Chapter 13: The Return to Normality
She heard it…
Blood being splurged from a soon-to-be corpse (assuming he was still alive through the apparent torture) and then splattering itself throughout the bake house walls and floors; human flesh being torn every which way; the man she was so smitten with gurgling and convulsing in his own desolate blood as his screams of absolute, gut-wrenching agony were futile and he drowned in his own blood…
Blood…
She could hear it. She could smell it. And she could have sworn she could see it…
Yet, she did not care one bit. Or did she?
Nellie stood just outside the iron-wrought bake house door. She had her head lolling down, eyes were shut closed, fists clenched. She was trying to be pleased with John Wickham's brutal and barbaric death that he deserved; or indifferent to it at least…but Nellie was desperately losing that inner battle.
Then, she heard metal clanking against stone. Immediately, she bolted up the stairs and into her pie shop: she instantly took a seat at the booth, putting on the pretense of having been sitting there all along.
She stared out the window and into the dark night forlornly with her hand propping her chin up. She could have sworn from out of the corner of her eye, she saw something black, white, and red zoom into her parlour. She brushed it off and sat there in a deadly silence.
Five endless minutes seemed to drawl on before Sweeney Todd stood in the doorway to the shop from her parlour. He stared at Nellie until she finally turned to face him.
Mrs. Lovett stared deeply into his eyes−something was off: shouldn't his eyes still be shrouded in a hazy cloud of blood lust, carnage, and whatever the hell he did down there in the bake house? No. Mr. Todd's eyes seemed…hurt? Pained? Yes; that was the only way she could describe it. But why?
Sweeney Todd knew why−and he would never tell her the real reason. No. It was not guilt, of course: oh how he had longed to slit that man's throat for ages. No; nothing of the sorts. It was the fact that she could have died tonight−and all would have been directly beneath him, practically on his watch. So it was guilt then. Guilt that he had only so-happened to have come downstairs to sneak some of the "hands-off" rum back upstairs; and then he so-happened to hear voices and decided to let his curiosity−and even boredom−get the better of him.
"Come here," he reluctantly broke the deadly silence as he gestured for Nellie to walk towards him.
"Why?" She dryly responded.
"I need to dress your wounds, don't I?" Sweeney walked towards Nellie and offered her his hand. She obliged but diverted her gaze for a dawning fear of starting to cry. She knew she shouldn't cry over the man who was so keen on murdering her, but, she felt as though she just had to for reasons unknown. Sweeney propped her up on the counter and went to the sink to get a wet rag. Nellie drooped her head, clasping her hands in her lap, watching as her feet dangled in the air. She felt a hand on her right cheek that drew her head to face his as his other hand, clad with the now wet rag, gently began dabbing at the cleaver wound on her left cheek.
He kept his gaze fixated on cleaning her cut, attempting to replace his dreaded look with his usual demon façade. He knew he was failing, though. The tension in the pie shop was now killing him as well. He never expected Mrs. Lovett to start a conversation this time, however; yet, he still hoped for it at the same time. Sweeney did know of one way to possibly lighten her now depressed demeanor. After he had finished cleaning the blood (most of which had dried by now as the cut had stopped bleeding) from her cheek and down her neck, he placed it on her chest and withdrew his hand. There was crusted blood in her dress now and decided to be gentleman-like and not clean it.
"You can do the rest," Sweeney stated in his best "tying-to-be-funny" voice he could muster as he motioned with his hand at her chest (nearly touching it). "Or I can."
"Turn around….pig."
After Nellie had finished ridding the blood imbedded in her cleavage, she spoke up timidly:
"Will ya come with me on a walk please, Mr. T?" She desperately desired to put as much distance as she could between herself and the bake house. She knew that was near impossible considering she lived at 186, but a walk was in order for at least tonight.
"Of course."
The murderer and his accomplice; barber and his baker; Sweeney Todd and his Nellie Lovett walked until they had unintentionally reached Hyde Park. They had made the journey in a complete morbid silence, Nellie with arms huddling herself for warmth and Sweeney with his hands in his pockets. At one point on their trek, right when they got out of the pie shop, he had made to either put his arm around her waist or loop his arm with hers, but she quickly assumed her current position and remained that way for the rest of the walk.
What's wrong with her?
