. She wasn't a somebody. Nobody cared for her either. She had nobody. She was a nobody, just like him. She didn't count, but she did care. No matter what he did to her, she always fixed his breakfast for him the next day, and always brought him his tot of gin in the evening. Yes, she cared, but he wished to God that she didn't. Every night that infernal woman would say something stupid, touch his hand too warmly, speak too softly, or remind him in some godforsaken way of Lucy. She would curse his revenge, make him try to see ahead. He hated her for it. He didn't want to look ahead. Ahead was where he had lost himself with Lucy. Ahead was why he lost Lucy. If he hadn't been so damn devoted to planning their future, he would have seen what was happening. That damned baker was always dreaming of what lie ahead. Or rather, of what most certainly did not. She would believe he was the person he was in her dreams, giving her some form of confidence. Believing that somewhere, deep down, he really loved her. He didn't. He hated her. She would push him until he snapped at her, bringing his razor routinely to her bare neck. He liked snapping at her, women like her needed to be shown who was boss. And he was boss. But today, he wouldn't snap at her. He couldn't. No, today he needed her silent. He needed his mind silent. He was so lost in his thoughts that he could not bring himself to be angry. He felt nothing, no anger, no rage, and no blinding bloodlust.
She stared at him, unable to fathom the reason for his mood shift. It scared Mrs. Lovett seeing him so disturbed. Despite being so manic, Mr.T was actually quite easy to predict. She'd say something stupid or imply a fault on Lucy, and he'd pull her up against the wall, glaring threats at her. Then he'd let her go, sneering some sarcastic remark as he left her. It was always the same and always, always frightening. But when he was like this, he was unpredictable. She didn't know how he was feeling, she couldn't see the effect her voice was having on him. Not knowing was something she definitely didn't like. He could lash out at her, unprepared. His normal outbursts were regular, routined, and she knew, although sometimes doubted the fact, that he wouldn't kill her. But like this, she never knew. He could, and probably would kill her if she crossed him in this mood. She shifted uneasily behind him, she really did want an answer, but she needed to watch herself.
"Mr.T?" she questioned softly.
"Please," he spoke surprisingly softly, turning to her quickly, "I'm just tired," he turned back away and moved towards a chair.
His eye caught hers sharply as he turned, and she knew. He wasn't tired, not in the least. His words may convince his unsuspecting customers, but not her. Mrs. Lovett knew him far too well. Her heart panged as she registered the familiar look on his face. He could lie with simple words, but she suddenly saw straight through him. His eyes told her the truth that she tried so hard to ignore: Lucy.
She sighed dejectedly, the voice in her head nagging at her.
Well of course it's bloody Lucy! What did you think?
She shook her head. She honestly didn't know what she had thought. She didn't want to know.
"Alright then," she said softly, "rest up."
She smiled at him half-heartedly, not wanting to bring the subject of his thoughts into conversation.
He sighed, taking a seat. The woman still had some sense after all.
