Sweeney stood alone, leaning against the shadowed doorframe of the pub. The oily yellow light from inside poured through the windows, making figures in the heavy fog that stood like ghosts beside him. His eyes straining against the darkness and the weather, the barber searched the deserted street. What's taking her so long?
It had been hours since Mrs. Lovett and the boy had left for the empty shop. They needed things, she had said - dry clothes for Toby, and something for their supper… He had drifted away from her then, imagining his beloved blade sinking into Guffie's flesh as into water. He could almost taste the blood. "Mr. Todd!" Her voice interrupted his fantasy. "You stay here. Make sure he doesn't leave the bar." She put her hand on his as she addressed him, her eyes fixed on his. "And don't kill him, love. Not yet." Wait. Again. He scowled at her, but he had done as she asked.
Now the weak light was starting to fail, and so was his patience. He tensed, ready to reach for his razor, every time a drunk staggered out into the shadows of Bell Yard. Even as he relaxed again, he couldn't help noticing the stubble on their chins. Smiling grimly, Sweeney enjoyed the possibility of polishing off one who had drank at the same filthy bar as the coachman.
Another haggard figure lumbered past him, bleary eyes fixing on the dark shape looming unexpected in the doorway. Mr. Todd stiffened, his fingers twitching, longing for his hidden razor. It was only an old man. He let out a long breath as the codger edged by him.
Come on, pet! He glared around the empty square, stepping away from his post. For all her undeniable talents, it was entirely like Mrs. Lovett to make her simple plan complicated and extremely, infuriatingly time-consuming. And she would be talking the entire time; talking to the boy, to the empty shop, to the things she packed, to herself, to nobody. She was always talking.
He froze, snarling, as the door creaked on its hinges. What if it was him and she wasn't back yet? Turning back to the door, he almost collided with the drunk in the doorway - a heavyset man, red faced and reeking of gin, horses, and London's streets. Jack Guffie staggered back, his shoulder hitting the wall as he tried drunkenly to avoid the man in his path. "Watch wuhr yer gowun…"
Sweeney's fists clenched around his razor as the driver lurched by him, so close he could see the imprint of the counter's edge on his cheek where he must have lay unconscious on the bar. The man who had stolen his daughter, sold his innocent lamb, pushed against his elbow as he passed.
Patience! Mrs. Lovett's instructions echoed in the back of his mind. Don't let him leave! His hand flew up, the razor's bright blade springing into sight. Don't kill him! He stopped, ready to strike, knowing she was right, hating her for it. The whole of his dead spirit burned to bring the razor down on Guffie's thick neck. Damn her, where is she!? His rebellious fingers moved stiffly as he closed the knife and tucked it into his sleeve. It pressed against his wrist as his hand fell heavily on the coachman's shoulder.
With a muffled cry, Jack stumbled beneath the force. "Leaving, sir?" Sweeney's voice was a growl as he tightened his grip. "Surely you can stay for just one more drink."
"Gerroff me, I gorra…" Guffie stopped, twisting around to see better who was interfering. Already on edge despite the gin from his earlier interview, his drunken mind spun as he recognized the phantom behind him, all pale against black, with that too-familiar white streak in his hair. "No, no, no, I -"
"Yes, of course, you -" Mr. Todd cursed inwardly as he forced a smile. "Are going back in to have one more. Aren't you?" He shifted his to the back of his neck as he spun the other man back towards the door.
"No! No, no, no, I - I -" Sweeney dug his fingers into the Guffie's spine as the driver struggled. "I can't!"
"Of course he can't." Both of them turned, the barber's barely controlled fury breaking loose again at the thought of this intruder threatening to free the bastard coachman. But his rage turned to relief when he saw none other than Mrs. Lovett walking towards them, the little boy in tow. "He'll be taking me to Hyde Park." She looked straight into Sweeney's eyes. "Won't he?"
