10) -

After she left Johanna stood in front of the bedroom door, holding the tray, Mrs Lovett made her way back downstairs. Toby seemed quite content, sitting and making his way through the pies and gin, so she continued walking until she was outside.

Gathering her skirts in one hand, Mrs Lovett decided that she was going to check on Sweeney; she was curious as to what the bangs were.

She didn't bother knocking as she reached the door.

"I'm telling you, Mr T, I ain't 'appy with you telling that boy that 'e can 'ave a glass of gin. 'E is drinking me outta 'ouse and 'ome, 'e is," With a heavy sigh, Mrs Lovett placed her hands on her hips and looked around the room. "'Ow long till Pirelli gets back?"

"He won't be back."

Until this point, Until this point, Sweeney had his back to the baker, wiping his razor with an old cloth. When he spoke, however, he slowly turned around to face her.

Mrs Lovett gasped.

"Mr T!"

Sweeney looked up at Mrs Lovett with an almost defiant gaze as she stared at the large blood stain decorating the sleeve of his white shirt, as if daring her to make a comment. For once, however, she was momentarily lost for words.

"Mr T...you didn't." She whispered. He merely raised his eyebrows before allowing his eyes to flicker towards the chest. Following his line of sight, Mrs Lovett turned and faced it.

Her eyes darting from the chest to the barber, she reached out with shaking hands and slowly lifted the lid.

She dropped it immediately.

Her heart raced as she leaned forwards, clinging to the chest for support.

"Mr T, you're barking mad!" Mrs Lovett said. "Killing a man what did you no 'arm!"

"He recognized me."

Mrs Lovett frowned. "I don't want to seem ignorant or nothing, but 'ow is that an excuse for killing 'im?"

"He tried to blackmail me," Sweeney muttered. "Half my earnings."

"Oh, well, that's a different matter. For a moment I thought that you 'ad lost your marbles or something."

Bracing herself, Mrs Lovett opened the lid of the chest and grimaced.

"All that blood," She murmured. "Ooh, it's enough to make you come over all goosebumpy, ain't it? Poor bugger."

After she said this, Mrs Lovett had a quick rummage through his pockets until she found a heavily decorated purse. Shutting the lid of the chest, she undid the drawstring and poured the contents into her open palm.

"Three pounds," She commented. "Well, waste not, want not."

Putting the money back into the purse, she tucked it into her bodice and straightened up.

"So, what are we gonna do with the boy?"

"Send him up."

Mrs Lovett froze. Forcing out a fake smile, she turned to face Sweeney.

"Now, Mr T, we don't need to worry 'bout 'im, do we? 'E's a simple thing, 'e'll believe anything that I tell 'im."

Sweeney turned his gaze from his open razor, which he had been silently admiring, and glared at Mrs Lovett. He had no time or patience for her softness.

"Send him up." He repeated coldly.

"One's enough, ain't it, Mr T? Especially for one day. You don't want to go indulging yourself now, not like the Beadle. 'Sides, I was thinking 'bout 'iring a lad to 'elp around the shop, y'know, me old bones ain't what they used to be."

"You have Lily, Johanna and Abby to help you." Sweeney reminded her.

"Yes, well, they ain't gonna be around forever, are they? Please, Mr T, 'e's just a boy," Mrs Lovett paused before speaking again. "Toby's only your Abby's age. Imagine that was 'er. You wouldn't 'urt a child like 'er, would you?"

Sweeney visibly stiffened.

Toby was only Abby's age.

"Fine." He muttered.

Mrs Lovett allowed herself a small smile. "Thank you, Mr T."

Anthony wandered along slowly, a map in hand. He paused to stare at intently, only to have wet patches slowly spread across it. Looking up, he saw that it had began to rain.

While most people had homes nearby to take shelter in, Anthony had nowhere. He had left Fleet Street not long ago, and was in the process of trying to find his cousin's home. He knew that she would be wondering where he was, but was unable to find his way.

He continued to walk, hoping that the extent of the rain would be a slight shower, but it increased to a heavy downpour. Tucking the map into the pocket of his coat, the sailor took cover in a nearby doorway, pondering how he would get to his cousin's in the pouring rain while having no clue as to where it was.

