A/N: Hey all! I'm back after a two week hiatus! Many of your sharp cookies have suggested Mrs Lovett is going to escape….and she is, in a manner of speaking…
Thanks to MireiLovett1846, AngelofDarkness1605, Scarlett Masquerade, CaptainKrueger, XxRazorPiexX, SweeneyToddRocksMySocks, Lovatrix =)
WARNING: DEPRESSION AHEAD!!!
~Pretty Women Part 3~
"Mrs Lovett, don't you fret little poppet. Time for your bath, you know."
Nellie Lovett didn't respond. They only called her poppet because they knew she was going to die.
Eventually. Like the week old sacks of potato skins she'd tossed out in the street after making Mr Todd's potato pies every Friday afternoon.
She was slowly rotting and shrivelling.
"Come on poppet, don't pout."
They might have been mocking her, if the two women hadn't stood there in their stained aprons, wrung hands and taut faces.
She was on the brink. There was no more time. She could not linger.
Her eyes itched and her hands burned and even in the darkness, she knew how foul she must look to human eyes.
Eleanor Lovett wasn't a person. And would never be a woman. Mr T had seen to that.
A bloody wonder. A boil. A blistering fiend. That's what he thought of her.
He'd thrown her in! Thrown her, tossed her, hurtled her in, just as if she'd been a useless sack, a –
Nellie couldn't find the words.
She'd loved that man. She knew she'd loved him, because no other woman, not even Lucy, could have endured what she had endured.
All for the love of him.
But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Sweeney was always wanting more. More blood, more gore, more victims galore.
She'd been daft. So flamin' daft. To think a few kisses, a few caresses, had meant anything to a monster such as him. To think he could really feel as she felt. The great stone oaf.
A kiss was nothin' to Sweeney Todd. He'd was probly fantasisin' about that bain-addled Lucy the whole time.
Until a few hours ago, it was the Kiss that had kept Mrs Lovett alive.
She'd been drawing on it, dreaming of it, calling it up in her most unhappy hours. Knowing that Mr Todd had kissed her, that he had given himself to her, willingly, well, it made all the horrible things the Judge had said and done – it made it a little bearable.
It even made her almost forget how right ugly she'd become.
Not now.
She was foul-looking. Sweeney Todd had seen to that.
As greasy and festering as one of her pies she was. Mr T had seen to it. He'd seen to it, seen to it, seen to it, seen to it, seen –
"Nellie dear, don't you go being difficult now poppet. It's time for you bath," they repeated, as if she were one of those mad woman locked up in Bedlam dribbling saliva and cutting off the lobes of her ears, instead of a poor flesh and blood woman mutilated by the only man she'd ever loved.
Nellie Lovett. She'd wanted her bath, of course, she did. If she got near the water, she would be safe from Mr T. Away from the memories.
Mr T and his burning devil eyes.
"How 'bout that bath then, poppet?"
"Hurry up," Nellie croaked, turning that single eye towards the shuddering women.
How many times had they undressed her, washed her, wiped her down, and still, they could not bear the sight of her?
"You is eager today, Mrs Nellie," stammered the maid.
"Nellie," she insisted, lifting a shaking hand out to the woman.
Together, the two maids lifted Nellie above the bed and bore her out the room and down the hall to the bathroom as if it were her funeral and they were bearing her body out to its flaming pyre.
Not at all the way she had imagined she would go.
"Mr T," Nellie had whispered one afternoon when Sweeney had downed one two many glasses of gin. "How you gonna go?"
"Wot, my pet?"
They were on the lounge, devouring thick slabs of Nellie's fruitcake and five tots of gin each between them.
It was a rare, miracle treat, for Mr T never stopped to eat or drink or rest for anyone except that Nellie had cornered him and he'd been too exhausted to refuse.
"How you wanna go?" she repeated.
Mr T had blinked at her, clearly baffled.
"You know love, when Angel Death comes for a visit?"
He answered almost immediately. Nellie was surprised because she was sure Mr T was too drunk to hear her.
"Down under the waves, Mrs Lovett. Far, far down, where not a soul can hear me."
"Well that might be problematic, love." She was half-smiling, half- mourning. She was caught adrift in the barber's spell, and could not have dreamed what smoking horrors awaited her a week hence.
When Nellie reached for another slice of cake, he held the plate aloft above her head, suddenly serious, and sober. Not that he was never not serious, neither.
"Why?' he demanded.
"Oh love, I wasn't mocking you," she replied wistfully, sliding as close as discreetly possible toward Sweeney. Nellie was wondering how it would be if she bit onto the end of Mr T's cake the next time he took a bite. Would he be shocked, at her daring? Would he rise up in fury, and toss the plate aside? Would the whole sad lovely moment be ruined? Nellie decided she didn't care. The next time he took a bite of cake, she would make her move.
Nothing, however, escaped the notice of Sweeney Todd.
"I don't follow, Mrs Lovett." He slid a little further away, still holding the plate above her messy patch of hair.
"I only meant I think it's a fine idea. I won't let ya do it unless I can come wif ya. I dun wanna end up one o' 'em gin-filled whores lyin' on the streets, Mr T. I wanna share everythin' wif ya, I wanna – "
"I don't know if death works that way," Sweeney smirked.
Her eyes were half-shut like one of those stray dogs roasting themselves in the midday sun.
