Chapter 5
Several moments passed as the baker tried to make sense of what she was seeing all around her, to find an answer to the question why on earth Sweeney had collected so many of her former possessions. She knew that the man was obsessive – but that was when his wife was concerned. Mrs. Lovett knew better than to think that she meant to him only a little of what Lucy had been to him.
But as she looked around the room, she had to admit to herself that she couldn't be certain of this any longer. In fact, it seemed very unlikely. Those items were arranged with great care, not to mention the fact that Mr. Todd had risked his own life by returning to Fleet Street and getting all of this out of the house that was under such close scrutiny of both the inhabitants of Fleet Street and the police after the crimes that had been committed there had been discovered at last.
Unable to do anything else, Mrs. Lovett sat down against the door that she had just entered through, forcing herself to breathe in and out calmly. She wouldn't find out on her own why Mr. Todd had done this; she would have to ask him later – if she had the courage to do so. But either way, breaking her brains over it now was useless. There was no way for her to find out on her own what had brought the barber to do all of this.
As she was sitting on the ground, not having to rely on her treacherous legs any longer and breathing in the air of the strange and somewhat terrifying room, the baker felt strangely at ease. The air smelled quite a lot like what she remembered from the house where he had taken the items from. If anything, Mr. Todd's home smelled of hers, and it was oddly comforting. In a way, she was much closer to her home in Fleet Street now than when she had been when she had been standing right in front of it – or was pressed firmly against one of its walls.
When he sat on the floor and looked around, her stomach growled with hunger. The baker groaned, wondering why her body decided that this was a good moment to remind her of one of her worst problems. It was probably because Mr. Todd's housekeeper had mentioned dinner only minutes ago. Mrs. Lovett rolled her eyes when she found herself thinking that she shouldn't confront Mr. Todd too intensely about what she had seen in this room; she would miss a probably very decent meal if he threw her out before dinner time. The same would doubtlessly go for Teddy, who needed to eat even more than she did.
She sighed, forcing herself not to think of food. It was true that she had known more hunger during the past few months than she had done ever before. She had been poor during other stages of her life, of course. Especially the time just before Mr. Todd's return had been a bad one. But never before she had been responsible for a growing child, who needed twice as much bread, meat and vegetables as she did herself.
"Shut it," she mumbled to herself. She couldn't worry about this just now. If she was lucky, dinner in the barber's house could make up for the food that she hadn't had and wouldn't have because she was sitting in Sweeney Todd's house instead of looking for work.
She actually couldn't wait for dinner to start, but she knew that she had to wait for a few more hours. She just hoped that she could wait that long and that she wouldn't embarrass herself during that time. She didn't want the barber to know how long ago it had been that she had had a proper meal. She wasn't even sure whether she could remember this occasion. It had probably been when her sister was still alive, even though those days hadn't exactly been defined by plentiful money and food either.
The baker forced herself to stand up. No matter how confusing the situation was, she had to find a way to make this work. The need for food was after all, no matter how pressing it was, nothing compared to her longing for the barber who had been so generous to take her here in the first place.
She was actually shivering now with cold, the clammy fabric of her ruined dress taking all the warmth away that her thin body could still produce on its own. She headed for the closet that contained the dresses she had seen earlier. It was both a shock and a delight to see that every single dress that she had left behind when she had run from Fleet Street were there.
She moved her hand of the dresses, fingers caressing the expensive fabric. She didn't know who the dresses technically belonged to, but she certainly didn't feel like they were hers. Touching dresses like those, let alone wearing them, just seemed wrong now that she had brought both her nephew and herself to the brink of starvation.
The baker looked at dress after dress, but none of them was like anything that she was willing to change the one for that she was currently wearing. The last one that she found however was perfect. It was the one she had worn when Mr. Todd had returned to Fleet Street ten years ago. She had refused to wear it as soon as she was able to afford better ones, but now it was in her eyes the only appropriate dress to chose.
