"I proposed this morning over breakfast and I am organising a lavish party tonight to let the world know. You might think it sudden but I could hardly wait. It is not every day you meet a femme with such vast abundance of qualities that pull you to her like a magnet. Furthermore, she had her fair share of suitors that demanded promptness on my part. Eleanor has charm, beauty, savoir-faire and a sharp mind. One of a kind, truly. But you know her better than ever. She is your sister, after all" Harold Winslow continued boasting about his bride to be, but Sweeney wasn't really listening.
How could he? When his legs were threatening to give out as a sharp pain like an arrow shot straight to his heart, making him wince. Breathing was becoming a feat of herculean proportions as a myriad of images and scenarios flooded his mind. Her wearing white for someone else, a posh wedding by the coast. Calling herself Mrs. Winslow instead of Mrs. Todd, the ring he bought for her never be on her finger for its place would be taken for once much bigger, and fancier, with their initials engraved on the pure gold band. Their child calling this man father… yet the most painful feeling of all was the realisation that they would be happier that way. Going on with their lives without him.
What did he have to offer them, anyway? He was an ex-convict, a murderer who used to mistreat her every chance he got, who tried and would have murdered them both had a divine power not intervened. A man whose eldest daughter hated, whom his fearless Nellie had grown to fear, a man who struggled with something so simple as was working up the courage to say "I love you" and give her a damn ring! They deserved better.
But she was committed to him! She said she was! That she would give him another chance and this morning, she explicitly said they had made up for good and acted like so. She also dared to claim that there was nothing romantic between her and Harold because he was the only man she ever loved… Lies, filthy lies. The sting of betrayal resurfaced once again as his self-blaming tendencies faded. Because the only thing he was guilty of was believing her when it was just snakes and poison what always came out of that pretty mouth.
He hated himself for trusting her, he hated Nellie for deceiving him, and the man who didn't seem to be able to shut up for being the one who ultimately was going to get what Sweeney still could not help but want: that infuriatingly beautiful baker, that selfish Jezebel he had been stupid enough to fall in love with.
He was no longer thinking rationally, for he was already imagining what he would do next. The scarlet rivers that would soon trickle down that very deserving throat as his life waned before his eyes. He was vermin, just like Mrs. Lovett was, just like Sweeney if he were to be honest with himself. They all deserved to die, but he would take one at a time.
He raised his razor, his silver friend Mr. Winslow had so tastefully appreciated would be the one bidding him farewell.
Nellie would not choose anyone but Sweeney if he could help it. And she could certainly not marry a corpse.
"Sir! You have to come now!" a young boy unceremoniously barged in, making the demon barber freeze. He couldn't be older than 15, a scruffy sailor or someone's daft apprentice that probably wouldn't be terribly missed… So he smiled, becoming the intruder in, but that rude brat shook his head. "The captain requests to speak with you, sir" and Mr. Winslow stood up at once, getting out of Sweeney's reach.
"I'm sorry I must go now. It must be something important if my dear friend Rawlings calls me up at this time of the day instead of waiting for supper. I am quite adept in navigation so perhaps the matter pertains such field. Nevertheless, I will pay you for your time" he took a whole pound out of his pocket, more than Sweeney earned in a day, and handed it to him. "I hope to see you tonight. I have no doubt that it would make Eleanor very merry to have you in attendance."
And before Sweeney could do anything, he was out of the door. Walking away in conversation with the young brat, his neck intact, unpunished. For now.
He glanced at the clock, swiftly remembering he had a date.
His face broke into a sadistic yet pained smile. No one hurt Sweeney Todd and got off scot-free. Not even the woman he loved.
He would make sure she regretted it.
Nellie's morning had been rather uneventful. After an unproductive breakfast in which she did not manage to obtain any valuable information from Mr. Winslow despite her skilful deployment of her coquettishness, she'd taken a walk around the deck with Marjorie, but the gossip was stale as the bread they would have for lunch. Couples fighting, partners cheating... the usual.
