-XXV-

Toby was still intent on Mr. Todd's inevitable appearance as he waited patiently for Mrs. Lovett to finish her packing. He did all he could to banish the vision from his mind, but to no avail. All he could see was a stream of blood, and Mr. Todd's shockingly emotionless expression. Why had he killed that man? What was his motive for doing something so horrendous? As he contemplated this, he heard the main shop door swing open beside him. Two men in blue uniforms had marched inside the shop. One met his gaze, and to Toby's surprise he came at him with a dangerous look.

"Come on boy, let's not have any trouble."

"What?" Toby slipped out of the booth as the officer reached toward him. The second bobby circled about the kitchen to cut off his quarry. Toby was flabbergasted at the officers' conduct, but he strove to right the misunderstanding. "It's not me, I did nothing. Mr. Todd upstairs, I saw him kill a man-"

"There, you see." Mrs. Lovett sauntered into the room lazily, hands on hips. "Poor lad's lost his wits."

Toby felt his jaw drop and he didn't try to escape again as one officer grasped him roughly by his collar. Despite Mrs. Lovett's indifferent words, her eyes were glazed with unshed tears.

"Come on now, there's a good lad." The officer said as he dragged him toward the door. "We know where to send barmy little urchins like you."

Toby whipped his head about and grasped on to the door as tight as he could. He stared at Mrs. Lovett with eyes as big as saucers.

"…Mum?"

"I'm sorry Toby." Now a tear did break through her reserve. "I know you dun't understand, but its better this way son. Believe me."

Toby's hands were wrenched off the door and he was carted down the street. Toby had endured a lot in his twelve years of living. He'd been beaten so many times it seemed quite normal to him, and he'd been close to starvation more times than he could count. However, he'd never felt such a numbing pain as the sense of betrayal that seemed to burn a hole through his heart.

__________________

Clara's heart skipped a beat as she watched Toby being forced down the street by two large officers, the same officers who had been speaking with Mrs. Lovett. Clara's hand snapped to her mouth in surprise. What was going on? She followed the men as Toby and his captors stopped before a police coach.

"…but I saw it! You have to go back and look for yourselves!"

Clara furrowed her brow. Mr. Barker? Is that who the boy was talking about?

"O' course we believe you lad. Dear Mr. Todd's a murderer you claim. Of course. A barber would 'ave many a reason to slit 'is customers. What do you take us for boy?"

A tiny noise, almost a sob, emitted from Clara, and she pressed a fist against her mouth in absolute shock. What was…? She couldn't even consider what was being said right now. What she needed to do was get Toby away from those men. However, before Clara could decide on her next course of action, the officer's tossed Toby brutishly into the back of the police wagon.

"No! Wait!" The shout echoed through the street, but the coach did not heed her call.

Clara raced down Fleet Street, fueled by an incontrovertible desire to prove her worth after so many years of letting herself and others down. She resolved not to let the wagon out of her sight, even if it meant to accept a few less-than-honest considerations. Farther up the street, Clara caught sight of an elegant carriage obviously waiting for its riders to board. There was no driver that Clara could see, and so she followed a very quick and decisive instinct. She leapt aboard, slipping once while she scrambled, and grasped the reigns tightly in her hands. She slapped the cords, and found herself to be strangely exhilarated as she galloped down the empty street. Perhaps it was the feeling of finally reacting to the misfortunes that had began to occur. She needed to do something, anything, to help.

As the biting wind whipped past Clara's exposed face she couldn't help but think that Toby's arrest was all her fault. She had a very strong instinct that something diabolical was going on, and yet she'd allowed the poor boy to waltz back in there. Then the thought of Mr. Barker being a murderer filled Clara's mind, but she clamped her teeth angrily and shoved the visions aside. They would be of no use to her now; she had to think of the situation at hand. She was a safe distance behind the police wagon, but kept her eyes fixed on it the entire journey. She knew where they were going, and she only hoped Johanna had already escaped from the dreadful place.