While he stood in the doorway, wringing his hands together, he was surprised to hear one of the doors behind him open.

Anthony turned quickly, his mouth open to apologise and excuse himself, but the warm gaze of the man stood in the doorway silenced him.

"Come in, lad," The man said with a smile. "You must be cold."

Anthony hesitated slightly; he had never met this man, and yet couldn't find a way to say no.

"T-thank you, sir." He finally stammered, following the man inside.

As the sailor followed the stranger, he looked around the house and wondered who the man was. He was obviously rich, and one of high status or power, judging from his possessions and clothing. He also carried himself well, straight back, head held high.

"We'll go to my study," The man announced, glancing over his shoulder at Anthony. "One of my maids has just lit a fire. You can warm up there."

"Thank you, sir." Anthony repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.

The study was also a grand room, and Anthony found himself staring around in awe. Feeling eyes on him, his gaze met the stranger's, and a blush immediately rose to his cheeks.

"Sit down, lad, sit down." The stranger coaxed gently, gesturing towards one of the two large armchairs in front of the burning fire. Ducking his head to hide the blush, Anthony quickly obliged.

"I'm ever so sorry to be a burden, sir," He said as he sat. "But I left Fleet Street in search for Hyde Park and I feared that the rain would ruined my map."

"Hyde Park?" The stranger questioned, raising a brow.

"Yes, sir, it's terribly big on the map but I can't seem to find my way," Anthony admitted. "I can barely call myself a sailor, having lost my bearings in such a way. And this isn't the first time."

The stranger, who had been pouring what Anthony presumed to be wine into two glasses, looked up and smiled at him.

"You are a sailor?"

"Yes, sir. I arrived in London on the Bountiful," Anthony paused before realising something. "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but I seem to have forgotten my manners once again. My name is Anthony Hope."

Anthony rose and extended a hand out to the older man. With a smile, they shook hands.

"Pleasure to meet you, Master Hope," The man replied. "I am Judge Turpin."

"You're a judge?" Anthony questioned. "I should've known. Not many people would have such a beautiful home as yours."

Judge Turpin smiled and handed a glass to Anthony. The sailor accepted it, but didn't sample the alcohol; he didn't like alcohol very much. He could tolerate a glass of gin every so often, but that was about it.

The sound of another person clearing their throat made Anthony jump, and he glanced over his shoulder. Another person lingered in the shadow of the doorway, and Anthony could only tell that it was a man. The Judge also glanced at the figure, but no introduction was made.

"Thank you, lad."

While the Judge sipped at his own drink, Anthony could only hold his with shaking hands. Something in the atmosphere had changed.

"Now, you said that you left Fleet Street." Turpin said.

"Yes, sir."

"May I inquire as to what you were doing in Fleet Street?"

Anthony frowned, but answered. "I was visiting my friend, Mr Todd, and then I had something to eat with..." Anthony's voice trailed off as the Judge turned to face him.

"With?" He prompted.

"With Johanna." Anthony's voice lowered to barely above a whisper as he said her name, as if it was a precious secret.

"A sailor must know the ways of the world, yes?"

Anthony was surprised by the sudden change of subject, but couldn't express this. Instead, he nodded silently.

"He must be...practised. Would you say that you are practised, boy?"

"Sir?"

Turpin merely smiled as he strolled to his bookcase and gently ran his fingertips over the spines of his large leather books.

"Oh, yes," He replied quietly. "Such practices...the geishas of Japan...the concubines of Siam...the catamites of Greece...the harlots of India...I have them all here... in this book," Turpin paused to turn to Anthony. "All the things that you could ever dream of doing to a woman."

Anthony was speechless; what was the Judge saying?

"Would you like to see?"

"I think that there has been a mistake, sir." Anthony choked out, staring up at the Judge with mild horror and disgust. How could this man think that Anthony would be interested in pornography?

"I think not," The Judge snapped back, walking towards Anthony. "Johanna. You spoke her name and I could see the sinful lust in your eyes."

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, but was speechless.

"Yes, sir, you lust for Johanna. You lust for a woman that is already being courted?"

