Chapter 10
A/N – Nope, I'm not dead guys :P I'm so, sooooo sorry for the lack of updates, but the past month has been so god-forsaken busy that I really haven't had too much time to do anything. Final exams were killer, but school's over now, things have calmed down, and I think I'll hopefully have more time to write :)
And there's just one thing I need to clear up: I've heard from a couple of people that Sweeney seems OOC. I know that he may seem that way, but bear in mind that what he found when he returned home in this scenario is very different than the movie. He's not the exact same person as he is in the movie, as per the drastic changes I've made, so I apologize if you think that he is OOC. Just remember that in this case, he might be IC because he is slightly differently characterized. Also, if this story feels like it may be moving a bit quickly it's because I'd rather have things move quickly and finish the story, than have it move slowly and not finish it at all.
Whew. Sorry for the long A/N, I just needed to let you guys know. Thank you all for being the mercifully understanding people that you are :)
Later that evening, after the pie shop was closed, the street was dark, and everyone had gone home for the night, Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett sat in the kitchen and contemplated their actions. Toby was sitting by the fire in the sitting room, a bottle of gin in one hand, and a pie that he'd saved for himself from that day's baking in the other.
"Well, I 'ope that woman was true to 'er word," Mrs. Lovett said, referring to the owner of the apothecary. "If 'e gets sick right away, people will suspect us. If 'e tasted somethin' in the pie and tells someone, people will suspect us. An' if 'e dies too soon an' 'as complained about the pie, people will suspect us. Or wot if 'e doesn't die at all, just gets sick?"
Sweeney knew that Mrs. Lovett was good at hiding things, and he'd been glad for that when she'd been serving the Judge. But now, her drawn face and worried eyes were beginning to make even Sweeney concerned.
"Nothing went wrong," he said, perhaps more to assure himself than for her. "The Judge will be dead within the week, I'm sure of it."
"I'd wager you're right, love," she said, a bit more of her usual cheerfulness finding its way back into her voice. "I just 'ave a bad feelin' about this. That's all."
And that seemed to reassure her significantly, so they went on with their normal routines for the next few days, though neither of them could quite help being anxious without hearing any news of the Judge.
It was only when they found Toby in his bed three days later, convulsing horribly and awash in a cold sweat, that they knew something had gone dreadfully wrong.
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Word on Fleet Street was that Nellie Lovett's adopted son was fatally ill, and his health was deteriorating quickly. How people had found out, Mrs. Lovett couldn't fathom, though it might have been due to the fact that her pie shop hadn't been open for nearly a week, and neither had the barbershop upstairs.
In that first split second that Mrs. Lovett had realized what had happened, her heart had torn itself apart in her chest. Toby was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. How could the Fates be so cruel? He was only a boy… a boy who'd had a hard childhood at that, and when he'd finally found somewhere to live where he was loved for who he was, his life was about to be snatched brutally away from him. But the thing that hurt her most: it was her fault. If she hadn't suggested poisoning the Judge, there never would have been this mix-up, and neither she nor Toby would be in this situation.
Mrs. Lovett had put her foot down and told Sweeney that either he stopped killing people, or baked the pies himself, because she would be quite indisposed for the next week. It was the second night after the poison had started to take its effect on Toby, and Mrs. Lovett felt obligated to take as good of care of him as she could during his last few days. Sweeney had been unhappy with this suggestion, to say the least, but in the end he had given in.
This evening, Mrs. Lovett looked down at Toby's silent, tear-stained face under the sheets in front of her, and she felt the guilt wash over her anew. Gulping back a sob, she smiled softly at him, brushing a strand of hair off his hot, sweaty forehead, and willing herself not to shed any tears in front of him. She could tell that he already felt bad enough, and she knew he'd feel much worse if he knew he'd made her cry.
"I'm sorry, Mum," Toby choked out. He trembled under her hand, which had come to rest on his cheek; wet with tears from the excruciating pain. Mrs. Lovett felt her eyes brimming with tears, but blinked them back determinedly so she could bend down and give him a hug.
"No, Toby," she said sadly. Her throat constricted painfully, holding back her retrained sobs. "Don't be sorry. You'll be better soon." It hurt her to lie to him.
She leant down to give him a tight hug, filling her embrace with his warm little body while she still could. "I love ya, sweet'eart."
"I love ya too, Mum." Toby managed. He shook in her arms as he was wracked by another painful convulsion. Mrs. Lovett bit her lip and held him to her until it passed, taking deep breaths and blinking furiously to force back her tears.
She stood up, stroking Toby's cheek with her thumb lovingly.
"Ya should try an' get some sleep, it's gettin' late now. 'Night, love."
Toby nodded, his thin, pallid face ghostly in the dim candlelight. Mrs. Lovett walked to the door and stopped, turning around to look back at him.
