Chapter 3: Hook and Eye

She was used to carrying her life in a small sack, to lying to everyone she met, to being called by a different name and feigning masculinity. But over a month passed and she'd grown restless of this new view of the world. She couldn't say what she was looking for, if it was a more complete life than she'd known as an orphan, or for a man's touch outside of lusty sailors perusing her as a skinny little dock boy. At any rate, Mara was becoming a woman and had decided to run back home to her mother.

The ocean stretched out as gray as the sky the day she swung her sack over her shoulder and began walking back to the heart of London. She had a feeling what she now needed was to be back at the pie shop. The dockworkers and sailors couldn't say they were sad to see the young lad leave that day; he did his work dutifully but was about as social able as the driftwood that washed ashore.

Still disguised as a boy, Mara came to a familiar section of the city by evening. Fetter Lane met up with Chauncery Lane, and she ran across the street behind a passing carriage to start her walk down Fleet Street. Two-story buildings were crammed along either side of the narrow lane, and in the fading light it was easy to pass by the single shop numbered 186. Tonight, however, something seemed to be afoot and downright wrong where this particular building should be. Mara was stopped in her tracks in apprehension, and decided to take her chances with a group of beggars on the street corner. Two seemed to be asleep, or dead, and were little more than bundles of rags, but one woman was riffling through an ashcan.

"You there, woman," said Mara as authoritatively as she could muster. "You are a woman, aren't you?" The beggar turned sharply to look at her with a toothless smile.

"What? What's that, boy?" Her voice was a raspy shriek.

"I'm not a boy, woman, so keep your hips to yourself." Mara gave her a kick until she hobbled back. "Tell me, what's the shop up there? The one that still does business at this hour."

"Oh, that's Missy Lovett's pie shop, it is. A place of sin, where the Devil does business on earth! Her bake house reeks of Hell, and still they gather for those pies!"

"The furnace must need some cleaning," said Mara, sensibly. "You're certain it hasn't become a whorehouse, then? Who would actually buy our pies?"

When the beggar woman only raved some more about saving their souls, Mara decided to continue ahead to see for herself. Although it was possible to go through the front by pushing past some folks, Mara didn't like the idea, so she detoured down an alley to the side door. But something was odd here, too; there was a new barber's pole at the base of the stairs, for one, and with a creak of a door someone came out from the second story room. Mara stopped to watch the tall shadow, his white coat glowing in the darkness as he leaned against the railing. She couldn't see his face, but after a moment she could tell he'd looked her way.

"Hello, lad," said a deep voice, as though he'd been expecting her. "Have you come for a barber, or are you as lost as you look?"

Now Mara really felt like she'd come home to a different world. "N-no, sir, no. I… This is Mrs. Lovett's shop, then, is it?"

"It has been as long as I've known, although you'd do well to go by the front if you're looking to buy any pies." Something had glinted in the moonlight, and Mara realized the man was holding his straight razor, shifting it side to side to admire it.

"No, sir, no," she said again, moving towards the door. "I don't intend to buy pies I used to make myself." And she went inside before any more small talk was expected from her.

The once familiar aroma of pies was nearly overwhelming in the backroom, and Nellie's yelling was piercing the air as usual.

"Tell them to all go home! No, we're closed! Go on!"

Mara was still playing with the Mrs. Lovett's Whorehouse idea in her mind when her mother came back from the front. She was too busy to notice Mara at first, but Nellie suddenly caught her daughter in her sight and started screaming.

"Goodness mercy God in heaven! My Mara come back to me?" Nellie lunged forward and squeezed Mara until she gasped for air, then she stepped back to smack her in the face. "You shouldn't have come back so soon! What're you thinking?"

"I doubt anyone will miss me, mum."

"Well, you should just go back anyway, because you're not welcome here. Especially not with hair like that." Her mother turned sharply and went back to stacking pie trays. Mara felt at her ear-length mess of hair before approaching Nellie from behind.

