The Journal

I own nothing except Victoria. All credit goes to Paramount, Tim Burton, Christopher Bond, and anyone else that helped to make Sweeney Todd.

Okay...so here's the next one. That 'My Friends' song that I rewrote into script was really hard, so please forgive me if it sounds awkward...if was VERY awkward to write as well. :\ Anyway, enough babbling on my part. Onward! ~dangrgurl~

2 – November 30th, 1846 – Monday; Second Entry

I got me quite a scare, I did! Mr. Todd is certainly fearsome.

Forgive me. I am getting far too ahead of myself.

Mrs. Lovett took her customer to, what I'm assuming to be, the living room of her shoppe. I followed them in and stood in a corner nearby the door.

"In't this 'omey, now? Th' cheery wallpaper was a real bargain, too, it bein' only partly singed when th' chapel burned down," Mrs. Lovett said as we entered the room.

She gave him a rather large glass of gin. "The'a you go," she said. "You sit down, an' warm your bones."

The man took the cup and sauntered towards an ugly mauve couch that looked very uncomfortable.

"You've room over the shop, he'a?" he said, sitting down. "Times is so 'ard, why don't you rent it out?"

"Wot, up the'a?" Mrs. Lovett asked, glancing up at the ceiling. "No, I won't go near it." Her gaze turned rather intense as she looked back down at her customer. As if she knew something secretive.

"People think it's 'aunted," she continued.

The man gave Mrs. Lovett a rather strange look. One that is rather hard to describe, and was at the time.

"Haunted?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," she said just as softly. I could hardly hear her, even though you could've heard a pin drop in there. "An' who's to say they're wrong? You see, years ago… somethin' 'appened up the'a. Somethin' not very nice…" Mrs. Lovett went quiet, as if in thought.

It really wasn't my business. I shouldn't have be in there, listening. But, for some reason, I could not stand the thought of leaving.

"The'a was this barber an' 'is wife," she started. "An' he was so 'andsome… 'E was a master a'tis trade…but they took 'im away – foreva'…" Her voice was sad. "Barker, 'is name was." She turned her attention back to the man. "Benjamin Barker."

Barker…now where have I heard that name before? I thought. I couldn't recall, nor can I still.

"What was 'is crime?" the customer asked, staring into the fire, his expression distant.

"…Foolishness," Mrs. Lovett replied, her voice taking on a bit of an edge. I can't help but wonder what that was about.

"'E 'ad this wife, ya see? A pretty – an' silly – little thing, she was. An' then the'a was this judge… 'E wanted 'er like mad, 'e did. Ev'ryday e'd send 'er a lovely bouquet o' flowers. But did she come down from 'er 'idin' place? No. No, she'd stay up the'a and jus' sob. She thought 'er life was already bad…but it only got worse."

I leaned forward without thinking; the man didn't move…he didn't even blink.

"Well, the Beadle called on 'er, all polite an' such…" Mrs. Lovett continued. "'E tells 'er that th' Judge was all contrite for 'er sorry state, an' that e' blamed 'imself for it, an' that she 'ad ta go to 'is house that night.

"A'course when she gets the'a, they're 'avin' this masked ball! She doesn't know anyone the'a, so she goes an' 'as a few drinks, ya know, ta fit in an' such. She 'as no idea whe'a Judge Turpin is…"

My hands curled up instinctively at that name, but I was much too engrossed to think of it. It is difficult to write this even now, as my hands are trying to turn into fists as I try to write.

Mrs. Lovett's eyes turned slightly angry. "Well, 'e was the'a, all right! Only…not so sorry!" She paused, waiting for us to fill in her unsaid words. After thinking some, I got the picture…and was utterly revolted.

After a little while, she continued, "She wasn't no match for such craft, ya see…an' everyone was so drunk they thought it was jus' so droll! They all figured she 'ad to be daft, ya see, so they all jus' stood the'a an' laughed! Th' poor thing!"

"NOOOO!!!" the man shouted, jumping up.

Oh dear, I accidentally marked on the page. Forgive that. I startled myself just thinking about his cry of anguish.

