Kidney Pie- Part 5

"You're a Bloody Wonder"

Morning found Mrs. Lovett extremely sore. The deep gashes Jack had sliced into the flesh of her stomach were stiff and dry and burned as she tightened the strings of her corset. Damn his eyes... Jack the Ripper was probably not the best choice for her first lover in such a long time. Not that she had chosen him, exactly. If Mr. Todd had only been a bit more cooperative...

Wincing, she walked stiffly to the kitchen to make Sweeney his breakfast. Or Toby's breakfast... Bringing the barber food was more ritual than anything else. Each morning she hoped he might finally accept it, take one bite, move the bloody spoon a smidge to one side so she could pretend he may have thought about taking a bite. But it wouldn't happen today. Not after what he saw last night. Her eyes swept the floor as she reached the plain little room, hoping there was no blood left for Toby to find. Behind the counter, where they had laid till Sweeney came down, she stooped to wipe away a few sticky streams with a handy rag. Shooting another silent curse at the Ripper, she threw the dirty cloth into the washbasin full of yesterday's water and turned to the counter with a sigh.

Nellie stopped cold as she saw the tray she had left outside the barber's door sitting empty on the stained countertop. Empty. She stared, not quiet registering the possibility that Sweeney had actually eaten anything. He wouldn't... Never forget, never forgive, that was her Mr. Todd. He couldn't... There was no way he would have accepted that food after what he had caught her with...

She let out gasp, her gloved hands flying to her mouth. Jack! What if...? She left the thought behind her as she raced out her shop door and up the rickety stairs. "Mr. Todd!" She shouldn't have thrown the Ripper out. What if he had found his way upstairs and...No! She barreled through the door, making the bells behind it ring wildly."Mr. Todd!"

"Mrs. Lovett." The baker faltered, wide-eyed, in the open door, staring at her tenant's back. Sweeney stood, polishing his spotless silver razor, unharmed. And, amazingly, he turned, only slightly stiffly, to face her.

"You... I found... The tray last night..." Suddenly, she felt daft for thinking that because she found the tray in the kitchen, Sweeney had been murdered. And how bloody perfect was it that Sweeney was finally looking at her - really looking - and she had made an idiot of herself. Her pale features started to feel a little warm. "You... You ate your dinner then?"

He kept those dark eyes on her as he nodded. "It was lovely."

She stared back, stunned. "Oh." She watched him for a moment, letting the stinging in Jack's slashes convince her she wasn't dreaming. "I'll fix you some breakfast, then, shall I?"

"Yes, love."

Nodding, Nellie backed out the shop and descended the stairs as uncertainly as if she thought the steps would dissolve beneath her.

"The Lodger"

The Ripper paced his room, a look of deadly intent on his lean face. As his path turned past his desk, jealousy sparked in his blue eyes as they glanced towards the plate of pies sitting on its top and he remembered their baker. Whore-baker. Beautiful, wonderful, sweet tramp of a pie cook…

With a sullen growl, he sat on the edge of his bed, crossing his arms like a child. It was obvious that Eleanor- his Eleanor, she had to be- loved the barber upstairs. And it was equally apparent that the bloody man was anything but romantically inclined towards her. She deserved better. I'd treat her better, if she loved me. He lay back with a sigh. If I wouldn't just kill her… Closing his eyes, he let himself remember her, the taste of her blood, the way she squirmed under his knife… It would be a hard decision to make, whether or not to cut her gorgeous white throat, but he'd think it through. For her, he could. Such is love, I guess.

Lost in his thoughts, Jack didn't hear the door open, didn't notice the presence of another person until a shrill, if well-meaning, voice pierced his memories. "My, but we're sleepy this morning, Mr. Jack!" Sitting suddenly upright, he found himself face to face with landlady, her creased and jowled face split by an impossibly innocent smile. "Went out again last night, did you?"

The Fiend of Whitechapel rolled his eyes as she turned to bustle about his little room. "Yes, Mrs. Greely, I did."

She clucked disapprovingly. "You're lucky sleepy's all you are. You know, half the nights you're gone, I hear the next morning that awful Ripper fellow's been after the poor girls again. And what would you do if you ever ran into him? I worry myself sick over you, Jackie, getting in the old devil's way in some dark alley…" The 'old devil' sank back onto his mattress, gritting his teeth, as Mrs. Greely picked up one of his shirts, the sleeves dripping water from where he had washed the blood off the cuffs. "What-? Now, how many times do I have to tell you, dearie, it's the whole shirt that needs washing, not just the sleeves! Heavens, Jack, but you do need a woman to look after you!"

Don't remind me. He scowled at the old woman's round and lumpish back as his thoughts turned painfully back to Mrs. Lovett. He would win her, he had to. But how?

He heard Mrs. Greely squawking for beside his desk. "Oh! Where did these come from!?" He glared at her as she stood over the meat pies. His wet shirts flapping over her pudgy arm, she turned to face him, full of huffy, geriatric outrage. "Mr. Jack! I hope you haven't tired of my cooking!?"

"No, Mrs. Greely, I-" Pausing, Jack sat up again as a thought struck him. "Actually, that's a matter you might be able to help me with." The smile sprang back across his landlady's face, her eyes gleaming at thought of helping him. Idiot. But he recalled suddenly the shelves upon shelves of sappy romance novels tucked away in the parlor where she brought her sisters for tea. He had always considered those novels, much like the tea gatherings and, in fact, most of the things Mrs. Greely did, utterly pointless. But perhaps he had been mistaken. "I happen to be – ah…" Smitten? Enchanted? Madly in love with? "…Somewhat fond of the baker of those fine pies. But she… She rather fancies someone else." He paused again, watching his landlasy begin almost a shuffling sort of dance in her excitement. "How should I…?"

"Ooo-ooh! Write her a love poem!" Bouncing heavily across the little space, she reached out and pinched the Ripper's pale cheek with a matronly squeal. "Oh, how sweet! Why, it'll be perfect! And you're always writing anyway, writing letters…" She laughed, turning to go. "Who you send them all to I can't imagine, silly thing. You must write almost as many letters as that horrible man, that Ripper fellow…" She bustled away on a wave of merry senility, still chattering. The wake as she shut his door knocked his old top hat off its peg on the wall.

Jack grinned as he stood and crossed quickly to his desk. Eleanor is as good as mine! Mrs. Greely, he supposed, was as daft as she was eager to play at matchmaking, but that, he knew, was to his advantage. That sappy, clueless type always seemed exactly the sort best suited for romance. And where could that bloody barber even hope to find someone as steeped in addle-brained sentimentality as Mrs. Greely?

XXXXXXX

Sorry about the short chapter. Didn't want to make you wait.

"The Lodger," if anyone's interested, is a story by Belloc Lowndes.