The baker was only marginally interested in the news that a rich man named Russell and his wife were no longer quarantining in their cabin, as they had seemingly recovered from a case of Blackwater fever. The pair were said to have contracted the disease in a trip to the British Gold Coast and outlandish claims and exotic tales had spread like wildfire. Nellie had to fight her morbid interest in seeing if their eyes had really turned yellow and their complexions green, or if they had grown fangs from drinking children's blood to recover, like they were rumoured to. But she was pregnant, and her sixth sense told her she had to be prudent about this, for they could still be contagious. Thus, she declined the offer to join her fellow talebearers on the lookout for them and returned to her cabin.
That's where she'd been holed up for the rest of the day. She'd picked up a book another passenger let her borrow to hopefully make the time go faster, and much to her surprise, she really got into it. It was a romance about a gruff pirate and an honest lady he kidnapped as a booty when her father could not pay him what he owed him, and as was always the case in these novels she so enjoyed, they soon fell in love. It was so romantic, and she couldn't help it, she found herself fantasising that she was the delicate lady and Sweeney, her dashing pirate. Before she knew it, it was already three-thirty.
Jumping out of bed in excitement, she carelessly tossed the book aside uncaring that it landed on the floor with a thud. She was no longer interested now that she was going to get the real thing. Nellie hopped over to the mirror and began pulling her hair down. It was not very proper to do so before bedtime, and many of the distinguished ladies and gentlemen she'd met through Harold would frown if they saw her like this—as would the man himself— but she was not concerned about them. Only Sweeney mattered, and she'd learnt he preferred it that way. As for dresses, she didn't know, for she was certain he'd rather have her in the nude, but that would have to come later.
She examined her choices, but none of them seemed perfect for tonight. She giggled to herself. When did she start caring so much about her appearance? This was Sweeney, who had no qualms about shagging her when she only had some tattered dresses and didn't smell much better than Pirelli's Miracle Elixir. Besides, it wasn't like he could ever be impressed by her poise and beauty, not when he'd been married before to a woman who had those qualities in spades.
She shook her head, chastising herself for her intrusive thoughts. His wife was dead, and he was with Nellie now. Moreover, there was always the small comfort that the Lucy both remembered was the one from the past. In spite of her own battles and hardships, there no doubt that the baker had aged much better than the haggard madwoman. Just five years younger and she looked like she could be her daughter or even granddaughter. Besides, Nellie enticed Sweeney more than she ever could, not even in her prime.
This was going to be a night to remember, and she had to dress accordingly. Thus, she opted for one of her favourite dresses she's ever owned, the pink gown she wore at the grand reopening of her shop. How happy she was that day, how… excited despite the trepidation she felt that things may not go the way they hoped. Those feelings were akin to the ones she was experimenting today, excitement and anticipation, but a nagging, persistent fear, like a pesky voice inside her head, reminding her that everything could turn sour. It won't, she told herself as she slipped the dress on and tightened her bodice just a bit so her breasts were pushed further up, almost spilling out of the corset.
She smiled, obviously pleased wit her looks. This also happened to be the first dress he'd complimented her on—saying it was "adequate", which embarrassingly made her blush like a tomato—but she knew him well enough to know he couldn't be able to articulate a word when he saw her today. He'd just tear it open and have his way with her until all she could do was moan out his name. She frankly could not wait.
A generous amount of dark eyepaint on her lids, as well as rouge on her cheeks and lips and she was ready to go. She hesitated whether she should bring her gun with her. She didn't like leaving it alone in her cabin when she was going to be away for a while, lest someone found it, but she knew that if she brought it, Sweeney would see it when he undressed her and he would ask questions she'd rather not answer. Not today, anyway. Thus, she decided against it. A proper and long-lasting reconciliation in all senses awaited her, she could feel it, and she didn't want to dampen the mood if she could help it.
She didn't really know where this loading dock was and as she was incredibly grateful for the signs pointing towards where the lifeboats were as she walked along those empty passageways. The air was heavy and humid, and it had a stifling quality to it that made it hard to breathe. It smelled salty, like the sea she so adored, but with a rancid twist she did not enjoy. Not a soul could be seen, nor a sound could be heard except for the clicking of her heeled boots against the hard metallic floor. Metal also covered the walls, as opposed to the beautiful wooden panels in first class or even the plain white ones in steerage, causing a severe temperature drop in comparison with the above levels. Nellie shivered, beginning to regret not having worn a coat, but soon Sweeney would warm her up with his body, that she was sure of.