"Would no one 'ave mercy on her?!" he exclaimed.

I was certainly puzzled by his response, but Mrs. Lovett got to it before I could.

"So it is you! Benjamin Barker!" she whispered. But I still can't remember whe'a I've heard that name.

"Where is Lucy?" he asked. His voice was strained in unseen pain. "Where is my wife?"

"She poison'd 'erself," came Mrs. Lovett's reply. "Arsenic. From th' apothecary 'round th' corner. Tried to stop 'er, but she wouldn't listen to me." I noticed something…queer in the baker's eyes…like she were hiding something else – but I wouldn't dare point it out in front of this stranger.

Mr. Barker stood there, his face set like stone. His mouth gaped a little and he looked as if he were going to break down and weep. I don't blame him for it – I'm sure that's how I would have felt.

I'm sure I felt a small fraction of what he was feeling when my family did not recognize me.

"An' 'e's got your daughter," Mrs. Lovett continued.

Benjamin's face curled slightly into an expression of hate. "He? Judge Turpin?"

"Adopted 'er. Like 'is own."

Benjamin began to take off his overcoat. "Fifteen years…" he said. "Sweating in a living hell on a false charge…" He tossed the coat carelessly into a corner.

False charge? What charge? That is my question even now.

"Fifteen years dreaming that I might come home to a wife an' child."

Mrs. Lovett rose from her kneeling position on the floor. "Well, I can't say th' years 'ave been particularly kind to you, Mista' Barker…"

"No!" Benjamin nearly shouted, facing the baker. "Not 'Barker'. That man is dead. It's 'Todd' now. 'Sweeney Todd'. An' he will 'ave his revenge."

I couldn't take any more of this. And what did he mean by revenge? Was he going to frame the Judge? Kill him? Both? I don't know. Either way – or any way – is fine by me. I have reasons to hate Turpin as well. But that's another tale for later.

Mr.… Todd was beginning to frighten me, as much as I hate to admit it, and I didn't want to be anywhere near him if he burst.

I retreated down the hallway and up the set of stairs I saw earlier. I figured that wherever they led to would be a safe enough place for me to hide. I nearly ran up them – I know, very unladylike of me – and found myself outside on a balcony. There was another door nearby me, so I went in there.

It was surprisingly unlocked, and as I entered, an old bell on the door jingled loudly, and just as loudly as I closed it. I am surprised I didn't hear them marching after me as soon as I did it, but I wasn't too concerned about that, then. I just wanted to get away from… Mr. Todd.

The room was (and is still at the moment) very dirty, dusty and dark. It has dingy, old yellow striped wallpaper that is peeling away. The door leading to the bathroom was in terrible shape, and the door that leads to the bedroom up there is in no better condition. Everything needs to be dusted… badly, and there are quite a few broken mirrors that will need to be replaced.

I pray that I never have to set foot in there again… not even to clean. I hid behind the bathroom door, standing as still as I could, praying that they wouldn't come up here and find me.

Truthfully, I don't know why I hid up there in the first place. Perhaps, because I thought that my room was too close to Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett, and I didn't wish to be anywhere near them?

Someone began to open the door, startling me from my thoughts. I nearly jumped, but managed to keep a tight reign on myself. As expected, Mrs. Lovett came in, but Mr. Todd stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the shoppe.

Mrs. Lovett turned to the apprehensive Mr. Todd. "Come in," she said. He turned his head towards her. "Nothin' to be 'fraid of, love," she continued soothingly. He came in hesitantly.

She watched Mr. Todd as he looked around. He touched most of the furniture and peered into an old, broken baby's cradle. Mrs. Lovett then knelt down and began to pound on a floorboard. She pried it away and carefully started rummaging though the opening in the floor. The pounding caught Mr. Todd's attention, and he turned to her.

Mrs. Lovett withdrew a small bundle from the hole. After dusting the top off, she unwrapped it to reveal a small leather box. She held it out to Mr. Todd gingerly, who approached it carefully, kneeling in front of the baker. His face was filled with awe.