"But, sir, she didn't say that - "

"What she said isn't important," The Judge interupted. In one quick movement, he swooped forwards, his hands either side of the armchair, trapping Anthony. "Mark me," He hissed. "If I hear one word of you gandering at my Johanna, you'll rue the day that you were born."

His Johanna?

"But, sir, Johanna is - "

Anthony was unable to finish his sentence; the figure behind him grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out of the room. The sailor immediately recognized him as Beadle Bamford, the man that judged the competition between Sweeney and Pirelli.

With such force that knocked Anthony to the ground, the Beadle pushed him through the rear door of the mansion and into a dirty alley. Anthony could feel blood pour out from his nose as his face made hard contact with the pavement.

"Hyde Park is that way, young man," Beadle Bamford told him as he struggled to stand. "A right and then a left, then straight on, you see?"

Anthony finally got to his feet, only to have the Beadle hit him hard across the back with his cane. Shocked by the contact, and weak from hitting the pavement, Anthony stumbled and fell down again. He tried to get up, but was hit in the back once more.

Coughing, the sailor gave up all hope of trying to stand, and instead lay on the pavement. He gasped for breath, blood filling his mouth.

With a dainty foot, the Beadle rolled the sailor over as if he was nothing more than an animal, a dog. With a cruel smirk, he placed the end of his cane onto Anthony's forehead, pressing down.

"You heard Judge Turpin, little man. Stay away from Johanna, or next time, it'll be your pretty brains all over the pavement."

Removing the cane from his head, the Beadle turned his back on Anthony and stormed back into the mansion, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, Anthony could do nothing more than lie there, gasping for breath and whimpering in pain. He then tried to push himself up onto his feet, doubling over and wiping blood from his face.

Desperate to get as far away from the vile mansion as possible, Anthony tried to run, but only tripped over his own feet. He fell to the ground, his knees buckling in pain.

"Anthony?"

He refused to look up; he wasn't going to allow anyone to see him in such a pitiful state.

"Anthony, what the bloody 'ell 'appened to you?"

A pair of hands grabbed his face and pulled it up. Anthony found himself looking into the eyes of Lily Lovett.

"Judge Turpin..." Was all he could say, his voice shaking slightly.

"Oh, that evil man!" Lily cried. "C'mon, let's get you somewhere safe."

It was still pouring down with rain, but Lily didn't seem to care as she helped Anthony stand up, keeping a firm grip on him.

"What did you do to deserve this?" She asked as they walked, Anthony stumbling slightly.

"I dared mention that I dined with Johanna," He replied. "Judge Turpin told me that I was lusting over a young woman that was already being courted. He spoke of her as if she was his property."

"Yes, 'e does," Lily agreed with a scowl. "It's like this: 'e took a fancy to our Johanna not too long ago, like the Beadle 'as a soft spot for Abby. You even look at either of them in the wrong way, and they'll 'ave you."

"It's awful. They can't treat people like that!"

"No one can stop them, though."

Seeing Anthony's anger slowly disappear into sadness, Lily playfully nudged her shoulder against his.

"I wouldn't worry 'bout it too much though, 'cause I think that Johanna 'as got a bit of a soft spot for you."

"Really?" He asked eagerly, and then blushed. "I mean, that...I...it would be highly inappropiate if I were to ask Mr Todd for his permission to court Johanna. He is my friend and - "

"And what? You 'ave a soft spot for 'er, don't you?"

Anthony didn't reply, but the blush on his cheeks was all Lily needed to see. She grinned.

"I don't see what the problem is then," She said. "Anyone 'as gotta be better than Judge Turpin."

And enter the Judge!

Thank you CadyD, Shelia Chiaroscura, The Fanfic Critic, wickedwithofthew and I Love Mark Cohen for reviewing!

I was watching Sweeney Todd again last night, and the bit just after the competition really made me laugh. When a man asks Sweeney about whether or not he has his own establishment, he taps Sweeney on the chest with his cane. If you watch Sweeney's face, he gives the man a look that very much says "Did you just tap with your cane?"

Maybe it's just me, but I find that part exceedingly funny XD One of the best expressions that Sweeney wears in the film.