Chapter Five--
It was okay. Everything was going to be okay.
The Judge was dead. The man she loved was falling into her grasp. The pies were selling faster then she could make them.
All those years she suffered under the hands of her husband, all those nights tossing and turning and wishing and praying that the barber would return to her were going to be well rewarded.
And it was about time.
Mrs. Lovett scrubbed at a large iron pot, wishing she had thought to do this earlier. The dirty water splashed from it into the sink, dripping down the conduit into the sewer. There. That was taken care of. With a heave, the basin was out of the sink and on top of a burner. A quick flick of a match set the pot quickly heating up, and the water she poured into it sizzled as it met the surface. Soon the air was filled with the rich savory smell of beef stew, which quickly attracted the attention of a certain young boy.
"What's that, mum?" whispered the boy, who still hadn't had enough good solid meals to make up for the lack of such during the first seven-and-a-half years of his life.
"Beef stew. I doubt you'll be able to manage more then a bowl of this, dear," chuckled the pie maker, using a wooden spoon to sift through the thickening liquid.
She felt the boy hovering near her, and his closeness was annoying.
"Why don't'cher make yourself useful and make some bread?" she asked him, her tone hard. Toby smiled and flitted away, knowing that Mrs. Lovett's anger wasn't that easily provoked.
Now Mr. Todd on the other hand... well... Toby didn't even want to think about that man's temper. Just the thought made him shiver, and he quickly set about finding the ingredients to do as he was told.
"What kind?" he questioned, looking back at her.
"Hm," pondered the woman, turning to him. Warm brown liquid dripped from the spoon in her hand onto the floor with inaudible splishes. "Anything goes good with stew, but I'd 'ave to say sourdough."
She watched as the boy's forehead wrinkled. "But a loaf a' that'll take hours ta rise!"
"Precisely!" she said, beaming at him. "So it's a good thing we made some yesterday, aye?"
Toby nodded, now remembering the loaf displayed in the front window. He scurried over to remove it from being showcased and laid it gently on the counter to be sliced. Mrs. Lovett drew a ragged edged knife, and quickly cut part of the loaf into three thick pieces. Then the spoon was back in her hand and dipping portions into ceramic bowls. The boy waited patiently for his serving, and dug into the large portion with untamed enthusiasm. The pie-maker laughed softy, filling another bowl and placing it on a tray, along with one piece of bread. Toby looked up, knowing immediately where she was going.
"Be careful, mum," murmured the boy as the door clicked to a shut behind her. He paused for a moment, watching her go up the stairs, then continued working through the stew set before him.
During the food making process, Sweeney had sat upstairs in his barber chair, taking deep breathes to calm himself. He knew Mrs. Lovett would bring up his dinner, and he was fighting down the fiery feelings that burned in him. Fifteen years slaving in Australia had taught him a hard lesson. That love and passion, everything he was feeling at the moment, was horrible and should be replaced with anger and rage.
This wasn't like him. He was normally in control. It was as if his mind had suddenly decided to backtrack and take the right path when earlier he had gone left. He needed to be cold hearted and indifferent. He didn't want to risk the feeling of pain that he had struggled against for fifteen years, the feeling of pure agony that had almost thrust him off the edge more times then he remembered.
But when she entered the room, the mask was torn away and he sprang to his feet.
'Control yourself, fool!' his mind screamed at him, reminding him of the numbing pain that linked directly to him feeling the way he did now. He quickly slumped back into the chair, regaining his composer.
"Evenin', Mr. T!" greeted Mrs. Lovett, her cockney accent playing along with her sing-song tone. "Brought you up some supper."
He glared at her, attempting to keep his stare blank, but she caught the hidden flicker of excitement, and a smile lit up her face.
"Unless you have other things in mind," she added, her voice taking on a taunting tone that made the man tremble with longing.
Somehow, she had caught onto his ruse. She knew that he was hiding something from her, and anticipation welled in his chest, daring her to come closer, to be the one to tear down the wall he had spent the past hour building.
He held himself back, not moving as she placed the tray of food down on the chest and advanced toward him. He didn't let his head turn as she glided around him, but he couldn't control the way he relaxed as her hands moved to his shoulders, slowly massaging the tension out of him with careful circular strokes of just the right pressure. His eyes flickered closed, but opened immediately.