Using the key Johnathan had given her, she opened the door to the loading dock and the bone-chilling cold was instantly forgotten as she marvelled at what her love had set up for her. An embroidered picnic blanket laid on the floor, with gold-accented plates on top of it, as did fine glasses and silver cutlery like the ones she liked to steal from the first-class dining saloon when no one was looking. She was hoping she could take some of those spoons and forks too when they were done here, because she would surely get a pretty penny for selling all that silver, perhaps enough to pay for a long train ride to the other side of the country, to sunny beachy California she'd heard so much about. A beautiful place to raise a family, it seemed to be, and she sensed they could be happy there.
She spotted a piece of paper atop one of the plates and picked it up. "You deserve this, and more" it read, in Sweeney's erratic but legible handwriting. Her cheeks grew warm as she smiled at the note, holding it close to her heart. It was such a sweet gesture, as was the picnic, as was the mere idea of doing something special for her. She did not deserve it, she knew she didn't, but he thought so and that made her happy. This new Sweeney was making her happier than she'd ever been and she had to fight the urge to once again ponder on what prompted this sudden 180 degree change, to doubt the genuineness of it all. But not today, today she would do her best just to enjoy it.
Just enjoy the small mercies life gives you, that had been her motto for years. When her future looked dark, bleak, and hopeless, she learnt to find beauty in everyday and just be grateful for it instead of abandoning herself to despair as her never relenting self-doubt crept up. It was time she brought that way of thinking back.
She sat by the large fenceless space overlooking the ocean as he waited for her dear lover. The sun had begun to set, painting the sky in those beautiful reddish hues. Yet today, the wind had given it a pink tint, the colour of love. Perfect. At a distance she saw the silhouette of another ship, probably full of men and women following their dreams—or running away from them—on to a new life. She closed her eyes as she basked in the last rays of sunlight, and began to imagine who they might be, their names, their occupations, their loves and passions.
But the sun quickly set on the horizon and the night was quickly gaining ground, the sudden darkness breaking Nellie from her reverie. She had a tendency to lose track of time when she daydreamed, but she was certain Sweeney was late. Perhaps it was because he was carrying something big for her, like a whole chocolate cake! Her stomach grumbled at the possibility and not to obsess over it, she stood up and began examining the room.
The lifeboats were stored on the side, supported by a wooden structure resembling a shelf and tied with ropes for maximum security. She was quick to notice there weren't nearly enough for all of them. Just for the first class passengers, probably, for the rest of them's lives were not deemed worth saving in case of an emergency. She hated it, how money was a requisite for safety. No one cared about your wellbeing if you were poor, that she knew very well.
Getting closer to inspect them, she noticed a small sack tucked under the sailcloth in one of them. Always the curious one, she opened it at once. It was filled with papers and envelopes, perhaps these letters were to be mailed as soon as they got to New York. But it made little sense the mail sack was there, inside a lifeboat in the loading dock… She took one out to open. She knew she shouldn't, but she could so she would. It was a bit heavy, there was an object inside, something cold to the touch and shaped like… No, it can't be. Yet it was: Sweeney's razor. Likely, the one he'd lost the night of the party. What the hell was it doing there!?
Before she could make sense of it, she heard the sound of the metal door being open, and the baker was quick to put the razor back in the envelope and hid it in her petticoats. She would tell Sweeney and give it back to him, of course she would, she knew how much those silver pieces meant to him. And it was for that reason that she decided to wait. Perhaps it was a bit selfish of her, but she did not want to share his attention with his silver friend.
She ran towards the door, excited like a child to open her presents on Christmas morning. She couldn't wait to see the food he'd brought, she had the feeling it was something big and fancy or he wouldn't have all gone all out setting the picnic. But most importantly, she couldn't wait to see him. The man she loved, the one she was slowly convincing herself that might love her back.
