A/N: Yay! *Squeals from all your generous reviews! You've inspired me to write so here's the next chappy. This is one big Flashback, because Nellie needs it. And yes, the Beadle is a CREEP. What can I say the film has great material. =D
"Remember, Mrs Lovett," Sweeney Todd said, breathing into her ear on the way down the stairs. "Don't overdo it. It must seem natural."
"Wouldn't dream of it, love," she whispered back, staring fondly at the neck which less than a moment ago he had allowed her to embrace.
But that was all in the past. For now.
There were barely any lights, and when they reached the bottom of the stairs the Judge and the Beadle were waiting.
"Mr Todd," Mrs Lovett said, "how's about I give this starved gentleman a drink an' a pie, and leave you an' the Judge to attend to your business, ay?"
Sweeney had nodded, and their eyes met.
It was an unspoken agreement: you deal with the judge, I'll handle the Beadle.
"Madam," the Beadle said, interjecting with a greasy smirk, "There's been an awful stench about these parts, and they say your pie house is to blame. And I've been the one appointed ta see that it stops. I ought to do my duty…before pleasure." He leered suggestively at Mrs Lovett.
"Sir," Sweeney interrupted, "no doubt you are a busy man. But Mrs Lovett would be truly indebted if you could sample one of her meat pies. After all, it has been said that you are an expert in culinary delights."
Mrs Lovett smiled knowingly, giving a slight, provocative curtsey.
"Sir," the Judge said, frowning distastefully at Mrs Lovett, "there are far more pressing matters than pies. I won't ask you again – where has the ruffian got my Joanna?"
"Right this way, sir," Sweeney had pointed, directing him up the stairs.
"I will wait here." The Judge crossed his arms.
"Well then, if you'll just follow me, sir," Mrs Lovett said, leading the Beadle into her shop. The door jangled behind them.
* * *
The bell jangled behind them, and Nellie disappeared into the dark shop front.
"Mind ya feet sir," she said, bobbing her curls back at the Beadle. "Is a trifle dark."
The heavy, awkward frame of the Beadle trundled close behind. "Not bad at all," he grunted, watching Nellie relight the kitchen lamps.
The baker had to lean over the bench top to reach the lamp. "Wot?" Nellie had the distinct impression he wasn't referring to the cleanliness of the kitchen.
Pastry dough was splattered everywhere, as was to be expected after a busy evening.
"Nice little establishment you have, Madam, I must say."
Now that the lamps were burning brightly around them, Nellie could plainly see the man before her was making no attempt to hide his fascination with her chest. The Judge was most certainly a pervert, but at lest he had the decency to feign politeness.
The same could not be said of Beadle Bamford, who had about as much decorum as a bulldog being fed its last meal.
"Yes," Nellie said as pleasantly as possible. "It is rather nice, at least, me an' Mr Todd thinks so."
She raised her eyes slowly, flicking them down just as she saw him staring. A moment later, she lifted them again, and gave a quick little smile.
It was a trick she'd learnt did wonders with the male customers.
"Unfortunately, Madam," said the Beadle in between snorts of coke, "I am here on official business."
"Of course sir," Nellie smirked, curtseying low. "But surely," she said,, taking out a leftover batch of pies from the oven, "you can spare a bit o' pleasure first?"
She placed the tray before him. The residual heat from the oven had left the pies nice and hot.
The Beadle leant down, and sniffed. He didn't need much convincing. "Anything to oblige my friends and neighbours." He stressed the word friend.
Nellie pretended to flick a hunk of dough from the bench. Really, she was watching him. Whatever the cost, she had to protect Mr Todd.
"I must say," the Beadle gurgled in between bites of meat and pastry, "you 'ave the gift, Mrs Lovett. These pies are the finest I've tasted, and I'm a gentleman of the world, mind you."
"Sir," Nellie gushed, leaning against the bench so that her face was level with his, "you is too gen'rous to a widow doin' 'er best ta make ends meat."
"Widow?" The Beadle quickly finished stuffing himself. Loose crumbs had lodged themselves in his hair, and the remains of meat clung to his mouth. He didn't bother to wipe them. The prospect of another meal had his eyes all hard and alert.
"Yes sir," Nellie sighed, resting her head in her palms. "An' it gets so lonely all by meself in the bakehouse….sometimes I can 'ardly stand it."
She turned suddenly, placing her hands on the back of her waist so that every line and curve of the female form was on display for the Beadle.
The Beadle might have been many things, but he hadn't survived so long serving the Judge without having rat cunning to his name. Beadle Bamford was one of those foul scavenger birds that lurked on the edge of the dead carcass after the real predators had picked it to pieces.
"What about Mr Todd? I'm sure he could…accommodate you," he ventured cautiously, beginning to circle the bench where Mrs Lovett's back was still to him.
Mrs Lovett spun round and smiled. "No, I ain't the type to entice 'im," she said truthfully.
