Johanna was quietly congratulating herself. When Anthony had arrived at their third floor one bedroom flat that evening, bursting of news about Sweeney Todd (who he had mentioned on a great many occasions) she had patiently listened to his outrage at Mr. Todd's incarceration, his despair that he had done so little to help Mr. Todd, and his reminders that she should be thankful for Mr. Todd, because were it not for the shelter of Mr. Todd's tonsorial parlour, she and Anthony might not be married now.

Johanna had been kind and quiet, receptive and supportive. But she could not prolong the inevitable for another minute. Setting down her needlepoint and casting a wary glance over the modest, but friendly surroundings of their apartment, she finally returned her gaze to her earnest husband.

"You know I appreciate all that your friend has given us, my love, but..." Johanna began, her hands reaching up to toy with her braid, a compulsion Anthony recognized as a representation of her nervousness. Quietly, he took her hands.

"Johanna, you haven't met the man, but he is our greatest friend, I promise you. I must do this, for him and for us."

"But Anthony, springing a man from jail? We live as best we can on your pension until the inheritance comes through, but I dread to think of what would happen should I lose you! You promised we would go to Plymouth."

Anthony knelt down and took his wife's face in his hands and kissed her forehead and her lips.

"We'll get there, soon, but I must do this first. Please trust me?"

Johanna sighed, and adjusted Anthony's white collar, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Of course I trust you, darling. But you must promise me you'll be careful."

"You know I will be," Anthony protested.

"Promise!" Johanna pressed, her blue eyes intent.

"Alright, alright, I promise." Anthony relented, letting his head drop into her blue linen lap. Johanna stroked his dark curls with a hand becoming proudly calloused from the care of her home.

"Good. Now, I want you to go the butchers while I'm at the grocers. Since you're so intent, we can start by making a food basket for your friends."

"Whatever milady wishes."

---

"Mr. Todd! Mrs. Lovett!"

Sweeney Todd rumbled with displeasure at being awakened. This early in the morning, MacKenna's thick Scottish brogue was particularly unwelcome.

"Your solicitors are here."

Todd lifted himself off the floor and made his way to the small window in the door. The stubble- covered face of the guard blocked out the light as he scowled through the bars.

Mrs. Lovett muttered in her sleep and rolled over.

"Get against the wall, hands over your head. Both of you!" MacKenna barked. Todd nudged Lovett with a toe, but she groaned and blindly tried to bat his foot away. Todd bent down and grasped the back of her bodice, hoisting her bodily into the air. Mrs. Lovett let out a yelp as she was tossed against the cold stone wall.

"Alright, alright!" she surrendered, letting out a yawn. Pressing her face against the wall, she closed her eyes as she laced her fingers behind her head. Todd shook his head and followed her motions, only his body was straight backed and alert. MacKenna marched in, followed by two other guards. He prodded Todd in the back with the muzzle of the rifle.

"We're going to the lavs, first. You stink," MacKenna informed him. Todd rolled his eyes as he was marched out of the cell. A resounding thump, that of Lovett sliding down the wall and back to the floor, was audible just before the slam of the door.

"Lieutenant MacKenna, I challenge you to spend days at a time in a cell without washing and see how sweet you smell."

MacKenna guffawed heavily.

"Point taken, barber. We assumed you had higher standards, so unless you'd like to meet your counsel smelling as you do-"

"The thought is tempting, Lieutenant," Todd commented as he observed the long row of cells. The concrete ring of floor around the edges of the building created a great hollow in the middle, reaching from floor to ceiling. It was a familiar sight, one he'd seen before during his first incarceration. Newgate Prison.

He suppressed a shudder as they marched him down to the tiled bathroom. Knowledgeable about this place as he was, he knew that the washrooms doubled as a kill floor, the tile easily cleaned by hose. He was ordered to strip and did so without showing a hint of modesty, despite the jeering comments from the guards. The cold spray from the hose pipe was uncomfortable, but far better than the scalding water they had used on him before shipping him off to Australia. They had gone to lengths to humiliate him and abuse him that time, and he couldn't help but wonder why they didn't take the same measures now. Perhaps that was a question for the lawyer, if the man was to be trusted. Most likely they had assigned him some unenthusiastic public defender, someone of little use.

In fact, now that he thought about it, surely this good treatment was highly irregular. But there was no time to dwell on it now. He was given fresh clothes, a white lawn shirt and trousers. He wondered vaguely if Mrs. Lovett was receiving the same treatment. That is if he bobbies had managed to get her awake, a job he didn't envy them. He knew how difficult it was to rouse her from slumber when she didn't wish to be roused.

His hair was quickly combed, and face shaved with hasty proficiency. The barber was a skittish young man who gave a nervous twitch as Todd's eyes scrutinized him. His hands itched to seize the straight razor, but he restrained himself, relaxing the muscles in his jaw to allow a cleaner, smoother shave. He was then given a black ribbon with which to tie his hair, which was in need of a trim. Then he was made to wait outside one of the interrogation rooms.

Similarly, sleepy Mrs. Lovett was receiving as good, if not better, treatment as Mr. Todd. She had been allowed to bathe comfortably, was given a much needed washing of the hair and a clean black hobble skirt with a high necked white linen blouse. After her hair was respectably pinned, she was lead up to the comfortable lawyers parlour, a pleasant room decorated with velvet drapes, soft couches and a mahogany coffee table.

A thin man of just beneath six feet stood at the window, his thinning hair combed back. Large owlish spectacles covered his face, but they couldn't hide the beadiness of his eyes. Mrs. Lovett looked him over, deeming his navy blue frock coat and polished shows to be respectable. In an attempt to get his attention politely, she cleared her throat. He spun around, fumbling with his pocket watch as he tried to return it hastily to a pocket.

"Oh, beg your pardon, miss...missus...er, you must be Mrs. Lovett." He took a step forward and held out his hand, cheeks a violent shade of red. Mrs. Lovett, caught in the middle of taking a seat, took his hand and smiled vaguely, negotiating her way down to the ottoman.

"They told me my solicitor was here..." she muttered uncertainly.

"Oh, dear, I haven't introduced myself," the man continued, flustered. "My name is Norwood, Hans Norwood. I'm your solicitor." He looked as if he were about to snap in half.

"I'm Mrs. Lovett, Eleanor Lovett...but you knew that already, didn't you?" she said, trying to smile encouragingly. Clearly the man was more nervous than she was. "Why don't you sit down next to me, and we can start again?"

"I apologize, I'm not normally like this," Norwood said as began to dry wash his hands. "I've never defended a...a..."

"Criminal?"

"A woman," he corrected. Mrs. Lovett took his hands to still them.

"Well, you needn't worry, Mister Norwood," she said reassuringly. "I'm not as bad as all that."

An idea was forming slowly in her twisted little mind. She hadn't quite grasped its significance yet, but she trusted her own demented brilliance to reveal a plan. Norwood, on the other hand, fell headlong into her sweet and easy demeanour, completely oblivious.