"You know, I've been thinkin'."
Sweeney raised his eyes from the bowl of water in which he'd been trying to wash his sleeve—quite unsuccessfully, to be frank—and looked at Mrs. Lovett, who was hovering in the middle of the room. She wrung her hands together nervously. "Perhaps you ought to let 'er go with 'er young sailor boy," she suggested carefully.
Mrs. Lovett considered herself a bold woman on the whole; she'd never had a reason to feel otherwise. Even during some of the worst moments in her life she had thought she'd handled the situation rather well. That fact alone gave her reason enough to feel alarmed at the eerie chill that went through her when the barber looked at her now.
"What?" he asked in a dangerous low voice. "Now that I've finally found my daughter, you would have me lose her again?"
Mrs. Lovett ought to have known the subject of his daughter would be a delicate one, but her opinion was dying to be heard, and she couldn't keep it to herself any longer. "No-no, dear," she tried to smother the livid fire that was bound to build out of the raging glint already lurking in Sweeney's eyes. "But this is 'er big chance at 'appiness," she reasoned gingerly. "You don't want to take it away from 'er, do you? You could never look 'er straight in the eyes again."
"Silent," Sweeney growled. "Be silent."
"Besides she don't even know you," Mrs. Lovett carried on, working her way past her apprehension. "She don't want you. 'Tis the sailor boy she's got 'er 'eart set on; you're just a stranger to 'er."
"I said be silent!" Sweeney raised his voice into a roar.
"An'! An' what 'appens if she does stay?" Mrs. Lovett continued heatedly, convincing herself that she wasn't frightened of Sweeney's ire. "I'm sure she's a good girl, your Joanna, compassionate, an' kind-hearted she is. But! She's also dead clever. I can see it in 'er eyes. What 'appens when she figures out what we've been doin' 'ere? She'll never accept it. An' then you'll 'ave to kill 'er, too, just like you did Toby! Kill your own daughter!" Mrs. Lovett's voice became a frantic holler.
"I would never harm my daughter!" Sweeney hurled back with the same amount of vigour, lunging forward and stopping himself right in front of Mrs. Lovett's smaller figure. "You vile thing!" he spat. "How could you even think of it?"
In spite of their recent familiar relationship, at this moment in time Mrs. Lovett thought Sweeney looked ready to kill—so enraged was he. A dreadful memory in the back of her head reminded her of how many people he'd already killed. He was an unmerciful, remorseless machine, and although he was by no means unfeeling, when in a rage, he was capable of overlooking all his affection for anyone. Mrs. Lovett was aware of the fact; she herself was also a fine example of this phenomenon. Her love for Toby hadn't stopped her from arranging his demise.
Holding her ground against the furious Sweeney, who had stepped up exceptionally close to her, Mrs. Lovett forced her face to take on a cool expression and clenched her jaw. "I will not let you risk everythin' we've got for some silly dream that's never gonna come true!"
A sharp pain in the side of her face sent her tumbling backwards, and her hand flew to her cheek protectively. The sound of the impact and Mrs. Lovett's startled shriek echoed through the room. The baker looked up at the fuming man, the first angry tears forming in her eyes.
"It's not for you to decide, woman," Sweeney hissed with distinct loathing. He fixed Mrs. Lovett with a long pitiless glare, unmoved by the hurt in her wide eyes, turned swiftly and strode out of the room.
Mrs. Lovett remained, shaken, in the middle of the barbershop, her hand still clutching idly at her slowly reddening cheek. She was completely astounded. Mr. T had never purposefully hurt her before. She could no longer feel the heat of the hit on her skin but she felt as if the barber had struck a knife straight at her heart. And although she was trying stubbornly to keep a restrained face, hot tears of misery and disappointment started pouring from her eyes.
She stared at the door, where Sweeney had disappeared from her sight, hoping to ease her frustration with the empty action. She didn't want to think about what would happen when the two of them were to find themselves alone again or what would become of their relationship. There was a long list of things Mrs. Lovett was ready to put up with for the barber's sake, and some she didn't even mind at all—namely, the human pies. The one thing she could not bear, however, was physical violence towards herself. She'd had to endure more than her share of that with her late husband.
It would perplex her on some later date why her eyes were suddenly drawn to the window. She stepped up to it, and an unsettling chill went down her spine when she recognized the brisk, determined footsteps approaching the building. All thoughts of her and Mr. T's row were wiped from her mind as she rushed out of the barbershop and down the staircase.
