Thank you Rainbow Cloud, I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

Haha Vicki, you feel sorry for Anthony? Haha, thanks m'dear.

BeBopALula, thank thee! Haha, yes, I agree.

Love the emotion booksroc, thank you!

Noelle, Noelle, Noelle, I should have known you'd go all V in your review. Man I need to watch that film again…

Thanks guys! I appreciate your words!

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Anthony was curled up in the corner of the small cell they had locked him in, sitting on the lumpy and torn mattress that was the bed he would endure a fitful night in. The only other piece of furniture in the room was an old and splintered chair. He had never realised before the intense fear he had of being trapped in such a small room where it was as if the walls could close in on him. His palms were beginning to sweat, but he was icy cold. The tears had stopped falling long ago, but his gut was still gripped in agony with the part he had had to play in London's worst mass murderer. He had begged to send word home to tell them what was happening, but the police had laughed at him telling him they would have heard by now. His hands covered his mouth, oh lord, Penny had always liked to read the newspaper, he hoped and prayed that she had ceased that habit. The nausea roiled in his stomach and no matter how much he tried to push it back, he had to stumble off the bed and lunge himself at the chamber pot, where the contents of breakfast left his stomach. He knelt beside it cowering, as that ring he had seen previously, carved itself into his mind. There was a woman waiting for a man she loved who would never return, who had endured a terrible death. His throat would have been slashed, and all that blood would have gushed endlessly – he would have drowned to death in his own fluids. The initials L.B. played over his eyes repeatedly - who was that stranger? What was their story?

He had brought a plague to London; he had not listened to any of his men, so full of himself and so naïve. And all he had cared about was a pretty young girl, while men were being slaughtered!

He heard the rattling of keys and did not look up as the door opened, expecting to be hauled up and dragged into another long interview. Instead however, he heard a soft gasp and before he could register it was his twin beside the officer on duty, she had thrown herself beside him, and he was pulled into a crushing embrace where he could not breathe but would not dream of moving either. She cradled his head to her chest, planting a kiss on his forehead and held him tighter, neither of them speaking as they rocked together gently.

Finally he spoke, his words shuddering as he mumbled, "Where is –"

"They're all back home. Papa is ill, Anthony, Mother sent me," she answered before he finished what he was saying.

"How did you…" he stopped answering, pulling back and staring at her.

Tears stained her cheeks, it seemed an endless stream, as she replied, "Penny."

"Oh, God, the newspaper."

She nodded, more tears falling, "Gave us all such a fright."

"You don't – I mean, I didn't –"

"Of course we know you're innocent," her words were venomous there, and full of iron and strength, and she took hold of his arms forcefully, "Oh you silly fool. Why didn't you come straight back home when you docked? Why did you linger in London? You have no idea about the magnitude –"

"I know the magnitude of this, for God sake Bridget, men were murdered!"

Anthony looked away as his sister quivered with those words, pulling out a lace handkerchief and pressing it to her mouth.

"Where is –"

"Uncle Jem is away at sea, he should be back soon…Father is very ill, Anthony. Mother wouldn't tell us, but I saw her taking out his chamber pot a few times. Anthony, there was blood."

Anthony leaned back against the wall and in a moment she crawled over to him and they huddled together, whispering in broken sentences but clearly understanding each other (though the officer watching wondered how on earth they knew what each other was talking about, the questions were always half asked but answered straightaway) and clinging to each other with such desperation as a pair of newly orphaned children.

Sanders had noted that the police station was all topsy turvy with action. It was late in the afternoon, usually they would be readying to depart for home, but with the progress that was happening with the Fleet Street murders, that did not look likely. Usually he was noticed straightaway and a poor underling was sent to try and rid him from the police station. He had to chuckle – ah, he and the police had enjoyed a long history together over the years. But for the first time it seemed his presence was not noticed. He had intended to help the girl see her brother, but the moment it seemed nobody cared who entered as long as they did not bring trouble and was not one of the vultures of the press, she had stormed in herself demanding to be taken to him at once. He half pitied the Frenchman lover she had found, she was quite daunting when she was on a mission.

So Sanders, camouflaging himself so he would not be noticed, made himself look busy after pulling down his top-hat to conceal his eye-patch as much as he could. He looked determined and on a task as he pushed through the officers, speaking loudly over the noise, "Yes, Johnson, I'll just get that file for yeh," and snickered to himself as he manoeuvred his way through the place trying to look for what he wanted –

He found a table in a back room with several objects of interest. The evidence. Good!

He moved up, his eyes wandering over a box full of silver razors to one that lay on its own covered in dried blood which spoiled the beauty of the blade…He did not touch, but his eyes fell upon a piece of paper and he curiously read the words silently in his mind.

The Honourable Judge Turpin,

I write this urgent note to warn you that the young sailor has abducted your ward Johanna.

Hoping to earn your favour I have persuaded the boy to bring her here tonight to my shop.

Hurry after nightfall and she will be waiting.

Yours to serve,

Sweeney Todd of Fleet Street.

Sanders was taken aback by such a note – so, the bastard intended to betray Anthony…No, no there must be more to it than that…

"Hey!"

He turned without jumping to Charlston, who was looking around wildly, seeing if anybody had noticed Sanders, "For Gods sake, I'm trying to come through with my part of the bargain and here you are trying to sabotage my efforts!" he hissed, "Get out – they'll never lift your ban if they find you – get out!"

Sanders moved past him without further word, his mind on more important matters than a spluttering constable. What the hell did all of this mean?

"Charlston?" he said, just before he went to leave, "Where is that boy that was first taken in when all o' this first came to light – Tobias Ragg – the one they reckon slit Sweeney Todd's throat?"

"We have him here," Charlston said uneasily, "But so far we have had no luck in getting him to talk. The lad's mind is scrambled, he's completely mad. All he does is rant."

Sanders walked away without further questions but added, "Tell Bridget Hope I'll be at the tavern when she's finished reuniting with her brother. Oh, and I'll be speaking with Tobias in the next few days. And he better bloody be fed and clothed properly, I know what yeh bleeders are like. And then yeh wonder why all they do is rant instead o' co-operating."