Jack felt almost faint as he found himself thrown from the clutches of his attacker to that of a strange woman with a vaguely familiar voice. Where…? Peering through the fog, his blurred eyes couldn't make out any more than two waiting figures. It didn't matter. Every nerve in his gin- soaked brain told him to get away from the hand still clamped on his neck. "Y-yes, mum, I'll take yer." He broke away with surprising ease and staggered frantically towards his still-waiting coach.
The horses whinnied as he scrambled up to the box seat, shaking themselves. The beasts had been standing in harness since yesterday, but he had no time for rest. He had to be gone. He cast a frightened look back, but saw only the woman and boy climbing into the carriage. The man was gone.
Mr. Todd glared from the corner of the coach as Nellie helped Toby in. She shot him an apologetic glance before looking up over the roof to see if Guffie had noticed her shove the barber hurriedly, and probably a little harder than was necessary, through the little door. "Sorry, love," she whispered as she climbed in. "I didn't want him to see you."
"Never mind." He sat stiffly across from Toby. "What took you so long."
"Constable came by the shop while we were there. Looking for the judge and beadle." She sighed as she sat beside the boy, stretching her aching limbs. "We gave him the story. He might be back, but he won't find anything."
"What about him?" In the dim light that filtered through the gaps of the doorframe, their pale faces stood out, ghostlike, letting her see Sweeney's nod towards the front of the rolling coach.
In the box seat, Jack urged the horses on, panicking. Hyde Park was nearby, he told himself. He just wanted to get this woman out of his coach and be free as soon as possible. Too slow, the exhausted team trudged on, dragging through the streets. Go faster! Their hooves pounding on the cobbles made his head throb as he realized that for the second night in a row he was terrified by the passengers in his carriage.
"Cut through the roof." Mrs. Lovett's voice was low. It always was, Sweeney noticed, when she was planning. He slid the razor from his sleeve, staring doubtfully at the wooden ceiling of the coach. It was thin and looked rotten, but he knew it would dull the blade, maybe even chip it. He gave another glance to his partner, who, smiling, took something from a bundle Toby held. "Use this, love." Reaching out, his hand found the heavy cleaver from the bakehouse. He hefted it, admiring the dark glint of it's blade. Mrs. Lovett's friend. He felt an odd sense of intimacy at thought of sharing knives.
His frustration vanished as he grinned at her, turning in his seat to better wield the knife. He looked up, ready to make the first blow. "Mr. T!" She was holding something else out. "Take this too."
Guffie's aching head echoed the drum of the horses' hooves. He was coming apart. The drink, the noise, the speed of the coach, the terror twisting in his stomach; it made his head lurch and the gin he had drunk bubble in the back of his throat. He clenched his teeth as the feeling passed.
He started upright, making his vision explode. Was that another beat interrupting the familiar rhythm of the team's jog? No, it couldn't be. But there it was again, behind him. He lashed the reins against the horses necks, driving them on faster. But that sound kept pace, seeming even faster now than the horses could run.
Chop! Jack heard the sound as clearly as he could hear his own heart pounding. Hands shaking, he hauled back on the reins. The team clattered to a stop and stood, sweating and shaking their massive heads. He listened, mortified. But the sound was gone.
Hyde Park wasn't far away. He could be there in minutes and be finished. He gathered the reins again, then froze as he heard a metallic click at his back.
His arm twisted through the carriage's new skylight, Sweeney Todd pressed the muzzle of Anthony's pistol into the coachman's spine. "Where is the girl?"
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Was that a voice? Johanna started from where she had started to slouch exhausted against the windowsill, fixing her dry, stinging eyes on the doorway. It was the second time that day she had heard something. There was no need to pretend it was the scurrying of mice. Her life with Judge Turpin had taught her better than that. Neither did she have any pretenses about the knocking in the walls or the lewd cries she had heard all day from other rooms.
She gave a little jump as she heard it again. She heard it, and in the silence of the house she swore she could make out words. She can hear us.
Her entire body ached from standing for so long in that one spot and protested the sudden movement. She longed to sit down, to hide, to only turn away, but now she felt a thrill run through her, strengthening her. Yes. Yes, I can hear you! I am listening!
