AARRGGHH!! I'm sorry I haven't updated for so long! But between having the flu and writing for school I've been busy. But thankfully, I actually have chapter nine now. If anyone's still interested in reading this, kudos to you.
Chapter 9
It's quite busy on market day. If you are accustomed to the streets being full of people on any other day of the week, then you'd be utterly surprised to find that the amount almost doubles on a day like today. Almost everyone and his friends are out and about, making it quite easy to lose oneself in the rush of the crowd.
I am content to trail alongside Henrietta as she stops to glance at every other pretty gown she sees for sale. God knows she can afford plenty more of that sort of stuff than I. But I thankfully have no real need of them. Certainly it is quite nice to wear pretty things, but for me it is not a necessity.
"Do you not wish to buy anything?" Henrietta asks me quizzically. "There is plenty to pick from this week, to be sure."
"It's quite alright," I reply jovially. "I've no money to spend as it were. Carry on, Henrietta. I'm fine just looking."
We do carry on at quite the meandering pace, but my friend insists, in disregard to my protests, on purchasing me a small beaded bracelet.
"Oh do be a dear and wear it today," she beseeches me, as I reluctantly slide it onto my wrist. "It looks simply fine with your dress and I cannot have my friends going out to market without having something for their trouble."
Indeed it does look fine, with intricate beadwork that, according to the wizened old vendor that sold it to us, came from India. Whether these claims were true or false I do not know, and I admit I do not question it.
As we draw steadily nearer to the busier streets I begin to glance this way and that in a sudden apprehension. It would be quite hard for Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd to spot me in my getup and large bonnet shading my face, but I realize that one slip-up in their presence could mean my discovery.
All I can do is keep close to my cheerful friend and pray that she does not say my name too loudly. Which, I remind myself, may be a problem when one thinks of her disposition.
Henrietta takes little notice of my apparent silence. She, along with a great portion of the crowd, is edging closer to a rather gaudy platform where a young boy stands beating a large drum to gain attention. He looks cheerful enough, about the same age as the boy Patrick that I met so long ago. But something seems… off. I'm not quite sure what, but I have this unmistakable feeling that something is not quite right about his living conditions.
Upon a closer inspection of the boy as he begins a rather valiant attempt to sell a sort of product that reverses hair loss, I notice the bandages on his hands. The boy's had something happen to him, make no mistake of that, and it makes my skin crawl.
I lean over and whisper in Henrietta's ear. "That child's hands… just look at them." My friend makes an appropriate grimace of sympathy, but says nothing in response. Her attention is focused ahead of her, where it appears that someone is challenging this boy's claims about his product. I cannot see who they are, but I confess I do not blame them. The apparent miracle of the merchandise seems a bit far fetched to me.
Out steps another person on the platform who introduces himself as a Mr. Pirelli, one who looks much more suited to the terribly flashy place with his garish blue attire and ridiculous accent. I pay little heed to his words. One like him takes too much care in appearance to ever be too intelligent otherwise. It is only when someone else steps up from the surrounding crowd when I nearly jump out of my skin.
It's Mr. Todd. As stone-faced as ever, challenging the ridiculous man to a sort of contest. I must say I am cheering for him.
The contest commences with a great deal of silence from Mr. Todd and an even greater deal of bragging from Mr. Pirelli.
"Do you really believe that this man shaved the Pope?" I whisper to Henrietta, as the obnoxious man claims just that.
"I
doubt it," she whispers back in an undertone. "I suppose that the
Pope would wish his barber to be a bit more… well… holy."
I
grimace. "Well he's making a holy show of himself, make no
mistake of that!"
We snicker, but hold our hands on front of our faces so we will not bring unwanted attention to ourselves. Though I hold a bit of contempt for those who try to adhere to the small gestures that are supposedly ladylike, I hold my own motive of secrecy that compels me to do it anyway.
The contest itself lasts mere minutes. The obnoxious man has been boasting so much that he is too slow with his shaving, and Mr. Todd ends up the victor.
I cheer, and Henrietta gives me a curious glance. "Do you know him?"
I feign innocence. "Who?"
"You know perfectly well who!" my friend whispers. "That handsome man who challenged Mr. Pirelli."
I can barely contain a blush. Of course he is rather good-looking, but hearing Henrietta speaking of it in public is quite awkward. "Yes, I know him. He lives in above Mrs. Lovett's shop." To my utmost relief, I at least sound calmer than I feel.
Upon seeing the look on my face, Henrietta grins slyly. "So you fancy him, do you?"
I blanch.
"It's quite all right," my friend says. "He's not my type, really. I prefer fairer hair." She winks. "So do not fret. You can have him all to yourself."
"Don't be silly," I mutter. "I believe you have been reading way too many dime novels, Henrietta. Nothing of the sort will happen, I promise you that."
We direct our attention back towards the stage, where the crowd slowly begins to disperse and become less interested in the past proceedings. Mr. Todd is speaking to someone else, but he is indeed facing my direction so I attempt to tilt my head in an effort to conceal my face under the bonnet.
I dare not look at him. If he's anything like others I know, he may suspect something if he feels as if he's being watched.
And only as I think of that sort of sense one has in that situation, that the hairs on the back of my neck stand in end. Speak of the Devil…
Venturing a tentative look in Mr. Todd's direction, I am startled to find that his gaze is directed straight at me.