Shutting the curtains – probably the only fabric in the room that hadn't belonged to her at one point in her life – to make sure that no one outside could see her, the baker began undoing the strings of the dress she was currently wearing, eager to free herself from it.
Only when she was struggling with the knots that kept her dress around her, she saw the mirror that was standing right next to the door. It was the one that used to be in her bedroom. It wasn't very big, but she still had no idea how Sweeney had managed to get it to this part of London. She was grateful that the mirror was there however; it was a lot easier to undo the strings on her back when she could actually see them.
As soon as the clammy fabric pooled around her feet, her reflection in the glass made clear to her that she wasn't done yet. Although they hadn't been influenced by the snow, her corset and stockings weren't in a good shape either. The corset had never comfortable – as far as such things ever were in the first place – and there were holes in her stockings. She was rather sure that Mr. Todd had created at least some of them, but she didn't want to be wearing such worn items in his presence either way.
She opened the drawers that were also part of the closet that the barber kept her dresses in. Just like she had thought – and feared – he had taken all of her clothing from her bedroom, not just the dresses. Again, he appeared to have done a very proper job. Even all the bloomers she remembered owning where there – she didn't even want to think about the reason that had brought Mr. Todd to take them here.
The baker wasn't sure whether this had been his intention when he had told her to change, but she decided to take this chance now that she got it. Without hesitation, she began untying her corset as well, continuing to take off her shoes, socks and stockings as soon as the restricting fabric of the corset was shed.
She was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable as she reminded herself that she was in Mr. Todd's house at that moment and that there were two children running around somewhere. The door however could also be locked from the inside and this was exactly what she did.
She returned to the mirror a moment later, feeling more at ease. The sight that greeted her however didn't please her. Her body exposed entirely except for the bloomers she was still wearing, she couldn't help but notice how bad she looked. She was thinner than she had ever been, her skin too pale and the area around her eyes too dark. As if that wasn't unpleasant enough yet, there were bruises and marks at almost every spot that Mr. Todd had touched earlier that day.
The baker refused to allow herself to think about it too much. Interacting with Mr. Todd was going to be difficult enough even if she wouldn't be doubting what he saw in her to begin with.
From the drawer that she had discovered earlier, she chose the clothing that she wanted to change. After a short moment of uncertainty, she also grabbed another pair of bloomers. The old one had been in need for a wash even before it had absorbed the evidence of how much Mr. Todd had aroused her exactly.
She put on the new – relatively new, at least - clothing quickly. The fabric was familiar and it was a delight to be wearing the old material again. Everything was a bit too large, even though she had bought all of it in the old days, when money hadn't been plentiful either, but it still fitted rather well.
When she was done, she left her old clothing in a relatively empty corner for the time being and exited the room immediately, refusing to look in the mirror again. She would probably never dare going back downstairs if she would. So she simply locked the door behind her again, just in case, and went to the room that Mr. Todd had pointed to earlier.
Arriving there, she found it empty, even though the barber had said that he would be waiting for her there. Mrs. Lovett didn't really mind however; she could use a few moments to compose herself in a room that wasn't as strange as the one that she had just left. And when she walked around the parlor, she realized that this was a golden opportunity to take a good look at the place where the barber was living now.
Even though he had turned out to be very different from the distanced and cold man he had been when they had worked together in London, she was still surprised that the parlor of his house was so... pleasant. The baker had a good eye for rooms and their decorations and she could easily tell that this parlor was a nice one indeed.
A lot of daylight was streaming into the room thanks to the large windows, that looked out on both the street and the garden that turned out to be behind the house. It was completely unlike the darkness of the room where Mr. Todd used to live in her house in Fleet Street; in fact, it was a lot better than the parlor she had had there herself. Not just because it was so much larger, but because there was something about it that made her feel very welcome.
