Johanna gripped the windowsill fiercely as her body leaned forward, her head held waveringly up to face the doorway. It was a weak posture, one that would suggest exhaustion and fear, surrender. Except for the mad grin that appeared and vanished across her tearstained featured with the feverish rhythm of her breathing.
You can't have me!
If she had known how good it felt to be waiting, she would never have turned away and let Turpin's eyes scour her back. If she had known she could feel so alive, so giddy, almost joyful…
So dangerous…
You can't have me! You can't have me!
Behind her, the sky was beginning to lighten. The thought of dawn's approach encouraged her. In a little time, she would have won for a night. She would have triumphed. Johanna Todd, the murderer's daughter, will have frightened the night away by watching, come through the dark hours untouched.
Johanna Todd. She giggled, the whispers cowering back from her laughter.
You can't have Johanna Todd!
The doorknob turned, tearing away all her power, her mirth, her strength as it twisted.
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Mrs. Lovett opened her eyes as the carriage clattered over a bone-jarring series of bumps, unsure if she had slept at all. "Where are we?" The brooding barber she had been using as a pillow shot her an angry look as she lifted her head.
"The boy says we're almost there." His voice was his typical growl. Although he had allowed her to lean against him through the long ride, there had been none of the tender feelings of the previous night. Nellie forced herself not to be disappointed. Soon…
"Well, that's good, then, ain't it?" She looked across the still dark carriage at Toby, who regarded her with an expression she would have expected from Mr. Todd. His little face all sour, his eyes were fixed on her, and had been on for a long time. For a moment, she was caught off-guard. "Poor thing. Did you sleep at all?"
"Enough, ma'am."
She sat up, leaning toward her little assistant. He had spent all the night of Anthony's death clinging to the coach's framework, and she knew he must be exhausted. But now she had him back, and she'd make sure he took a few days off from the shop to rest properly. Maybe they all would, the three of them and Johanna, like a real family. "Don't worry, love. When we get back-"
"I got enough!" Instantly sorry for his outburst, Toby looked guiltily away from Mrs. Lovett's stunned expression. He hadn't slept at all, his eyes fixed on his mother as she sat beside the barber, sometimes caressing him, singing to him. He had known for a long time she fancied their neighbor, but her blind adoration was simply revolting. It had been painful, too, to watch her pour out her love on the sullen, silent Mr. Todd, like pouring honey over a stone. "I- I think we'll be there any minute, is all. There's not really time to worry."
Sweeney looked up for nearly the first time since they had left the city, his eyes meeting the boy's with an odd sort of recognition. He wondered briefly if he sounded that way. He gave his partner a questioning look. She wore, he saw, a hurt expression that almost made him smile. On impulse, he laid his cold fingers lightly on her arm, giving her a twisted smile as the wounded look faded. He let the touch become a friendly pat as he leaned in closer. "I have a plan."
Toby found himself leaning in spite of himself. He had no intention of stopping Mr. Todd, as he did when he had pried at his many secrets for Mrs. Lovett's sake. Even his sense of disgust vanished as he waited slack-jawed to hear what was about to happen, what part he might need to play. The barber opened his mouth, his black-streaked teeth showing through a wicked grin, but before he said a word, the carriage stopped.
Before the coach could even stop rocking on its axles, Sweeney pounced at the door, tearing the latch from its frame and making the door crash against the carriage's side. He found the ground for only a heartbeat, springing into a run. Guffie had only started to ease the tension on the reins as Sweeney leapt the traces and closed his thin fingers around the coachman's leg. Clutching desperately to the roof behind him, he felt himself sliding out of the seat, pulled down as the barber fell. For a dizzying moment, Jack struggled in the air before landing hard across the leveler that hitched the horses to the coach. His already aching skull burst into a blinding wave of pain as he rolled off the heavy bar and onto the stony road. Frightened by his master's cries and the sudden pull of his traces, the nearest horse started in his harness, whinnying and lashing out with his huge hoofs.
Guffie's scream was cut off by the strong and that closed around his windpipe as he was dragged, writhing, through the mud and shoved though the broken door of his carriage. Sprawling across the floor, he felt tears start to form in his eyes. He knew he would never get up, would be killed there in his own coach. He tried to stifle a sob as he felt a cold blade pressed against his neck.
