I was thinking of hiring a lad to help me run the shop…

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  Pirelli didn't make good on his threat right away. He took a few days to think it over. Toby stayed out of his way and out of whatever scheme he was cooking up. He didn't want nothing to do with that Sweeney Todd character. The barber had cracked smiles, but they had never reached those cold, dark eyes. Toby didn't trust folks whose smiles didn't meet their eyes.

  So it was completely in the dark that, four days after the contest, Toby trotted behind Pirelli through London. They'd heard tell that the barber was in Fleet Street, and sure enough, there it was when they rounded the corner. Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlour, the sign proclaimed in faded, curly red letters. It was on the second floor, above a Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies. Toby followed Pirelli up the wooden staircase and through the door, a little bell ringing faintly as they entered.

  Both Todd and the woman from St. Dunstan's were in the small room. She had a flour-dusted apron on, so Toby guessed this was Mrs. Lovett. He could've been imagining it, but it looked like they'd just been arguing. Todd paced restlessly, and Mrs. Lovett stood in the corner watching him. She looked tired and a little sad. A gleam of silver glinted in her hand, and Toby noticed she was holding one of the barber's razors. Both looked round at the bell.

  "Meester Todd," said Pirelli, bowing theatrically and nearly swiping Toby with one hand. "And signiora..."

  "Lovett. Eleanor Lovett. How d'you do, I'm sure, signior," Mrs. Lovett responded shortly. She set the razor down by the mirror with a soft plink. Pirelli bowed to her too.

  "A private-a word, might I-a have with-a Mr. Todd?"

  Todd gave a silent nod. Mrs. Lovett came forward, saying, " 'Course, I'll just pop on down to me pies," and her eyes fell on Toby. She had dark eyes too, and she smiled at him. "Oh, look at you, poor thing. You look like you haven't had a kind word since half past never." She patted Toby's blond wig. "What d'you say you come downstairs with me for a nice, juicy meat pie?"

  After Pirelli nodded, Toby said, "Yes, ma'am, I'd like that very much."

  "Come on, then. Your teeth is strong, I hope." On that odd note, Mrs. Lovett led him back down the wooden stairs and into the pie shop.

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  "I like to see a man with a good appetite," Mrs. Lovett said downstairs. She sat at the little table at the window next to Toby as he ate one of her pies. Choked it down, more like: the crust was all right, but the meat filling was all slimy from too much gravy, and had more than a few gritty chunks. Not her fault. Meat prices had been sky-high for a couple months now, and one needed to use every last bit, waste not, want not and all. And the gravy was clearly trying to make up for less meat. But she'd given Toby a free meal, and it would be rude to turn his nose up at it.

  Lucky she had gin. He gulped at the drink, wincing a bit at the familiar burn in his throat. "So how'd you end up with him?" Mrs. Lovett asked, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

  "Got me from the workhouse," Toby mumbled through another mouthful of pie.

  "And he takes good care of you?"

  Toby shrugged one shoulder. "When he can, and when he hasn't had too much of this." He nodded at the gin bottle, and she sighed, resting her chin on one hand.

  "Times is hard, that's the truth," Mrs. Lovett said. "At least you've got a full head of hair on you. That Italian got something that actually works?"

  "Nah," Toby said. "To tell you the truth, this blond one gets awful hot." He pulled the wig off to reveal his normal hair, short and brown and spiked from the wig.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "Oh." Mrs. Lovett got up and walked over to the dusty, floured counter where her baking tools lay. She smacked at a cockroach with her rolling pin. Toby pretended he hadn't seen and took another sip of gin.

  CLUNK, CLUNK, CLUNK. The sound seemed to come from upstairs, from the barbershop, and it made both Toby and Mrs. Lovett jump. For a moment he thought she looked at the ceiling, but then she started moving bowls around the counter.

  "A woman's work never ends, does it, lad?" she said, giving another sigh. She pushed her red hair-band higher and swiped a stained cloth across the counter. "Got to clean up in a bit. Spic and span, that's my motto."