There was a fire burning in the huge hearth and there were various paintings on the walls. Mrs. Lovett studied them with interest; Mr. Todd wasn't the kind of man who she expected to put art in his house. The painted landscapes that she saw however were beautiful, even though they were completely unlike the kind of things she thought that the barber liked. She reminded herself again that this wasn't really the man who she had escaped from a decade ago and that she had to stop presuming that he was.
There were a series of paintings in one of the corners of the parlor that were very different from the ones she had seen before. Those were obviously made by a less experienced painter, a child by the looks of it. She presumed that those were made by Victoria. In spite of herself, the baker couldn't suppress the feeling of jealousy that arose within her when she saw this, wishing that she herself had been the one who had made her way into Mr. Todd's household with such apparent ease.
The items that captured her attention next were two frames, standing on a low table next to a comfortable looking chair, leaning against an elegant clock. They looked just as stylish as anything else that she had seen in the parlor so far. The baker was completely surprised however when she looked at the pictures that the frames contained.
She recognized the two women on them immediately. The picture in the left frame was one of Lucy Barker. She recognized it as one of the pictures he had found in his old home when he had returned to London. When she had gone to his room ten years ago, she had often found him staring at this very picture with a distant look in his eyes, suggesting that he was lost in a world where his Lucy was still alive – or at least, still was the woman who she had been when the barber had been banished.
It was no surprise at all to find a picture of the woman he had loved – and doubtlessly still loved – in his parlor. The picture that was right next to it however was. Mrs. Lovett blinked several times, but the image in front of her didn't change. The room that she had found upstairs already suggested that Mr. Todd had developed some sort of strange fascination about her – and still, it came as a shock to find a picture of herself in his parlor, right next to the one of the woman who he had loved so much that he had survived fifteen years under the most difficult circumstances to find his way back to her – and had done the most horrible things imaginable in order to vengeance her when he had learned what had happened to his family. Or at least, the version that she had told him. Lucy had of course eventually died by the hands of her own husband, which wouldn't have happened if the baker had told Sweeney the truth about her. He had almost murdered her when he had found out at last that she had lied to take Lucy Barker's place in his life. Which made it even more unexpected to find a picture of herself in his parlor. It made it seem as if she actually had taken Lucy's place.
The frames that surrounded the two pictures were identical, just like the the quality of the images. For the first time in her life, the baker felt equal to the woman that the barber had preferred. The picture of her was taken many years ago, before the barber was banished. It had been standing on the piano in her parlor all this time; she wasn't very fond of the photograph, but her late husband was. Even when he had died, she had never removed it; the picture had been standing there for so long, that she hadn't been aware of it any longer.
It was a shock indeed to find it here now, but it was nothing compared to the surprise that still was awaiting her. When she turned around to continue her exploration of Mr. Todd's parlor in his absence, her eyes fell on an arm chair that was very familiar to her.
She blinked again, this time truly unable to believe what she was seeing with her own eyes. But once again the view didn't change when she was questioning her powers of observation. In the corner of the parlor was one of her old chairs – the one she was most fond of, because it was the most comfortable one she had ever owned. It was the very same chair that she had thought of earlier that day, when Mr. Todd had pressed her against the wall that used to be mere inches away from the chair that she was currently looking at.
Mrs. Lovett was reminded of what Victoria had said to her earlier. The girl had called her the 'chair lady'; although the baker still had no idea how Mr. Todd had been able, let alone been willing, to take this piece of furniture to his beautiful new home, she understood now at least why Victoria had referred to her with those words. The girl had somehow known that there was a woman who held a special place in Mr. Todd's heart and had assumed that the auburn haired baker was this woman when Victoria had found her kissing Mr. Todd.
"I see you've found your chair."
Mrs. Lovett turned around swiftly as she heard the barber's voice, having been too lost in her thoughts to be aware of his arrival.
"I... I did," she mumbled, inwardly sighing because her attempt to collect herself in the parlor had had quite the opposite effect. If anything, she was more confused now than when she had left the rather disturbing room upstairs.