"What's all this about, mum? Why do we have customers? Where'd you get this fancy dress?" She grabbed at the new layer of flesh around her mother's waist. "And where'd this come from?" Nellie eek'd and smacked Mara's hand away.

"What did those sailors teach you? How to molest your own mother?"

"You haven't answered my questions. Have you turned this place into a whorehouse? You have, haven't you?" Mara was smacked again.

"Oh, come now, how could you accuse your own mumsie of such a thing?" An odd smile tugged at Nellie's cheeks as she turned back to the front. "I've just been having some good luck, lately. Toby! Toby, dear, come here." A homely boy came to the door the moment she called, and Nellie handed him a broom. "Use this to shoo the rest away."

"Yes, mum!" He nodded and ran back out, loyal as a puppy and just as frantic. Mara's eyebrows twitched as she watched their interaction.

"He's just some help I… acquired," said Nellie, seeing her daughter's expression. "Now, if I ever get this place closed and cleaned up I'll help you settle back in and… I'll explain, I suppose…" She trailed off and wiped her hands on her apron to distract herself. As she did this she felt her hips, and then twisted around a bit to get a better look at them. "Well, I do have a new shape to me, don't I? Men like women with softer curves to them, you know, not all sharp edges."

"Oh? And, pray tell, mum, what man are you changing your shape for?"

Nellie glanced upward before she was conscious of doing so, or else she didn't care to stop herself. To others it might have seemed like she was looking to God for the answer. Mara knew better.

Nellie got the fright of her life when Mara stepped back into the shop after she'd convinced herself the girl would stay away for good. She was certain Mara would love being anywhere other than the wretched pie shop, then would find a man, pop out some kids, endure whatever abuse came with the role of wife, and Nellie wouldn't hear about it until years later in an apologetic letter. She knew that's how things would have gone if the girl took after her, but Mara ended up being like her real mother, wandering back to torment Nellie. Truly, some unholy force must have been leading them back to haunt her, and spooks of flesh and blood were worse than wispy spirits. Even that Judge had returned for a brief visit above her store, though he'd hardly bothered acknowledging her. Reconciliation came with the return of Benjamin – or, Mr. Todd, as she now called him. It was a strange day when he went out on her roof and repainted his shop's exterior, his pseudo-name covering 'Benjamin Barker.' Nellie had half expected the old paint to push through the new layer in retaliation, but the past accepted its fate, even if the building's occupants didn't share its philosophy.

And yet, what had become because of her supposed bad karma? More wealth than she'd ever known before; more than Albert had promised her when they were wed. Unintentionally she'd helped Sweeney become a homicidal maniac, and somehow that had worked to her advantage. She'd strived on without a husband all of these years, but she still had to rely on a man to finally find success, just as she'd relied on the memory of Benjamin to satisfy her lonesome sexuality. Now she had men around again, but the disturbing fact was that she cared about Mara, more than she desired Sweeney, in a way that made her feel vulnerable. Their time apart had taught her this, and she couldn't imagine disposing of her like she would anyone else. Even Sweeney could become pie filling if she decided he was more satisfying that way. But in the weeks since her daughter's return, Nellie was almost ashamed of what she was doing, and she found trouble lying to Mara, knowing that the surname they shared would haunt her daughter if their macabre affairs ever came out. Most of all, she thought, her heart plunging in regret, I don't want her to take after me.

"Mum, are you alright?"

Nellie jumped where she stood, listening for the sounds of a body passing behind her walls into the cellar. She turned, barely able to look Mara in the eyes. Isn't she smarter than that Toby? She knows by now, she has to know. "'Course, dear, it's just been a long day. Why don't you go on to bed?"

"Are you sure?"

"Toby can finish up front. Tell him he can get to bed when he's done, too, if I'm not around, alright?" Mara nodded, hanging up her apron and the shawl she wore to hide her hair before disappearing down the hall. Nellie could tell the month at the docks had affected her daughter in someway; she seemed more confident but also less talkative, like verbal communication served a practical purpose and nothing more. After a moment she realized she was staring at the wall with unfocused eyes, and her own consciousness startled her.

