After going over his plan step by step with the lad, and hoping that thick headedness and deficient resourcefulness were not more similarities he shared with Anthony Hope, he made his way back to Fleet Street and into his house just above that of his target. Despite what one might think when they look at the large man and learn about his profession as a butcher in the lower-middle class Fleet Street, Sweeney knew Albert Lovett had money. He was in no way as rich as Judge Turpin nor as some members of the London elite he'd had the chance to shave (and/or murder) over the years but he had quite enough. He'd noticed in the way he dressed, conservatively and functionally but with tailor-made pieces in high quality fabrics. Or in the way he splurged on his knifes, because only the finest sterling silver could have such a gleaming beauty. It was also in the alcoholic beverages he drunk, all darker in colour and richer in flavour than the poor-man's gin he and Eleanor shared every night before their businesses started booming. And in the way he was willing to pay off the Price family's debts, practically buying himself a bride.
Not for the first time he wondered how Eleanor had ended up penniless when the man she married had a small fortune hidden somewhere. It couldn't have all gone to bailing in her family... Perhaps he just ran out of money when he became ill, wasting pound after pound trying to reverse the results of a life full of excess: excessive eating, excessive drinking, excessive visits to the disease-ridden brothel two streets down... Well now he would not have much money to waste on ineffective treatments to delay the inevitable. He deserved to die, that perverted bastard, and the sooner, the better. He smirked, thinking of his plan. He was not going to kill him, not because he didn't want to but because he realised that if he were to build a future with Lucy and Johanna, he'd have to leave the murders behind. What would they think, if they saw him covered in blood? If one day he told them they had to leave the city, perhaps even England lest the police found him and hung him for his crimes? They wouldn't understand the thrill, the relief he felt and the favour he was actually doing them by getting rid of the vermin that inhabited that black hole called London. They were Benjamin Barker's family, naïve and soft-hearted as he once had been.
But he supposed his darker side could thrive a bit longer before he smothered it forever, at least until the problem named Eleanor was solved. And for that, Sweeney Todd was going to rob Albert Lovett, with some help from Arthur Haide. The plan was easy enough: find the money, steal the money and steal Eleanor before she married the depraved butcher. Then they would share the booty out, the lad and Eleanor would get enough to travel to Argentina, where Arthur already had a job looking for gold in the Tierra de Fuego province, and a few more pounds to start a new life there. Sweeney on his part would take as much as he needed to move elsewhere and open a proper tonsorial parlour. Money would start coming in faster and soon enough he would be able to afford buying a decent house in one of those relatively nice new areas in the outskirts of London. And Eleanor would be in the other side of the world, unable to dampen his happiness. Life would be perfect, he thought as he got into his bed, careful not to wake his wife, and fell asleep with a smirk that closely resembled a proper smile on his face. Mrs. Lovett was right, half the fun was to plan the plan.
The following day it was time to put said plan into motion. Given that he was the closest to Albert, it was his job to find where he hid the money. He knew it was probably in his home, as he did not seem one to trust banks, but to look for it, first he needed to get Albert out of the shop. He knew how to do so without arising suspicions. He walked over to the kitchenette and with the back of a hammer he started pulling at the firebox door until it was partially stuck, enough for one not to be able to open it with their bare hands. With a satisfied smirk plastered on his face, he walked towards his favourite spot, the large bay window and waited. Soon enough, he spotted his wife and daughter returning from their morning stroll, his little angel fussing in her mother's arms. Lucy explained she was hungry and approached the stove to heat up the milk for Johanna, but she couldn't open the door to light the fire. His daughter began to cry and Lucy asked him for help while she tried to calm her baby. He pretended to try and open it, but soon enough told her he couldn't do anything, that the best thing they could do was fetch Mr. Lovett. They actually met him at the threshold of his shop's door, as the man was on his way upstairs to complain about Johanna's incessant wailing.
"What's all this rumpus? Can't you quiet the damn brat?" he barked.
"The firebox door is stuck, sir" Lucy explained "I need to light the fire to heat up Johanna's milk"
Mr. Lovett sighed, knowing that as their landlord he would have to see to it. He walked back into his shop to dispatch his remaining customers and flipped the sign on the main door to closed. He followed Lucy up the stairs. Sweeney told them he needed to go to the market for some barbering supplies and they let him be. But as soon as they were inside the room upstairs, Sweeney entered the butcher's shop and continued towards his parlour and into the heart of his landlord's home. Where could the money be? He wondered as he opened the door that led to his private quarters with a small screwdriver. He looked everywhere he could think of, under the mattress in his bedroom, in his drawers, the bookshelf... but he found nothing. The man was less predictable than he thought. Then all of a sudden a memory hit him.