"Sleep, love," she told him, though somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he would never fall asleep. The spasms caused by the poison were too frequent and painful for him to.
Even so, Toby closed his eyes obligingly. Mrs. Lovett felt her heart ache, and she left the room before she lost all control of herself.
She walked slowly down the hall and into the kitchen, where she sank into the nearest chair. Despair took her over, and she thought of her Toby in his room, trying to sleep because she'd told him to, and he wanted to make her happy, even now, and not being able to because of the pain. The pain that she'd caused him.
Mrs. Lovett felt her mind overflow with remorse and sorrow, and then the reality of the situation finally struck her; a heavy blow to her already grieving heart. Although she hadn't lost him yet, she knew that she would soon. It was inevitable.
What would she do without Toby? He was always there for her; someone who didn't mind her endless chatter, and helped out around the shop just because he knew it would make less work for her. He was like a son to her. Who would she have when Toby was gone? Mr. Todd would be all she had left, and he was such a cross, ever-brooding piece of work, she knew he would never really be there for her when she needed him. Her Toby…
And then Mrs. Lovett felt her eyes finally brimming over, and she put her head in her hands.
And she cried.
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Sweeney downed another glass of water, only for the liquid to pass over top of his seemingly impermeable, everlastingly dry throat. He growled and slammed the empty glass on his dresser in frustration. A crack appeared instantly along the side of the glass, all the way to the top of the rim, and Sweeney eyed it in an irritated fashion before throwing it uselessly aside. It landed with a thud in the corner of the room, immediately forgotten.
Every breath Sweeney was taking tickled at the back of his throat, triggering long coughing fits that were beginning to drive him up the wall. He tried holding back the coughs, but he could only do this by holding his breath; and in the end, of course he still had had to breathe. Then he remembered something: Mrs. Lovett had been trying for the past while to make him take some cold medicine of hers, that she kept in the cupboard downstairs. Perhaps he should take her advice for once and try it. She was an insightful woman, after all. She probably knew more about these kinds of things than he did anyhow. It was worth a shot.
Sweeney opened his door, making his way outside and down the steps through the chill air. He glanced into the shop before he entered, and what he saw made him very hesitant to go inside.
Mrs. Lovett sitting at her kitchen table, weeping and making small pitiful sounds of grief into her hands that covered her face. She lowered them for a moment, and Sweeney caught a glimpse of her red eyes, puffy and watery, trails of her tears glistening wet on her pale cheeks. She turned and looked towards the hall, where only a few doors down Sweeney knew Toby was attempting to sleep. The expression on her face was one of utmost sorrow, mixed with something else ... guilt?
Because Sweeney was so quiet, it made him naturally more observant of others, and he was very good at pinpointing emotions by their facial expressions and body language. And right now, Mrs. Lovett appeared to be drowning in self-guilt. He was puzzled. What would she be feeling guilty about?
Usually Sweeney didn't care how she was feeling, or how anyone was feeling, for that matter. But today, he was so irritable that he did care. He only wanted to try the medicine if it got rid of the persistent cough that was making him crazy; and right now he didn't particularly want to have an awkward moment with a sobbing Mrs. Lovett.
He thought for a moment, coughing into the crook of his elbow to stifle the sound. He turned around and quietly walked back up to the top of the stairs, trying to tread lightly enough that his landlady wouldn't hear his footsteps.
Then he stood in front of his barbershop, opened the door, and slammed it loudly without going inside. He walked down the stairs again, only this time he purposely thumped his feet on the stairs so that Mrs. Lovett would hear him coming, if she hadn't heard the door slam. Sweeney hoped that he had given her enough time to compose herself before he got to the bottom of the flight and went into the pie shop; he really didn't feel like dealing with her misery at the moment.
He opened the door that lead into her kitchen, the bell tinkling merrily. It seemed quite out of place in a room that held no merriment.
Sweeney noticed that the edge of Mrs. Lovett's apron was wet, but her face was dry, and she seemed quite a bit calmer than she had a few moments ago. She turned her face upwards when he entered.
"Yes, love?" she said. Her voice was still slightly shaky, but she held firm.
"I –" Sweeney broke off for an instant, coughing. "Is the medicine still on hand?" He knew that it was, who else would she have given it to?
"Of course," Mrs. Lovett replied. She got up and opened a cupboard. After a minute of rummaging, she pulled out a small bottle, which reminded her sickeningly of the one the Judge's poison had been in.
"There ya go." She turned back and grabbed a spoon, handing it and the bottle to Sweeney with the most cheerful smile she could muster, which Sweeney noticed ended up being not very cheerful at all. "Take two spoonfuls before ya go to bed. Works wonders, it does."
Sweeney nodded his thanks and left the kitchen.
