A/N:
*waves*
Sorry for the wait, I would have posted this yesterday but there were technical difficulties :/
I just wanted to let you know that this story does follow the storyline of the movie, but I promise I'm not going to write line for line everything from the movie, because that would be lame D:. There will be many many plot twists, different conclusions, and little ins and outs that I will include. There will be different events as well, so stay tuned :3. Thank you all for the reviews you guys post, you have no idea how happy they make me :3

Now Without Further Ado!

~.ivory.

Chapter iii

A Barber and his Wife

A bell chimed as Violet entered, announcing her arrival into the pie shop.

A wave of familiarity washed over her as she took in the surroundings of the main room; the wooden floor boards and the insects that seemed to occupy every corner. The back wall was covered with cupboards and a barrel filled with ale that rested directly above a small oven.

Eleanor was behind her tiled counter, the top dusted with heaps of flour and rusty pots and pans. She looked the same, if a tad older. Dress a faded black and brown with hints of red, the front covered in flour where she wiped her hands as she baked; and her dark auburn hair wild, dripping ringlets that circled her thin pale face and narrow nose. An old wedding ring glinted around her finger. She was talking excitedly to a single gentlemen seated in the booth directly to Violet's left. Her voice stirred memories in the back of her skull; it was high, but full of color with that from-the-gutter accent of London Below.

"-an' I said to her, 'well, if your cats gone missing, don't expect me to-'"she ceased her chatting and looked up at the woman in her doorway, her face breaking into a large grin. "Well," she patted her hands against her waist, sending a cloud of flour into the air, "more customers today than I've 'ad in ages!"

It was clear she didn't recognize her former friend and florist; she had expected this of course, but it did leave a bitter taste in her mouth. 13 years can leave the memory foggy; and for Eleanor, it was probably doubly so.

Nellie gestured to the booth, "Sit down then! Go on. I'll set you up with a pie, shall I?" without waiting for a response, she plopped an already made biscuit onto a small plate and blew off another brume of flour. She sat awkwardly next to the stranger.

He stiffened beside her considerably, and to avoid embarrassment, she kept her eyes down.

Mrs. Lovett dropped the small pie plate in front of her and returned to her counter, humming blissfully.

"Why are you following me." The man next to her muttered; it was not a question, spoken lowly with a threatening growl that surfaced from the back of his throat. Violet turned to confront him angrily, caught off -guard by this stranger's reaction; she caught site of his face and her retort died instantly.

It was the same man from the docks.

He could have only been a foot away, but his black glare filled up her whole vision, threatening to swallow her whole. Violet swallowed before answering, touching the bruises on her upper arm from their last encounter. "I could ask you the same, sir."

The response sounded a bit bolder than she had intended, but kept her gaze locked with his. He opened his mouth to respond angrily, but was cut off by a loud smack; Violet looked over at Mrs. Lovett, who was banging her rolling pin against a large pile of dough. Nellie had never been the best baker, and she was willing to bet that clump was as hard as a rock.

"I'm so glad that you two pop in," Eleanor said with a quick smile. It was obvious she was trying to keep the peace; trying to keep her guests in the vicinity. "No denying times is hard, sir. An' I know I don't make the best pies, in fact their bloody awful, but-"

Amused, Violet leaned back against the booth and surveyed her friend as she rambled on and on, going on about her woes. She kept glancing up from her cooking every few moments as she chattered as if she worried her two customers might disappear. Dumping a large ladle into a pot, she stirred lazily, her chin resting in her palm.

Violet glanced back over at the man sitting next to her, who had gone back to picking at the pie on his plate. Parts of it were purple and black, but she didn't want to know exactly why. The pensive, almost annoyed look on his face grew as he pushed it away and reached for the cup beside it. She frowned, why was he here? Out of all of London, why had he come here? Violet looked back up at Nellie and then back at the unknown man.

It would be problematic if Nellie were to recognize her with a wanderer in their midst.

If only one person were to recognize her, no matter the intent, and her former brother in law were to find out. She would surely be hung. The thought made her insides cold; to hang by the rope until death would be a bad way to go, and be made worse by the fact that she had failed to avenge her husband. She was more afraid of that than anything. The strange man lifted the cup up to his lips and grimaced as the liquid trickled onto his tongue. Eleanor was the exception; years of trust wouldn't change her mind so easily. The reason she had come here in the first place was for sanctuary, but in truth, if Nellie recognized her now, thus revealing her identity; everything could be over.