It was a particularly cold morning, the kind of morning in which staying in bed all day sounded like the most appealing plan— even if that mean he wouldn't be slitting any throats. Especially if he wasn't alone. He extended his arms, reaching for her to pull her closer, needing her warmth of her skin but only encountering a cold empty mattress. By the looks of it, it couldn't be later than six and he could only hope she wasn't up baking yet. He begrudgingly stood up and left the room, fully intending to find her and bring her back to bed. They'd made enough money to afford opening late just this once or even not opening at all. He was sure she would not object, after all it was not every day he wanted her company, although lately it had become a fairly recurrent craving. She was there and she was willing to satisfy his needs and actually did so in spades, what else could he ask for? He heard a loud noise that seemed to come from bathroom, and bypassing the sleeping child that clutched a bottle of gin like a teddy bear, he followed it. The door was slightly ajar and Sweeney leaned in closer so he could see what was happening inside. It was Eleanor, moving the heavy wooden bathtub in the middle of the room, seemingly hiding something under it. But what could it be? It certainly was not money, for they stored their earnings together in the bake house, although perhaps she had some savings of her own. Or could it be a gun? Poison, maybe? Old family heirlooms? He saw her take a deep breath and make a beeline for the door. Sweeney only had a few seconds to retreat before she opened it, jumping at the sight of the demon barber. "You weren't in bed" he simply said, to which Nellie replied "sorry, love. Nature was calling" she feigned embarrassment for a few seconds before she looked up and smiled wickedly at him, the intensity in those chestnut orbs setting his never endings aflame "missed me?" He merely grunted in response, before claiming her mouth and kissing her hungrily until her legs gave in. He scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom, losing himself in her and completely forgetting about whatever she was hiding under the bathtub.
He blinked, trying to shake the feeling of warmth that had spread throughout his body at the memory. They really did have fun together... but that was in the past. His present was finding the money. The bathtub, that night she was definitely hiding something under it. Sweeney's brief contemplation of what on earth could she possibly want to hide from him was quickly forgotten when he moved said bathtub and under a loose tile he found what he was looking for. Money, far more than he expected. He knew the man was frugal but this was more than a small fortune. Perhaps he would be able to afford that house right off the bat. He actually smiled as he moved the bathtub back to its original place and left Fleet Street to meet the fish boy. He shared the information with him and once again went over their plan. It was fairly simple but he knew by experience that simple plans worked better. Sweeney, being the one who lived above Albert, would find where he stored the money, which he had already done. That was where his formal involvement ended, because he had to attend the wedding not to raise suspicions. The rest of it was up to fish boy. Arthur was going to steal the money while everyone was at the church. He briefly contemplated whether it was worth it to wait until the day of the wedding instead of just taking the money now but Albert Lovett seemed like the kind of man who counted his money every night before bed and Sweeney could not afford to become a suspect. The plan was for him to blame Arthur and Eleanor once they were safely sailing towards their new lives. But before he stole Albert's money, the lad had to get Eleanor. Taking advantage of the fact that everyone expects the bride to be late, he was going to go to her house and proverbially steal her away. He'd take her to an inn near the harbour to hide and they would board the first ship to America, talking their part of the money. Just before he did, the day after the frustrated wedding, Sweeney was going to meet the boy in the designated spot, to get his share. And just like that, one of his problems would be solved, packed and sealed and on its way to Argentina and he could move on to the next one: Judge Turpin. Everything was going to be alright, it had to.
Trying to convince himself of that did nothing to abate his anxiety. The day of the wedding arrived and Sweeney had not slept a wink, thinking about Eleanor and the boy and the thousand ways he could foul up. The first setback came early. When he and Lucy were having breakfast when there was a knock on the door. Lucy's delicate face broke into a smile as she went out to open the door and warmly greeted their visitor. She motioned for Eleanor Price to enter their home and Sweeney clenched his feet when he saw her, offering Lucy and himself a warm smile of her own. What was she doing there? She was supposed to be in her house getting ready for the wedding so the lad could break in and take her to the inn! Angrily, he grabbed Lucy's arm and pulled her aside.
"What is she doing here?" he spat, not caring if Eleanor noticed.
"Mr. Lovett asked me whether I could help Ms Price get ready for the wedding. Poor girl doesn't know how to do her hair and her mother is just recovering from a rather severe flare of arthritis" she explained. She put her own arm over the one that was still painfully clutching her forearm and whispered "Darling, please, don't get angry. She could tell Mr. Lovett you offended her and he could raise our weekly rent instead of lowering it like he promised."