"When they came for th' girl, I hid 'em. Could've sold 'em, but I didn't," the baker said. It didn't look like Mr. Todd was really listening.

I couldn't see inside the box, but a foreboding feeling came in the pit of my stomach. Mr. Todd delicately lifted a small straight razor from the box, and the feeling intensified. For a long while, he just stared at it, occasionally turning it, and finally opening it to reveal its sharp edge.

"Those 'andles is chased silver, ain't they?" Mrs. Lovett said quietly, still trying to converse with Mr. Todd, who was in something like a trance.

"Silver… yes," he replied distantly.

"My friends…" he murmured. "See 'ow 'e shines? 'Ow 'e smiles in the light?" He sounded very distant…like he was in a trance. I'm sure, in his mind, he was by himself – no one around…just him and his…friends.

"Speak to me…" he whispered to the razor. "I'll listen. I know you've been locked away for all these years…jus' like me… Well, I've come home, now, to find you waiting for me…an' we'll do wonders together…won't we?"

He flicked open another razor and spoke to it gently. Mrs. Lovett, in a trance-like state of her own, started murmuring as well.

"I'm your friend, too, Mista' Todd…If you only knew…Always 'ad a fondness for you, I did…"

"Rest now, my friend," Mr. Todd said, abruptly turning and pocketing one of the razors. "Now don't you worry, Mista' Todd…" Mrs. Lovett continued softly. "You can move in 'ere…Mista T…"

"You shall drip precious…rubies…" Mr. Todd trailed off. The whole ordeal of this was very disturbing to me. I don't understand what this was all about, but I wasn't about to ask.

As Mr. Todd gazed into his razor, he caught Mrs. Lovett's reflection in it. "Leave me," he commanded quietly. Mrs. Lovett obeyed without complaint, although her face told a different story. I was curious again, and now, I am now determined to find out what is going through her head when she is thinking of Mr. Todd… as well as what Mr. Todd meant by 'rubies'.

Mr. Todd stood tall, extending his arm and razor out towards the large window overlooking Fleet Street. A malicious grin curled up on his face. In a loud and triumphant voice, he said, "At last, my arm is complete again!"

I leaned forward…and immediately regretted it. The door creaked. The next thing I knew, Mr. Sweeney Todd was glaring in my direction, anger and a slight surprise pouring from his eyes.

I was terrified as he strode over and reached behind the door, successfully wrapping his long fingers around my wrist with the first try. I squealed in fright, something that was certainly not intended, and he only tightened his grasp. I frantically clawed at his hand, trying to get away from his clutch as he yanked me harshly out from behind the door.

"Who are you and why 'ave you come 'ere?" he demanded gruffly. I felt cold metal against my flesh as he pressed his 'friend' against my neck.

I managed to choke out…some sort of a sound. I'm not sure if it was a gurgle or a whimper, but either way, I was rewarded with a stinging bite. I felt a small stream of blood – my blood – trickling down my neck and into my white blouse. I swallowed, only increasing the pain and the flow.

"Who are you and why 'ave you come 'ere?" he said again, not as loudly, but more sinister than before.

I tried to cough, but it caught in my throat. My words were foreign to my ears as I replied, "If you release me, I will tell you."

I closed my eyes, waiting for death. He hesitated, and then slowly loosened his death grip on my wrist and pulled away his razor, but not closing it. I half sighed and half coughed, forcing my tears of fright back. He waited, surprisingly patiently, as I composed myself.

I cleared my throat, stood straight and tall, and said firmly, "I am Lady Victoria Elisabeth Taylor, the daughter of Lord John Taylor. And, I daresay, you should be ashamed for attacking a lady in such a horrendous way, Mr. Todd!"

"Wot are you doing 'ere?" he asked again, slowly raising the razor.

I glanced between him and the blade and said, "I'm living here, o-or rather, working here, sort of like you are. We're neighbors, so to speak."

He looked away, dropping the razor to his side, not seeming to care about me anymore. The gesture irritated me, but I was much too afraid to call him out on it.

