New chapter. Many things happen. That's all.

The bell rang on the door of Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlour. He turned, ingratiating smile already stretching his mouth, only to see that it wasn't an unfortunate customer coming through the door, but Mrs Lovett, bearing a tray with a light blue china teapot, matching cups, and a plate of lumpy scones. Todd dropped his mock friendly expression as quickly as he had donned it, and regarded his landlady with something close to apprehension, as though she might fling herself on him at any moment. 'What are you doing here?'

She gave him one of those half exasperated, half adoring looks that told him that though he was completely mad, she simply couldn't bear to hold it against him. ''S teatime, Mr Todd. I brought you some.'

'I have a kettle up here.'

She set the tray on the table next to Lucy and Johanna's portrait, frowning. 'Yes, but I know you, Mr T, and you'd never make it for yourself unless I reminded you. And anyway, the tea leaves from downstairs are better.'

Mr Todd rolled his eyes, realizing it was useless, and poured himself a brimming cup of the amber liquid. He lifted it and took an exaggeratedly large swig. The tea was still scalding hot, and it burned his throat on the way down, but he drank it with a sort of grim pleasure, the same masochistic satisfaction he got from downing a tumbler of stinging gin.

To his irritation, the baker filled another teacup for herself and stood by him at the window, warming her hands against the heated china. She fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable with the vast silence that stood between them like still water. 'So… that last customer was a hefty one. Surprised you could get him through the trap door.' She shot him a shy smile, waiting for him to respond to the joke, but he didn't move.

One good thing that had come from her confession of love, Sweeney Todd thought, was that at least she didn't touch him anymore. She used to be all over him, but it was as if now that they both knew the meaning that lay behind any physical contact she bestowed on him, she didn't dare try it anymore. It didn't stop her from speaking, though. 'What was he, a priest?'

'Pastry seller.'

'Oh. Well, at least he practices what he preaches, then.'

His mouth twitched, and she tried to swallow her delighted grin. 'You ain't seen Toby lately, have you, love?'

He kept his eyes fixed on the smudged horizon, but his brow furrowed slightly. 'No. Why?'

Mrs Lovett brushed a ragged strand of hair out of her eyes. 'Oh, it's nothing. Just, I sent him out to the market a couple of hours ago, and he's still not back yet. Probably nothing, though.' She repeated, but her voice held just a shade of worry.

Todd wondered if perhaps he should reassure her, but just then the door opened again with a cheerful tinkle of the bell that didn't really seem to fit the mood inside the room. They both turned to see a pale young man, his hat held in one hand, a tentative smile on his lips. 'Mr Todd, sir?'

Sweeney immediately launched into friendly barber mode, taking the man's hat and coat and embarking on a good-natured monologue about the weather. Mrs Lovett shot him a meaningful glance. 'I'll leave you to it,' she muttered, and then she left, shutting the door behind her.

The bricks of the workhouse were grimy, its windows still blackened with soot, but whole place seemed much smaller than Toby had remembered it. He stood just outside the wrought iron fence, his threadbare jacket pulled tight against the cold, staring up at the horrible building he used to call home. He remembered how, not so long ago when Signor Pirelli had dropped by here, idly searching for an assistant, and had chosen him out of the gaggle of clamoring boys, Toby had thought of the man as his savior—until he had gotten out the rod.

It was easy to be wrong about a person, even one who had done you a good turn, but Toby didn't want to be wrong about Mrs Lovett. He knew very well that if not for her kindness, he would even now be on the other side of that wrought iron fence, looking out instead. He had so much to thank her for, and he didn't like to think that there might be an ugly side to the woman's generosity.

But, the boy reasoned with himself, he actually had no proof of anything sinister going on in the pie shop. No, it was the barbershop that worried him, and more pressingly, the man inside it. He knew that there was something dreadfully wrong with Mr Sweeney Todd; Toby could see it simply in the way he surveyed the world around him. His eyes looked as hollow as empty sockets in his head—dead, as though he was incapable of any emotion at all, save for the occasional fit of blinding anger. Mrs Lovett wasn't like that. She wasn't perfect, certainly, but at least she seemed to display a normal range of emotions, unlike the man she was so foolishly obsessed with.

Toby was moving now. Walking swiftly down the road, way from the workhouse and back towards Fleet Street, he came to a conclusion: it was not Mrs Lovett he had to fear and mistrust, but Sweeney Todd. And with that conclusion came the decision that he must find out exactly what the barber was doing up there in that off-limits shop of his, why such a small number of his customers actually returned from their close shaves, and why, every time he set eyes on Sweeney Todd, Toby's blood seemed to instinctively run cold.

He had reached number 186 now, and he ran up the stairs to the tonsorial parlour, ragged scarf untied and flapping behind him, each footfall sounding like a clap of thunder on the rickety steps. Barely pausing to catch his breath, Toby grabbed the brass handle, flung the door open, and stopped dead.

'If you don't mind me asking, Mr Todd—who was that lady up here with you?'

Todd brushed thick white lather onto his customer's thing cheeks with slow, measured strokes. There was no sense in being hasty—the end result would still be the same. 'Not at all, son. That's Mrs Lovett. She owns the pie shop downstairs. Perhaps you should stop by for one after.' He paused to allow himself a sick grin. 'I assure you, they're good enough to die for.'

The man, head tilted back and eyes closed, didn't notice the barber's feral amusement. 'Yes, perhaps… er, if it's not too bold, sir, are you and Mrs Lovett, er, involved?'

Todd stiffened, rage unfolding in his chest like a crimson flower. He refused to examine exactly what it was about this man's innocent (if a bit rude) question that incited him so—he simply focused on the emotion burning within him until all the world narrowed to it, and there was nothing else. His hand clenched, white-knuckled on the back of the barber's chair.

The customer seemed to have finally noticed his distress, and he sat up, opening his eyes, which were full of earnest regret. 'I'm sorry, sir. It was too forward a question. I—'

The barber pressed a hand to the man's forehead, gently tipping his head back against the seat. 'Not at all,' he smiled, and tore the keen edge of the razor against his customer's throat. Hot blood flew into his eyes, blinding him, but as he'd been seeing red already, this hardly made a difference. He sawed at the man's neck, a snarl twisting his mouth. This wasn't usually how things went. After Pirelli, taking a man's life had become almost commonplace; something he did coldly, with complete dispassion. There was hardly even any violence in the act anymore. But now, Mr Todd found himself wanting to hurt this man, to make him suffer for… what? All he had done was ask a question. Foolish and improper, true, but why should that have such a tumultuous effect on the barber?

He lowered his razor back to his side and wiped the blood from his eyes, breathing hard. Just then, Todd heard a noise behind him, something like a scream coupled with a choked-back sob. He whirled around.

Toby stood just inside the barbershop, one hand still holding the door open as he stared in horror at the scene before him. His face was white as a sheet and he looked as though he might be sick. His mouth opened, but nothing came out except for another pathetic squeak.

In two quick strides, Mr Todd was standing face to face with the little boy. His eyes flicked quickly over Tobias Ragg, fixing at last on his wide brown eyes. 'It won't hurt.' He said, and then the razor flashed once more, and Toby crumpled onto the dusty floor of the shop.