Mr. Todd gasped when she turned around to face him, eyes widening when he took a proper look at her.
"That dress..." he said, "it's the one that..."
"The one that I was wearing when you walked into my shop ten years ago," she said, recalling that day vividly even though a lot of time had passed since then. "I didn't know you remembered that."
"I didn't," he replied. "I hadn't recognized it before. Only now that you're wearing it..."
The look in his eyes made the baker blush. He looked at her in a way that no one had ever done before, with an intensity that she could almost feel physically. There was an expression of admiration on his face. It was hard to believe that she actually was the one who caused it.
"You hardly changed since that day," he said, stepping closer to her.
The baker wanted to correct him, recalling the shock she had felt when she had just taken a good look at herself in the mirror. But if Sweeney Todd was thinking that she didn't looked much worse than she had during that day, she wasn't the one to take that illusion away from him.
"That chair has been empty since the day I put it there," he continued somewhat hesitantly, referring to the piece of furniture that she had been looking at, sensing her discomfort at his compliment. "It has been standing here for years, waiting for you. Just like I did. I kept telling myself that it was useless, that you wouldn't never sit on it again... but I kept hoping. And here you are."
He walked backwards, heading for the chair without taking his eyes off her. When his legs touched the slightly worn leather of the large chair, he sat down, settling himself in one corner.
"Come," he said, extending his hand to her. "Sit with me."
She approached him; there was nothing she'd rather do than settle in her favorite chair together with the barber. But there was something that was stopping her, a part of her that was desperate for answers and didn't want to believe any of this before she had found a logical explanation for his completely changed attitude towards her.
"I will explain," he said, reaching for her.
Although trusting him had almost lead to her dead once and there was no proof that this situation would be otherwise, Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but obey him.
There was quite some space of the seat left between his body and the opposite arm rest, and this is were she sat down herself. It was a delight to sit so close to him, but it turned out to get even better when he patted on the arm rest that was on his side of the couch. Feeling deliciously inappropriate while doing so, she swung her legs over the barber's, letting them dangle off the side of the chair. She was then basically sitting on and against him, the feeling of his body against her own more pleasant than the comfortable chair itself had ever been.
Only then she noticed that he was carrying something with him. He was holding a small sort of bottle, of which he unscrewed the lid once she was sitting still. The baker backed a little away from him intuitively, at least a part of her body still aware of what this man could do to her.
"It's for your wounds," he said, handing the little item to her as he nodded to the skin that his teeth had assaulted earlier that day. "It'll heal quicker if you use that."
She took it from him, surprised that he had thought of this. Even she had forgotten about it, but that wasn't so strange seeing the circumstances. This made it even more remarkable however of course that the barber had reminded it.
She held the little bottle upside down, letting some of the liquid in it drop on her fingertip. When she was about to move her hand to the injured skin to apply the cream, she realized that she couldn't see where the actual wounds were.
They looked at each other and after a short moment of hesitation, there appeared once again that amused expression on his face, which was so odd because it was so completely unfamiliar to her, and beautiful at the same time.
He took the bottle again, moving his index finger against her own to collect the cream that she had already taken. The jolt that she had felt earlier whenever they touched was there again, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of nervous excitement that she experienced when the barber's gaze moved down from her own eyes to the skin that was visible above the edge of the low cut dress she had changed into.
"Are you sure?"
She could only nod. It was by for more practical to allow him to do this, and in spite of the way he had abused her trust in the past, she couldn't help but still wanting to be touched by him.
The baker shivered when his fingers brushed against her skin for the first time. He was only touching her neck now, where he had begun his assault, but the movements of his hands were so gentle and tender that she found herself imagining that he was doing quite something different than applying the cream.
"Are you alright?" he asked, sensing the way her body trembled but unaware of the true cause of it.
"I'm fine," she muttered, opening her eyes of which she hadn't realized that she'd closed them.
"It might tingle a bit," Sweeney said as he moved to her skin again. "But that means it's working."