She was completely oblivious to the possibility of being seen clearly from the street as she hurried into her pie shop, startling the young woman sitting at one of the tables. Her dainty white hand rose to her chest and her eyes widened in alarm. Her fright was entirely justified, for the words that escaped the breathless Mrs. Lovett's lips were, "The judge! 'E's 'ere!"
Sweeney shot up from his seat beside Joanna, where he'd probably been slowly trying to get the girl to warm up to him. His naturally stony expression hardened. Mrs. Lovett had an eerie feeling that although he was staring at her, Sweeney was looking straight through her and into the street with acute resentment. Without a word he walked out of the pie shop, leaving behind a dishevelled and panting Mrs. Lovett and a shuddering Joanna.
"I knew it," the latter whispered frantically. "I knew he'd come after me. Oh, kind madam, please don't let him find me!"
"There-there." Mrs. Lovett hurried to the distraught girl's side. "Of course not, dear!" She put her arm around Joanna's petite body and pulled her close, intent on reassuring the girl of her safety. "You're safe down 'ere with auntie Nellie; don't you worry, love." A curious twinge went through her heart when a small hand grasped at the front of her dress and Joanna rested her head against her bosom.
Mrs. Lovett figured the girl had never had a chance to feel any kind of motherly affection, so the two of them remained in their position, listening to the dull sound of footsteps above their heads in the barbershop. The way Joanna clung to her was so helpless, so pleading that Mrs. Lovett's affectionate heart melted at the idea of the girl soon eloping with her young love. Anyone who had suffered like she had deserved to find true happiness. And then her heart sank as the purposeful face of the barber upstairs invaded her mind's eye and she remembered that Joanna would never be able to feel such bliss, not while Mr. T was around.
Mrs. Lovett couldn't bear the thought of seeing this young blossom of a girl withering away in London any more than she could find any joy in the thought of Mr. T being responsible for taking her happiness from his daughter. The baker had eagerly been looking forward to mothering the girl until today, until Toby had found her knitting earlier. Thinking about the boy, whose lifeless body still lay in the bakehouse, sent constant streaks of pain through Mrs. Lovett's chest, so she tried desperately to banish the grim thoughts and concentrate on the girl in her arms. Joanna had stopped trembling a little while ago; she was still holding on tightly to the older woman, holding her breath for another sound from upstairs. Mrs. Lovett couldn't let this innocent creature endure the same depressing fate that everyone around here eventually did.
"Listen 'ere, love," she said gently. "You 'ave to listen to me very carefully now. You're not safe 'ere for long. Now, I don't know what Mr. T told you earlier, but 'e's not the man you think 'e is." Mrs. Lovett paused for a moment, feeling the slightest stab of guilt at the lie she was about to tell. "'E means to 'arm you. I can't tell you 'ow, but you 'ave to trust me. When your sailor boy comes back, you 'ave to get out of 'ere; you 'ave to run. An' this is important, love, you must never look back."
Mrs. Lovett sat at one of the tables in the pie shop, waiting. It couldn't be long now until Mr. T finished upstairs. He'd soon come down to find her. Alone. The idea made her feel a tad dizzy with frantic apprehension. She hadn't exactly been feeling well all day but due to the feverish events of the day Mrs. Lovett had hardly had time to pay any mind to the fact. But now as the empty silence closed in on her and restless anticipation gnawed at her conscience, she rested her head in her hands and heaved a heavy sigh. She was feeling rather sick, her head was spinning and an intense ache was stealthily making its way into it. She was probably coming down with a touch of something, or perhaps it was the fear of facing Mr. T's wrath. Considering by their last conversation, this was not going to be a pleasant encounter.
All too soon Mrs. Lovett heard the small creaking sounds of the barber descending the stairs outside the pie shop. The front door opened with a whining sound and closed with a soft thump. "It's done," came a silky voice, dripping with malicious glee.
Mrs. Lovett looked up at the satisfied man standing just inside the door. He had changed his shirt for obvious reasons. His lips were held in a contented smirk and in his dark eyes was an ecstatic glint.
"Finally," Mrs. Lovett breathed with a lot less relief in her tone than she had always thought she would welcome this news with. With the judge out of the way she had thought they would finally be able to find their own happiness. And now yet another obstacle had thrown itself in their way.
Sweeney's pleased expression faltered a tad as he glanced briefly around the room. "Where is Joanna?"
A fleeting image of the girl flashed through Mrs. Lovett's mind—the moment she had flung her arms around the baker in an affectionate farewell and uttered a sincere, "Thank you." "She's not 'ere any more," she said softly.