  Toby stared at her, sure he'd heard the sound come from upstairs. But maybe he'd imagined it. Over her shoulder, he caught the time on a wall clock: half past four. The tailor appointment!

  He jumped out of his seat as if someone lit a fire under him, yelping, "Oh, God! We have to go! Signior Pirelli has an appointment with his tailor and if we're late, he'll blame me!" Over Mrs. Lovett's protests, Toby darted up the wooden stairs and through the door to find –

  Only Mr. Todd. He stood near a small stove, calmly pouring a cup of tea from an iron kettle. Confused, Toby halted just inside the door, in front of a large wooden chest. "Well, hello lad," said the barber. He gave Toby that same smile that didn't reach his eyes.

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  "Beg pardon, sir, but Signior Pirelli has an appointment," Toby stammered. He looked all around the shop, but saw no trace of Pirelli anywhere.

  "Pirelli was suddenly called away just before you arrived," Mr. Todd replied smoothly. "Better run after him, don't you think?"

  "No, sir, I'd best stay here. If I miss him, it'll be a lashing."

  "And why would he do that?"

  "Got to have someone to take things out on, don't he?" Toby said ruefully.

  "Hmm." The barber stared at him for a moment. Call Toby mental, but it looked like some sort of gears were turning in his head. After a pause, Mr. Todd said, "Well, I'm sure Mrs. Lovett would allow you to wait downstairs until he comes back. Run along now, and see if she has another nice, juicy pie for you. You must be a growing boy, after all."

  Why didn't he want to listen? "No. I should stay here," Toby said firmly. Despite himself, he looked up into the barber's brown eyes. For a moment the man's winter grin twitched, but then he spoke again, resting a hand on Toby's shoulder.

  "Tell you what. Why don't you tell Mrs. Lovett I said to give you another nice, big tot of gin?"

  "Thank you, sir." Perhaps it was better, after all, to wait in the last place his master saw him? Toby darted back downstairs, the barbershop bell tinkling merrily behind him.

  ____________

  Toby awoke with a snort and a headache...later. He didn't know how much later, but it was now dark outside the dusty window. He pushed himself up, only to find himself in an unfamiliar parlor. Mrs. Lovett was there too, sitting on a chair nearby, almost as if she'd been watching over him.

  "Evening, lad," she said, smiling at him. "Had a little too much, did we?" She pointed at the gin bottle on the table, which was now empty. Toby shrugged and gave a large yawn. He could see a little corner of the pie shop through the open door, so this must be Mrs. Lovett's quarters.

  "Did Signior Pirelli come back?" he asked.

  "Yes, while you were out," Mrs. Lovett said. "He gave us permission to hire you on as a helper around my pie shop. Said something about not needing an assistant anymore and took his five quid back for you."

  Toby paused; her outline was a little blurry. Pirelli had never said he was thinking anything like that. But then, there were a lot of things he never told Toby. He managed to focus on Mrs. Lovett's face, the kind smile framed by the black curls. "Yes, ma'am. And I hate to ask, but me food and board – "

  "Don't worry your little head," she said. "I have a spare room here that you can bunk in, and there'll always be food as long as I make me meat pies. Sales pick up, and I'll give you wages too!"

  Toby brightened. The promise of wages, money that was really his and his only, already made this much better than Pirelli. "Thank you, ma'am!" he exclaimed. "When do I start?"

  She laughed and helped him to his new room, a small corner of her flat with a single bed. "Not so fast, love," she clucked. "We'll get to work tomorrow. First thing'll be to rake out the coals and start on some fresh dough. Think you can help me there?"

  "Of course!" Mrs. Lovett gave Toby a pat on the shoulder.

  "Good. Then you have a good night, lad, and see you in the morning. What was your name again?"

  "Tobias. But everyone calls me Toby."

  Mrs. Lovett drew the curtains in his new room. "Good night, then, Toby," she smiled, and closed the door behind her. Toby sank into his new bed – a room all his very own! And wages to come, if things got better! – and for the first time in a long while, he let himself feel like the good Lord had smiled on him for once.