She hadn't been aware of it before, probably because there was a tingling sensation of a quite different nature that she was also experiencing. But now that the barber mentioned it, she felt indeed how the wound reacted to the cream. The feeling was strange but not necessarily unpleasant. The same went for the slightly flowery smell of whatever it was exactly that he was using, and the baker simply surrendered to it.
He continued, his fingers moving lower with each mark that he treated. The baker tilted her head back, granting him all the access to the vulnerable skin that he needed. She was vaguely aware of the promise she had made to herself mere hours ago, when she had been standing in front of the building where Mr. Todd had tried to kill her ten years ago, that she could never trust this man again.
And yet, she found herself surrendering to him completely, enjoying his touch. Whenever she opened her eyes to look at the barber, she could see that the same went for him. Although she still had no idea why this was possible, even after he had just told her that he would explain to her what had happened to him and thus what had caused his extreme change of his opinion regarding her, seeing how much he apparently liked to touch her now, made the moment even more pleasant to her.
Her skin was literally tingling because of the cream and the added sensations of Mr. Todd's touch made her head swim. The world was once again reduced to her and him alone; as she forgot about all the bizarre things that had happened that day, it only seemed to make sense that the barber seemed to be sharing her affectionate feelings.
When his fingers brushed against the lowest bit of skin, which was just above the edge of her dress, she had to prevent herself from vocalizing how much she enjoyed his touch exactly. A part of her still realized that she had to be careful; allowing the barber to know that she was experiencing this as so much more than a medical procedure, probably wouldn't do her any good.
He didn't make it easy for her however. There wasn't much left of the efficient carefulness with which he had touched her earlier. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear that he was actually caressing her now, long fingers brushing against the pale skin that he hadn't injured.
She sighed happily, becoming less and less aware of the character of the man who was touching her when his hands helped her relax in a way she hadn't done for a long time. Losing awareness of everything except for the parts of her body that were caressed by the barber, Mrs. Lovett slumped against his chest.
He wrapped the arm that wasn't touching her yet around her, pulling her closer to him. She was very vaguely aware that he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply as if he somehow had to ensure himself that way that she was actually there. The baker was somewhat embarrassed because of this, knowing that she hadn't been able to was her hair properly for a very long time.
The barber didn't seem to be bothered by this at all and she couldn't care much either, the harshness of her usual daily life forgotten as she the dream she cherished most was continuing even now that she was awake.
Mr. Todd withdrew the hand that had been applying the cream. The baker was disappointed because of this for a moment, but he wrapped the arm around her as well as soon as it was free.
Although he still hadn't said any word that explained to her how it was possible that he was behaving like this, Mrs. Lovett allowed him to pull her against him, knowing that there was nowhere she'd rather be than in his arms.
As she snuggled against him, Sweeney rested his head against hers. The baker let out a deep sigh, being rather sure that there had never been a moment in her life that had been as pleasant as this one. Even as time passed and the barber didn't appear to be about to tell her what had happened to him to make him act like this, she focused with all her attention on the moment they were sharing now, refusing to speculate on the reasons for it.
After a few minutes of quietness had passed, the barber's hands began to move a little, stroking her with care but with some hesitation as well, as if he wasn't entirely sure whether he should do so. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of his hands on her hips and lower back. For a moment she was very happy just to sit like that, enjoying his gentle presence. Clearly encouraged by her reaction, he continued the movements, his quiet sigh telling her that he liked to be with her like that just as much as she appreciated him.
She rested her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to believe temporarily that it was only normal to be with him like this, to forget about all the years of desperate longing that had passed before this moment. Mr. Todd tangled one of his hands in her hair, keeping her face pressed gently against his shoulder, and the other went around her waist, basically capturing her body against his own. She'd almost think that he was afraid that she'd leave him for some reason, but the thought was a ridiculous one to her; she would never leave him if the choice was hers to make, but most of all it seemed such a strange idea that Mr. Todd wanted her to stay with him in the first place.