Violet ducked her head.

"Trust me dearie," Nellie said, gesturing to the man with her rolling pin, "it's gonna take a lot more than' ale to wash that taste out." She set down the pin and made her way around the counter, "come with me, I'll get you two a nice tumbler of gin, eh?"

Violet swallowed as he got to his feet hesitantly, following the baker to the back room. Should she follow? Her legs seemed to decide for her, standing and following her friend and the stranger to the sitting room.

She was bothered that she still didn't know his name; he could be anyone. His back was to her as they passed short stairwell into a cozy living room. A fireplace burned at the head of the room, the wallpaper a light blue patterned with roses. Desks and mantles were up against the walls, completely covered with knickknacks and vases of fake flowers. Several chairs and couches were pushed around the fire, laid with knitted blankets and embroidered throw pillows.

Violet raised her eyebrows as she took a small armchair next to the fire, staring into the yellow and red flames. The warmth spread through her clammy bones; she'd starved for heat since stepping on that blasted boat, and the hearth was welcomed.

It was so strange, to be back in this room; fresh memories of hot summer days where the smell of baking pies wafted through the air as they cooled off with painted fans, or the gossip that Nellie would whisper in hushed tones as Albert slept away on the couch. It made her feel smile in a sad way; all those times had been cut away so quickly, so harshly, and thinking about them now was like reopening the wounds with a knife.

Nellie went over to the counter in the corner and uncorked a bottle of gin, "Isn't this homey now?" she commented, smiling a little, "The cheery wallpaper was a real bargain, too. It was only partly singed when the chapel burned down."

Violet smirked as Nellie handed her and the other man the tiny shot glasses. "There you go." Violet frowned at the clear colored liquid, hating the smell that reminded her of her Father. She leaned away from it, choosing to stare at the dark haired man instead.

He took the glass and stood over the fireplace, glaring into the flames. Violet watched him with curiosity, her blue eyes suspicious. Who was this man? And why did he seem to be everywhere?

A thought suddenly dawned on her. What if… What if Richard already knew she was here… and this man was here to collect her! She shook her head, quickly dismissing the thought; if he was a spy, he'd have already taken her. Wouldn't he? Why was she so afraid? It wasn't in her nature to be fearful of such things, and she bit her lower lip in irritation.

"You've a room over the shop, haven' you?" he mumbled in his deep voice, startling Violet out of her thoughts. Nellie poured her own glass, swirling around the contents as she took her seat in another plushy chair. "Times are so hard, why don't you rent it out?"

Nellie glanced up at the ceiling, as if she were checking it was still there. "What up there?" she asked, "No I won't go near it." Eleanor cocked her head at him, gauging his reaction, "People think it's haunted."

The man looked over at her in surprise; Violet leaned forward, her chin in her palm, "Haunted. Really Nellie, you ought to-"

She stopped herself, not realizing she used the short nickname she'd gifted her friend with so many years ago. Eleanor's brows pinched together, tilting her head to Ms. Blackwell.

"What d'you mean, haunted?" The man questioned again, clearly not sensing the tension in the room. Violet almost sighed in relief when Mrs. Lovett turned back to him instead.

"Yeah, and who's to say they're wrong? They say 15 years ago, something 'appened up there. Somethin' not very nice."

The room seemed to grow colder with her statement; the man turned back to the flames, his eyes fixed to the coals. Violet watched him cautiously, the pressure of her mistake still causing her fingers to tighten around the shot glass.

"Y'see, there was this couple that used to live upstairs, 'e was a barber…" her eyes took on a far-away look, brown eyes fogging over, and voice growing wispy. "…one of those prodigy types, 'e was. An artist with a knife…" she paused before continuing.

"He got transported to some prison for life. Barker his name was, Benjamin Barker."

Something in Violet's head clicked, then.

The memory of her flower shop, and a woman with pretty yellow hair; a man was with her, she remembered, with a baby. That man… Benjamin, he had been arrested? She wondered why, he seemed like such a shy man; what could he have done to be sent away for life?

"Transported?" The man asked, voicing her thoughts, "what was his crime?"

"Foolishness." She answered simply, a sad look in her eyes. "He had this wife, pretty as anything," she continued, knowing that her audience was rapt in her words, "an' a lil' baby girl. But there was this man, this judge. 'e thought she was pretty too."

Violet's heart dropped into her stomach.

"He brought her flowers an' everything almost every day."