Back in his barbershop, Sweeney took two spoonfuls of the medicine, as Mrs. Lovett had directed. He gagged and almost spat out the first mouthful, but managed to force it down. The second mouthful he swallowed quickly and tried not to let it linger on his tongue.
He still couldn't fall asleep, knowing what awaited him in the horrific dream-world. But he could breathe much better without his breaths catching in his throat and making him cough. And for that, he was grateful.
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Sweeney hadn't been out of his barbershop today, but he could imagine that Mrs. Lovett was quite busy downstairs. He imagined that she must be so busy, in fact, that it must have slipped her mind to bring him his breakfast that morning. And then his lunch.
His stomach growled and he cursed it silently. He thought it strange that he hadn't realized, until now, just how ridiculously dependant he was on Mrs. Lovett for something as trivial as food.
He decided to ignore his stomach for the time being, and try to figure out a way of asking her later on, if, by chance, she forgot to bring him his supper as well.
She did.
By an hour after supper, Sweeney was feeling almost faint from hunger. And it was then that he finally came to a conclusion: he was actually going to have to go to Mrs. Lovett and ask for something to eat. How appalling.
Sweeney frowned to himself, but his hunger pangs were getting too insistent for him to ignore them any longer. And his cough hadn't faded at all, though the medicine had helped the night before, and his voice was still embarrassingly hoarse, so he was even more quick-tempered. With a heavy sigh, he left his shop and went downstairs into the kitchen to find the baker.
He found her where he knew he would: near the counter, her sleeves rolled up, her hands busy with a rolling pin and a large piece of dough. She didn't look up and beam at him like she usually did when he walked into the room, though; rather, she looked as if she was on the brink of tears, and lifted a flour-covered palm to wipe at a spot under her eye. Yet at the same time she seemed angry, and whatever it was that was making her angry, she appeared as though she was taking it out on the dough.
"What?" she asked him irritably. Her voice was flat, and her eyes were dull when she finally glanced up at him.
"You've forgotten something," Sweeney told her.
"What?" she said again.
Sweeney had hoped that the loud growl his stomach had just made would have given her a hint.
"I haven't eaten for nearly a day now," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Well, whaddaya want me ta do about it? Make somethin' for yourself," Mrs. Lovett said to him crossly. She pushed hard on the rolling pin, back and forth, back and forth.
Sweeney was at a loss for words. It had been years since he'd cooked for himself, and he had to admit that he couldn't remember how to chop vegetables, let alone use an oven. But he wasn't about to confess that to her.
"What are you so busy doing that you can't make me something to eat?" he asked finally, sounding just as cross as she was.
"I have ta make Toby's last day a good one," she said, rolling her rolling pin furiously. Her voice broke and she sniffled quietly. The dough was now rolled out almost paper-thin.
It finally clicked in Sweeney's mind. Oh. So that was it.
"Mrs. Lovett, I'm sure you're making today the best day Toby has ever had," Sweeney began. Mrs. Lovett stopped and looked up at him, curiosity and confusion eminent on her face at his words.
"But you have to let go. Move on." Sweeney was quite proud of this advice; after all, it had been the very same thing she'd said to him that had helped him come to terms with his hatred. And all he wanted right now was to make Mrs. Lovett happy enough so that he could go back upstairs with a full belly.
Little did he know that that was the worst thing he could have said.
"Move on? You're tellin' me ta move on?" Her voice was suddenly laced with spite. "'Ow can I move on? Toby's not gone yet, and 'e doesn't even know e's going to die! And I think I need some time ta grieve for a while before I can even begin to let go!"
"You haven't told him?" Sweeney asked.
Mrs. Lovett was furious. "'Course I 'aven't! What would I 'ave said? Mum was tryin' ta poison someone, but you got the poisoned pie by accident so now you've gotta die instead? What kind of a mother am I?" She started to cry through her anger.
"Now now, Mrs. Lovett," Sweeney said. "What sort of talk is that?"
He was beginning to panic himself now, having come downstairs for supper and some medicine, and instead getting a shouting, crying Mrs. Lovett. Wishing feverishly that he'd kept his mouth shut and went the day without food, he wondered what he was going to have to do to get her calmed down. He coughed quietly.
"It's all my fault," Mrs. Lovett was saying through her tears. She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Sweeney, but the barber had never seen her so hysterical and was almost afraid to move. "If I 'and't 'ad that 'orrible idea, none of this would 'ave 'appened. Oh, my poor boy…"
"It's not your fault the Judge got the wrong pie," Sweeney said, getting frustrated now. At that moment, he just wanted to grab her around the shoulders and shake her hard. But he restrained himself from doing so, just barely.
