Chapter 2

Mrs. Lovett tossed and turned, hoping that sleep would bring her a new day soon while cold sweat slowly dripped from her body. She was sure that she would feel better if she could see the sun again and if she wasn't surrounded by darkness and memories.

After a few hours of lying awake and trying not to remember what had happened that evening, she couldn't stand it anymore. The walls from her bedroom seemed to move forwards as if they wanted to crush her.

The baker feared she was losing her mind, but she couldn't stand to be in the room one more minute, even if that meant that she had to go back to the shop.

She stood up from her bed, ignoring the smell of gin which lingered on her dress and skin, and walked slowly towards the shop. She wanted to postpone seeing that place as long as she could, but at the same time something made her walk back to the room which she had fled from a few hours ago.

It wasn't as bad as she had thought it would be: her shop looked like it always did at night; the only difference was that she refused to look at the corner where Peter had been, as if that man had never humiliated her if she didn't look at the chair were he had sat.

Mrs. Lovett headed for the counter where she quickly counted the money, just to have something to do. In the hidden till was a larger sum of money than she had ever seen in her life. She presumed that the customers had given quite some tips to support her. This was a pleasing and comforting thought, until she realized that those men and women had only paid so much to square their guilt for doing nothing when the baker had needed their help.

The baker felt like destroying the money, but could prevent herself from doing so only at the last moment. This was all she had been working for all her life after all.

She snarled sarcastically when she realized this. Money… it was so important, but only for the poor and now that she was rich herself, she realized money itself wasn't worth anything. Its only purpose was to buy things. But what she wanted couldn't be bought; her dreams would never be more than dreams no matter how many pounds she owned. The love from the only person in the world she had an overwhelming fondness for couldn't be brought. Never. It made money useless for her. For what were some pieces of metal or ink and paper compared to one tender word, one gentle caress, one single kiss?

Suddenly, she heard something that sounded like breaking glass. The baker looked around in panic and the fear and stress that had been gone while she was thinking about Sweeney Todd were back within a second.

"Who's there?" she said, her voice weak.

There was nothing but complete silence. She sighed deeply, cursing her own paranoia – but then she heard it again, and now she was sure of it. Someone was breaking the glass of the windows in her shop. Would it be a beggar who wanted to sleep in her shop like two years ago, or would it be a burglar?

Then she heard something else. Someone was laughing.

She recognized the voice immediately.

A hand appeared through the broken window and turned around the key, which was still in the lock. If she ever saw Toby again, she'd kill him because he hadn't put away the key, like she had told him to so many times. But that was the last of her sorrows now.

Peter opened the door of the shop slowly, as if he could scare her more if he did so.

Mrs. Lovett closed her eyes briefly, praying that he would be gone if she opened them again, but of course it was no use.

The silhouette of that man standing there at the entrance of her shop, just watching her as if challenging her to scream or run away, was enough to make her gasp for air desperately.

She looked around quickly, but of course there was no one who could help her. The only things that were there were some glasses and plates on the table next to the counter, where she usually did the last preparations for the pies. But then a flash of silver caught her attention. Behind the glasses on the table lay a knife. Not knowing what else to do, she stepped forward slowly to grab the knife and then she stepped back again, as if nothing had happened. It was dark in the shop so she was pretty sure the intruder hadn't seen it. She hid the weapon behind her back. If she wanted to use the knife to protect herself, he had to get closer to her; if she ran towards him, he would be alarmed and then she wouldn't have a chance.

"No," she muttered, hoping to distract him. "That can't be. You… Toby beat you, you were thrown on the street… you were unconscious!"

"Well, one good thing about money is that you can afford to see a doctor and you don't have to visit one of those frauds your kind is forced to trust. In the hospital they stitched the wound on my head, gave me a painkiller et voila. Here I am again, to finish some business."

She stared at the man, unable to believe how arrogant and bold he was to see her as 'business'.

"Surprised to see me?" he asked mockingly, while he stepped closer to her again.

When he approached her she was reminded of her plan. She feared the man, but he was injured and she had a weapon. She straightened her back and a little bit of hope returned.

While he walked towards her like he was hunting prey, she was focused on all his movements and was ignorant to other things that happened around her. She refused to show any sign of fear and she held the knife tight in the sweating palm of her right hand.

But he took his time, as if he enjoyed the process of scaring her. But all Mrs. Lovett did was try to think of the best way to defend herself. She could 'just' hurt him or try to kill him. She could stab his heart, or cut his throat. It couldn't be that hard, since Mr. Todd killed numerous of people that way every day.

Adrenaline ran through her system and she trembled, but not with fear. She stood her ground, tightening the grip around the knife once more while she waited for the opportune moment.

Her eyes were filled with hate and lust for revenge, just like Sweeney Todd's, and her attitude was one of a killer instead of a scared woman.

Peter sensed it too: his steps faltered and he even stood still, but he wasn't close enough yet.

"She's up to something," the man said. "She should scream, or run away."

Only a far corner of the baker's mind noticed how weird it seemed that he referred to 'she' instead of 'you', since her body was so focused on taking revenge upon the man who had humiliated her.

She stepped away from him, but with only one purpose: to lure him closer. He needed to think that she was vulnerable and scared, so she could surprise him. If he knew of the knife only one second too early, she was lost.

The trick worked: the feigned vulnerability caused the man to step closer to her again, while he licked his lips and eyed her from top to toe, his gaze focusing on her breasts while he closed the last distance between them.

