"Your assumptions are incorrect, Mrs. Lovett," Catherine Daver interjected. She briskly walked into the room. Sweeney followed in her shadow. Thomas immediately stood. "Mr. Todd has arranged a visit with Dr. Mortis tomorrow. I strongly suggest you do the same."
Mrs. Lovett was flabbergasted. She questioned Sweeney, "What do you think, Mr. T?"
"Do the right thing, for once." He grunted.
"Suppose I'll go then," She timidly replied, "Are we goin' together?"
Sweeney Todd noticeably stiffened, and his eye twitched with annoyance.
"No, you will go separately. I will escort Mr. Todd at precisely noon tomorrow. Thomas will escort you at three o'clock," Catherine Daver delivered her statements and strode toward the door. She turned the handle and exited, slamming the door.
Thomas pushed in his chair, made a hurried farewell and left.
Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney Todd were alone once more.
Sweeney was silently mouthing a strain of obscenities. Her mousy voice was still vibrating against his ear drums. What do you think, Mr. T? Will we go together, Mr. T? Was she so useless, so infantile that a single decision could not be made on her own? He wanted to strangle her; his fingers ached for it. He was burning with murderous intent.
He needed to be in a room without her presence. The closest door was the one that lead outside, into the darkness. He chose that.
But, as if by some devious intervention the witch spoke, "I don't think we can leave, Mr. Todd."
He reached for the handle anyway, despite her objection. He was disappointed to find the door locked. There was no way to reach his shop. He tried the side door instead, but it would not yield.
"You never listen to me," She was exasperated, "An' apparently you don't listen to Reaping either, love. We're stuck in 'ere."
"AN' YOU NEVER SHUT YOUR TRAP!" He shouted wildly. He was volatile, bursting with suppressed rage. He stomped over to the booth and slammed his fists onto the table. He pounded furiously against it; the flour and dust were forming tiny clouds.
Her back was pressed against the booth. She watched his movements intently, silently.
"Why, Mrs. Lovett? Why?" His voice was so strained, "Why did you lie to me?"
She whimpered. Her eyes brimmed with tears; but she was afraid to answer.
"Answer me!" He wildly exclaimed, "Tell me why!"
Her voice cracked, "You lied too, love."
"You remember the day you brought breakfast to me shop?" He questioned, changing the subject on purpose.
Mrs. Lovett nodded. Her eyes were glassy; her lower lip trembled.
"You said we could 'ave a life together, that it wouldn't be much, but we could get by. Before Anthony came," Sweeney was certain their eyes locked, "I thought it would 'ave been nice."
Mrs. Lovett gave a startled sob and stood. She rushed away, nearly knocking him down. She retreated to the parlor; then he heard a door shut and lock.
It was then that Sweeney Todd came to a realization.
His eyes twinkled with new, mischievous purpose.
He didn't have to murder Mrs. Lovett to hurt her.
Mrs. Lovett collapsed on her bedroom floor. She couldn't make it to the bed.
She wept uncontrollably, her chest heaved with each lamentation. Her cheek pressed against the cool floorboards; it gave some comfort for the hot, streaming tears.
You said we could 'ave a life together, that it wouldn't be much, but we could get by.
"That I did, love," She whispered, "Oh, I meant every word of it."
Before Anthony came, I thought it would 'ave been nice.
She choked on a sob, remembering those words. It was a rarity, but he sounded so sincere then. And that meant there was a chance. However small, he had thought of a life with her, and he thought it nice.
That seaside wedding was hopeless now; her fantasies of married life with Mr. Todd were wasted. She had dreams of picking seashells, walking with intertwined hands, glorious seafood suppers, and of course a loving husband.
She had prayed Lucy Barker would die of consumption or some such other disease since his return. But no, that little harpy thrived on poking around her shop. She was a meddling woman, interfering on her and Mr. Todd's only chance for happiness. He really had done her a wondrous favor in the end. He was spared the shame and disappointment of a dejected woman. Would he have loved his Lucy as a beggar, as a filthy whore?
But he had thought of life with her. And that meant he did not think of it now.