His anger did not subside. Sweeney Todd was seething, fearing that all his planning would go in the gutter "And you accidentally forgot to mention that?"
"Sorry, dear. You were not here when Mr. Lovett asked me. You're never here anymore" she muttered the last part but Sweeney heard her.
"I have to work, you daft woman! Someone has to in this household" he growled, without really thinking. Because unlike Eleanor who'd have come up with either a witty retort to brush his anger off or an equally ill-intentioned one despite the fury she might unleash, his wife was close to tears.
"Is everything alright?" Eleanor interrupted the arguing couple. She put her hand on a visibly shaken Lucy's shoulder in an attempt to calm her. As if she isn't internally rejoicing in her misery, Sweeney thought. "I apologise if my presence is causing you any disturbance on this fine morning, Mr. Barker" she said and Sweeney grimaced at her forced diction and pompous manner "but your wife was so kind to accept my dear Albert's proposal and I could not refuse myself. I would not what to do with these unruly curls without her generous help" she pointed to her head, her current hairstyle resembling the disheveled pigtails she sported in their original timeline, and laughed airily. Such a fake laugh, such a fake woman. He despised her, always ruining everything.
He did not reply but simply moved to the window and stared out, trying to think. They still had a couple of hours before the wedding, but not enough time for him to find the lad and warn him of the change of plans. And even if he somehow managed to, how would he whisk Eleanor away when she was with Lucy, and her fiancée on the floor below? He started thinking a plan B, each more ridiculous than the last, such as trapping Albert in a closet or better yet, set that closet on fire. Suddenly he had an idea that was both practical and feasible. As much as he loathed speaking with her, getting within range for her headache-inducing blabbering, he reckoned he could tell her about the plan. If Eleanor cooperated, if he managed to enlist her help in the plot to ensure her own liberation, everything would be easier. If she loved Arthur like she said she did, she surely would agree, wouldn't she? But first, he needed to get her alone. He waited a little, busying himself by polishing his beloved razors as his wife began dolling Eleanor up, first doing her make-up— and somehow managing to make her look innocent by applying a generous amount of blush on her round cheeks that gave her an angelic glow that did not befit her—and then fighting to tame that tangled mess she called hair until it was in a pretty half up-do, her long wavy locks cascading down her back.
"Benny, darling" Lucy began, the trembling in her voice evidenced she was still not over their little disagreement. "Could you, umm... leave us alone for a minute? Ms. Price needs to change into her dress."
"Of course" he replied apathetically but he was grinning inside. "I'll take Johanna for a stroll" he said and went over to her cot to pick up his daughter. Making sure the women were engrossed in their conversation and thus, wouldn't notice his actions, he went to the icebox. He took out the only bottle of milk left and hid it under the blanket that was wrapped around Johanna. Without further ado, he left his home and went down the stairs.
He walked a couple of blocks and he disposed of the milk bottle, dropping its contents to the floor and smashing the glass against a wall. To kill time, he walked further west, just in case he was lucky to spot the lad. The clueless fish boy was probably wandering around aimlessly, too startled by Nellie's "disappearance" and unable to think further. But there was no sight of him so he returned to the butcher shop. Inside he spotted Albert Lovett, the greedy groom himself, smoking a cigar with Eleanor's father. Both of them laughing like good friends despite Albert believing he might have abused Eleanor. Those bastards were peas in a pod. Her mother was also there, sitting quietly in a bench by the window, looking more frail and tired than the last time he saw her. He didn't give it much thought and swiftly went up the stairs as he noticed his daughter was begging to get fussy again. Surely Eleanor should be dressed by now.
In white, he observed as soon as he opened the door. For our wedding, I'd wear red or black, or purple, something to match your dark soul and mine for that matter, he recalled her telling him one day as she fantasised about their improbable marriage out loud as he simply played with her hair, too worn out to chastise her for voicing her stupid dreams that would never become a reality. But today she was wearing white, the colour of purity. A white lace dress with flowing skirts and an embroidered bodice that accentuated her hourglass figure. But it was the sweetheart neckline that caught his attention, perfectly showcasing her round pert breasts. His eyes eagerly raked over her form. She looked like a fallen angel, beautiful yet a sinner who was already leading him into temptation with just a sultry look in those glowing chestnut orbs. Like one of Satan's concubines casted out and sent to earth to fool the poor souls that crossed paths with her, the whore of Babylon in sheep's clothing. She was mocking everything white represented, everything Lucy honoured. And he wanted to scream at her to take the dress off, to wear red or black or purple to match her soul and his own but no words left his mouth. Even worse, he wanted to take her dress off himself, rip it into pieces and have his way with her. He realised he was staring when Lucy cleared her throat.
