There you’ll sample Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies / Savory and sweet pies, as you’ll see / You who eat pies, Mrs. Lovett's meat pies / Conjure up the treat pies used to be!

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  The change in the meat pies was anything but subtle.

  Toby wouldn't ever forget the day Mrs. Lovett first served him "a pie with better meat." The first thing he noticed was the change in the dough. Whatever drippings she'd used (probably the ones from the new meat itself), it made the dough all smooth and velvety. The crimps were neater too, so it must've been easier to work.

  And the meat. As soon as Toby took a bite, he felt the tenderness of it, so different from the usual odd mix of grit and slime. He couldn't quite place the flavor; it smelled like pork, but it was a bit stronger in flavor, like some sort of game meat. The gravy balance was just right, thick and succulent and warm. It all just melted in his mouth.

  By the time Toby had downed another four pies, Mrs. Lovett was laughing loud. She and Toby both raised a glass of gin. "To the new meat!" she exclaimed, downing her glass in one shot.

  "Yes, ma'am!" Toby answered. "Where'd you get it? What was it? It was good!"

  Mrs. Lovett chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Now, now, Toby, as I've told you: family secret."

  Toby shrugged it off. Even after he got a newspaper the next day reporting yet another raise in prices on all meat.

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  The next few weeks were spent whipping the pie shop into shape. Mrs. Lovett, now that her pies had got better, wanted to reopen the pie shop and give it a slogan. She had big plans in mind, especially for the little courtyard at the foot of the stairs to Mr. Todd's. To raise funds, she sent Toby out into London hawking her pies. All over the city he darted, singing his jingles, making sure to tell everyone about the grand reopening.

  Toby loved seeing how happy the food made people. From the lowest chimney sweep's apprentice and dustyard worker, to the factory owners in their fancy suits, everyone said the same things biting into the pies. "Delicious!" "Wherever did you get these, boy?" "God, that's good!"

  With the money he brought home, Mrs. Lovett began her work. She hired in a carpenter, to help make some tables for the courtyard. She sent Toby to the markets, to buy a few plants and pretty flowers, which they planted together in some old bowls. She even bought a couple little birds from a bird-seller, at a bargain when she offered some free pies to him. The blackbirds' cheeping from their courtyard cage made Toby smile.

  Even Mr. Todd seemed a bit brighter than usual, at least at first. He chuckled to himself every time Mrs. Lovett reported profit from the pies. To Toby's shock, he even helped them string a few old Christmas garlands above the tables, to make it cheery and green. A steady stream of customers poured into the barbershop every day, so maybe that was where his cheer came from.

  Though it did seem a bit odd to Toby when he realized he hadn't seen some of them leaving. They were hard to miss, the pie shop just being downstairs and all. Toby just figured he hadn't looked at the right moment.

  But his favorite memory from that time was helping Mrs. Lovett paint her new slogan above the pie shop door. She stenciled the letters in a pretty, curling font. "I always did pride meself on good handwriting," she said as Toby held her ladder. "And I always liked red."

  As he climbed up with a bucket of red paint, he said, "Yes, ma'am. It looks right pretty. It looks like Mr. Todd's sign."

  She smiled up at him, holding the ladder for him now. "Well, of course," she said. "I painted Mr. Todd's sign!"

  "You did?"

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Yes...not long before you moved in, love."

  Toby frowned a little, glancing up at the sign. Funny. It looked a lot older than a few months to him, all faded and chipped in some places. Maybe the soot and the rain were tough on paint. Shrugging it off again, he slowly filled in Mrs. Lovett's lines with the red paint.

  Once it was all done, he climbed back down and stood with Mrs. Lovett, who put an arm around his shoulders, admiring the sign. Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies, est. 1864: We Serve Anyone. The bold letters, matching Mr. Todd's, were a brilliant, bright red. No, the new word he'd learned: Scarlet. The scarlet of ripe strawberries, of a rose's petals, of blood.