"You said you used to take a judge from the city here." Kneeling by the hapless driver, Sweeney let the razor bit only slightly into his skin, a single drop of blood slowly swelling at its edge. He'd been longing for this too long already and had still longer to wait, but he let himself savor the sight of that one drop until he would make blood flow like the tide. "What was his name?"
"I- I don't know. He lived in Kearney Lane and -"
"Turpin." With a wicked grin, the barber turned to Mrs. Lovett. "I'll play Turpin's messenger, tell him he's having difficulties with his young ward and wants to know if they have a girl matching Johanna's description."
"Yes…" Nellie looked hard at him. "But, love, what about us?" His plan would work, she supposed, but she didn't want to be left behind. If all she was to him was a partner, she wanted to be his partner in all things, share every task, receive every friendly pat and fiendish smile. And it hurt that he would deny her that. "You can't go in alone…"
"Watch him." Standing, he gestured at the coachman and then turned and stepped out of the carriage.
"Mr. Todd!" leaping up, Mrs. Lovett leaned out the door after him. "Mr. -" Her foot caught on Guffie's leg, and she fell. With a startled cry, she landed in her tenant's arms.
Sweeney could feel her heart beating, felt the air move against his face as she let out a shaky sigh of relief. He couldn't help but see the pain and hope in her eyes.
"You know I love you…"
He set her carefully on her feet, releasing her. "Be careful Mrs. Lovett." Gently breaking away from her clinging arms, he turned again and began to march towards the house.
Nellie stood staring, feeling almost dizzy. He had been so close. She should have kissed him. If she had kissed him, she would have been content to stay. She would have had to be, since she was sure legs would have melted beneath her and made following him impossible. Or maybe not.
But she had to follow him, had to be beside him. Her mind raced as she considered her options. Skirts whirling as she spun around and leaned into the carriage, she looked down at Guffie, still crying on the floor, his neck streaked with red. "Get up, you. You're about to make another sale."
XXXXXXX
All Johanna's newfound confidence poured out the barely open window as the ornate wooden door creaked open. The figure behind it unfolded like a nightmare creature: blunt fingers appearing first, curled around the dark wood; one heavy boot; a shock of greasy brown hair; a pair of leering eyes.
She never heard the murmuring sounds he made as she stepped fully into the room, like a man trying to sooth a skittish horse. His hands, held up in a parody of good intent, seemed to stretch forward to swallow her up. His sneering, yellow-toothed mouth would devour her. His pig's eyes would look at her, all of her, even though she had been watching. Even though she had been listening. Even though she had said he couldn't.
No. Powerless again, she turned with a strangled sound to the window. It was open only a few inches, looking out over a deadly, heavenly three-story drop. She tore frantically at the sash, pressing herself against the pane even as it slid up- and stopped barely a foot above the sill. Flinging all her might into the effort, she couldn't budge it against the heavy nails driven into the wooden frame to keep it shut. She let out a keening cry as she beat helplessly against the glass.
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"This one's yellow-headed here. Though not as young as the ward, you say. Still, plenty easy on the eyes." Todd couldn't help glaring as his host turned a moment to a hidden window in the woodwork. Richly dressed and impeccably groomed, he reeked of arrogance and vice. Sweeney's heart pumped fire as he imagined him sneering through such a peephole at his daughter, feeling her with his eyes and judging how much he could sell her for. His distaste still showed on his face as the bastard turned to gesture him towards the window. "Care for a gander?"
"His honor was most insistent that the girl be very young. Sixteen."
"His honor is very specific." Covering he peephole with a sigh, the man regarded his guest with a wicked light in his eyes. "Suppose I do have such a girl? What will my lord be willing to pay for her?"
"Anything you like, but I must see her first." Too fast, too desperate, Sweeney knew he had misspoken. It doesn't matter. She's here. "I am under strict instructions not to discuss an actual amount until I see the girl."
Tucking his chin smugly to his chest, the snake of a man spoke softly. "The judge knows we have a fixed rate."
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Johanna clung to the window as she felt hands close around her sides, pulling her back, dragging her towards the great filthy bed. No, no, no! You can't have me! Her fingernails bit into the smooth wood, tearing away long stretches of its polished surface as she fought to stay away from him.