Nellie led the way to a clear patch of grass in the middle of the park and instantly plopped herself in the smooth terrain. She let herself fall backwards to gaze into the starry night. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Sweeney followed suit and laid down on her left.
For a major part of the following hour, Nellie and Sweeney laid in silence and merely stared into the night sky. The moon shined bright, illuminating the park and let rays of luminescent light scatter onto the pair. Occasionally, Sweeney would stir and look at Nellie to see if she was nodding off or willing to talk; however, she remained stationary and continued to look into the sky with a rather pained expression etched onto her features. Sweeney took notice at the gash on her cheek since it was practically glowing thanks to the moon against her pale face.
"We match."
Mrs. Lovett knit her brows and mustered the biggest confused frown she could as she sat up to look down at Mr. Todd.
"W-w-what?"
He sat up himself into a cross-legged position and then trailed a finger over her cut and then the one she had given him a few days ago.
"Oh," was her sole response as she fell back onto the grass and drew an arm over her eyes. He heard her vain attempt to muffle a sniffle.
Dammit…He shouldn't have said that. He should not have said that. He really should not have. He could somehow sense that being reminded of her cut that she was now being flooded with prior, ghastly events from the bake house.
"I'm sorry," he spoke.
"S'not ya fault, love," she stuttered as she tried to keep tears from flowing past her arm over her eyes. She didn't want Mr. Todd to see her cry…to see her cry over fucking Wickham!
Sweeney decided to let the silence fester around them; believing that to be the only thing capable of soothing the tension that loomed in the air between them. A thought struck Sweeney then: was she truly distraught about Wickham's death? Was she mad at him for killing the bastard? No. But what else could possibly be the reason for her tears. He had to ask:
"You weren't really in love with him…were you?"
Mrs. Lovett bolted upright and looked Mr. Todd square in the face with her bloodshot eyes and tears trickling down her cheeks.
"No!" She yelled at him as she started to sob fervently.
"Then why are you crying over the man who tried to kill you, Mrs. Lovett?"
"Ya don't understand," she put her arm back up to cover her eyes as she sat on her knees in front of Sweeney.
"Understand what? You obviously loved him, right? And now are mourning his death even though he was going to kill you," he spat with much contempt.
"No! S'not that! It's the fact that I was so…so…so blind. And then betrayed! Betrayed by some I trusted so dearly…someone I thought I loved!" Nellie spoke so quickly she didn't even think nor register what she was saying and to who she was saying it to.
"So you did love him then." Sweeney turned his head away from her and fell back to the ground to look at the stars yet again. Nellie laid back too and then put her hand in his and squeezed it tight. He didn't retract like she thought he would have.
"No. No I didn't. Or at least nothing romantic…just a real fondness for a close friend and such…love but not love. And nothing as remotely as close as I feel for….'e was jus' a friend…a friend that betrayed me and stabbed me in me 'eart….'e almost did, too," she chuckled a bit at that last part as her crying began to subside. Sweeney didn't respond.
The two simply laid there for another good while. It would be entirely inaccurate to say they laid in silence like before because Nellie had regained her chatty demeanor. Every minute she would sporadically remove her hand from Sweeney's and point to some star or other in the night and go off on some tangent about what it reminded her of or merely to point at, saying she "liked" it; she would then place her hand back in his, but only until another star caught her eye. Sweeney occasionally commented on her comments with those one-word responses that normally would have ticked her off but she was happy nonetheless having him in her company. A half-hour passed whilst Nellie's outbursts became less frequent, as Sweeney took notice. He glanced over at her to discover her yawning, eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. He sighed and then got up.
"Again? What's with this blasted park having me carry you home every time we come here?" He snarled.
"If it bothers ya so much, I can walk, ya know," Mrs. Lovett jeered as she started to lift herself to her feet.
"I thought you were already asleep," he mumbled.
"Speak up, dearie−I can't bloody well understand ya when ya mutter to yaself like that," she ridiculed him as Mr. Todd roughly scooped her up in his arms. When they were traversing the darkened, gloomy streets of London back to 186, Nellie had a thought…well, she was always pondering away at whatever she only knew what, but this time about, she had a rather peculiar one−why was Sweeney Todd being so…what was the word?...nice…to her? That paved way for another−why was Sweeney Todd being apparently…wary…of her being?
"Mr. T? Can ask ya sumthin'?" They rounded a corner onto Fleet Street.