His hands caressed the entire surface of her back, fingers lingering on the exposed skin of her shoulders and the sensitive area of her lower back. It was almost as if he was reminding both her and himself that this was real, touching her to make sure that she wasn't a mere ghost or illusion.
When there was a knock on the door, he held on to her, not even letting her go when Mrs. Clint entered the parlor, carrying a tray with two cups of tea on it. The baker herself felt actually rather embarrassed, not being used to be held with such affection – let alone when others were watching. But at the same time it was miraculous indeed that the barber was willing to hold her like this, even though the housekeeper who he seemed to be quite fond of could see them.
The older woman didn't visibly react to the embracing baker and barber, although Mrs. Lovett presumed that they had to be a rather surprising sight. Mrs. Clint simply placed the two cups of tea in front of them and left as quietly as she had arrived.
"I had asked her to make you a cup of tea as well," Sweeney said as soon as the housekeeper had left. "You used to drink a lot of tea and I presume that this hasn't changed."
The baker didn't know immediately what to reply to this. It was quite a surprise to hear that the barber was actually aware of the fact that she liked tea so much. When she could afford it again when her business had improved so drastically, she drank it whenever she could, a steaming cup always standing within reach whenever she had a quiet moment for herself to simply read or daydream.
No matter how fond she was of the deliciously smelling and tasting liquid, it wasn't something she had been able to afford when she had fled from London. She didn't want Mr. Todd to be aware of this, just like she wanted to prevent him from noticing in what a poor state the clothing that she had been wearing until very recently actually was. The more she became aware of the luxury he was living in now, the more ashamed she was of her own circumstances.
"Thank you," she managed to say at length.
Exchanging pleasantries with the barber this way was another thing that would probably be quite difficult to get used to – but she was more than eager to learn.
The smell of apple and something that seemed quite exotic to her reached her nostrils. She inhaled deeply, the unknown and tempting smell intriguing her. She leaned back against Sweeney, knowing that the tea was too hot to drink for the time being as she saw the steam that was still coming off it. Only now that she saw the cups of tea, she realized just how much exactly she had missed such things.
It was nothing compared however to the feeling of the barber as he tightened his embrace, his lips brushing against her forehead. The sensations that he only could cause overpowered her again, even as he did nothing more than that. Because of this it took her quite a while to realize that she wasn't here all alone, that there had been someone with her when she had arrived at the barber's home.
"What about Teddy?" she asked, guilt welling up inside of her as she realized that she hadn't seen the boy since they had entered the house. She had always told herself that he needed good care much more than she did herself and the thought that she had basically forgotten about him as soon as she was inside Mr. Todd's house was a painful one.
"Mrs. Clint is looking after him and Victoria for the time being," Sweeney said, caressing her hair in a soothing gesture. "He'll be all right. I suppose they're eating all the cookies now that she baked this morning."
Her stomach grumbled as she heard the word 'cookies'. She found herself craving some – or rather, a lot - of them as well. Anything edible would indeed be very welcome, but she forced herself again not to think of it, hoping that Mr. Todd wouldn't find out that way how unfortunate her situation was. Instead, she reminded herself that at least Teddy wouldn't be hungry that day.
As if he had heard her thoughts, the loud and out of tune sound of a piano could be heard from elsewhere inside the house. Mr. Todd winced as soon as she heard it and Mrs. Lovett shuddered inside, knowing intuitively that there was only one person beneath the barber's roof who could make such a horrible sound on a musical instrument. She heaved an inward sigh, wondering why Teddy had to misbehave himself now of all times.
"Please don't be mad," she whispered to the barber, finding herself pleading like she had done to him so often in the past – like she had begged for her own life when she realized what he intended to do to her all those years ago. "He doesn't do it on purpose."
"It's all right," he said, his hand making its way in her own once more as he was aware of her distress. "I don't mind, but Victoria... she's very fond of that piano and she doesn't react well to..."