But as soon as she saw him, she had the sense to take a step back. Something had changed, or rather, gone back to normal. An air of melancholy and despair hung above him like a dark cloud and his eyes were hard and lifeless, his expression unreadable. He didn't say a word, just observed her.
"Love?" she asked tremulously, unable to stand this silence. He was upset, she knew that, and it was probably something concerning Lucy, for nothing and no one else could bring about such a state of despair to the man. Damn hag, she was dead and still ruining everything. The cleverest choice would be for her to get away from him, to protect herself and the baby from him from a very likely outburst on his part— as well as her own heart from the pain that came with his unrequitedness— but the desire to comfort him was stronger. It hurt her to see him hurting. "Is there anything wrong? You can tell me, dearest."
She barely got the words out before he began advancing towards her, his murderous intent plain in his obsidian eyes. She retreated, but her back soon collided with the lifeboats and before she knew it, he was standing within a hair's breadth from her. There was no scape.
The demon barber looked back into her lying eyes. Showing concern, compassion even. She was so skilled she could have fooled him once more if he didn't know the truth. What a wicked woman this one was. A wolf in sheep's clothes. He was using up all his self-control not to smack her in the face, but he was holding back because of the baby. It was truly the only innocent soul amongst them, a pawn in its mother's game.
Because Eleanor Lovett played men as she played chess, and Sweeney was not going to stay idle as he waited for her checkmate.
But he was struggling to find the right words to express how he was feeling. It just hurt so much to be deceived by her again, the pain more piercing now that he had made peace with her feelings for her. He loved her, his heart was bleeding for her and she seemed insensitive to his pain. She'd rather play dumb to keep her farce going instead of acknowledging it. Just like in the bakehouse, it was clear she'd take her lie to the grave if she had to. That jezebel…
"Look, deary. I do not know what it is, but we can fix it. We can talk about it, if it makes you feel better but please let me go. You're scaring me here" she pleaded but he found her tone condescending and that's what did it for him.
"You think I'm daft, don't you?" he said as calmly as she could, but it was a deadly type of calm that chilled her to the bones. "You thought I would never find out… that you could still fool me."
"Whatever are you talking about?" she tried to appear unaffected, but she was secretly panicking. There was always the possibility that he was talking about Lucy and her death she lied about but she had the feeling it was something else. And there were many secrets she'd kept from him, many damning secrets that could prompt him to react like this. To want to hurt her and desert her and never want to see her again. If he knew only a fraction of the person she really was…
"Now it's you playing the daft lassie, Mrs. Lovett" she froze when he called her Mrs. Lovett with so much… disgust. Oh God, he must know, she thought and her eyes filled with tears at once. "You and Mr. Winslow… Your wedding…" he could barely get the words out.
She knitted her eyebrows in confusion before she came to the realisation. She almost let out a sigh of relief. "Sweeney, that's not…"
"Shut up!" he cut her off, clamping his hand over her mouth. He would not hear it, he would not fall for her beautiful lies ever again. "You disgust me, you fall lower than the lowliest of whores. Appeasing me with your stupid excuses to meet him so I wouldn't say anything. Distracting me with your empty promises and your whorish body, when you were planning to marry another all this time. Liar, you are and have always been a liar."
The hand that wasn't preventing her from speaking more falsehoods was now wrapped around her neck. He had no intention of tightening that grasp and effectively suffocating her, but how he liked to see that panicked look in her eyes. The sadistic, the ruthless part of him enjoyed having her at his mercy. It was the only time he felt immune to her deceit, when he had the upper hand.
It was just like that last night at the bakehouse… but the baker no longer believed in his lies. He could try to beguile her with words of dreams and happiness, to swap her into a romantic waltz leading to her death—in the absence of an oven, she had the feeling that he would just push her until she fell through the fenceless gap into the bottom of the ocean, but she would not let him. She would not let him defeat her.
Thus, she bit his hand and kicked his crotch at once, the combined power of her actions causing him to release her. She ran towards the door, aware that she had no time to waste. She could hear him grunting behind her in obvious pain, that gave her a few extra seconds to run as fast as she could towards the upper levels and get help. Only then she'd be safe.
