A/N: I do realise there's an unpleasant "surprise" in nearly every chapter, but this author is running short on names. Thanks to It'sOnlyForever.x, the-sadisticalovett-nutcase, Resplendent Shadows, shadowoftheblackrose, SweeneyToddRocksMySocks, AngelofDarkness1605, and linalove for reviewing. I don't think I can wait one more month for Alice in Wonderland!
~The Unpleasant Surprise~
"Search the rooms."
"We already have, sir."
"Dismissed! I will search them myself."
The Beadle was eager to follow. "One guess who helped her escape, my lord," he began, heaving himself up the staircase.
"I don't pay you to cogitate, friend," Turpin snarled. "The premises are well guarded. No one could have entered." His chin was a maze of sweat and stubble. He stood by the staircase while the Beadle readied himself to break down Mrs Lovett's door.
There was no need.
"It's open sir," said Bamford in amazement, staring at the white note fluttering on the floorboards as if it were some ghostly apparition.
"Pick it up," Turpin hissed.
The Beadle reached for the note as a crow plucks a treasure from a rooftop.
"It's from him," the Judge breathed, tearing the paper up after scanning its contents.
"No name on it, me lord," said the Beadle unhelpfully.
"I know, fool. I recognise the hand. The barber wrote me that lie of a letter informing me he had rescued my Johanna from the sailor. I do not forget a person's hand."
"Why would that Todd bother rescuin' her, if you don't mind me askin' sir? I thought he wanted her dead."
"I too was under that impression," muttered Turpin thoughtfully. "It is likely he is using her as bait. The deluded woman still harbours feelings for the monster, and it appears he knows it. I believe his plan is to lure us onto the streets, and destroy us when we are weak and exposed. And need I remind you," said the Judge, eyeing Bamford's severed fingers, "he nearly succeeded."
"Then we must catch him!" seethed the Beadle, his thin eyes glittering. "Kill him, for he deserves punishment for what he did to me!"
"I am glad you volunteered yourself, my friend," said the Judge enigmatically, "for that is to be your honour."
* * *
"Put me down Mr T."
She didn't recognise the street they were in. He had led her far south of all familiar landmarks. Mrs Lovett couldn't have picked the direction of Fleet Street if her life depended on it.
He put her down, but kept her hands twisted behind her back. "How do I know you won't scream?"
She rolled her eyes. He should know her better, if he knew her at all. "Love, if I wanted ter give you up to them coppers, I'd 'ave screamed me lungs out already. Why don't yer just admit it?" she rambled, letting him drag her limping body alongside him.
He turned on her suddenly. The shadows in the alleyway masked his expression. "Admit what, Mrs Lovett?" he said carefully.
She wasn't intimidated any more. He'd already killed her once. She was doing better than Mrs Mooney's cats, so far. "You didn't rescue me. I'm just bait for the Judge. He's comin' after me, that's wot yer bankin' on. Or maybe you wanna slit me throat instead."
"Listen, my pet," he said, squeezing her arm, "I don't want to kill you. If I let you wander the streets, the Judge would have you caught within the hour."
"Is that so?" Nellie remained unconvinced. He released her arm, and resumed walking. She could not believe him yet. Perhaps she'd never believe him. Forgetting was not possible for a man such as Sweeney Todd, and how could he forget something as deep as her betrayal?
"This way," the barber said gruffly, pulling her out of the side street and up a flimsy flight of stairs. "If you want to be free, wait it out a day or two. The Judge will have his spies prowling the streets as we speak."
Nellie shook her head. "I ain't movin' until I get a bite to eat. If I know you, there'll be nothin' but rats lurkin' in wotever filthy hole you've snagged for yerself. I don't care if they catch us no more. Take me somewhere to eat Mr T, or I'll scream blue murder."
"That's absurd Mrs Lovett," he reasoned. "Nothing will be open, and we could be recognised."
"Don't care," she spluttered, limping stubbornly alongside him now. "An' don't tell me you don't know some seedy back alley food-house, cos even you has ter eat."
Was it for old time's sake? Was it because Mrs Lovett in the flesh reminded him almost of a ghost, and what he had done to her haunted him? Or was it because his own body was on the point of near collapse? Sweeney Todd didn't quite know the answer, but he found himself leading the woman to one of least respectable off-the-beaten-track joints in the neighbourhood. Even criminals had to eat.
* * *
It turned out that the many hours spent putting up Sweeney Todd's wanted posters over London were well worth it.
