Mrs. Lovett hummed cheerfully as she rolled out the crust for another pie. Carefully she measured it, then lifted it gently into the waiting pie pan. She grabbed an apple and a knife and began slicing. Sweeney came thumping down the stairs, muttering to himself. When he saw Mrs. Lovett, he said angrily, "We haven't even had one customer today!"
"That's because we open tomorrow, dear."
"Oh."
He stomped back up the stairs. Mrs. Lovett hid her smile until he was gone, then burst into a fit of laughter. Poor Mr. T, she thought. He can hardly remember his own name, his head's so full of new thoughts. She giggled again as she remembered what he had looked like this morning, when he looked at himself in an uncracked mirror for the first time in years. He had sucked in his breath. Mrs. Lovett had thought she would die of laughter at the expression on his pale face. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.
She continued with her baking, carefully placing the apple slices in a neat spiral in the pie pan. Sweeney came stomping back down, roaring, "Mrs. Lovett! Where are you?"
"Right 'ere, love."
He scowled and muttered something that sounded oddly like "banana". Mrs. Lovett raised her eyebrows. "Wot was that, love?"
"I said muttermumblemutter banana!"
She sighed. "Mr. T, you'll 'ave to speak up. Me old ears ain't wot they used to be."
This time Sweeney sighed. "I said, isn't it odd that Johanna rhymes with banana?"
"Erm…"
He snorted. "She 'as yellow hair. Like a banana."
Finally she understood. "Ohhh! Well, I understand now, Mr. T. I must say that is rather odd."
Sweeney watched her roll out the top crust of the pie. Suddenly his hand darted out and snatched an apple slice. He popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly, frowning, as if he was trying to remember something and it was proving difficult. He swallowed hard, then reached out for another slice. Mrs. Lovett popped him hard on the hand with her rolling pin. She glared at him and snapped, "One's enough, love. You'll ruin the pie!"
He just smirked and grabbed a slice. When she protested, he pushed it into her unsuspecting mouth. She gagged and managed to force it down. Her eyes watered and she said angrily, "Wot was that for?"
"For having a smart mouth."
Sweeney patted her flushed cheek and marched back upstairs. Mrs. Lovett swore angrily as she resumed making her pie. "Well," she muttered, "I s'pose two slices won't 'urt. And it did taste rather nice."
Humming once more, she resumed her task.
Mrs. Lovett awoke early the next morning. Quickly she dressed and then bustled upstairs to help Sweeney get set up. She found him sitting sulkily in his barber's chair. She sighed huffily and said, "Mr. T, you'd better get ready. Customers'll be 'ere soon, you know."
He frowned and said irritably, "Well, tell 'em to go away. I ain't shaving no one today."
"Why ever not?"
He pointed angrily at his hair. "It looks almost as bad as yours!"
Mrs. Lovett slapped his cheek, looking hurt. "Do you know 'ow long it takes me to curl it just so?"
Sweeney sighed miserably. "Well, you like yours. I don't like mine!"
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "'Ere, 'and me that water pitcher, and I'll see wot I can do."
Mrs. Lovett poured a bit of water on top of his head. Sweeney clenched his teeth as a cold droplet slid down the back of his neck. Goosebumps rose on his skin as Mrs. Lovett pressed down on his black curls, sending more water down his collar. After what seemed like an eternity of cold water freezing his scalp, she said happily, "Now, 'ow's that, love?"
He examined his reflection and winced. Now instead of his hair looking wild, it just looked soggy. Sweeney sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that morning. "It'll do. Now leave me here and I'll get ready to open."
Mrs. Lovett nodded and quickly reentered her own shop. She popped a cherry pie into the small oven she had recently installed behind the counter and turned to see her first customer. "Good morning, dearie," she said cheerfully. "Wot can I get for you?"
The
woman paused. Finally she said, "What's fresh?"
"I've
got a blackberry pie just out of the oven. Is that good?"
The woman beamed. "That's my husband's favorite! He's upstairs right now, getting a-"
Both women jumped as they heard a scream from above. The lady cried out and raced up the steps, Mrs. Lovett at her heels. They found Sweeney standing horrified over a man's body. The man was wincing as he gingerly touched the nick on his chin. His wife gasped and said, "Oh, Horace, we'll get you home and bandage it right up!"
Mrs. Lovett said anxiously, "Oh, ma'am, I'm dreadfully sorry. I'm sure Mr. T 'ere didn't mean for it to 'appen."
The woman smiled. "I'm sure he didn't, but I don't think it's best that Horace finishes getting shaved."
"Oh, of course not. I'm so sorry. Please forgive Mr. T, and 'ave a lovely day."
As soon as the couple exited, Sweeney fell into the chair. Sweat beaded on his forehead and Mrs. Lovett said, sounding scared, "Wot's wrong? Wot 'appened?"
He stared at something that wasn't there and said hoarsely, "That man's a bobby. They're looking for evidence about Judge Turpin's murder. They come to Fleet Street tomorrow."