A thought passed through her head then; a memory she'd long forgotten. Memories of Richard coming to the shop to purchase daisies and gillyflowers, smiling in the snake-like way. She'd asked him who they were for, but he'd only wink and say for a special someone. Richard had always chased women, but only for lustful purposes, never searching for any kind of attachment lasting longer than a single evening. Violet never dreamed it would have been the beautiful Lucy.

She took a shuddering breath as Nellie continued.

"But she didn' ever go down to 'im, loyal to Mr. Barker, I guess, even after 'e was gone. But one night the Beadle came to her an' said that the Judge wanted to talk to 'er. Said he was all contrite and wanted her forgiveness; so she went to his house. But they were havin' this ball all in masks."

Nellie's eyes never left the man's face, something calculating in her gaze. "He… Well… she didn' have a chance against 'im," she mumbled quietly, "they all laughed at her, jus' stood there an' let it happen."

A tightness gripped Violet as she realized what Eleanor was saying; it seemed Lucy had the same misfortune as her, except Richard had succeeded in ravaging her faithful virtue.

There it was again, that excuse. Simple Indulgence.

The man was on his feet, a rage that turned his black eyes ablaze and his cheeks a faint pink. He seemed so monstrous, like a demon; Violet leaned back in the plush cushion in alarm, fear crawling up her throat.

"Would no one have mercy on her?" He barked, holding out his hands as if they might have an answer.

Ms. Blackwell cocked her head to the side, forgetting her alarm for a fraction of a second, caught up in her curiosity. Why was he so concerned about the undoing of a stranger? Unless…unless Lucy wasn't a stranger.

A man who'd gone to prison.

15 years ago.

It couldn't be.

It was too improbable! Violet shot her gaze at the man before the fire, his body tensed and angry.

"… Benjamin Barker." Violet whispered, her blue eyes wide. He stared straight ahead, as if he couldn't hear her in the slightest, his rage relaxing into a solid silence.

"Where is Lucy…? Where is my wife?" he whispered.

It was him. Violet scanned her memories of this man; but memories are funny things, and his face was obscured from her. The only clear recollection remained with his wife and child. But she could see how vastly he'd changed, how violently his demeanor skewed from the shy man who had stood before her only briefly. Almost funny, in nature; but then grimly not.

Nellie's brown eyes were large, staring up at Benjamin with a look of wonder and tragedy. She tried to hide it, but Violet could see right through that guise; Eleanor had always worn her heart on her sleeve. "She poisoned herself," she said quietly, "Arsenic, from the apothecary around the corner… I tried to stop her… but she wouldn't listen to me."

His mouth fell open, a look of pain flickering across his face as his eyebrows furrowed. She could almost see his resolve breaking.

"And he's got your daughter…" she finished. "Adopted her like 'is own.

Violet's stomach roiled; that sadistic man had taken his daughter, and was responsible for the death of his wife. Her former brother-in-law was monstrous, yet he remained in power as a judge. Where was the justice in this God forsaken city?

"Judge Turpin." Violet stood and wandered to the window, pushing aside the lacy curtains. "It's him, isn't it?" her voice caught as she stared out at the dark day; not truly seeing anything beyond the glass.

He disregarded her, tossing aside his jacket and shaking his head, "Fifteen years." His face a mask of disbelief, a trace of dark humor flitting across his pale features, "Fifteen years I've sweated… in a living hell on a false charge. Fifteen years dreaming I might come home to a wife and child…"

Nellie sighed and got to her feet, crossing her arms; she seemed so exhausted, like life itself was a weight on her back. "Well, I can't say the years have been particularly kind, Mr. Barker-"

"No." he whirled on her, two red spots appearing in the centers of his dark eyes; "Not Barker. Never say that name again! That man is dead. It's Todd now, Sweeney Todd..." he snarled, lashing out at Eleanor with his words; but Ms. Blackwell hardly noticed, the unbelief and coincidence of it all drifting around her like a poisonous fog.

Violet was shaking; her lungs filled with air yet her head seemed empty and weightless. She knew what he meant; her previous self, Isabel Turpin, had long since been put to her grave. If she really thought about what she had been like all those years ago… she had been care free, in love, young, happy. That man had ruined all of that, simple as a violent action.

"Why?" she said softly, her voice higher than usual. "Why does that…that monster survive when everything else dies?"