"Sure I seen 'im," said the white-bearded beggar man on the corner of the run-down borough. "He ain't changed that much, even wif the clothes and hair. He walks up that staircase ter that building everyday."
Beadle Bamford smiled greasily, dipping his hat to reveal his newly bald head. "For your trouble," he said, throwing a few pennies into the mud.
He didn't bother trying to locate the landlord. He'd passed a locksmith two streets back, and it would be no trouble to have a key made that fit, money of course, being no object. He had a spare dagger in his vest pocket, in case his cane didn't get the job done.
* * *
An hour later, the Beadle was whistling a tune as he clambered the flimsy staircase up to the squalid apartment. When he felt that no one was waiting to bludgeon him on the other side of the door, Bamford attacked the lock, and kicked the door open. Nearly all of the apartments were unoccupied. It seemed that his good friend Sweeney was squatting. He tested the last apartment at the end of the hall. No knocking, he thought, we want to catch the bloodthirsty fiend unawares, and then beat his devilish brains into the floor.
"Sweetie! Sweetie's home, Sweetie home, Sweetie sweetie sweet-deet-deetie!"
The door swung open, and the beggar woman's face fell.
"'Fraid not my dear," said the Beadle with a foul grin.
"Not Sweetie!" she bellowed, trying to extricate herself from her binds.
"Don't you move a muscle." Bamford did a quick sweep of the apartment, satisfied that Todd was not hiding behind the door or under the bed. "I doubt Mr Todd will even suspect you missing." He flicked the glittering cane toward the table, and the blade shot out faithfully.
"Sweetie!"
* * *
"Why you doin' this for me?"
Sweeney hesitated a moment, before answering: "Christian spirit."
The baker looked up sharply. Laughter escaped without her realising it, or him.
It must have been the first time either of them laughed since the fire. Mrs Lovett didn't know whether to feel furious or pathetic.
"Come this way," he directed, raking her body over with his eyes. She was much changed, and yet she was not. It was the same short, sure woman he had always known. The hair had grown back wispily underneath the nightcap. Her skin had gained the smoky pale pallor of a patient shut up inside all day. Just beneath the hairline of her neck, he saw the raw welts on her back. They were not burn scars. The barber wondered what other scars lurked beneath the skin.
It was not his right to rescue the woman that he had not married, could not marry, and could never own. Lucy was forever his dead bride, but it was not right for Mrs Lovett to be tortured twice. He could not let the Judge prey on her the way he had done Lucy. If only he had been more vigilant in the old days, the Judge might never have had the chance to steal Lucy away from him. He could not reclaim the past, yet the future he could influence. And Lucy would want him to help his partner-in-crime.
"Mr T?" She looked at him then, her eyes swirling with a dozen thoughts. "You alright?"
They ascended the stairs together like old times, only Nellie found she couldn't bound up the steps like she once had. How funny it was, the simple things she relished.
It was slow going. "What's wrong?" he said impatiently, seeing her pause on the third or fourth step.
"It's me weak eye," she said, the rest of the words inaudible: "the one burnt by the fire."
It made something as simple as balance quite difficult, and she had to grip the rail to stop herself from pitching over.
He made no comment, taking her free hand and helping her up step by step. "See all this effort, my lamb," he said almost imperceptibly once they were at the top of the stairs, "would be wasted if I wanted to avenge myself on you."
"An' why 'aven't you?" She let his hand fall from her, and watched the demon of Fleet Street carry out as simple an action as fumbling with the key in his pocket, and opening the door.
He stood aside to let her pass before him. Each caught the other's gaze.
"I already have," he said matter-of-factly. It was as if he believed he had been destined to harm Mrs Lovett that day in the bakehouse, and even now made no promises or wishes that he could take it back. Sweeney Todd's soul was only satisfied when it had damaged everything beautiful in the world. He could not even keep a hold on his only happy memories. How could he begin to know how to care for human life?
"It's the room at the very end," Sweeney explained, leading her halfway down the unlit hall. The beggar woman was still tied to the kitchen table. It would not do for Mrs Lovett to see that, not when she was on the point of trusting him again. "Wait here," he instructed, stalking up to the peeling door. He never ran. Sweeney did not believe in running.
The door unlocked easily, but there was nothing easy about the sight that confronted him.
After so many months of hardened killing, the scene should not have come as a surprise.
"Oh god." It was as if Lucy had risen from the dead to die twice. "My Lucy." He would have wept, if Sweeney had known tears.
He didn't even hear Mrs Lovett coming up behind him, until he heard her whimper and cry almost inside his ear.
"In 'eaven's name, wot 'ave you done Mr T?"
* * *