She was losing, slowly. The hands pulled hard, bruising her ribs even as her attacker crooned a gentle little tune to calm her. She was losing. She ran out of wood to cling to, fell against him, lost.
She opened her mouth to scream, but one of the now free hands clapped over her lips, stifling the sound. "Hush now, miss. I'll be good and careful with you."
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"You again?" Guffie tried to keep his knees from shaking as he looked up again at the hulking porter. He toyed anxiously with his dirty cravat, hoping it covered the oozing cut on his neck, as the other man eyed Mrs. Lovett. "And this…?" His gaze rested amusedly on the white skin exposed by her low cut dress. "Your bonnie little birdie the other night was one thing, but this ain't a dump for any cheap whore, you know."
"Whore!?" With an offended look, Nellie tugged uselessly up at the edge of her bodice. "That's rich, coming from a man what works at a bloody brothel!"
"I opens the door, love. That's all." He stepped out of the doorway, leaning with his arms crossed over his chest, to blow his rancid breath in the baker's face. "And I've never opened it for any woman what stood there half so obligingly as you are."
"Times is hard." Flinching away from the porter's advance, she cast a glance to the shadows beside the doorway. There, crouching behind an arbor hung with scarlet roses, Toby caught her look. He stood slowly, eying the open door nervously before he began to edge towards it. He could feel his heart pounding out, drum-like. Couldn't they hear it?
Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please!
Do you find that your life is a terrible bore?
Well then come watch my mother be sold as a whore
And then see a poor orphan get killed in the door…
He stifled the thought, wishing he could muffle his pulse, too, as he crawled over the stone lion that flanked the doorway. He could see Mrs. Lovett watch him worriedly, still seeming to be cringing from the porter's rotten breath. "And with things how they are, this suits us both well enough."
Guffie started and Nellie gasped as the porter straightened suddenly with a short, barking laugh. "No, my darling. It won't suit you at all." Toby felt his knees go weak and his lungs freeze as he tried to flatten himself against the marble doorframe. Oblivious, the brute turned to the quaking coachman. "You know they won't take her, right? But you and me can have us a drink while they take a look at her. No skin off my back, eh?" As he reached out to clap Jack on the shoulder, the boy slid through the door and into the perfumed darkness behind it. Mrs. Lovett let out a sigh of relief as she watched him disappear. "Aye, sigh on, my beauty. In ten minutes time you'll be screaming."
XXXXXXX
Grasping desperately at the as the man carried her, Johanna's hopeless struggling grew even more frantic as those horrible hands pressed back gently into that soft, sickening bed. She twisted like a thing possessed, trying to throw herself off, to keep from letting those tainted sheets touch her.
Suddenly, the hands were gone. Johanna flung herself up, only to have those awful hands close again on her arms and push her forcefully back down as a weight threw itself over her. She was trapped.
She tried to scream again, but the monster on top of her swallowed the sound as his lips tried to devour hers. Helpless, she shrieked and wailed into his filthy throat.
XXXXXXX
Sweeney stood mute, stunned, as the other man looked at him with a devil's grin. He couldn't think of a satisfactory answer, any explanation thought wouldn't further reveal his ignorance, so he stared in blank horror. His host nodded. "And at such an hour, too, sending a complete stranger." He casually studied his polished fingernails. "Odd choice of messenger for the judge. He usually sends the beadle."
"Beadle Bamford was indisposed. And his lordship was in a right state. He couldn't bear to wait a moment more than was necessary to know the answer."
"I'm sure."
"I need to see the girl, sir. My lord will be impatient to hear from me."
The wicked gin vanished as the bastard gave Sweeney a deadly glance. "Do you think I'm a fool? You show up the day after we receive an obviously stolen girl, asking to see her specifically and obviously not sent by any of our clients. You'll tell me how you came here, and the truth, sir, if you value your life. Or perhaps -" He smiled again. "If you value hers."
XXXXXXX
The man who ushered Mrs. Lovett into the next room gave no introduction, only waving her, alone, through a carved wooden door which he then closed behind them. Jack Guffie had stayed behind, watching her go, his face deathly pale as the porter opened a bottle of gin. She had known that she'd be alone. He had told her outside that he had waited in the entryway while they looked over Johanna. That's why Toby had come in. He was small enough to slip unnoticed through the house, but big enough, she hoped, to give them the edge they would need to overpower her examiner and find Mr. Todd.
