Haunted

Chapter Seven

 "Sir, are you sure this is the one you want?" The elderly shopkeeper raised an eyebrow at him. "I usually prefer ladies to come in to get measured before I sell something quite like this. But, well, a surprise is a surprise I reckon. I always did prefer a handmade gift myself, but if she needs a gown, she needs a gown."

She patted his shoulder, and he didn't make eye contact with her. He had upped his slaughtering speeds to garner enough coins to buy Mrs. Lovett a gown before Christmas, but the twenty-third had rolled around, and even with bodies filling pies faster than they could run the meat grinder, he would break his pocket on the gaudy purple dress he had selected. You're being silly, he told himself. You could buy three dresses at this rate that she would wear for work. But he liked the bejeweled bosom of the ballroom gown, and he knew with complete certainty that, otherwise, she would have nothing at all to wear to the judge's ball.

He nodded, curt and swift. "This is to my liking." His lips curled into a slim, deceitful smile. "Thank you for all of your assistance." Reaching into his pocket, he counted out the ten pounds. Worth as much as my razors. He held the expression so she wouldn't doubt him. "Is there any way I can have it bagged discretely?" A prayer burbled within him that Mrs. Lovett would appreciate the gown, that she wouldn't reject it for the vibrance of the color.

She didn't seem to like color much, and he couldn't fathom why. The constant black muted her otherwise vivacious personality. But perhaps she appreciated the mystery attached with it. One of the glimmering purple jewels flashed into his eyes. No mystery there; the enigmatic woman would look positively garish in the violet piece, and he couldn't help but picture the flare of her brown eyes amber in the firelight, the lashes of brightness glinting off of the jewels and casting reflections upon the floor, his hand trailing up her curved waist to the gem-spangled bosom, supple red lips puckering with auburn kinks of hair flaring around him.

"Yessir, I can do that for you. Now, if you change your mind, or if she don't like it, then you run it back here to me right away, and I'll give you this money back. I don't care much for an unsatisfied customer, and this here is a grand sum." The old shopkeeper didn't notice his pinched expression as he fought the urges bolder and bolder in his mind. She bustled around the shop and folded it neatly into a bag, and then tucked another bag around it. "In case it starts snowing," she said. "I'd hate for it to get wet. Now, sir, is there anything else I can help you with? I sure don't mind."

Clearing his throat, he said, "Uh, if you've a box of toffees, I'll take those, as well." He didn't quite understand why he cared about Toby receiving a gift, and he was more than certain that Mrs. Lovett would make him something nice. Might as well empty your pockets of everything but lint, he growled to himself. If Mrs. Lovett didn't feed him, he would have starved for affording her gown.

The elderly woman gave him the box of toffees, and he exchanged for it a single shiny penny before he slopped back out into the wintry mix of slush and slickness. He cracked his stiff neck and moved past the beggars and hookers with his eyes forward. None of them spoke to him. He had never dropped a penny to any of them, and he had no intentions of starting, even for all of Christmas's joys. Fat flakes of snow danced upon the brim of his hat and crowned him the king of the winter. He kept his fingers curled into his palms, safe from the bitter chill that could leave him clumsy at his work.

Outside the bakery, Toby swept off the step. "Afternoon, Mr. Todd, sir," greeted the boy. He flipped his growing hair out of his eyes and brushed off the fresh layer of snow.

"Good afternoon, Toby." Sweeney climbed the staircase and stomped off his boots as he entered his barbershop. He hadn't washed the reddened floorboards in several days; in fact, he had spent much of his time out of his shop, usually downstairs in the parlor with Mrs. Lovett.