Sweeney's face fell.
"'Er young sailor boy came back an' they left," Mrs. Lovett added. "I tried to stop them but they would not listen to me." She fancied herself as quite a good liar, but she could not fully hide the violent tremble in her voice.
Sweeney glared at her for a whole minute. The gleam in his eyes transformed into a dangerous flame and his lips became a thin line. Mrs. Lovett could see his long fingers twitching towards the razor at his waist. "You deceitful cow," he growled.
It was a vain fancy to hope for a moment to think of an answer, of another feeble excuse and another futile lie. It would have been nice to have been given a chance to reason with the man, for Mrs. Lovett thought herself rather adept a peacemaker. Only it didn't seem like the barber shared her views on the matter, for he left her no time for reconciliation.
He lunged forward, dashing around the table to Mrs. Lovett, his hands in front of him, steely claws reaching for the woman. Mrs. Lovett jumped up instantly, fleeing to the opposite side of the table, alarmed by the barber's abrupt move and fierce expression.
"There was nothin' I could do," she reasoned as she dodged a swift grasping hand directed at her across the table. "They wouldn't listen."
Sweeney charged around the table and Mrs. Lovett mimicked his movements. "You're lying!" the barber hissed, stepping to his right. Mrs. Lovett moved to her own right and shook her head frantically. "You told her. You told her who I was! What I was planning to do! And you told her to run!" His voice had risen into a bellow and his eyes were ablaze.
Once Mrs. Lovett had made it to the side of the table closest to the parlour, she quickly weighed her options and bolted towards the doorway. Her heart was pounding fast and a sinking feeling of urgency had made its way into the pit of her stomach. There were a select number of topics that had the potential to upset the cold-blooded barber; family matters, however, were at the very top of that list. It was practically suicidal to even mention the subject.
Never let it be said that Nellie Lovett was not nimble on her feet. In mere seconds she had crossed the pie shop floor to the parlour, flown through the room and into her bedroom. She could hear pounding footsteps following her and, when she threw the bedroom door closed, a heavy thump against it. Mrs. Lovett pinned herself against the door and instantly felt the pressure of the man pushing it from his side.
"Let me in, you harlot!" Sweeney's voice boomed through the wood and by the sound of it he had rammed his fist rather mightily against it.
"No!" Mrs. Lovett retorted, noticing a violent tremble in her voice. She pressed her shoulder against the door, the fear of what the barber would do to her if he got to lay his hands on her giving her unnatural strength. "You don't understan', Mr. T! I did it for you!" The confession slipped out unintentionally. Mrs. Lovett spent the next five seconds treating herself with various curse words in her head.
"I won't hear any more of your lies!" The door swung open, throwing Mrs. Lovett towards her bed with a feeble whimper.
She straightened up quickly, facing a panting Sweeney. Mrs. Lovett had never seen him so furious and, in all honesty, it scared the life out of her. "Please," Mrs. Lovett breathed in a tone of frenzied desperation, taking a few steps backwards to escape the murderous barber. "If you could just wait an' listen to me, love." She could barely finish the sentence before she was abruptly silenced by a pair of stiff hands that landed firmly on her throat.
Mrs. Lovett's hands shot up to join the barber's on her skin as she attempted to tear his fingers off of her body. But once Sweeney had her in his grasp, he was not about to let go. He came forward, forcing Mrs. Lovett to fall backwards onto the bed, and instantly climbed on top of her struggling figure. A rapidly increasing ache slashed through her neck and, joined by the streak of pain that gripped her spine upon the collision, made the agonized scream in her throat die down. She stared up at Sweeney's distorted face, inhumanly white and frozen in its waxen mask of rage. The black curtain that was the barber's hair cut off the rest of the room from Mrs. Lovett's view until all she could see were his burning eyes and the hatred in them.
He was a demon. Only an ungodly creature like that could ever lay his hands on his lover so mercilessly. At this moment in time Mrs. Lovett could not remember what it felt like when he had touched her lovingly. Right now all she knew was sheer insufferable agony that spread through her entire body from where Mr. T's iron claws were squeezing her frail neck.
It would not be long until it was all over, she knew as she kicked uselessly at the poor bedpost and the bedsheets, scratched the barber's hands and coughed up the bitter unpleasant taste of blood. Soon she would feel her limbs grow numb and the pain would melt away. Soon the creature straddling her would fade from her blurred sight and the pressure in her chest would disappear. Soon it would be all right. But until then she had to keep fighting. Not knowing why, she had to hold on.