But before she could turn the handle to open the door, he was behind her. Creeping up on her like a predator would to his prey, the demon barber would not let her go. Now or ever. "You can't escape me, Eleanor" he warned her, and he emphasised his words by pressing the cold blade of his razor against her neck. She was doomed, she knew it, only a miracle could save her.
Her mind was working against her with as much intent as Sweeney. It urged her to give up, for nothing good had ever come from fighting her destiny. Only more suffering and she was already envisioning what was to come. He would just flick his wrist and slit her throat, and when she was barely conscious, he would grab her limp body and drop her into the ocean. Into the sea. What an apt way to die, by the hand of the one she loved, in the place where she dreamed about spending her last days with him. But the baby… no she couldn't give up.
"Sweeney, I'm sorry. This is just a misunderstanding, you have to believe me!" she tried to reason with him. Matching his anger would only make things worse, and all she wanted was for him to understand. To listen to the truth. "Harold proposed, that he did, but…"
"Shut up, I don't want to hear it!" he warned her, sliding the razor up her neck so it was right below her jaw. She gulped in fear. "You betrayed me, you betrayed my trust. You lied to me, and you used me, Mrs. Lovett. You never loved me, you opportunistic whore. A whore, selling your love to the highest bidder, that's what you are. I can't believe I fell for that, for your lies, again."
"No, I never lied" she tried, and it was not lost of them how those words echoed the ones she uttered that night in the bakehouse. But this time, she really meant it. She never lied about that.
"Shut your mouth, I say!" He would not listen, let alone believe her. Like Peter and the Wolf, after a life of lies, truth fell on deaf ears.
Nellie cursed herself, for not having brought the gun, for hiding the razor in her petticoats where she couldn't reach it now for having agreed to come here in the first place. She always made stupid choices when it came to him. Yet it was clear that words were her only weapon now, her last chance.
"Sweeney, please…" she begged, hoping he let her talk when she used her last ace up her sleeve. "Think of the baby, you're hurting me and that can't be good for the baby. I know you care about him, I know you are a good father."
"My child you were going to take from me!" he roared, the grip on the razor tightening. He held it so forcefully it was almost nicking her skin. "Tell me, Eleanor, does he know that you're already pregnant? Does he know that the child he is going to give his last name to is mine? 'Your brother's" he scoffed at that, at the impudence in her lie. An idea suddenly occurred to him. "Is that how you tricked him into marrying you? You shagged him like the courtesan you are and made him think he fathered your bastard? You shameless woman."
"No!" she protested. Tears were falling down her cheeks now, did he really think so low of her?
"How can I be sure that's not why you did with me? You are always so needy, you could have opened your legs for the first man who gave you some coins and called you a pretty thing…" He didn't really mean that, he knew that given the frequency of their encounters and the infatuation bordering on obsession she had for him, the baby must be his. Yet, he knew the mere suggestion hurt her, and that was all he wanted now. To hurt her like she hurt him.
"I would never lie about that!" she tried to defend herself, even if she knew there was no point in it. There were many things he didn't know, many things she'd purposedly hid from him, and her current affirmation only had certain validity. Because she would indeed lie, if that resulted in a better life for her child.
"But that's all you do Mrs. Lovett! Lie about Harold, about the past… about Lucy!" He grimaced at the memory. That fateful moment in which he slit the throat of the woman he once loved, or what was left of her.
"Please! I'm not marrying Harold or anyone, please believe me" she begged, but he could barely hear her. He gripped the razor even more strongly, as his vision turned red. Red from the blood of his victims, from the hellish fire that awaited them. Red and warm… warm coating was his hand after he slit the throat of a damned. He felt it so vividly, as if it went beyond a simple memory.
He looked down at his hand and it was indeed turning red. Red from Nellie's blood.
He dropped the razor at once, releasing the very scared baker.