"My, my," said the Beadle greedily, "he is a fool, madam." He slicked back his hair in a gesture of finesse.
Nellie just thought it made him look even more revolting. But she played her part. She went into the parlour, where a single lamp sat burning. It didn't take long.
The Beadle trailed after her, placing a filth-ridden hand on her waist. "Well madam, I think perhaps you and I could arrange something between the two of us," he grinned.
"Wateva takes ya fancy," Mrs Lovett said placidly. "Take a seat sir."
She disentangled herself from his hands, and pulled out the parlour chair. The Beadle sat, and Nellie stared down at him intently. She removed the filthy hat and tossed it into the corner.
"Won't be a minute, sir," Nellie said in sing-song, crossing the room so that he followed every sway of her dress. "Will you promise ta close your eyes? A widow like meself gets a tad nervous undressin' in front of a gent such as yerself."
"Anything to oblige you, Madam," the Beadle swore, covering his eyes with his hands. He began to ramble. "If only I'd known you'd felt this way before…"
"Sshh! I'm almost there!" Nellie crossed the room, quieter than a cockroach.
She carried the spare rolling pin in her arms like a child, and when she was just over the Beadle's head, she raised it high, and whispered: "Take me sir, I'm ready."
The Beadle looked up, but it was too late. Nellie brought the rolling pin crashing down on his head, and after a few more solid clobbers across the head the Beadle was senseless to the world.
"That does that," said Nellie, dropping the pin and setting about heaving the Beadle underneath the covers of the table. She could hear thudding upstairs, and instantly Nellie thought of Mr T and what he was up to. She certainly hoped he was enjoying his revenge. It was hard work, this killing business –
"Mum!" It was Toby. Nosy thing. "Wot's goin' on?" He came suspiciously into the parlour.
"Nothin' dear, nothin'." Nellie jumped in front of the table. "How's about we 'ave some gin?"
The Beadle's feet were still poking out underneath the table.
"I'd like that," Toby brightened, "but first we has ta talk. I been thinking, ya see," he said in a grown-up voice. "I dun think it's safe."
"Wot's not safe?" Nellie said innocently, dusting down her dress. She hoped there weren't any fresh blood stains lingering there.
"Mr Todd. He ain't good for you Mum. But not to fear, not to worry," he said quickly, seeing Mrs Lovett's face contort. He began to sing: "Nothin's gonna harm you – "
"Yes, yes, that's all very nice dear," said Nellie, dragging the top of the table cover down to hide the feet. "But I got a lot o' work on me plate an' – "
"'Course!" Toby snapped his fingers. "You is dog tired, Mum. It's me time ta learn 'ow it all operates. I wanna help – "
And with that the boy was off racing down the bakehouse before Mrs Lovett could say Judge Turpin.
"Curses!" Mrs Lovett tore after him. "Bloody boy. Toby!"
It was too late. Toby had the door wide open, and was staring open-mouthed at the body of the beggar woman lying in the middle of the bakehouse. Courtesy Sweeney Todd, of course.
"See, Mum, I told you 'e was no good." Then it dawned. "You been helpin' 'im!" he accused.
"Dunno wot you is on about love," Nellie tried.
"Wot's that then?" said Toby, pointing at Lucy. "It's a dead body!"
Nellie went over to the beggar woman. "No it ain't."
"It's dead!" Toby shrieked, eyes darting up at her.
"No it ain't. She's sleepin', wot's all – eeek! Die!"
It turned out Nellie was right. Lucy wasn't quite dead yet.
"DIE!" Nellie screamed, kicking the woman in the shins. The hand was still around her ankle, when Sweeney appeared at the foot of the bakehouse.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
"Nothin'," Nellie lied, giving Lucy another swift kick. "Me an' Toby wos 'avin' a nice chat, that's all. Toby?"
Nellie looked around. Toby was nowhere to be seen. Little bleeder had gone off into the sewers.
"Where's the Beadle?" Sweeney's crow eyes darted around the bakehouse, finally landing on the beggar woman. "I told you to watch him," he snarled, advancing.
"No need ta watch 'im," she said boldly, smirking a little. "He's out cold in me parlour."
Sweeney briefly returned the smirk. "Practical, as always Mrs Lovett."
It was then he saw the straw blonde hair flopping out of the bonnet. "Move aside," he demanded.
Mrs Lovett didn't question the madness in those eyes.
"It's her," he said, softly at first, falling to his feet. Then the demon exploded. "You lied to me," he accused, starting up on his feet.
"No I never," Nellie swore, flailing backwards. Where was the person she had kissed barely moments ago?
Nellie stared at his mouth. The lips were now burning, stoking the fire only Sweeney could see.
"Liar!" he bellowed.
After that, Nellie didn't remember any more.
* * *
The next chap is much shorter, so I might post that up this week too, if you like. Sorry to keep flooding you guys but the juices are flowing for some reason!