You can't have me!
The next whisper ended in a laugh.
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A brothel. The driver, still blubbering, couldn't force himself to say it outright, sobbing about the judge and the country, the fare, the horses, and the workhouse, swearing he hadn't harmed her at all. But Sweeney heard enough to know what he meant, to know that the bastard had sold his daughter for a whore.
He should have guessed when the boy had said she had been dragged into a fine house that it would be something of that nature, but he hadn't. Hearing it now made him freeze, the rickety carriage vanishing around him. His precious baby would be used like her mother. And he had driven her into it, chased her into this monster's coach. Spinning for a long moment in his grief, he felt the familiar rage ignite again, welling up into every muscle.
Nellie watched him, her own heart breaking to see the look on his face. As soon as she had understood where Johanna was she turned to her poor barber, ignoring the driver as she watched the same realization dawn in her beloved's eyes, his determination and anger give way to sickening sorrow. She felt like she could drown in her pity. She would have given anything to be able to soothe his pain, to cool the fury building in his features as his fists slowly tightened around the cleaver and…
She started as she realized what was about to happen, leaping from the seat and springing in front of Mr. Todd. Leaning close to him, she snaked her slender arm through the hole in the roof and slipped her thumb behind the pistol's trigger.
Her face was inches from his, her fingers wrapped with his around the gun, but Sweeney was gone, his eyes squeezed shut, unaware of her presence. She gasped as he tightened his grip, crushing her thumb as the jagged wood around the hole dug into her arms. "Mr. Todd!"
His eyes snapped open, a flash of recognition flickering somewhere in the madness of their depths, and she felt the trigger spring back as he shifted his grip. Pulling her hand away with a almost giddy sigh of relief, Nellie collapsed against her shaking partner. She let her breath out in a faint laugh against his shoulder.
Half aware now of the woman hanging off his chest, Sweeney let himself be caught in another wave of anger. His breath escaping in a wild hiss as he dug the pistol into his captive's back until he could hear the barrel grating against his backbone. "Take us to her."
Mrs. Lovett smiled into the worn leather of his jacket. Now they would have her, safe and sound. With Johanna and her Toby, who knew how much Sweeney might change. She didn't want to see Benjamin Barker's resurrection. No, she found his bloodier counterpart much more exciting. But maybe he could hurt a little less, live a little more, and start to appreciate what he had. And someday, perhaps she and Johanna both could have their little dream home by the sea.
She almost jumped when she felt his arm slide over hers, pinning it to her side, the handle of her heavy kitchen knife moving across her shoulders. For a moment she was blissfully certain she really would have her chance before another spasm of grief and rage surged through his tense muscles and he crushed her against him.
Toby's worries about their current adventure changed to disgust as the woman he had looked to as a mother clung whimpering to Mr. Todd as he squeezed the air from her lungs. He was hurting her, as Toby had always known he would. He would have protected her from him, but she had chosen the barber's scowls and razors over his love.
Her trapped left hand clutched his coat as she pulled both their free arms through the gap in the roof, her fingers prying at his, trying to take the gun away from him. He seemed to falter as Mrs. Lovett finally managed to break his grip on the wooden handle. She let the weapon fall onto the seat behind them. She freed herself as he weakened and guided him down onto the seat as the coach started to move again. Toby felt something twist in his chest as she sat beside Mr. Todd, her hands skimming soothingly over his shoulders while she murmured to him.
The fit passed, and it was the same cold, scowling man that sat across from the boy. "When we get there, Mrs. Lovett -" He looked at her intently as he spoke, his voice its familiar growl. "When we get there, I'll kill anybody there who's laid a finger on her." Nellie, to Toby's horror, nodded.
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Thanks again to everybody who reviewed. It's very much appreciated. Also, sorry about the viewpoints changing every other second. I don't like it, but I don't want to leave anybody out, so... I think that'll only get worse, so if you can't stand it, speak now or forever hold your peace.