"Bloody hell, I'm sorry, Eleanor. I didn't mean to. I'm sure. Shit, I'm sorry" he apologised. It was true, he didn't really mean to harm her. Just to scare her, to teach her a lesson. But as always, he lost control and took things too far.
The woman was trembling, terrified. She was crying hysterically as she held her hand to the small cut on her neck to stop the bleeding. Small and superficial, but had he realised a few second later, it could have been deadly, and they both knew it.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you" he kept trying. In order to help her calm down he retreated so he was on the other side of the room. Yet she did nothing, she said nothing. For a woman who voiced her every thought, her silence was worrying. Yet her eyes spoke when her mouth could not. She was afraid of him, probably beyond repair. He could never make up for this, he had lost her forever. Somehow, he kept trying."I'm sorry, it was a mistake. Mr. Winslow told me about your engagement and I was so angry, I lost it. I didn't want to lose you…"
Perhaps it was the hint of vulnerability in her voice that made her react. Or the veiled unfairness in his statement. "I said no" she said, her voice shaking like her body. "He asked me to marry him, but I said no" It was his turn to be silent. Harold had said… "You hear me, you ratbag? I said no!"
"He came to for a shave and told you were engaged. That you would be celebrating the engagement tonight… " he explained. "He sounded so sure of himself, so certain…"
"And thus, you trust him over me. A man, whom you said you wanted to rape me. His word has more weight than mine" she was surprisingly calm now as she let out the facts. The admission, though not a shock to her, hurt nonetheless, but she was almost clinical about it. That was, until she uttered the next sentence. "But I said no, Sweeney. I said no because I loved you!"
Her voice broke, the tears welled in her eyes anew. She had to leave, she had to leave him now. To calm down, to gather herself and think rationally about her next steps without her heightened emotions getting in the way. She turned around, determined to do so, but what he said next, made her stop dead in her tracks.
"And I love you too!" he confessed, and despite everything he felt like a weight had lifted off his chest. Yet obtained no apparent reaction from the baker. "I love you, Eleanor, I do. That's why this hurt me so much…"
After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, she turned around. And instead of running towards him, instead of pulling him in for a kiss or even crying tears of happiness her expression was one of pure hatred. "How dare you, Mr. Todd? How dare you? To try and corrupt something that mean so much to me? To say the words you know I've always wanted to hear, when you don't mean them. How dare you!?"
She was trying her best to remain strong, not to break down in front of him. To show him how utterly devastated she was inside. She never imagine that hearing him say 'I love you' would feel like this.
"I love you! It's the truth!" he repeated, hoping it was enough to make her understand. But he should have known that actions speak louder than words.
"If you loved me, you would trust me. If you loved me, you wouldn't have tried to kill me. Twice" she said as matter-of-factly as she could, as if her heart was not breaking as she said that.
As soon as she opened the door to enter the passageway and left the now speechless at the dock, the dam broke. Crying like never had before, she ran. Away from him, away from her feelings. She cursed the day she met him, the brief bouts of happiness he'd given her where not worth this indescribable pain. Nothing was worth it.
She could barely see where she was going through the tears, and those corridors looked all the same. Deserted, and cold, soulless, just like the demon barber. All of a sudden, she crashed against something. Or rather, someone.
"Eleanor, what are you doing here?" he asked and in normal circumstances, she would have asked him the same question. Tonight, however, she just hugged him. He showed up when he needed her the most, was that perhaps a sign? "What is the matter? Why are you upset?"
She shook her head. "Just hold me, please?" she asked timidly. That was all she needed, comfort.
And he gave it to her. She was dishevelled, with the remnants of the blood that oozed out the small cut drying up into a maroon crust on her neck and her never-ending tears soaking his shirt, yet he didn't ask any more questions. He simply wrapped his arms around her, and held her until she calmed down. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.
Safety, this was what it was all about. And he had money, prominence, a surname with connections. And even if he was a morally grey man who put something in her drink and might have murdered someone else, he was kind to her. And she was gentle, and sweet, and generous. No one before him had, not to her.
She could be safe with him, and so could her child. Safe from Sweeney Todd.
The words left her mouth before she could stop them
"I'll marry you, Harold. I'll marry you."