"No."
"Why are ya being so protective of me? I mean, ya killed Mr. Wickham and all. But why?"
"You were in danger. So I helped you." Sweeney sounded offended as he kicked open the door to her pie shop.
"But it jus' ain't like ya. I means, I thought ya loved Lucy and all," she turned away from him, now remembering she was stepping onto thin ice.
"I do. But that's just it," he dropped her on her bed rather roughly, on purpose, as he turned around to close the door to her bedroom. "I wasn't there to protect her….but I'm here now: and I'll protect you instead."
Nellie's heart was swooning…but only for a millisecond. Sure, the man she loved had indirectly promised to keep her safe, but he was only doing it out of guilt for not being able to protect his "late" wife. She let her head fall on her pillow.
Sweeney extinguished the light from the lamps in her room and got into bed beside her. He drew the comforter over her small frame to tuck her in whilst he remained on top of it.
"Night, Mrs. Lovett," Sweeney sighed, making sure he left out the "good" in that common phrase when one bids someone to bed considering the night's events.
"Benjamin was protective o' Lucy." I do believe I have just received my answer to my question: she truly never shuts up…
"Of course he was."
"And he loved Lucy."
"Always."
"And Sweeney Todd is protective of Eleanor Lovett?" She drawled on as she looked out of the corner of her eye to look at him.
"Apparently so." He knew where this was going. It's a trap...
"Does that mean…" Nellie felt cool and chapped lips against hers again. It didn't last long, but it inhibited her from continuing…just as Sweeney counted on.
"Go to sleep, Nellie." He evaded the trap. Yet, she still remained ever so intent on talking:
"I 'spose things'll go back ta normal now, right Mr. T?"
"Of course."
"As normal as it can be, for two people who bake 'uman flesh in ta ruddy ol' 'meat' pies, eh?"
He snorted a bit: "Anything you say."
And things did just that…
Well, like Mrs. Lovett said, as "normal"−not to mention "respectable"−as it could ever inevitably be…
That following day, after that dreadful event in the bake house, Sweeney and Nellie decided it was best to forget and keep moving on, never once looking back on all that had transpired with John Wickham. You've got to put your past behind you…he had said to her. Oh that's rich, comin' from you, Sweeney Todd…she had scoffed at him. Do as I say, not as I do, bloody woman…
That was nearly three days ago…
Business was bustling of course: for both the barber and the baker; and good thing too−it prevented either of them from dwelling on the past, for both of them: Nellie not having time, patience, or energy to think about Wickham; and Sweeney not having much time to think about Lucy and Johanna….but always time for revenge.
"Mista T? I brought ya your laundry, sir."
Tobias…he had nearly forgotten the boy…or at least for a good two days after Wickham's demise. The boy had questioned Mrs. Lovett on whether she was seeing the man still, noticing he wasn't around anymore. She replied he had "dumped her and moved outta the country." Brilliant thinking on her part, Sweeney had mused to himself and merely regretted his compliment since she was always thinking brilliantly-like. Luckily, Toby had seemed to suffice for that tidbit of information. Mrs. Lovett had always thought the boy to be much brighter than most boys his age and deemed his gullibility as a complete surprise, but shrugged it off nonetheless. Mr. Todd, however, seemed to think Toby believed Sweeney to have gotten rid of him…like he always said he would. But the boy knew his place and thus never brought the question forward to him.
"Set it on the chest, boy."
"So, since Mr. Wickham is…no longer with us," Toby looked up at Mr. Todd who was peering down at the lad intently. "Things'll go back ta normal between us, right, sir?"
Sweeney snorted as he folded his arms across his chest: "Of course."
Toby nodded as he smiled: "I hate ya, sir."
"As do I, boy. Now get out."
Toby trolled down the fleet of stairs and into the pie shop. The lunch rush had just ended, leaving the boy to tidy up whilst Mrs. Lovett was doing some household chores. Toby grabbed a broom to initiate his task of sweeping up the crumbs off the floor and then out into the street. Swoosh. Swoosh. The crumbs, now accompanied by mounds of dust, scooted along the floor. Ding. Toby opened the door. Swoosh. Swoosh.
"BLEH!"
"'M'so sorry, sir! I was jus' sweepin' an'…Oh! I do beg ya pardon, Mista Beadle, sir!"