An unknown emotion closed around the former florist's heart, making her eyes wide and her cheeks lose their color. It felt like she was suffocating from the inside. She'd never felt so utterly disgusted. Everyone in the room was staring at her; as if they'd forgotten she was even there.

"Who are you?" Todd asked in a deep voice. It was a threat; he himself couldn't trust her yet, he didn't know the scars that ravaged her.

Violet didn't look at him, leaned against the window and felt the pleasure of the cold glass against her skin. "Tell me Nellie," she whispered, "why do you recognize the man who lived upstairs, but not the face of a friend?"

Silence.

Ms. Blackwell turned to look at her former friend, a sad smile on her face. Eleanor's brows were crunched together in confusion, "Why d'you keep calling me Nellie? No one has called me that in…" Her eyes grew wide with realization.

"…Isabel."

Violet flinched, "As glad I am to see you, Eleanor, do not call me that." She turned from the window and took precarious steps towards the baker, clasping Nellie's cold fingers; it was supposed to be a warm gesture, but Eleanor still seemed shocked and didn't respond. "I too have changed my title to avoid suspicion; my name is now Violet Blackwell."

"I demand that you tell me who you are." Mr. Todd repeated.

"Just another woman that Turpin…" Violet couldn't finish; her throat closing. After years of suppressing all of the memories, all of the pain; and in one day it's all undone. "I want him dead." She choked out.

He stared at her, his expression softening only a fraction, but the changed had occurred. She relaxed a little.

Nellie broke the silence, "Come with me."

[Flashback]

"Isabel!"

"Yes mother!"

"I need you to fetch the bill from the butcher."

"Yes, mother." The young girl answered, sighing a little. She hated going to the butcher, all the blood and raw meat made her stomach sick. This was something that her father should be doing, not a young girl; but he was ill again today and couldn't leave his room. 'Wouldn't', would be a more appropriate answer.

Isabel brushed her dark curls from her face and opened the front door, stepping out onto the cobblestones. The salty air that blew from the Thames caressed her face, and mixed with the scent from Mother's flowers growing from the stand made her smile. A true genuine smile, that was simply there because it was a good day.

She reached the butcher quickly, as he wasn't so far away. She ignored the meat hanging on display in the window and pushed the door open. The smell of coppery animal blood affronted her nostrils, causing her to crinkle her nose in revulsion.

"Ahh, Miss Isabel 'as come to visit me t'day!"

The meat market owner walked out from behind the counter, wearing a long apron spattered with red claret. She looked away as her stomach rebelled. Mr. Clarke was a kind man, despite his occupation; portly but charming in a way that seemed to make up for what he lacked in appearance.

She smiled at him, "Yes sir, I'm here to pick up the bill?"

He nodded, pointing at her as she reminded him, "Yes! Excellent! I'll get it; just a tick, lovely."

He retreated to the back of the shop, humming to himself nonsensically. The door opened behind her as someone else entered and she stepped against the wall politely, fixing her eyes to her boots. Isabel didn't like meeting people.

"Excuse me, is the butcher in?"

The girl looked up, her cheeks turning a light pink; a boy, probably near her age of 15, was gazing at her curiously. His large chocolate eyes scanned her, his brown blonde hair sticking up in all directions about his head. He was dressed very nicely, obviously he came from a family with decent money.

"…Yes." She answered a moment too late, "he's in the back room."

He broke into a grin, and she mirrored it; although she wasn't sure why. "Sorry but, do you work at the flower shop down that away?" he gestured in the direction of her home. Isabel's smile widened, he had noticed her? She was positive she'd never seen him before.

"Yes, I do! My mother and father own it."

He held out his hand warmly, "I'm Nate Turpin." She shook it eagerly, his hands were smooth and un-calloused; she vaguely wondered if he had some sort of special cream that he used to make them so soft.

"Isabel Redwood." She introduced herself, brushing a curl of her dark hair out of her face. He squeezed her hand gently before Mr. Clarke re-entered his shop.

"Here ya go, Miss Isabel, give that to yer Dad. And Young Master Turpin! I see you two have met." He handed the befuddled little girl a crisp white envelope and she tucked it into her pocket, suddenly feeling very shy.

"Yes, sir." Her new friend answered.

She turned on her toes and darted out of the shop, her cheeks still painted a light pink.

A/N:

I know this was very talky and explanation-y, but I have already started the next chapter that will be up in a few days, and it's a lot more descriptive as the story gets up on its feet.

:3 .ivory.