Nadia spent the next few days preparing to open the shop. She had no need to buy it because no one had ever attempted to sell it to begin with. She carried what few things she had to the shop in a sack. A childhood in the workhouse did not leave one with much. She had moved into her mother's bedroom, but changed very little of it because even though she never knew her mother, she imagined that this is what she must have felt like. Nadia only had one other dress and it just barely fit in the trunk that was full of her mother's gowns. Today she had decided to try one on before starting to work. She had picked out a somewhat simple dress. It had a deep burgundy bodice, and the rest of the dress was charcoal with accents of the bodice along the collar, hem, and edges of the sleeves that fell halfway down her upper arm. It was loose fitting, not in the sense that it was too big, but that it was intended for work.
The first thing Nadia did was dust the place off. No one would come if there were grey clouds forming at their footsteps. This took a great portion of her day and even thought she had gotten up early, when she finally finished, it was a bit after noon. The next thing to do was tidy up the shop. Since the dusting was done, she really only had to wash the great window and the chair in the center. She also used some of her money to replace the cracked mirrors and went to buy some flowers to brighten up the room. She found herself in front of the flower vendor perplexed.
"Maybe some daisies might relieve the gloom…wait…gillyflowers maybe, steada' daisies, I don't know though…" she looked to the vendor's eyes "what do you think?"
"I don' know miss, just get a few of each."
So she did and wandered happily back to the shop to place the flowers in their new home. Nadia spent the rest of the day baking a myriad of desserts to sell the next day. She felt a significant amount of grief when she went into the basement to begin making the treats but tears overcame her and she fell to the floor when she looked that the ashes that had made a home in the stove. She stared hopelessly at them praying that maybe her mother's figure would return from the soot. No such thing happened and so she stared at the once again working oven and her mother's ashes burning in the bottom. Each batch had become easier to make for she felt that her mother was now a cornerstone of her revenge. She made some cookies, a few cakes, and a batch of pastries. She placed the goodies on a plate that she could affix a glass top to, and placed it near the stove in the bakehouse.
Evening was nearing now. The baked goods were staying warm, the flowers were brightening the shop, and her new home was clean. She had placed a sign outside of the door signaling the grand re-opening of the pie and barber's shop. However, it also notified that no meat pies would be sold. She sipped her tea knowing she would be doing the work of two people tomorrow. She wouldn't kill everyone, no, that was a bit extreme she thought. Instead she would kill anyone who insulted her family or anyone that figured her plan out. Hopefully though, the re-opening would attract the attention of Tobias. She didn't hate him for trying to avenge his "adopted mother". She shook, that term he used for her mother made her cringe. No, she hated him for thinking he could change it. That would not have made his "Mrs. Lovett" proud. Why on earth would he take her death as strength to kill the man she loved? Was he daft? She also hated the fact that he had killed her father. Someday when she finally escaped the workhouse she would have someone to go to. Now she had no one to love in this world and her heart was growing cold. She finished her tea and decided it was time to practice shaving.
She had bought the needed supplies for the trade, but had never really learned how to use them in all her business of that day. Then she brought the razors and lather into the bathroom, there was no way she would try to sit in that contraption of a chair again. She brought the stool from the vanity in and sat with her legs in the tub. Nadia took off her dress and rolled up her bloomers. She sat there in her corset and bloomers and began to sweep the lather onto her legs. Next, she flicked open a razor and took a deep breath. Slowly she reached down to the top of her ankle and brushed the razor along it. There was the sound of a scrape of the metal on the hair of her leg, then nothing. There was no blood. She continued the pattern along the rest of her leg, growing more comfortable with every stroke but the razor dug into the skin about an inch under her knee. She let out a small yelp and set the precious razor down. The cut was not horrible, but blood was still making its way down her delicate leg. She grabbed a washcloth that was sitting in a bucket nearby and rang it out. Nadia wiped off the trickle of blood and firmly pressed on the wound itself. Soon it stopped and she as free to finish the shave. Similar instances only occurred a few more times during the whole evening, and when she was done, she was very pleased with herself. Her legs were perfectly smooth and bore only a few red spots. She rubbed her shin against the calf of the other leg to feel the silky skin slide alongside itself. When she felt satisfied, she slipped on a nightgown and slinked into bed. Tomorrow would be a long day.