The cellar was a mess; Sweeney had started the dismantling himself and was in a hurry.

"Where have you been?" he asked as soon as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"I'm sorry, love, I just got too busy and must not have heard you earlier." She stopped at the last step; three bodies were laid out on the floor besides the one Sweeney had started. "My, you've had a busy evening. What did I tell you before? Just a few at night will suffice; I'm still worn out from the ones we did this morning." A bundle of clothes was shoved at her as a response, and then Sweeney hunched over his work of freeing the arms from the torso. Nellie searched the pockets, finding a purse and gloves for her troubles, and burned the rest in the furnace. "Should I start getting that one's skin off?"

"No." Sweeney held out the largest saw. "Get the limbs off those two before they stiffen up."

"Oh, God," Nellie lamented. She wasn't disgusted by the prospect, but her back had a hard time taking the work. Still, she felt compelled to oblige and started on the first subject. "If you don't mind my saying, Mr. T, do you think we can keep this up for long? What with there being two more at my place." Sweeney turned his head, his tall brows arched over bruised sockets.

"If you think they suspect, Mrs. Lovett, send them up for a visit."

"Oh, no, no." Nellie chuckled in anxiety. "The lad isn't clever enough, but... My girl's smart, though she won't cause trouble for us, I'm sure."

"If she's from your womb, I can't imagine." He urged her to press on and began on the third, who turned out to be unconscious rather than completely dead. Sweeney fumbled for his razor and, with a jerk of his arm, made quick work of the throat. Nellie found herself looking away from the body as it convulsed. If she thought of the victims as just bodies, just flesh, she wasn't bothered, but these days she kept picturing Mara's throat under Sweeney's caressing blade, right before it pressed in deeper, then cut skin and arteries with a quick slice. He hadn't killed a woman yet, she thought, but was that just circumstance or a conscious oath? Would he strike fair skin if he felt a need to?

Nellie's hand trembled as she took out a handkerchief and pressed it against her cheek and forehead. She could feel her sight fading around the edges.

"Mrs. Lovett, I've never seen you swoon from our work before. It's not making you ill again, it is? I thought you'd gotten over that."

She turned to Sweeney, wondering if there was actual concern in his expression. It was hard to discern any emotion from him besides rage, although Nellie had a tendency to decipher his feelings in ways that suited her. "No, no, I've just… been too busy to get much sleep lately, I'm afraid. It's catching up to me."

Sweeney grunted in acknowledgement, turning back to his work as always.

They went back to Nellie's sitting room afterward, though neither seemed to have enough energy to enjoy each other's company. Nellie tried to finish counting up her day's earnings, but when she read the numbers '732' and thought they were in numeral order, she knew her mind had had enough.

"I think I need to turn in for the night, love, I can't read my numbers proper." She beckoned for him to help her out of her chair, leaning into Sweeney's chest as his arms enveloped her for support. His touch was stiff and without warmth, but Nellie loved it for what it was and nudged his chin down to find his lips.

"Good night, Mrs. Lovett," said Sweeney when the woman hadn't moved since resting her head against his shoulder. He grabbed one of her hair-buns and pulled back Nellie's head to find her eyes closed in sleep. "Mrs. Lovett?"

"Mnah?" was her only response, so Sweeney led her to her chamber and helped her lie on the bed. Nellie was vaguely aware of what was going on and tried to hold onto Sweeney, but he slipped away.

Early in the morning, when the light was growing but had yet to disturb the cover of shadows, Nellie found herself awake and overwhelmed by heat. The dark form of Mara was above her, and she suddenly got a shock of cold as a wet cloth was placed on her forehead. "Mm?"

"Shh, it's just me, mum. You've been tossing all night." She smoothed her mother's hair back while feeling her cheeks. "And you're absolutely burning up. What should I do? Should I go wake the apothecary?"