  ____________

  The customers began pouring in. Many of the first ones, Toby knew from his street sales. But soon enough, every table was full at meals and the customers clamored for pies. Mrs. Lovett kept the food coming in a steady stream. True to her word, she began giving Toby wages when they finally turned a profit big enough. She also bought some cheery wallpaper for their little home, and even an old, partly singed harmonium from a burned-down chapel not far away. Toby poked about on it when he had time, and Mrs. Lovett showed him a couple tunes. He had to admit, times were good.

  But still she wouldn't tell him about the meat. Fresh supplies came in regular as the customers. But Toby would be damned if he knew how. He knew he shouldn't nose, but he was so curious that he went over her receipts about two weeks after the reopening. No tab for meat anywhere. Not chicken nor beef nor even offal; nothing.

  It wasn't just him, either. The women customers almost always asked Mrs. Lovett for her recipes. She always said with a grin, more and more strained every time somebody asked: "Family secret, all to do with herbs. Things like being careful with your coriander and such-like." Toby wasn't even sure Mr. Todd knew, though he was a hard one to read, of course.

  Even the old beggar woman was acting strange. More than usual, anyway. Toby caught sight of her wandering round the city often, her chant of "Alms, alms, for a mis'rable woman" flying high above even the biggest crowds. She seemed to like Fleet Street, for several times a week he had to slam the door in her face. Though he tried to be kind about it and give her a sympathetic look; wasn't her fault she was a loony. Nor that Mrs. Lovett had said she wouldn't have trash from the gutter hanging round the shop.

  But lately, the beggar woman had taken to muttering about the bakehouse. The smell. He heard her in the alley early one morning. "Smoke. Smoke. Sign of the devil, sign of the devil, city on fire..." Then to a passerby, "Quick, sir! Run and tell the beadle and the police! That evil smell, smell that comes from the mouth of hell! Witch, fiend, mischief, city on fire!" If she weren't saying such horrible things about Mrs. Lovett, Toby'd be impressed at her rhyming.

  Though to be fair, the bakehouse did smell awful around vespers time. A smell Toby couldn't quite place, beyond it being cooking meat. Every day, an odd smell like the roasting of pigs.

  ____________

  Anthony the sailor came by once or twice. Still looking for the Johanna girl and mooning about over her. Toby stayed out of the conversation, but caught a couple snatches when he'd pass by between kitchen and garden. "I feel her, Mr. Todd... She's still in the city somewhere..."

  A change was coming over the barber, too. Despite money coming in regular now, Mr. Todd's moods grew darker and heavier as the weeks went on. Like a cloud full of rain, dense and gray, that never dropped the rain. He rarely spoke (not that he did much before), and his distance-staring spells happened more. Mrs. Lovett's happy chatter neither annoyed him nor made him smile. Far as Toby could see, it was like Mr. Todd couldn't feel anything anymore.

  And every time he went into the barbershop, Toby glanced at the photograph. Of the pretty lady and the baby. He was sure Todd was thinking of them. He found out he was right one night when Mrs. Lovett told him to bring Mr. Todd some tea. He'd come up the stairs a little lighter than usual, so the barber didn't hear his footsteps. Toby peeked in the small front window to see if there was a late customer.

  Mr. Todd sat alone at the far end of the shop, at the window. The picture was in his hands, and he touched the side with the baby's face lightly. Toby raised a hand to knock, but he heard Mr. Todd sigh through the thin walls.

  "Are you beautiful and pale with yellow hair, like her, I wonder?" the barber said. "I'd want that."

  One of Toby's feet wanted to walk away. This seemed like stuff he shouldn't be hearing. But his other foot wanted to stay right here. So he did as Todd continued. "Gone and yet mine...I suppose you'll forever stay the way I've dreamed you are. It's strange, but I think I miss you less as every day goes by."

  He sighed again. "If only angels could prevail, we'd be the way we were. But I think we shall never meet again, my little dove." His voice broke, and Toby saw him put the picture back on the basin. Mr. Todd wiped his cheeks with a sleeve. Toby set the tea down outside the door, gave a quick knock, and dashed back down.

  If he'd been a bit slower, or not knocked, he would've heard Mr. Todd add: "I suppose we learn to say goodbye, don't we...my Johanna?"