"You'd best be, boy. And good thing you are not my child…for if you were, I'd say a good lashing would be in order for that," Beadle Bamford spat at poor Toby, who was merely trying to sweep and accidently swooped the crumbs and dust into the Beadle's face, not realizing someone was entering the closed pie shop.
"I am here on business, boy. I'd much appreciate it if you showed me to your mistress, Mrs. Lovett; if you'd be so kind," Bamford smiled that greasy, evil grin at Toby as he clasped his hands tighter around his cane.
"Yes, sir. Wait 'ere. I'll go fetch'er fer ya."
Toby took a glance up at the rat of a man quickly, and then took off at a steady pace into the parlour. He darted down the hall and into the room where Mrs. Lovett washed their clothes.
"Mum, the Beadle is 'ere to see ya: 'e's in the shop waiting fer ya."
Mrs. Lovett dropped the dress she was scrubbing back into the wash tub. 'Ave we been finally figured out. She teased herself as she continued washing her dress. Please…they were far too discreet for even that of the Beadle, or even all of Scotland Yard for that matter. She tusked: Wickham…that's why the ol' codger is 'ere o' course. Much later than expected, though…
"Alright, love. But I need ya ta send Mr. Todd downstairs fer me, lad."
"But why, mum? The Beadle only wants ta talk with you."
"Toby! Just send 'im down please!"
"Fine," Toby huffed.
Mrs. Lovett patted her hands dry on her dress as she meandered back into her pie shop to face the Beadle Bamford.
If we can't convince 'im fer a "shave," then we'd better make this bloody convincing…
"Mr. Todd, sir?"
Sweeney was brandishing one of his more used razors as he sat in his chair, where he was most always found be either the boy or the baker.
"What?" He grunted, obviously annoyed by the boy's sudden reappearance, already having being in there nearly seven minutes prior.
"Mrs. Lovett wants ta see ya, sir."
"And why exactly is it that she can't come up here herself?"
"I don't know why, sir. Maybe 'cause she's a bit preoccupied with the Beadle and all in 'er shop bel…"
"The Beadle?!" Mr. Todd perked up and actually set his gaze upon the boy.
"Yes, sir. She wants ya downstairs I s'pose fer some reason or other."
Sweeney got up, hooking his razor back into its holster. He faced Toby as he came to tower over the lad.
"Boy: you are to go out and do whatever the hell your petty, little heart desires. Just stay the ruddy hell away from here for the next hour."
If the Beadle is here on business regarding...the menu…he'll surely be added to it…
"Why?"
"Do as I say, boy! Or I'll be more than happy to make you regret it." Sweeney dug his hand into his pocket to pull out a ten pound note and shoved it into Toby's hand. "Buy what you want with this and keep out of here for an hour. Now go!"
Tobias Ragg gleamed with the outermost joy: he had never received that much money! Let alone just being able to hold it for a while! He decided to listen to the barber and even chose to look over why it was so imperative for the boy to be gone for that long…
"Oh! Beadle Bamford! What a pleasant surprise! And what exactly is it that brings ya 'ere ta my fine establishment?" Mrs. Lovett beamed when she spotted that lard of a man perched at the booth.
"Ah, Mrs. Lovett! A surprise indeed. I'm here on business I'm afraid, madam. You see, I don't know if you've heard, but it seems Mr. John Wickham has gone missing, my dear lady. I came by to enqui…."
"Why, Beadle Bamford; an honor it is to be having you tonight, sir," Sweeney jeered slightly at the double meaning in his statement as he strode in through the side door and went to stand behind the counter next to Mrs. Lovett.
"Oh, Mr. Todd; yes, yes, yes: an honor indeed it is. But I am really only here to discuss pressing matters with your landlady, not yourself. So if you don't mind…"
"Being a tenant, I believe I have every right to know what is going on around these premises."
"Very well. Perhaps you may know, too." The Beadle was actually pleased beyond compare to have Mr. Sweeney Todd coincidently come downstairs…he was just too vain to admit it.
During the conversation between Bamford and Todd, Mrs. Lovett managed to steal a glance towards Sweeney and gave him a wink, to which he subtly nodded in acknowledgement, before she suddenly broke out into frenzied sobs.
"Why! What's going on!?" The Beadle stammered as he and Sweeney turned to Mrs. Lovett who held her head in her hands. Sweeney walked over to her, suppressing a laugh, to place a hand on her shoulder.