"No, no!" Nellie nearly choked on her own spit in delirium. "No, I… I just need some tea with chamomile, from the cupboard, dear; I'll be alright." Mara hmm'd but went out to the kitchen, stepping softly past Toby as he slept on his bundle of blankets on the floor. Nellie dozed off waiting and, no more than second later to her, was awakened again.

"You look terrible, mum," Mara said, as she helped her mother sit up enough to sip from the cup, the vapors of chamomile and spearmint warming Nellie's face. "When I got back you seemed so healthy for once, and now you're ill like I haven't seen you for some time. What happened?"

"Sometimes things just worry me too much, child."

"What sorts of things?"

"Many things." Nellie patted her daughter's hand as her eyelids shut on their own, giving way to exhaustion. There was silence for a moment, until Mara put the cup down.

"Is it that Mr. Todd?" she said at length. "Is he bothering you? Has he tried to molest you? He's always hanging around here instead of his own room."

Nellie could feel the smile on her own face.

"That's because I invite him in, dear. He's just a lonely fellow, up there all by himself. He doesn't try to harm me."

"I'm just not used to having a man around in our home, in the middle of our business."

"Poor fatherless thing you are, that's the trouble." Nellie gave the hand a few more pats. "You need to remember, child, I started out in this place with a man around, and I've longed for that presence to return." Mara's huffed sigh told Nellie she was still bothered, but she didn't argue.

"Well, what're we going to do at dawn? And don't expect to get up to work."

Nellie's eyes ached in the weak light as she tried to open them. "But, I have to, dear; I can't stay laid up here while there's paying customers outside."

"Yes, you can." Mara's forehead wrinkled in worry. "This isn't just the sniffles you've got, mum. People on our street die from fevers everyday. Why don't you let me bake the pies? I know how to make and sell 'em, and Toby can help."

Nellie's mind numbed as she tried to figure out the situation. Yesterday's meat was still distinguishable as humanoid, and even though she'd considered letting Mara in on the secrets of her success, she wasn't in a state to do so at the moment. If ever. Nellie was just glad she still had the bake house key on the chain around her neck.

The light became brighter and Nellie had to squint her eyes too much to see anything. "I know, dear, but I can't let you. Not yet."

"What do you mean?"

Nellie decided to roll over instead of answering. Mara took the cloth before it slipped off of her mother's face. "Mum? Mum…? I don't understand you sometimes, do you know that? Why won't you let me be useful around here?"

"You can tell Mr. Todd for me that I'm not opening the shop today," Nellie replied without turning back. "He's usually up this early."

"You're delirious, aren't you?" Mara pulled her mother's shoulder down until she lay flat on her back again, then cooled off her face once more with the cloth. "Why would you close the shop with two aids at hand? You better come to your senses soon, because I won't stand your nonsense much longer."

Mara made sure her mother was comfortable before leaving the chamber in a silent huff. Toby leapt away from the door as she came out, but he wasn't quick enough.

"Is mum alright?" he asked before he could be questioned.

"Don't call her that," Mara snapped. "She's not your mum."

"Oh, um…" He looked down, a bit hurt by the reminder. "I mean, is Mrs. Lovett okay? Is it a bad fever?"

"Doesn't seem to be." Mara tried to walk away from the conversation, but Toby followed behind her.

"But, it could get worse," he said. "Shouldn't we send for an apothecary?"

"I've seen her come out of worse by sheer determination when we couldn't afford much else." She turned so sharply at the staircase that Toby nearly ran into her. "You can go care for her if you wish, and call on the apothecary if she lets you. But she's crabbier than usual, so don't expect much." Then she climbed the stairs to the barbershop, listening to Toby's muddled pause before he ran off again.

"Mr. Todd?" Mara called as she knocked on the door. He didn't answer verbally, but she was let in a moment later.

"Why, Miss Lovett, this is an early call." At any time of the day he always seemed dressed and alert. Mara wondered if he ever slept. "What brings you up here?"

"It's my mum, sir," she said as Sweeney closed the door behind them, revealing that his barber coat was hanging up on it, looking freshly washed. "She's in bed with a fever, and she won't let me run the shop myself, so we have to stay closed today."

