The tonsorial parlor remained closed for the afternoon, much to Mr. Todd's dismay. Once he started working away at the burned wall it soon became apparent that more was needed than just a touch of paint. Grudgingly, he went to Mrs. Lovett and acquired some funds and warned her to try to ration sales, there would not be an afternoon surge to tie her customers over for the night. He left with his coat collar turned up to face the cool winds. An early autumn was turning into an early winter. He had enjoyed the snow, covering the world with white. Snow was pure, untouched. Ever since his return he longed for the morning when he would rise and look out the window to see snow on his windowsill.
Sweeney cast his silver eyes onto the end of the street. Just a few blocks from Fleet Street was a port by the river where building materials were kept, stored, or brought out to sea. He thought of the Bountiful. Holding his coat closed with his hands he recalled the smell of the sea, the raging tides bursting onto the ship's side, the swells tipping the ship and sending his legs stumbling. He turned the corner, facing the river now as he walked. He passed a low sign over the street, a lawyer's office reading Benjamin and Sons. Benjamin, he cringed at the very letters forming the word. Though not referring to him, the sight of it stirred his consciousness and made him quicken his pace.
As he walked there were so many things to think of…the Judge, the Beadle, when would he get them? How? What conflicts could surface by taking such actions, actions that could hinder his progress if one should notice the departure of the other. Of course this problem was resolved with the solution of the 'pies'. No one could trace it. Plain and simple brilliance; practical and appropriate.
There was always the subject of Mrs. Lovett to think about. He still didn't know what exactly he would do with her when the day comes that the Judge should return to his part. He had the Judge, he had him. So close to getting his bare throat within his hands. As he left his parlor that day, those vile, heinous words that escaped the Judge's lips rang throughout Sweeney's head; filling it with an inexplicable rage he had never before felt. Hearing his name in that pitied manner, being smashed down to such a lowly toad after rising so high from the success of his business; he needed to possess. Something, anything. And there she was, Mrs. Lovett, standing at the bottom of the stairs staring up into the shop. He looked at her, staring her down as he descended the steps. She hesitated at first, never knowing how to read his glances. It was all too quickly that he pushed her into the counter, one hand on her throat while he screamed out in frustration, staring up to the ceiling as if the Judge were still up there waiting in his chair. Mrs. Lovett screamed too, fear creeping into her fingertips as she tried pushing him away, beckoning him to not take out such angers on her. She managed to grasp his face in her hands and scream into his face. What are we going to do about Pirelli? She cried. Forget about the bloody Judge for a moment!
Wait, that's easy for you to say! You told me to wait, now look! He scowled, sifting his fingers through her hair, tangling it. Mrs. Lovett managed to lift a knee high enough to strike the inside of his thigh. Cringing, Todd dropped his arms, pulling out Mrs. Lovett's hairpins as his hands dropped from her head. He leaned over, one hand on the counter keeping him standing. Mrs. Lovett took the chance to catch her breath, staring across to the wall with one hand on her throat. Wait…she whispered. Don't lose your 'opes of getting the Judge. As for Pirelli, that poor fellow, such a nice plump frame he had…seems a downright shame to waste it.
After that, it was clear he would have her for different reasons than to possess her from his own degradation. Forgetting such pain brought greater ecstasy upon them both. The setting remained unchanged, their intense amusement and anticipation giving them no time to retreat to more private settings. The memories were now fragments, only pieces of a full puzzle which resulted in their success; a hand on his thigh, her skirts sprawled across the counter, her clumsy fingers twisting handfuls of his hair, the sounds. Nothing much else could be recalled.
Even so, they weren't memories Sweeney Todd considered proud.