He reached out his hand to touch her, but at that moment she jumped forward and aimed with the knife for his chest with all her power.

Everything during the next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. Her hand moved, but it was too slow, and from the corner of her eyes she saw to her bewilderment that a second, a third and even a fourth person stepped from the dark corners of the shop and ran towards them. The man that reached them first grabbed the baker's arm, so the knife was stopped when it was only centimeters away from Peter's heart.

Only when someone forced her wrist in a very painful position so she was forced to drop the knife, did time pass again in the normal way.

"Well, well, what's this?" Peter asked. Though he tried not to show it, she felt he was shocked by her sudden attack, but it didn't give her faith now that she was held tightly by two men.

Peter cast a few more glanced through the shop, just to be sure that there were no other surprises and then he relaxed. He picked up the knife from the ground and he studied it nonchalantly.

"So, you thought you could stop me?"

The other men chuckled cruelly; Mrs. Lovett realized they were the same men who had visited her shop with Peter that afternoon.

Although her mind was still working, her body seemed to be paralyzed. The way she was being held captive told her that she couldn't escape from the things that the four men probably intended to do with her.

Without saying one more word, the three friends of Peter dragged her towards one of the large tables in the room. They this did this in such a fluent way that Mrs. Lovett was sure they had done this before and probably had planned to do this since the moment she had accidentally spilled the gin.

They lay her down on the table mercilessly and pinned her arms and legs against the cold, hard wood of the surface.

A smile crept onto Peter's face as he watched her struggle frantically; he clearly couldn't wait to have his way with her.

Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened in fear and she screamed, but one of the men covered her mouth with his hand before she could produce any sound.

"Quiet, you bitch," he hissed. "You have challenged the wrong person this afternoon."

"Don't let her go," Peter said to the others, "no matter what she does."

The realization what was about to happen hit her. She tried to pull her limbs from the man's grips, but it seemed impossible. Yet, with an almost unnatural desperation, she freed one of her legs and she managed to kick one of the men who pinned her onto the table. He screamed in pain when her feet hit his kneecap, but the others quickly managed to take control over her again.

"Can you hurry?" the man who she had kicked asked Peter, annoyed, but Turpin didn't do anything except stare at Mrs. Lovett as if he could undress her with his eyes.

"No need to hurry," he said, "this lady caught my attention ages ago when I had to keep an eye on her neighbor when my brother has asked me to do so. Unfortunately her husband guarded her like she was a pile of gold and he made it clear to me that he didn't like it if I approached his wife. He told me that he would make sure that I'd regret it if I touched her, no matter who I was."

Absentmindedly, he touched a scar on his forehead before he continued talking.

"Only days ago I found out that this woman's husband died a while ago… so I felt she deserved another visit now that he wasn't there to prevent me from seeing her anymore. When I was in your shop, I noticed you have lost nothing of your boldness and you…"

Mrs. Lovett didn't listen anymore, for the words the man had said already kept echoing in her head. Her neighbor? His brother?

Peter noticed her confusion through her fear.

"Oh, didn't I introduce myself?" he asked, flashing a fake smile. "How rude of me. Peter Turpin; at your service."

He bowed to her mockingly, ignorant to the look of utter terror on Mrs. Lovett's face that was caused by the announcement that he was the brother of the man who had raped Lucy Barker.

"I'm sorry we haven't met properly before, but you see, usually I spend my time in Paris and I arrived in England only yesterday to visit my brother."

Peter eyed her once more intensely and his gaze alone was enough to terrify even Mrs. Lovett.

"Enough time wasted," he said, all feigned politeness gone. "Hold her until I'm done with her. She's a wild one and I don't want any interruptions."

The grip on her limbs became even tighter, but she had stopped fighting for she knew it was useless.

"I smell gin," Peter whispered when he closed the distance between them. "How nice of you… how did you now I like that?"

Tears formed in her eyes when she realized this would be worse than she had ever thought. She found herself as the object of a man's obsession. This was what Lucy Barker must've felt like, was the thought that went through her mind when the other Turpin bowed over her and traced the line of her jaw. Mrs. Lovett wanted to crawl away from him, but it was impossible for her to even move her head.

However, there was one thing she could do. In a wave of fury she couldn't suppress, she spit in Turpin's face.

"You bitch," he screamed, hysterical because of her action. "Who do you think…"

The rest of his sentence was inaudible because of his rage.

He let himself fall on top of her and when she tried to get away from underneath him, he pulled her hair in such a violent way that she screamed from the pain.

The sound was muted when Turpin forced his mouth onto hers.

Again she tried to fight him, but he was so rough and caused her so much pain that the only thing she could do was close her eyes firmly and pray it would be over soon. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't ignore his mouth on her body, his heavy breath and the feeling of the clothes that with were torn from her body.

She didn't know what exactly he was doing and she didn't want to know, because it hurt so much. She screamed again but it was no use. When Turpin attacked her neck and shoulders with his teeth, she bit in the hand of one of her captors.

She tasted blood and she smelled it too; about the latter she couldn't tell whether it was of one of the men's or her own.

In the few seconds it took one of the other men to cover her mouth, she screamed. It would probably make the situation even worse because to her Turpin seemed the kind of man that would enjoy her fear and pain, but she couldn't stop it. She simply had to do something to show that she hadn't lost her will and that her spirit wasn't broken.