Sweeney stared at her for a moment, the news affecting him in some unknown way. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets.

"I see."

Mara waited, wondering if he would have some other comment to make, and found herself looking about the room. It was oddly neat, without a trace of hair on the floor, apron and towel folded, and the chair in the middle looking hardly worn at all. Most other barbershops she'd seen advertised their trades with jars of pulled teeth or wigs weaved from cut hair, but they were absent here.

"You have an odd trade here, sir," she commented. "Cutting off or taking out what grows on people for a fee."

"Your trade has its oddities, too, Miss Lovett," he replied, but didn't elaborate. "Tell me, is your mother really too ill to work?"

"Yes, sir, she is," Mara nodded. "She'll have to stay in bed or she'll only get worse. And it's made her delirious enough as it is." Sweeney had another bout of silence, which wore on Mara's patience. She turned to leave when his hand gripped her shoulder. It gave her chills she couldn't explain.

"May I have a moment of your time, Miss Lovett? After all, we are neighbors, though we've yet to share a real conversation."

Mara had to stop and consider the situation, but she eventually turned back around to face the barber. He wasted no time on small talk.

"Are you really Mrs. Lovett's daughter?" he asked, with an inflection that was too open-ended for Mara to decipher. Did he mean blood-wise? Personality-wise? Legally? Legitimately?

"I'm not quite sure I understand you, Mr. Todd." She put a hand to her collarbone, a very Nellie-like gesture, and the husk in her voice so suddenly matched the elder Lovett that Sweeney was snapped out of whatever haze afflicted him. He hadn't just been looking at her, but into her; so what was he seeing?

"Is that all, Mr. Todd?"

He had already turned away and was testing his razor's sharpness against his own top layer of skin. It was unnerving how quickly he got lost in his own little world. Never seen a type like him among the dock men, Mara thought. Tall and straight like a pole, and so precise in everything he did. A shiver from within made her shoulder muscles spasm. "You care a lot for that razor, don't you?"

Sweeney turned his head suddenly, as though he just realized she still lingered. "Yes." He faced Mara again and held the razor aloft to reflect the sunlight off the blade. Mara found herself staring at it too, for though she'd seen such a tool in her time, Sweeney's grip brought something out of it. Something alluring and powerful, yet out of reach. But the handle in particular caught her eyes, and its inlay design. She was sure it looked familiar but couldn't quite place it.

"It's a right fine piece of work, it is, Mr. Todd. But, I'll be expected downstairs soon." Mara made her way to the door; yet, even as she left Sweeney was too engaged to notice.

Breakfast was cooked and eaten at a leisurely pace for the first time since no one knew when. Nellie finished her medicinal tea with Toby's assistance, but couldn't be persuaded into eating anything, as Mara had expected. All she could do was keep her mother supplied with tea and herbs to keep her temperature down, although the fever seemed as stubborn as Nellie herself. Toby vowed not to leave her side until she was well again, and as Mara didn't want to crowd her she kept to herself in the parlor. Customers would start arriving soon to find a closed pie shop, and Mara was made tense by the calm before the storm.

She nearly jumped from her seat when Sweeney decided to come down unannounced. He didn't seem to notice he'd scared her half to death as he sat next to her on the couch.

"You find someone else to mind your barbershop for you, Mr. Todd?" Mara asked, too annoyed to stay silent.

"As much as your mother says you've changed since leaving for the docks, you've also changed a lot since returning." He didn't look at her as he spoke. "She used to be the only one who addressed me in that tone." Mara narrowed her eyes at him.

"I hadn't realized you paid so much attention to me, Mr. Todd."

He didn't reply.

"Besides, I thought mum fancied you," she continued. "Or does that just mean she gets angry with you more often?" Sweeney seemed amused by the comment and rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.

"Well, your mother knows what she wants and how to get it."

