She felt two hands on her hips and nearly dropped a tray of ale mugs when Mr. T's voice whispered in her ear, "How are you, my dear?"
Mrs. Lovett quickly put on a chastising front, shaking off the barber's hands. "Mr. T!" she said in a scandalized tone, glancing briefly at the fully occupied tables of the pie shop. "Not in front of the customers!" She strode into the kitchen and heard Mr. T's footsteps following her.
"What did the doctor say?" he pried with uncharacteristic curiosity.
Mrs. Lovett felt her stomach churn. She hadn't figured out how to break the result of her visit to the doctor's to Mr. T yet. "I'll tell you later," she said, making her swift escape. "When we're alone."
She spent the next several hours busying herself with various chores—either necessary or not. Frankly, she was completely terrified of telling the barber about her condition. He could be an ardent lover and a loyal partner in crime but as a family man he still had a long way to go. Mrs. Lovett had seen him in a rage, had experienced it physically. And an intolerable streak of pain slashed through her chest at the thought of her child facing the same kind of life. Although she would not know the child yet for a few months and hadn't had the time to get used to the idea of bearing one, she vowed silently to do everything in her power to protect the little thing—even if it meant leaving Mr. T. For years she had longed for nothing more than a tad of the barber's affection. The prospect of having to choose between her lover and her unborn child was suffocating.
"Will you tell me now?" Mrs. Lovett jumped, only now noticing the man perched on the armrest of the sofa in her parlour. His expression held an intrigued question, perhaps even a hint of concern.
"There's nothin' to tell, love," Mrs. Lovett said airily, forcing a tone of light-hearted calm into her voice. "Nothin''s certain yet. I 'ave to go back again in two weeks." She hesitated a moment before walking over and sitting on the sofa, instinctively positioning herself as far from the barber as possible.
Mr. T fixed her with a long unimpressed look. "Nellie," he said slowly, and the sound of her name spoken in his low gravelly voice sent an involuntary shiver up Mrs. Lovett's spine. "Don't be evasive." He reached over and clasped Mrs. Lovett's smaller hand in his. "It doesn't suit you."
Mrs. Lovett averted her gaze from the barber's face. She had a feeling Mr. T's piercing eyes could see right through her, and no matter how much she dreaded his reaction, Mrs. Lovett wanted to deliver this news to the man herself and not have him guess it. "I suppose…" she muttered, scrutinizing their joined hands in her lap. "It's only fair that I tell you… But I can't be absolutely sure."
"I'm listening," Mr. T urged her to continue.
Mrs. Lovett felt a restraining dryness in her throat, a nervous sweat in her palms. She had played what she was planning to say over and over in her head throughout the day. Now, however, the carefully chosen words had fled her mind and in their place was a muddled haze. "Well," she started in a wavering tone, "you see, Mr. T, it…" She took a deep shuddering breath. "It's very likely that I'm carryin' your child."
An ominous silence filled the parlour; Mrs. Lovett could only hear her own quiet breathing. Mr. T's hand released hers, and her heart sank. In a little while Mrs. Lovett dared to look up at the man beside her. Mr. T was staring at her with eerie emptiness in his eyes and Mrs. Lovett had a feeling he couldn't actually see her.
His mouth opened and closed again a few times before he could finally utter a sound. "I never thought…" His voice trailed off thinly.
Mrs. Lovett heaved a soft sigh, relieved at receiving a calm reaction from the man. "Neither did I, dear," she admitted gently. "But that's what the doctor said."
Abruptly Mr. T turned away from her, leaned forward and took hold of his head with his hands. His lush drooping hair prevented Mrs. Lovett from seeing his face, so she couldn't tell whether he was angry, glad or miserable. She watched his motionless figure for a long moment, wondering if she ought to say something or perhaps reach out to him. Soon enough, however, Mr. T spoke, and when he did, Mrs. Lovett was astounded to hear his voice full of varied emotions: there was aghast disbelief, there was a spark of ecstatic hope, a flicker of sorrow, a glint of delight, a hint of outrage. "I don't want to be responsible for bringing another child into this cruel world."
Despite herself Mrs. Lovett frowned. "You already are," she noted. "We both are." She looked down in suddenly overwhelming shame. "The deed's already done an' that's 'ow 'tis."
She felt the weight of Mr. T's gaze on her. "There's no one to say we can't undo it."