Someone – Teddy – slammed his hand on the doubtlessly delicate keys again. Mrs. Lovett cringed as she saw the expression on the barber's face.
The noise however was followed by the faint sound of laughter. The barker was rather sure that she wasn't hearing this correctly, but as she saw the look of surprise and relief on Sweeney's face, she realized that he must've heard it as well.
The laughter grew louder, making it very clear that it was indeed the blond haired girl who was somehow very amused by whatever it was that Teddy was doing. Victoria's laugh soon mixed with the boy's and for a moment the baker could do nothing but listen to the two children, caught off guard by the apparent playful moment shared by her nephew and the girl that Mr. Todd appeared to be responsible for.
"I can't believe it," he said, eyes focused on the wall behind which the sound was coming from, as if he actually expected to see right through it. "She's laughing."
The statement was a rather strange one – as far as the baker knew, girls of Victoria's age spend a lot of time laughing indeed – but as she recalled how serious the girl had been earlier that day, she realized that Victoria was even more quiet and severe than she had initially thought. It seemed so strange for such a girl, making the baker even more curious of her identity and history.
The laughter continued and the look of joy on his face didn't fade. More than ever that suspicious and envious voice inside of her was yelling that the girl was Mr. Todd's daughter, that he had found a replacement for Lucy as soon as she had attempted to rid himself of her. But if she was his daughter, the mother must be somewhere around – or must've been so at one point. During the time that she had spent in his house, Mrs. Lovett had however seen nothing that suggested that there was a potential mother of Victoria somewhere around. All that the baker had found was the picture of Lucy - who most certainly couldn't be the girl's mother, if only because she was very dead indeed and had been for quite some time. The only other woman who the house betrayed the barber's apparent fondness of, was the baker herself.
The only thing that Mrs. Lovett could be entirely sure of was that she herself was not the girl's mother. In spite of the situation the baker's mind began turning at full speed, more eager than ever to find out who exactly the strange girl whom Mr. Todd so fond of actually was. The only other women in Mr. Todd's household who she had been aware of so far was his housekeeper, but she simply was too old to have given birth to the relatively young girl.
The sound of piano could be heard again, interrupting the baker's train of thought. Perfectly played notes were followed by series of tones that were quite less pleasant to her. To her surprise, the baker realized that Victoria was attempting to teach Teddy how to play the piano.
There was a jolt of guilt inside of her now that she knew what was going on in the other room. Although she wasn't a very good player herself, she had always wanted to teach her nephew how to play. In spite of his impatience, she had always felt that he would enjoy it. She never had had the opportunity to teach him however, a piano being in a way the ultimate material symbol of what she had lost when Mr. Todd had forced her to flee from the house where she had lived for the greater part of her life.
"I suppose they'll be quite busy for a while."
The suggestiveness of his words and the way he said them made her blush, making her again forget about her nephew for a while. He didn't attempt to kiss her again however and no matter how strange this was for her to feel that way, Mrs. Lovett was relieved because of this. It made it a lot easier for her to ask some of the questions she had meant to ask for almost as long as she was reunited with the barber, questions that had become even more urgent as she was trying to figure out who Victoria was and what her relationship with Mr. Todd was.
"Tell me what happened to you," she said, eyes pleading just like her voice when she looked at him. "Please."
She hadn't really meant to say that last word; begging the barber to do anything – no matter what – was something she had promised herself never to do again. But it was so easy to fall back in her old habits concerning the man she loved, especially when he was sitting in front of her like this, holding her even now, his expression softer than it had ever been. He seemed almost content – and that was why she was especially afraid to break the moment, to go too far without being aware of it.
"Of course," he said, leaning back against the chair, gently pulling her with him, something which she gladly allowed him to do. To her delight, he didn't seem upset by her curiosity at all, which was another thing that was a complete break from his behavior in the old days. "I'll tell you everything you want to know."