"Are you alright, Ben?" she asked, her tone as gentle as usual.
"It's Johanna, I think she is hungry" he spoke and walked over to the icebox and opened it. "There are no bottles left. You must go to the market and buy more" he ordered and Lucy's face fell, disappointed she wouldn't be able to continue chatting with Eleanor. Despite her golden heart and pleasant demeanour, her quiet nature prevented her from having many friends. Was she lonely? She couldn't be, she had him after all. "I would go myself but I am to shave the groom."
Resigned she stood up and said her goodbyes to Eleanor, promising to be back soon. He exhaled when the door closed shut, signaling his wife had left. He was alone with the bitch and he had to be civil if he wanted to convince her to go along with his plan. Much to his surprise she started giggling, that high pitched laugh full of malice she rarely displayed except when she was mocking one or more of his victims that had ended up as pies, the most ruthless and despicable ones who'd been tormenting London for years and whom he'd managed to extermine with just a flick of his wrist and some help from his friends. All thoughts of civility went out of the window when he realised she was now openly mocking him.
"Really, Mr. Barker?" she managed to say "Stealing your daughter's milk? Father of the year, you are." He was silent despite her insult. How could she know? He was positive she was in deep conversation with Lucy when, he'd been discreet. Perhaps she had eyes in the back of her head like the she-devil she was. "You know, there are better ways to find yourself alone with a lady, as improper as that is" she winked playfully and his shock turned into anger. That witch, thinking she can still play me like a fiddle. I know her tricks now, he told himself.
"Oh but I see no lady, my dear" he said as he approached her menacingly, but she did not budge "Just little Nellie Price, Whitechapel scum"
He saw a glimmer of fury in her eyes, simmering behind her smug expression. "Oh you would know, wouldn't you? Since you have been following me around for days" she said in her usual cockney accent, seemingly seeing no point in continuing the charade. Sweeney on his part was once again rendered speechless, because how could she know? He'd been sure she had not seen him. "What was that for, love? Hhm? Are you going to blackmail me now? Threaten to tell Albert? You must know he wouldn't care, I have him wrapped around my little finger, I do."
He was at loss for words. He wanted to strangle her, throw her her once again into the oven for her cheekiness. But he knew it would not solve anything so he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. "I'm a friend of Arthur's" he said, in spite of the fact that friend was not the word he would use for the annoying fish boy. Or anyone for that matter save his razors. I'm your friend too, Mr. Todd, she'd once said. Liar.
"Arthur..." she mumbled and her face softened almost imperceptibly. Then she burst into laughter again "Oh, please, do you really expect me to believe that? As if a noble lad like Arthur would associate himself with the likes of you"
"But he associates himself with the likes of you. He frequents the company of a whore" he enjoyed how her laughter stopped and her face fell "You should be ashamed of yourself, fooling the poor boy with seaside fantasies when you're going to marry another man. Telling him you love him when you are going to say "I do" and swear fidelity to someone else in a couple of hours. You have no morals, no shame, you lying whore. You should call out the wedding if you had any decency."
"Is this what all this is about?" she asked seemingly unaffected by the insults he was throwing at and he regarded her in confusion. "All of this, because you want me for yourself?"
"You're mad" he spat. Delusional woman. How would she come to that conclusion? He had the most perfect wife, he would not even look at her that way. But you have and you've done so much more, said the voice inside his head.
"Frankly, dear, I'm flattered. You're a mighty handsome fellow. And judging by the glimpse I took of you the other day at the docks, you're quite well-endowed too" his cheeks reddened in spite of himself. So she really had seen it all. She boldly moved her hand to his crotch, her nimble fingers curling around his growing member before abruptly releasing him. "Too bad I'm not interested. You see, I don't like cheaters. What would your poor wife say, that sweet silly little nit, if she knew the kind of man she married? Spying on other couples and getting pleasure out of it, desiring his future landlady..." she faltered before her face lit up and a wicked smile appeared on her face "Perhaps I should tell h..."
"You bitch!" he interrupted her and before he knew, he had pushed her back so she sat on an armchair and he was straddling her, one of his friends caressing the milky skin of her neck. They were both breathing heavily, their faces almost touching. Sweeney enjoyed the look of pure terror in her eyes but there was something else... Her warmth was almost making him dizzy.
"What is happening here?"
They both turned abruptly towards the now-open door.