"She doesn't bully you into intercourse, does she?" Mara raised her eyebrows emphatically as she said this, staring at Sweeney until he answered. His reply was a simple, "No," but it was too vague to rule out un-bullied sex. At this point, Mara couldn't tell if the possibility made her upset, disgusted, or strangely jealous. She was about to ask for a broader answer, but she suddenly realized how direct she was being to a man she considered a stranger. "I apologize, Mr. Todd, I'm not being proper."

Sweeney nodded in assent but didn't seem to disapprove.

"Your mother's taught you to be curious, rather than a merely docile woman."

Being called a woman startled Mara; no man before had addressed her newfound fertility by name. It suggested maturity and sexuality, something she knew little about. But she knew men wanted it and preferred looking to women to supply it. Was that what she saw in his eyes? Desire? The realization startled her and she quickly stood up.

"Excuse me, Mr. Todd, I should go check on the shop…" But she only took a few steps before pausing in apprehension – the kind that told her she didn't truly want to leave. She must be out of her mind; she was just a child, and he… His hands were on her shoulders now, gentle, but holding her to the spot.

"Stay a moment, Miss Lovett." His voice was close to her ear. "You've made pies for your mother all your life, have you not? It is a bit strange, then, that she no longer allows you to."

Mara's breath stopped short as she tottered dangerously on the edge of interpretating his actions. "Well, Mr. Todd, I'm sure she has her reasons," Mara said, and found she was whispering. "Mum's a picky woman and wouldn't take a chance on losing profit…" His hand caressed her exposed neck and she felt her skin burn.

"But, you worked hard at the docks, didn't you? Tell me, were you taught to gut fish?"

"Only a bit, sir…"

"How to separate the skin from the flesh," Sweeney continued, "to de-bone, to pack and salt the meat, to clean up the blood and innards?"

"A bit, sir, a bit. Can't say it was pleasant, but I did as I was told."

"Hm." Sweeney then gave her a platonic pat on the shoulder. "I apologize for keeping you. You may go, I have my own business to attend to."

Mara turned to find that he was already leaving the room to return to his shop, and she truly had no idea what had just transpired.

Nellie lulled between sleep and wakefulness, listening to the footsteps from the room above. She could close her eyes and picture Sweeney pacing across the floorboards, and it only seemed natural that he would eventually come to her, for the thought and the man were one in the same. She felt his presence before it darkened her doorway.

"Hello, Mr. Todd," said she in a throaty voice. "I knew you'd pay me a visit. And just in time, too; I sent the boy away to help Mara beat back the customers." Sweeney came forward solemnly, kneeling by her like the pious at prayer.

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Lovett?"

"Oh, well, this fever's got me all out of sorts, love." She sighed pitifully. "My old remedies don't work like they used to."

"I'm sure it will break soon."

Nellie watched as Sweeney wet her cloth in the pitcher, with the same focused intent he had when preparing a customer. He wrung it out slowly, and gently began to dab at her forehead and down her face, to the jaw line, a bead of moisture trickling down to her collarbone. The cloth followed its path and then traveled across her throat in a manner that startled Nellie. But Sweeney continued lower, down her blouse and between her breasts, very conscious that his actions were short of euphoric to the woman. Nellie was tempted to close her eyes and lean her head back, open and prone, but a tic in her neck jerked her back to awareness, in time to see the glint of Sweeney fishing his razor out of his coat pocket. She sat up so suddenly that he also startled.

"And just what do you think-?" But he forced her back down, and she barely had the energy to struggle. The razor was raised above her, suddenly so powerful and intimidating when she was on the receiving end. Her nerve was quickly fleeing her and she couldn't control her rapid breaths; she didn't realize at first that the gasps she heard were her own. "Well, this is sudden! Atleast tell me why, or have you just tired of male blood?"

"I'm afraid you stand in my way, " he said, tightening his grip on her shoulder. "I've put up with you to aid my vengeance, but my patience wears thin."