"What's the matter, love?" she asked him, letting her warm fingers play down his bare neck. "You're acting strangely."
Strangely. He wanted to snort with disgust. She knew nothing of how his own nature was turning against him, forcing him into something he needed and wanted more then he was willing to admit.
"Nothing," he muttered, trying to ignore her. That task was impossible as she moved to sit on his lap. He sat up straighter, his hands quickly clenching into fists to keep his arms from moving around her.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You sure about that, love?"
He was finding trouble breathing with her so close. It was though all his hidden emotions were pushing at his throat, so when he responded, it was barely a whisper.
"No..." It wasn't what he had wanted to say, but it was the truth.
'You're worthless,' cried the voice in his mind, giving up. 'Go on. I suppose you can't do anything worse then you already have.'
He noticed her hazel eyes were locked onto his; he noticed her lips were pursed as she tried to decipher the sudden flooding of emotion that had rapidly taken over him.
"What..." she began, startled by the way he looked at her. Her heart twinged as she suddenly thought of Albert, but the thought was short lived and barely registered.
He shook his head, clearing the emotion off his face. But it was too late. She had already seen what he had been hiding, what he had in him all this time, yet didn't feel like he could let out.
"Mr. T..." whispered the woman, pressing her lips against his, knowing now that this was truly what he wanted, no matter how much he tried to hide it. The satisfaction she felt was a bit overwhelming, and she had to pull away before he even realized what she was doing.
"Mrs. Lovett," replied the man, looking past her to the bowl on the chest. "What is that?"
A smile flickered across her face.
"Beef stew," she answered. "But I'm much better."
"I know."
"Love, if you thought that was good..."
She laughed, and the normalness of it made the barber smile slightly. A match flame of hope flared up in him, warming the monster inside. He could do this. He could spend his life with Mrs. Lovett. His life as Benjamin Barker, if he ever was such a person, would never be forgotten but maybe, just maybe, he could get by.
"I think we could have a life you, and I," he told her, brown eyes catching the fading light.
"I've always thought that." Her cheek rested on his chest, a happy sigh escaping from her slightly parted lips. He finally allowed himself to hold her, to let his fingers trace the curves of her body as she leaned against him. He felt her melt under his touch, and was reminded once more of how much he meant to her.
He was willing to admit that he could possibly have feelings for Mrs. Lovett. He was not, however, overcoming his stubbornness enough to say that his feelings matched her own.
But that leaves us wondering if anyone ever in all of the world could match the searing flame of passion and love that Mrs. Margery Lovett felt for the barber.
The silence of the moment seemed to drag by, and neither of them felt as if they had anything to say to each other. No, not even Mrs. Lovett could find words to express what was fueling her actions. It was hard for her not to doze in her stunningly comfortable position; her head would drop slightly, and in a few moments pop back up. After doing this half a dozen time, she felt a cold hand cupping her chin. His touch sent waves of delightfully chilled pleasure up her jaw line, and she giggled slightly at the unusual feeling. His hand moved, guiding her gently to where she was facing him once again.
As he kissed her, she experienced something she had never felt before. As she let his tongue invade her mouth, the feeling strengthened and she struggled to hold back a tremor threatening to shake her small frame. It was like drinking too much gin, only more in control and so much better. She felt him rise, felt the hidden passion leaking out from wherever he was trying to hide it. She clung to him desperately to keep her balance, as in account of their height difference, she was left totally in his power until the tips of her toes landed on the wooden floor with a slight clunk. The hand that had so recently cupped her chin had found it's way to just behind her ear, and the other rested at the small of her back, undecided on whether it should tangle itself in the ribbon holding her dress on her or leave it for another time.
She felt him begin to withdraw, and she took over, feeling as if this would be the only time he ever loved her, even though her heart told her that was not the case. She had him. He was all hers, and she was all his, just as she had been for as long as either of them could remember.
But would it last? With every moment the monster inside Todd grew, feeding hungrily on the passion, the desire for more of her, the desire to rip down everything that stood between the two, whether it be just clothing or more.
The beast lurked in the dark recesses of the man's heart, letting him feel as though he could love again, he could live again. But when the moment was right, it would spring.
This isn't the happily ever after for the couple; oh no, there's so much more to be told.