When the full meaning of the barber's words came to her a few seconds later, Mrs. Lovett jumped up from the sofa and hastily backed away from the man. In an unfamiliar surge of motherly instinct her hand flew onto her stomach and she hissed venomously, "Don't you dare!" Mr. T got up, and the baker took another step backwards. "Now, you migh' not want this child, Mr. T," she went on, cradling herself protectively, "but this is my child, too. An' I will not let you 'arm my baby." Her tone was steely—it astonished her how boldly she was standing up to the maniacal barber.
Mr. T seemed to be in a similar state. His face was unreadable when he stepped closer to the woman, whose eyes held admirable determination in them. He reached out his arms towards her but Mrs. Lovett cast him a disdainful look.
"No," she said firmly, and her expression turned into a cool mask of resolution. "Kindly leave my parlour."
Without batting an eyelid Mr. T turned on his heel and left the room, a frozen look of awe on his face. Mrs. Lovett's strained body fell limply against the sofa, numb with worn accomplishment.
It was getting close to eleven when Mrs. Lovett finally mustered up the courage to climb the stairs to the barbershop. She had heard Mr. T pacing around his room for a long time before he'd settled down. Mrs. Lovett hadn't heard another sound from upstairs for the past hour and was getting the teensiest bit worried. She didn't knock before entering—he wouldn't have answered her anyway, or perhaps he would have shouted some unpleasantries at her.
The room was dark. She'd have never noticed the barber if she hadn't been unequivocally certain of where exactly she'd heard his footsteps stop. She stood in the doorway for a good few minutes, staring into the black and grey of the barbershop before she was rewarded with something of a greeting.
"Go away." Mr. T's voice was cold, empty.
A command like that from a figure in the darkness would have sent a lesser woman flying. But Mrs. Lovett was not like any other woman and in this moment in time she wasn't the least bit intimidated by the barber. She would later sometimes wonder where she'd gotten the courage from to do what she did and close the door behind her audibly. She then silently crossed the room to where she'd heard Mr. T's voice come from. It was fairly easy to navigate through the room once she got past the barber chair and the frightful trap door underneath it. She tried hard not to make a sound as she made her way to the chair by the farthest wall and knelt down beside it.
She sat there for a long while, studying the grey profile of Mr. T's face, the empty black orbs that were his eyes and the thin line of his lips. A few times she was tempted to place her hand on his cheek, but she didn't dare, lest she startle him. A terrible feeling of recognition filled her—this was the way Mr. T had often sat when he'd first come to live with her again; Mrs. Lovett had hoped his gloomy brooding had come to an end by now.
Finally, Mr. T turned his head the slightest bit and noticed her. She could tell he was surprised by the way he winced and promptly dropped his head again. "I told you to leave me be," he growled.
"'Tis not good avoidin' each other," Mrs. Lovett replied softly. She looked up at Mr. T and felt unwelcome, stubborn tears pricking her eyes. "We've been out of touch for a while now an'… An' I don't like it."
The shadowed figure that was Mr. T's head turned her way and black locks of hair fell back from his face. Mrs. Lovett gasped at the sight of his dark glistening eyes. "Why, Mr. T…" she uttered weakly, completely shocked by the barber's ability to cry.
There was a moment of pregnant silence before Mr. T took a deep, somewhat shuddering breath. "I've been sitting up here for a while now," he started quietly, "thinking. I never knew anger like this when I was with Lucy. There was only happiness. She was so beautiful…"
He couldn't have known how much his words stung Mrs. Lovett. She bit her lip painfully but refused to avert her eyes.
"Joanna was a gift from heaven. I never regretted anything. I've been wishing things were the way they used to be back then."
It was only cold determination that kept Mrs. Lovett from getting up and leaving the barber and his cruel moping. She didn't want to hear this. She'd always known she could never replace Lucy, but Mr. T had led her to believe that she had made him happy in her own way. Large tears stole down her cheeks as she stared up at Mr. T silently and convinced herself to keep listening.
"After my imprisonment I never thought I could be happy again. I was alone. At least I thought I was. And then you came along." His voice had turned from stony to soft. "You are nothing like Lucy ever was." He was not looking at Mrs. Lovett. "I was right you know—it's not going to be the same ever again. In fact, it's going to be completely different. I'm terrified of the future. I don't want things to go the way they did with Lucy. And I don't want to hurt you ever again." He made a significant pause, and Mrs. Lovett felt his hand searching for hers, gently clasping her wrist. Mr. T's voice wavered with profound emotions. "I know I can be very difficult at times, but I do love you."
Mrs. Lovett's breath caught in her throat—Mr. T had never said those words to her.
"Let's get out of here, Nellie. Let's go and live by the sea."