A light went on in Mrs. Lovett's mind. "'Ow could I 'ave been so blind? All this time I've been blamin' meself, when it isn't mine at all, it's yours! If you 'and't been so 'ell-bent on revenge, we wouldn't 'ave been poisonin' the Judge in the first place!"
"Don't worry, we'll get him back a different way," Sweeney said without thinking.
"Don't worry, we'll get 'im back a different way?! WE? Don't WORRY?!" Mrs. Lovett advanced on him then, and began beating him with her rolling pin, her eyes blazing with anger and resentment.
"I didn't mean – "
"Ya meant every word, ya insensitive bastard! Get out!"
Sweeney started to back up towards the door, raising his arms to protect his face from her blows.
"And don't you bother goin' back upstairs! You're not welcome 'ere any more, in any part of my 'ouse!"
"But – " Sweeney tried to reason with her, but she was past reasoning with.
"I said get OUT!" she screamed, still striking him brutally.
"FINE!" he roared in her face, letting out his pent-up frustration at her hysterics. His throat burned.
She stopped dead for a moment, but her eyes regained their angry blaze a second later. She dealt a vicious blow to his back with her rolling pin in parting, as he walked out the door.
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Sweeney was still seething as he walked down the street in the dark. How dare she kick him out! Where was he supposed to go now? He didn't know anybody, and she hadn't given him any time to get any money, or any of his belongings from upstairs. He hadn't done anything to deserve this. The woman was barking mad, hitting him and screaming at him that way at this hour. She'd probably woken all of Fleet Street with her antics, if not half of London!
He still didn't quite understand why she was blaming him for this happening. But he knew, deep down, that he could sympathize with her emotions when she realized that she was going to lose her son, if he really wanted to. That was how he'd felt inside when he'd realized that he'd lost Lucy forever, although she wasn't dead, or dying. Although he had dealt with it quite differently then she had.
And he knew that was how he would have felt if he'd come home and Lucy had been dead, or if Johanna had been. He wondered briefly how different of a person he'd be right now if that had happened, instead of Lucy marrying the Judge.
Sweeney had never seen Mrs. Lovett lose control of herself this way before. She was usually so cheerful, happy. Not without a kind word or a smile in his direction, or anybody's direction. Until this had happened. The Mrs. Lovett he had just seen was enraged, nearly uncontrollably so, full of hatred and a hint of despair and sadness.
He didn't like that Mrs. Lovett, not at all. He wondered if she would stay that way when Toby died, or if in time she would go back to being her old self. Somehow, he didn't think that she would. And then he found himself thinking that he would almost miss her. Now that he thought back on it, she was almost a likable person when she wasn't chattering endlessly to him. She was clever, caring, easy to get along with. And, if he really thought about it, she was quite an attractive woman.
Losing Toby would be hard on her. He knew that now. He hadn't thought much of it before, but now that he'd seen her that way, he knew that when Toby died, a little part of the Mrs. Lovett he knew would die as well. And, before he could stop himself, he found himself wishing that there was some way to stop that from happening.
Wait… Had he, somehow, perchance, possibly grown fond of Mrs. Lovett? Sweeney was gobsmacked at his own thoughts right then. But he didn't have anything else to do at the moment other than think, so that was what he did.
Sweeney didn't know how long he walked the streets for, letting these thoughts run their course, perplexing and baffling him more and more as they did so.
And then he realized: there was something that he could do.
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Mrs. Lovett had just finished tucking Toby in, for the last time. She'd kissed his forehead and told him that she loved him, and tried to smile and say she knew he'd get better soon. And then she'd returned to the kitchen, and picked up her rolling pin where she had abandoned it on the floor after the barber had left, and began re-rolling the already mangled pie dough.
She was still fuming over what Sweeney had said. She knew he could never understand how much she was hurting. He was too caught up in his own affairs to know, or even care about her even for a split second.
But she still loved him, and she hated herself for that. She knew that she would go outside and search the streets for him later, and beg him to come home like an idiot, knowing that when Toby died he would be the only one she would have left. And even though Sweeney would never hold her or comfort her, or even be able to grasp how she was feeling, he would be there. She could deal with things on her own, she'd always been able to, and she took pride in that. And just knowing he was there was almost comfort enough.
But at the moment, she was still angry.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Mrs. Lovett was stupefied to see none other than Sweeney Todd himself standing in the doorframe. His face was not blank, as it usually was, and he didn't seem to be bothering to cover up the fact that he was confused about something.
"I thought I told ya ta leave," she said coldly.
Sweeney stepped forward, his expression once again the usual deadpan. He held his tightly closed hand out towards her.
"I have something for you."
Reluctantly, Mrs. Lovett held up her palm, and he dropped a minute bottle into it.
"What is it?" she asked. She looked up at him, completely mystified. Sweeney sighed.
"The antidote."