"Get out," he commanded, his eyes narrowed to small slits.

I stood firm, my face matching my stance.

He looked at me again, hate returning in his eyes. "Get out," he repeated, slightly louder that time.

"I will not," I said, pressing my luck. "I 'ave questions for you, Mr. Todd, and you would do well not to refuse a lady, lest I call the constables on you!" My voice was trembling slightly as I said that.

"Out!!!" he bellowed, leaping forward at me. I jumped a little, but stayed my ground. By then, I wanted to get out – to flee from Sweeney Todd and all of Fleet Street, while I was at it, but my legs refused. I stood there, planted to the floor, my face fearful.

His face twitched, rage pouring out from every pore in his body. In a flash, I felt his death grip on the back of my neck. He started pushing me towards the door.

"When I say get out, I mean get out!" he shouted again. I somehow managed to wriggle out of his grasp and scurry to the other side of the room…but that only infuriated him more.

"I said get out!" He came towards me again, and I tried to duck away from his hands again, but I was too slow. I felt him grab me by my waist with one hand, and with a slight groan, he lifted me up into the air.

I kicked and hit his hand as hard as I could, but it didn't faze him. He strode over to the door and opened it, and without another word dropped me outside onto the hard wood.

Before he could slam the door on me, however, I stuck my foot between the door and the wall, forcing it open. I spat by his feet. No words were needed, I felt. Then, like a child, I turned and jumped up, intending to run, but my blasted skirt caught in the doorframe when he slammed the door. When I struggled to free it, it ripped off, leaving me only in my blouse and petticoat, and sending me over railing and tumbling down the stairs.

I moaned and stood slowly once I hit the bottom. My entire body ached – and still does – and, despite the chilly bite in the air, I was steaming hot from my skirmish with Mr. Todd. Mrs. Lovett came flying out, probably wondering what in the blazes was going on, but I ignored her probes and questions. I bolted to my room, slamming and locking the door behind me.

I soon heard the loud barreling of angry feet coming closer and closer to me, and I couldn't help the shiver of fear that coursed down my aching spine.

Even though I was expecting it, I still jumped when a thunderous banging erupted on my door, followed by a roaring, "Miss Taylor! I demand you come out this instant!"

"Why should I?" I shouted back, glancing warily at the lock.

"A woman does not disrespect a man, Miss Taylor. It is not their place! I demand you come out and…apologize!" Mr. Todd hollered. I could hear Mrs. Lovett trying to soothe him nearby.

"And you have disrespected me, Mr. Todd! A man is to show courteous respect to a woman – not throw them out of their shoppes! I will apologize to you only if you be the man you are supposed to be and apologize to me first!"

Mr. Todd went silent for a minute, and I nearly thought he had left when I heard him say harshly, "Mark me, Miss Taylor: do not anger me again, or I swear, it'll be the last thing you ever do!" He then stomped away, retreating back to his shoppe.

I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the doorway. Only then did I get a good look at myself in a mirror nearby.

My hair, once pinned nicely up in a bun, was completely disheveled. My neck was still bleeding, but the flow had slowed considerably. It was a good inch long, and it would certainly scar, I knew. I had a great many bumps and bruises from my fall down the stairs. They still ache.

Sighing, I took the risk to peek out from my door. I unlocked it and cracked it open slightly. I saw something dark blue on the floor.

It was my ripped skirt. I picked it up and sighed again. I ended up having to throw it away. A pity. It was a farewell gift from Chief Mhalanuutakhan's wife – one of his many – given to me right before I left Africa. I looked, and felt, horrible.

At least Mr. Todd had been 'gentlemanly' enough to return my skirt back to me.

Hopefully, our gracious God will keep any nightmares away tonight, and I can get on with my life. I am not looking forward to seeing Mr. Todd again, but I must keep my promise to Mrs. Lovett by cleaning her shoppe.

I can only pray that she doesn't ask me to clean his shoppe.

To be continued...

Same drill as last time, folks! Press dat button below my words! Yes, that one! Go ahead...I dare ya. :o) ~dangrgurl