Except that the boy was still hiding in the coat rack as Nellie heard the door close. She forced herself to remain calm, fighting the fear in her face and calming the rebellious racing of her heart. She turned to find his eyes already measuring her with a hungry professionalism.
"You're from the city, I take it?" Reaching out, he pinched the skin of her arm, then tilted her chin to look at her face. "And pretty for a whore. Although…" His fingers left her face as he glanced distastefully at her tangled hair.
"I am not a whore." Her voice almost shook.
"Of course, love."
Where the hell is Toby?
On the other side of the door, the boy slid silently along the wall as the doorman sat happily at the table. His life in the workhouse and Pirelli's cart had taught him well how to make himself invisible, but he had never before one so to do something wrong. But this isn't wrong, is it? He wasn't really sure what to think of Mr. Todd's quest to rescue the girl. Nor, he had to admit, did he know what to feel about the barber himself, since it had been Mrs. Lovett who had finally betrayed him.
He paused, his hand on the doorknob. And now he would risk his own life, help her hurt or kill a man, to fuel her hopeless infatuation. He turned the knob slowly, deaf to the porter's crude laughter behind him. He slipped carefully into the room, gliding out of sight behind an elegant table.
He knew Mrs. Lovett had seen him, her frightened expression melting into a show of relief. "Well then, sir, I'm sorry to have wasted your time." She started to move towards the door and her waiting accomplice, but the man threw up his hand, stopping her.
"No need to be sorry, love. I'm always glad for ones like you, what we have to let go. We don't take damaged merchandise, you see. But a pretty thing like you.." He let his hand rest meaningfully on her shoulder, slowly trailing his fingers downward. "No questions asked."
Even as she began to refuse, Toby felt the same disgust growing again to see what she was willing to do for Mr. Todd. She looked pleadingly at him. Quickly, he reached for the cleaver tucked in the waist of his trousers. But he found he couldn't move. He told himself it was only fear, desperately denying the part of himself that remembered how she had clung to her tenant in the coach, that said if she wanted to make herself a whore for the barber, let her.
XXXXXXX
Johanna fought harder and harder, terror fluttering in her stomach like a frightened bird, but found herself pushed harder into the bed for her efforts. She felt sick as his tongue… She pushed the thought away even as it happened again, forcing back another scream.
The hand pinning one of her arms left, and with all the strength she could gather she struck him across the shoulder, flailing. He wouldn't move, his filthy paw only setting about undoing the buttons of her borrowed shirt.
No! She twisted and struggled more violently, making it impossible for him to manage the buttons. Cursing into their forced kiss, the beast freed his other hand to help through his fumbling.
Before Johanna even knew what she was doing, her freed arm shot out, snatching one of the hated pink candle jars from the nightstand, and smashed it over her assailant's skull. He released her mouth, snarling in pain, and Johanna let out a scream to raise Hell against the devil on top of her, a cry of mingled triumph and terror.
XXXXXXX
"Let's start again, then, shall we?" Stepping forward, the bastard in front of Sweeney swaggered and puffed himself up, a filthy bully. He reminded the barber too much of the judge, so aware of his own power and fond of abusing it. "Who sent you? The police? Are you a runner?"
"No one sent me." Snarling, Sweeney stared hard at his host, wishing he could put a razor to his throat and make him feel as helpless as the judge finally had as he greeted death. "I want the girl. Now."
"I'm afraid she has a prior engagement." An ear-piercing shriek tore through the silent hallway, one identical to the one that had echoed the night before in his blood-drenched shop. Mr. Todd's heart leapt in his chest. Before he could so much as move, he felt the bastard grab his wrist. "So have you."
Sweeney gave him a burning look as another scream sounded out. His razor flashed as he flicked it open and the next scream drowned out the whoremonger's cries as the first slash laid open his leering face to the bone. The final blow sent blood flying like flights of cardinals, decking the walls with rubies. He fell slowly to the rich carpeting, quickly soaking it in his flowing, fleeing life as he choked on crimson foam. His dimming eyes saw the barber run down the hallway as he died to the sound of screaming.
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Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. The porter, if anyone's interested, is partly inspired by the porter from Macbeth.