"Oh, you can't be serious; are you really going to risk letting someone else in on your secrets? Who would serve you as willingly as I have? Who else can bake the pies-" But she stopped short, the answer coming to her suddenly. "Please, no, Mr. Todd, she's only a girl-"

"I'll do what I have to, Mrs. Lovett, surely you know that." His eyes were dark, and she couldn't even imagine apprehension in them. Nellie's arms shook of their own accord as the blade was pressed against her, ice on the skin. But even as she tried to keep her throat still, a high, ringing laugh escaped it.

"I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I told you I was with child."

"Such lies may work on executioners, but not on me."

Nellie kept laughing at him, desperately. "Surely you haven't forgotten, the night we made our first pie from that Pirelli fellow. The danger excited me too much, I needed to release it, and it was clear you felt the same." Sweeney didn't move, not even to blink. "And of course there was plenty of ale at hand, so…" She pressed her lips together smugly and then continued her mocking laughter, causing the man to falter.

"Don't you dare lie, woman-"

"So you don't remember? Wasn't it your chest against mine, as you forced yourself into me? I merely submitted."

His tightened grip on the razor told her he remembered vividly; she could feel the blade's edge stinging her skin.

"An experience I vowed to put behind me, Mrs. Lovett. But don't expect claiming to be with child will save you. A false woman is better off dead."

"Oh, no no no." Nellie kept her eyes fixed on his, as one wolf would challenge another. "Why do you think I had an ill stomach so often? 'Tweren't just the blood or corpses, which never bothered me when we started our business. And, even having the wealth to eat more, how can I grow plump while working myself ragged, hm?"

Sweeney eyed her swollen breasts and then jumped back, suddenly convinced enough to take his razor away. "You've made your case well, Mrs. Lovett."

Nellie sat up and rubbed her neck. "I knew you weren't heartless enough to kill your own unborn child, what with the fuss you make about that Johanna of yours."

"I don't desire a child that mixes your blood with mine," Sweeney said, sternly. "But… it could be female. It could have innocence."

"Your morals touch me, Mr. Todd, really," said she. "And what of us when I grow too large to conceal, and after it comes? Surely you don't want a bastard child, do you, Mr. T, to cause attention and suspicion from our neighbors? No, of course not." She gave him a triumphant smile, while Sweeney's eyes widened in realization. "Well, how about it? Shall I be your Mrs. Sweeney Todd?"

In the silence she found her breathing was still labored, and the fever was giving her chills, but Nellie ignored them as she anxiously waited for his answer. Sweeney's expression had been shocked open, and he was obviously feeling outwitted. But he slowly calmed, slowly deadened his emotions once more. It then became his turn to smile knowingly, and Nellie's chest pained in fright when she saw this.

"Yes, Mrs. Lovett, you may become my wife," he said, without a trace of his prior anxiety. "But only for the child's sake, and that can only happen if it is born, alive and well. Only then will we wed."

Nellie's lips parted in shock. As soon as they were married she had planned to rid herself of the infant inside of her; it would surely die as soon as it was born, for a miracle of God had never come from her womb successfully, and even for a price no medical assistance made labor safe for a woman. Her last birth had nearly killed her, and at her age she felt no doubt that this one would finish the job.

This Sweeney was counting on, or else he wanted the child enough to wait to kill her afterwards, and anyway she turned it Nellie wasn't going to get out of the situation alive. The thing growing inside of her, which should have been proof and product of their love, was now slow moving poison, death in nine months time. And yet, if she didn't serve as a host for his spawn, he was ready and willing to dispose of her now. But she hid her devastation, knowing that her will was the only defense she had left.

"Well, we're as good as married, then, love." Nellie shivered and lay back down on her rumbled bedding. She was too fatigued to comprehend how this would change things between them, but it couldn't be worse than what it already was. Both still had the other under their thumb, though the stakes were suddenly even more life threatening.

She reached out and took his razor-less left hand, kissing his ring finger boldly, defiantly. "Although I hadn't realized you were in love with death enough to take a corpse for a bride."

"I'm glad we understand each other, my pet." Sweeney returned her kiss on the hand holding his, where he'd never seen her wear a ring from her previous marriage. "You built your coffin, woman, now lie in it."