My Cutthroat Romance

Chapter 2 - Worst Pies In London

[A/N: This story is not intended to be a musical, but I have tried to keep as much of the songs in as possible without it dragging on for too long. However, if as you read it you imagine/want the characters singing, be my guest, but the intention is for it to be spoken. =)]

Mr. Todd walked at a steady pace until he reached the familiar surroundings of Fleet Street. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards slightly, but he did not smile. He looked along the little row of shops until his eyes fell upon the pie shop he sought out. He restarted his steady pace up to the shop and opened the door and taking a step in quietly, still holding the door. The shop had changed drastically, what was once bright and inviting was now dark and dingy, much like the rest of London. Now, instead of Mrs. Lovett at the kitchen counter, there was a young-looking boy with long dark hair that hung in front of him as he leaned over the worktop. Sweeney started edging out of the shop uncertainly when the boy looked up and gasped.

“A customer!”

He stuck the knife into the counter in the same haphazard way that Mrs. Lovett would and, noticing that Mr. Todd had started to move back out of the shop, he abandoned the kitchen top and approached him.

“Wait! What’s your rush? What’s your hurry? You gave me such a fright; I thought you was a ghost. Half a minute, can’t you sit, sit you down, sit!” He tapped Mr. Todd on the shoulders, encouraging him to sit down in the chair by the door. “All I meant is that we haven’t seen a customer for weeks. Did you come in for a pie, sir? Do forgive me if me head’s a little vague.” He continued, making his way back to the counter as Mrs. Lovett walked in.

“What is that?” Mrs. Lovett cut in, stepping on a bug.

“But you’d think we had the plague, from the way that people, keep avoiding-” The boy was getting breathless from his incessant talking, but didn’t seem like he wanted to stop.

“No you don’t.” Mrs. Lovett killed another insect.

“Heaven knows we try, sir, but there’s no-one comes in even to inhale.” The boy continued to ramble.

“Right you are, sir, would you like a drop of ale?” Mrs. Lovett cut in again, filling up a mug.

“Mind you, I can hardly blame them. These are probably the worst pies in London. I know why nobody cares to take them, I should know, I make ‘em. But good? No! The worst pies in London…” The boy continued, though Sweeney was sure he was talking to himself at this point.

“Even that’s polite, ‘the worst pies in London’.” Mrs. Lovett repeated him, taking a pie over to their customer.

“If you doubt it take a bite.” Gerard added as Mr. Todd did so.

There was a silence for a moment while the younger boy focused on pastry and Mrs. Lovett turned to watch him. Mr. Todd spat his mouthful of pie out to the side and put the rest down. Mrs. Lovett turned at the noise of the pie hitting the plate.

“Is that just disgusting? You’ll have to concede it, it’s nothing but crusting. Here, drink this.” Mrs. Lovett said, handing him a mug of ale.

“You’ll need it.” Gerard chuckled.

“And no wonder with the price of meat. What it is, when you get it, if you get it. Never thought I’d live to see the day, men’d think it was a treat finding poor animals what are dying in the street.” The woman was cut off by her slightly odd son again.

“Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop! Does her business but I noticed something weird, lately all her neighbors cats have disappeared. Have to hand it to her, what I calls enterprise, poppin’ pussies into pies!” He rambled.

Sweeney had opened his mouth to speak when the boy had paused, but he was cut off before he could have made a sound.

“Wouldn’t do in my shop, just the thought of it’s enough to make you sick! And I’m telling you them pussy cats is quick. No denying times is hard sir.” Mrs. Lovett said directly to the man in the chair.

He paid her some well-deserved attention, seeing as she wasn’t rambling almost nonsensically like her son was.

“Even harder than the worst pies in London! Only lard and nothing more, is that just revolting? All greasy and gritty, it looks like it’s molting and tastes like…” The boy started again, but he was cut off by Mrs. Lovett.

“Well, pity. Ah sir, times is hard. Good thing I’ve got him to help out. That’s my son that is. Gerard. Takes after me mind you, always a bit distracted.” She told Mr. Todd who simply glanced at her once.

“Yeah. Just a bit distracted.” He thought to himself as he took another mouthful of drink.

“Trust me, it’s gonna take a lot more than ale to wash that taste out. Come with me, we’ll get you a nice tumbler of gin, eh?”

Gerard walked around the counter and encouraged Mr. Todd to follow him into the other room, the older man stood and did so.

“You’ve got room over the shop.” Mr. Todd stated.

Mrs. Lovett walked in after he had said this.

“Yeah, been empty for years up there.” Gerard replied, searching in the cupboard for something.

“What has? And what’re you looking for dearie?” Mrs. Lovett asked.

“Room over the shop. And I’m looking for the gin.” Gerard’s voice came out muffled from in the cupboard.

“It’s on the shelf above you my love.” His mother told him.

Gerard moved back very quickly and hit his head on said shelf.

“You mean that shelf?” He asked in a pained voice as he stood up.

Mrs. Lovett shook her head exasperatedly and offered Mr. Todd a seat, which he took. Gerard poured a large glass of gin and handed it to their visitor.

“So, if times is so hard, why don’t you rent the space out over the shop?” Said visitor suggested.

“Up there? Nah, no-one’ll go near it. People think it’s haunted.” Mrs. Lovett told him.

“Haunted?” Mr. Todd repeated.

“Yeah. And who’s to say they’re wrong? See years ago, something happened up there. Something not very nice.”

Sweeney raised his eyebrows at her so she sat down and told the story of the barber and his wife. The one Gerard had heard not so long ago, but he sat down to listen too. Near the end of the story, Mr. Todd finally ended his stony silence.

“NO…but would no-one…have mercy on her?” He asked in a whisper.

“So it is you.” Mrs. Lovett whispered back.

“Benjamin Barker.” Gerard muttered, slightly astonished.

“Where is Lucy? Where is my wife?”

“She poisoned herself. Arsenic from the apostle round the corner. I tried to stop her…but she wouldn’t listen to me.” Mrs. Lovett informed the man.

“And he’s got your daughter. Adopted her like his own.” Gerard added.

“He? Judge Turpin…fifteen years, sweating in a living hell on a false charge.” Sweeney threw his heavy leather jacket in the corner. “Fifteen years, dreaming I might come home to a wife and child…”

“Well I can’t say the years have been particularly kind to you Mr. Barker.” Gerard said, standing up.

“No. Not Barker. It’s Todd now. Sweeney Todd. And he will have his revenge.” The former Mr. Barker corrected him, turning to face him.

Gerard exchanged an uncertain look with his mother, wordlessly expressing apprehension. Mr. Todd seemed to either not notice or ignore the look.