"I don't care" she protested, falling across the coach so her head leant into his shoulder. "I wanna go wif y, when an' if the time should come. I can't be your Lucy, love, but I can be a friend through that wicked night. Please, love. I don't care when. Say it now, if you like, an' I'll follow ya. When you can go down to the sand, an' let the foam prune our toes, an' I'll take yah an an' we'll close our eyes and let the waves drag us down – "
"A splendid idea, Mrs Lovett," said Sweeney Todd giving her a genuine little smile.
Nellie thought: how alike they were, at times!
"Do ya promise, Mr T?"
She looked like a mouse then, longing for the little scraps of crumbs cast on the floor.
"Of course, my pet," he said, downing another tot of gin without quite looking at her. "Anythin' you say."
And she'd fallen back into the broken fabric of the lounge, pretending to trace the ruined corners with her grubby hands. But really, she was studying Sweeney. She sat up.
"Nothin's gonna 'arm you," she sang softly, putting the now empty tea tray on the floor. "Nothing's gonna 'arm you love, I swear."
"Mrs Lovett –"
She waited him out. He needed a gentle pat on the shoulder. But it wasn't enough, not hardly enough for Eleanor Lovett, whose moments of tender and peace were too few and far between.
"Lucy," he said after a while, and Nellie knew he wasn't there anymore, at least, his body was. But that tortured mind of his was floating somewhere between cribs and baby rattles and trips through the market when he was Benjamin and had the whole world at his fingertips.
It was no use, she realised miserably, dusting her cracked hands down.
He was gone for now.
Nellie finally got up, her skirts rustling like the sound of waves as she went. She leant down, and bestowed a kiss on his chafed forehead. "Sleep easy, love," she said, disappearing out of the parlour.
Of course she knew he wouldn't. That wasn't the point. They were so alike, she and Mr T. Neither of them slept easy. Neither of them were home. Neither of them were quite right, or would ever be quite right, in the head.
If only he could see it.
Nellie went through to her mean little bedroom and undressed.
She blew out the candle.
* * *
And how far apart now, Nellie thought. How far apart he was from her now.
"Relax, poppet. No need ta shake."
The women were now lowering Nellie gently into the tub.
How far apart, how far, far apart.
But how well Nellie remembered. His nose brushing hers. She'd pressed her hand into the small of her back. And he'd trembled underneath it. Right by his lips, she'd been. Whispering right into the door of his mouth. "Relax, Mr T. It's not so hard," she'd said.
What a fool. Fool, fool, fool, she'd been, to listen to herself. To dream.
"Foolish old Nellie," she giggled. She bit her lip, so that she might forget the taste of barber upon baker. As if she could forget. "It's always hard. Always."
The servants exchanged glances. "Is it right to leave her?"
"If the Judge were to find out – "
"I'm scarred, not dumb," Nellie spat. "Leave me alone, the both of ya. It's time I washed meself."
The women nodded. They were glad to go. Neither of them envied another disgusting job cleaning the black weeping wounds over the baker's body. "As you wish, poppet."
"You have twenty minutes, an' then we're comin' ter check."
Nellie forced her mouth into a smile.
A person could do a lot in twenty minutes.
When the left, she could hear them whispering, just beyond the door.
"But she ain't the only one, wot about the girl his ward – "
"- Kept her locked up for fifteen years, they say, till some brave sailor boy whisked her away – "
"It's madness!"
"Monsters like him should be hung – "
"Speakin' o' monsters, when you think they'll get around ta hangin' that demon – "
"Oh you mean that Sweeney Todd."
"Very devil 'e wos. Hang 'im 'igh, I say."
"Gotta set an' example – "
And then the voices simply floated away.
It was still difficult to move about. But Nellie had been saving her strength.
She had enough, just enough, to turn herself around in the water.
She was face down now, and could hear nothing but the still little spill of water in her ears.
Water down below. How lovely calm it looked, Nellie thought.
No roaring, no scorching, no flames. No mad eyes, no razors slashing high and wide.
No poor Toby beggin' Mr T to spare his life –
It wasn't even cold. At least she couldn't feel it.
Nellie closed her eyes, and smiled. Her thoughts were pleasant, as she drifted off: Maybe I'm a long-lost mermaid, finally goin' home to meet me family under the waves –
It was finished. It was done. Her die had been cast, and all that might have been between Nellie Lovett and Sweeney Todd would never be again.
* * *
The people of London were a creative lot.
They weren't just drowning themselves in tubs.
They were destroying themselves at balls, banquets, fancy feasts.
Some, such as Sweeney Todd, was destroying himself with his thoughts alone.
His dingy little apartment was always dark, but not tonight.
There was a special festive air, as he dressed himself up handsomely for a night among the debauched.
"Sweeney Sweeney Sweennnnneyyy!" The beggar woman had made herself at home, and was dancing around the room in a dirty gown.
Strangely, the noise did not disturb him. Not in the way Mrs Lovett's ceaseless chatter had.
"Now Lucy," he said, grinning at the filthy stringy woman clinging to his arm. "How would you like to go to a ball?"
"Ball! Sweeney d-dance?" She grinned back, revealing a mouth of stinking teeth.
"Yes, my love," Sweeney soothed, slamming the door behind them.
He had his razors at the ready.
"We will dance."
* * *
Oh by the way...I like Lovatrix's suggestion. Whoever guesses what Sweeney's going to do next wins him for the night! =DD