"I can't do this! I can't do this anymore!" Sweeney Todd pushed the baker roughly away, making sure to shove her in the shoulders as not to hurt what she was carrying inside her.
It had been two weeks. Two horribly horrendous weeks. Two weeks of listening to her rabble, two weeks of hauling carriages to take them back and forth from the sea. Two weeks of so many people asking him if he was marrying the baker, two weeks where, like always, he had to politely respond, ⌠No■.
That was it. He couldn't take it anymore.
"I am inot/i marrying you," growled the barber, glaring daggers at the only woman who would dare say otherwise.
"Then what do ya suggest we do?! I can't just ▒ave a baby with no ▒usband!"
They were standing in the pie shop. The morning sun light was slanted through the windows, giving way to a new day. Mrs. Lovett had just been preparing to take him to a tailor to get fitted for a suit. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay home and kill. But the baker had said differently. That had been the final straw.
"I'll take you away," replied the barber. He had a lot of time to think, to find another way they could do this without him actually having to marry her. "We'll go to Paris. Buy rings. Forge the document."
Mrs. Lovett stood looking at him, tears welling in the corners of her hazel eyes. She wanted a wedding. She wanted flowers and people and cake. Sweeney wanted nothing of the sort. And the problem was, when he didn▓t like the way something had to be done, he thought his own solution through thoroughly.
She couldn't find a reason why his scheme wouldn't work.
"Fine," she whimpered, slumping down in a wooden, straight back chair meant for her customers. "And when do ya plan on leaving?"
The barber whisked her out of the chair, causing her to squeak in surprise.
"Right now," he breathed into her ear, smirking as she melted in his grasp. The sudden surge of dominance that he always felt when being close to her sprang up and he enjoyed it. The way she was powerless around him was one of the reasons he enjoyed her so much. One of the reasons he was willing to do this much.
"Oh, well then," she said, her voice, once she had finally found it, was uncertain. He obviously distracted her. "I'll go pack."
She pulled away, taken aback when he didn't let her go. Now that they were doing what he wanted to do, he was more than willing to be close to her.
"You do that." After this statement he let her go, hesitating a moment before whisking out of the shop. "How much money do you think we'll need?"
This caused the baker to pause. "Take all of it. That's better then leaving it 'ere, unattended."
He nodded slightly before exiting the shop. Mrs. Lovett sighed, watching where he had been standing for a few moments, before turning to head back to her bedroom. Now she had the daunting task of find her old suitcase. The woman had an idea of where it should be, and found it a few moments later stashed away in the bottom of her wardrobe. As she pulled it out, an old, yellowing piece of paper floated down to the ground. Curiosity pricked, the baker grabbed the note and read it aloud.
"My darling Margery," she said to herself, quick eyes taking in the few lines of text. "I expect you to move out of the shop when I die, so you should find this money to be of some help. Remember, I always loved you."
The note was signed Albert Lovett.
Reaching into the bag, she found five hundred pound notes.
"That little bugger!" she hissed. "I always hated him."
For in truth, she knew that Albert wouldn't have expected her to move out of the house, and that this had been his secret stash of gin money.
"The little bugger," she repeated, flipping through the money once more. Five hundred pounds. What she could've done with this last year┘
"Ready?" Sweeney was standing in the door way, tucking his own large some of money into a small black leather purse that was now latched on his belt next to two of his razors. She turned to him, holding up the new found money. He shrugged, taking it from her and adding it to what he already had.
"We don't 'ave ta work anymore. There's more than enough ta get us by right there," she suggested, dusting off the suitcase and shoving a few of her favorite dresses into it.
He let out a snort, showing that prospect was very unlikely. Even though dozens had died, he still wasn't satisfied. "I doubt that, Mrs. Lovett. If you're having trouble running shop, we can always get another boy for downstairs."
She gasped. "But then he would know!"
"I'm well aware of that fact. You wouldn't be able to let him out, and if he got too frisky, we could just kill him."
"We?!"
He took a few moments before speaking again. "I could just kill him."
"Mmmm." That idea didn't bode well with her, but they would do what they had to to get by. She closed the suitcase and he lugged it out into the shop. The old one he had arrived here with was also there, and the baker could hear the sound of horses beating their hooves against the cobblestone coming from outside.
They were really going to do this. They were going to ipretend/i to get married.
For some reason, this idea didn't sit as well with the baker as killing men did, even though the punishment was much less.
But she would do as the barber told her to, and this is what the barber told her to do. So she followed him into the carriage, wondering what would be in store for them once they arrived in Paris.