Henrietta nudges me, grinning smugly. "I told you that wearing that dress was a good idea. He's captivated, that is certain."
But that's not quite the expression that I detect. It looks more as if he's seeing a ghost.
But I'm not the one to take any chances. The last thing that I want him to do is react in a way that would let Mrs. Lovett know I'm here. Without a word to my friend, I turn on my heel and sprint back through the crowd towards the pie shop, not taking a single glance behind me.
"Lottie, wait!" Henrietta pants, attempting to catch up with me but being hindered by her heavy dress.
I slow down just enough for her to trot alongside me, but I still hasten back to Fleet Street as quickly as possible.
"What on earth has gotten into you?" She inquires breathlessly. "That man you fancy has just noticed you, for goodness sakes. Is that not a good thing?"
"Look, Henrietta," I say tensely. "I was supposed to be alone watching the shop. If he sees me out…" I trail off, letting my friend figure out the rest.
"Ah." I feel that it is the shortest sentence that I've ever heard my friend say. Her face is drawn into a frown, and her eyes lose a bit of their happiness. "I suppose you're right after all."
Briskly, we stride the rest of the way home without another word. It seems that the both of us feel a similar sense of disappointment as we part ways at last, but Henrietta promises fervently that she will come and visit again.
And much earlier than I anticipated, I find myself sitting alone in the pie shop once more. Near overcome with relief that I'd gotten away with my little venture, I collapse onto a stool only to remember that I must change back into my own clothing before Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd come back.
In the privacy of my own room, I change quickly, and none too soon. For when I finally stuff the dress and bonnet into my trunk and poke my head out of the door I could hear their voices in the shop already.
"Oh, Mr. T, don't be ridiculous!" I hear Mrs. Lovett fussing. "You can't have seen her, she's dead."
"Who?" I call. I'm curious. Sauntering into the pie shop as casually as I can, I come upon Mrs. Lovett seating Mr. Todd on a stray stool. Looking at our resident barber I notice that his face, though usually pale, is now even paler than it is normally.
Mrs. Lovett sighs. "Mr. Todd thinks he's seen his dead wife. Why don't you let him be, Lottie dear, he must still be taking this awfully hard."
A sickening feeling is in the pit of my stomach. "Sorry. When was this?" I venture timidly.
"While we were out," Mrs. Lovett says shortly. But she lowers her voice. "You should have seen his face though. Looked like he'd seen a ghost, he did."
"It was her," Mr. Todd says almost feverishly, not even meeting our eyes. "I saw her. Wearing the same clothes she wore when they took me away."
"It was only a face in the crowd, though, from a great distance away. It could have been anyone."
Oh yes, It could have been anyone. Including me.
I'm not so sure how for that matter, but it sort of makes sense. Since Benjamin Barker and his wife used to live here… what if some of their belongings never left the building? A pretty dress like the one Henrietta and I found would have easily caught Mrs. Lovett's eye when it was hers for the taking, but she'd have abandoned it once it became so extremely out of fashion.
"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Lovett peers at me quizzically. "You're awful quiet."
Please do not let her suspect. "I-I'm fine," I stammer quietly, earning a strange look from everyone else in the room. "But I'm afraid I do not feel well, so if you would excuse me, I would like very much to retire."
Standing somewhat shakily, I walk back to my closet room rather self consciously. If I go away too quickly they might be sure something is up with me, but I am certainly not inclined to linger.
"I'll bring you supper, dear," Mrs. Lovett calls after me. "Rest should do you plenty of good."
I sigh in relief in the solitude of my room, lying down on my mattress and twirling a hit pin in my hands. I'm grateful that they bought what I took to be a rather obvious lie, but when I really think I realize that the trouble's not quite over.
It is imperative that I remove the borrowed clothing from my quarters. If my host were to find out…
Well we can safely say that since she showed so much kindness by taking me in, stealing her spare clothing is a poor way to repay her.
So after stuffing the items hastily into my trunk, I wait in silence for an opportunity to arise. Hours pass, and though I have no vision of the outside from here I assume the sun must be sinking lower.
Cautiously opening the door a crack and peeking out, I find the hallway dark and the shop closed. Is this my chance? It had better be, because I quickly grab the dress and bonnet, taking off my shoes to dampen the sound of my feet on the floor. After lighting a candle with trembling hands, I slink out of the door.
Tiptoeing down the narrow hallway, I do my very best not to shiver at the eerie shadows that I see as a result of the dim candle light.
It's only the home you've been walking in for months, silly, I scold myself. It's certainly no more dangerous than it is in the daytime! But as it usually happens, I cannot console myself. I still have the problem of stowing away the clothing in Mrs. Lovett's room while she's still asleep. As I can remember, the hinges of the wardrobe are far from silent.
Still pondering, I enter the parlor, adjusting the pile of clothing in my hand to make sure not to drop it.
But the back of my neck prickles uncomfortably, and I have a most horrible feeling that I am being watched. Stopping dead in my tracks, I look quickly from left to right but there's no one to be seen. Slowly, I turn on me heel and face the direction I came.
And the door from which I entered swings shut, closing with a creak of the unoiled hinges and revealing the dark figure whose eyes are trained on me.
"You." His voice is a low whisper, and I do my best to stifle a small scream.
There, standing in the shadows with a look of sheer hatred on his pale face, is Mr. Todd.