She cried her remorseful song into the carpet:
"There was a baker an' her strife,
Was an awful plight,
To keep the barber from his wife,
An' begin a better life.
There was a baker an' her place,
Was to eliminate any trace,
Of that prying, putrid face
An' present her love a better case.
His wife was virtuous, those many years ago,
But how could he ever know,
The truth dark an' plain,
That woman had herself to blame.
And she remembered his strain,
Fifteen years an' nights of endless pain.
And she would spare him shame
To think her still fair, miss what's-her-name.
There was a baker an' her desire
For the barber would never tire.
There was a baker an' her crime
Was to make the barber ...
Mine."
Her thoughts were interrupted by three brisk knocks. She instinctually straightened. She slowly stood, brushing stray tears with her wrists. She patted her dress down; even though it was perfectly fine. It was a nervous habit, clearing away imagined grime. It had been worse before though, with making the pies. She would pat and pat and pat. It had to be at least eighty times a day, if not more.
She pulled a long, red ribbon from her corset. A silver key was looped at the end. She roughly jammed the key into the lock, and swung the door open.
Sweeney Todd stood in the doorway, hands behind his back. He looked guilty.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lovett," He confessed, meeting her shocked gaze.
"What?" She questioned mouth agape. Was he actually apologizing?
"I'm sorry," He stated again, this time with slight agitation. He waltzed into her bedroom.
She took a few steps back, "Are you feelin' alright, Mr. T?"
"Never better, my pet," He hissed. He advanced on her again.
Mrs. Lovett took sanctuary on her bed. She pushed her back against the banister. She noticed a peculiar gaze in his eyes. There was a hidden purpose in his walk. And there was a subtle smile spreading his lips.
Oh, no. He'll be slittin' me again, she thought, I should 'ave never opened the door.
Her eyes clasped shut. She was braced for his murderous artistry. His hands were forcefully grasping her throat. The cold razor was suddenly scalding against her collarbone. It waited there, while his other hand snaked her nape.
'Ere it comes, her thoughts were dreary, make it quick, love.
His lips crashed hers; it was like sandpaper, abrasive and rough. She was startled, even though her mouth protested, she broke their dancing tongues.
"Mr. T," She panted, "What 'as gotten into you?"
"A desire, for a certain baker," He whispered, and suckled her throat.
She gasped, partially from surprise and partially from pleasure. He was listening to her, for once. Well, it was eavesdropping actually. But what did that matter now? His razor made jagged cuts into her dress; her chest heaved in wanton anticipation.
His teeth clamped her collarbone, it was possessive and primal. His nails dug her flesh like shovels. He was marking her.
His breath was ragged, as he worked lower. His hand, and razor handle, pressed her covered breast. He mumbled on her chest, "Oh Lucy."
The brief intoxication was over. Her eyes snapped open.
He was working on her corset now. He was oblivious to the mistake.
Mrs. Lovett was infuriated. She would have never snubbed him. But granted she never pictured their love-making haphazard like this. She refused to be a mere outlet for his wife. She deserved better.
Her neck twisted down. Her mouth brushed his ear. She whispered, "Oh, Benjamin."
His eyes, like revolvers, were aimed at her. "Me name's Sweeney Todd," he corrected, a feral growl reverberated against his clenched teeth.
"Ah, well. I don't see fit to call you Sweeney Todd if you see fit to call me Lucy Barker."
She escaped his now slackened grasp, and walked away. She had made a decision.
Author's Note: I am a little nervous about posting this chapter, since I have a fear of hounding fangirls (and guys perhaps) wanting to slit my throat for making Sweeney such a … well, asshole. But how realistic would that little tryst be all lovey-dovey and romantic? Not very, and extremely out of character I might add (which I try to avoid). And maybe Sweeney is a little out of character too, but I'm playing up his 'sick in the head' factor. And to be quite honest, I love every bit of it. And maybe Mrs. Lovett should have let him ravish her, or maybe she should have said "Oh, I'm as good as Lucy?" and a lemon scene would have flourished. But I think its too early for that. And besides, I see Mrs. Lovett as a selfish, jealous woman. And a woman like that wouldn't let his error slide without consequences. ;)
Until next time, faithful ones.