They all said she deserved to die for what she did. She was heartless, she was the devil's wife, his playmate, his lover. I didn't understand how they could say those things about her without knowing her, knowing why she did it. She'd always had standards, Mrs Lovett. But more than that, she'd had a heart…
…
"Toby! Toby, love, we got to get going… Heaven knows Mrs Mooney'll be out there shopping her little heart out as soon as she can, and me with… well, my sudden leap in custom and all, I need that flour just as much as she does. And, before I had Mr Todd renting out his little room, I had to use supplies what even she wouldn't take, and, blimey, it's no wonder them flies were so eager for a taste, is it, really?"
She took my hand and led me towards the market as she spoke, keeping a wary, darting eye out for Mrs Mooney. Shopping day always sent her into a panic. She would tip me out of bed at the crack of dawn, already muttering about what we needed and how if Mr Todd would just leave that gloomy little room of his for a few minutes and lend a hand – she always got a strange smile on her face when she said that – we would get things done so much quicker.
"Not that I'm complaining, mind," she told me as she dumped some vegetables into the basket I was carrying, "Mr T is a lovely gent. Never had a better lodger." She frowned at some carrots. "Never had another lodger, though, so I s'pose that's to be expected."
I shifted my grip on the basket, gazing around at the busy market, laughing at a flock of loose chickens attacking a lady's skirt.
She gasped, putting a hand to her chest. "Mrs Mooney!"
She swept over to the lady, and the chickens fled.
"How've you been keeping, dearie? My, it's been a while, hasn't it? How's business? Not that I'm prying, mercy no, but from one woman to another…."
I've never met another person who could talk as much as Mrs Mooney. Both women started to look bored after a while, but neither of them seemed to be able to stop. Eventually, Mrs Mooney turned to me and said, "Now, who's this, then? Not a little Albert you've popped out?"
She laughed, but there was venom in her eyes. "Goodness, no, dear, what an awful thought!"
She turned to me. "Toby, darling, be a dear, won't you? Pop off and see if you can't find us some more coriander, love? And maybe some pretty flowers for Mr Todd's room."
I scurried away, clutching my basket of greenery, not bothering to ask her where she thought I'd get flowers in the middle of a bitter London winter.
The herbs were mostly dry and brown. She would no doubt blame Mrs Mooney. Everything seemed to be that woman's fault.
I returned to find her staring at Mrs Mooney's back as the other woman walked away, a look of disgust curling her lip.
"Is everything alright, mum?"
She turned to me. "Did you find the herbs, love?"
"Yes, but they weren't very good."
"Ah, well, never mind." She glared at Mrs Mooney as the crowds closed around her. "Why don't you run after Mrs Mooney and carry her basket, there's a good lad. It looks awful heavy to me."
I looked into her face, trying to find a reason for her odd request, and she smiled, taking my own basket from me and giving my arm a nudge. "Go on, Toby dear."
I ran after Mrs Mooney, catching up to her in front of the apothecary. "Might I carry your basket for you, ma'am?"
She looked down at me, surprised. "Oh, well, you're a right little gentleman, aren't you?"
She handed me the basket, which was heavy enough, but it was a strange heaviness which kept moving from one side of the basket to the other as if it was running around in there.
She caught up to us just as we reached the shop, knocking into me, her basket bumping the back of my legs. I stumbled forward, dropping Mrs Mooney's basket. Something streaked out of it and she caught it in her own basket, a look of triumph in her eyes.
"Sorry, love," she smiled breathlessly. "Are you alright?"
I nodded, trying to work out what it was I had seen burrowing amongst her onions.
"I do beg your pardon, dearie," she continued, turning to Mrs Mooney, who looked at her coldly.
"No harm done, I'm sure," she sniffed, picking up her things and hurrying away.
She opened the door, ushering me inside.
"That woman," she declared, dumping the basket on the table in the window, "that woman, she has some cheek, love, I tell you… There'll be no pussycats in the whole of bleeding London if she keeps going like this."
She reached into the basket, knocking a carrot to the floor. I scrambled to pick it up, and when I straightened, I saw she held a small black cat in her arms.
"Fancy popping you in a pie, eh?" she murmured, kissing the top of its head.
"A pie, mum?" Surely she didn't mean… "Mrs Mooney puts…" The thought was too horrible to think.
"Tell you what, love," she smiled, hugging the cat close. "You run up and find Mr Todd, eh? Tell him I've got him a little present."
She did have a heart, my Mrs Lovett. She did.
Did you know that if you read and don't review, a pussycat gets baked in a pie? Every time.
Oh, and I own nothing, except the cat.