"She gets like this whenever she is reminded of…Wickham," he mouthed the dead man's name to which the Beadle nodded in surprise.
"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, s-sir," Mrs. Lovett stuttered as she wiped away tears. "It's jus'…we was so…c-c-close! And then….'e g-g-goes on an' leaves me! An' without word, too!"
The Beadle merely stood with his jaw gaping.
"He's gone?" He exasperated.
"Shhh, my love. There, there," Sweeney cooed a little with too much glee and most of all, insincerity and suppressed laughter that caused his voice to jump an octave too high, as he patted her back.
"It's jus': 'ow can 'e do this ta me! 'E goes on and says 'e's with another woman already that 'e met in Brighton and decided ta leave England and 'ead ta America with…her! Told me 'e wasn't gonna tell no one 'bout where 'e was going once they got there…'e wanted it ta be a secret to all 'is friends and business partners: but jus' 'ad ta tell me! God, I'm so distraught! Didn't even tell me ta me face! Wrote it in a bloody letter instead! God!"
Mrs. Lovett ran from the room into her back parlour with a slamming of the door to intensify the drama. Once there, she ran to her room and burst into tears….tears of laughter and overconfidence for having masked the perfect performance if she did say so herself. And she did.
Now, make sure 'e buys it, Mr. T…
"So John Wickham left the country?" Beadle Bamford was shocked. I knew the bloody man didn't have it in him…but apparently not surprised. Damn womanizer…
"Yes, sir. I'm sure you have heard of the gossip of Eleanor Lovett and John Wickham's courtship these past few months?"
"As did the rest of London, of course."
"Well, three days ago, he came here and dropped her off this letter," Sweeney pulled a letter out of his pocket. A letter that he had easily forged…
The Beadle quickly scanned the letter, fully taking into the "fact" that it was John Wickham's script. What an idiot…Sweeney thought as he saw Bamford's face contort into an understanding expression.
"This is very unfortunate, Mr. Todd." Judge Turpin will be very displeased…no wonder Wickham fled England…he thought as he handed the letter back to Sweeney.
"Indeed." He folded it back into his pocket for safe keeping in case they needed it again…or to burn it later.
"Well then, Mr. Todd, my business here is concluded. Although I may be back before the month is out…there have been many complaints made about Mrs. Lovett's pie shop that may call for investigation on my part. But only if the complaints are more frequent. Good day to you, sir." Beadle Bamford flashed that greasy smirk as he tipped his top hat and left the shop with a ding.
"Well, I told ya me plan would work, didn't I Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett chided as she waltzed back into her shop. "And what a marvelous performance on my part: don't'cha think?" She winked.
"Yes, yes: you're bloody brilliant, woman. But if you didn't have me, this never would have played out so nicely. Don't you forget that!" Sweeney smirked, knowing full well she had every bragging right but never going to let her know that.
"O' course I am! Or we wouldn't be 'ere now."
About two days ago, the day directly after Wickham's…less than humane…demise, Mrs. Lovett realized that since Wickham being so closely associated with Judge Turpin, the law would surely come knocking at 186. Thus, a plan was in action. She concocted a scheme that if the Beadle or any other official would come poking around for John Wickham, she would make it come off as he left her or whatever. Most of her performance today was total improvisation, but she knew it would work if she played the part right, which she did. She even went as far as to provide a "legal documentation" or "evidence" of Wickham's departure. If they could keep mass murder and cannibalism a secret to all of London, surely lying about one man to the law was simple enough…
"That's nice. I got work. So do you so hop to it, woman."
Well, hey! It's been a while right? Well, far too long anyway I'm sure. Is this clear? Cause I have been writing bits and bits every day for nearly two weeks now so I don't know if it's coherent. Oh...and is their plan plausible? Oh well, if not, for the sake of the story, the Beadle and Judge do not press any further investigation and believe it...they are, in my opinion, idiots. Thank so much to all for reviewing! All love having my phone go off with every review I get! I don't know why it's such a good feeling! Oh! And since these last two chapters took much longer to roll out then all the previous ones, do check my profile bio for information as to why it may take updating so long...it'll be like a sort of check in so you all know when to expect an update...if you guys care or anything. Kay, I am done now. I always forget what I am going to say in these A/N's so fuck it...bye.