Chapter Text
Since their marriage two years past, and across numerous shores of Europe, Anthony Hope had to reconcile the fact that his bride was immensely unhappy. At first he could hardly conceive of the notion. Living with Johanna was like a dream–she, a phantom, the ghost that whispers to her lost love in the night, the siren on the stormy seas. Her beauty was like that of a forgotten doll, glorious and somewhat haunted. Having her as his wife was like owning a piece of the sun. Merely being in her presence warmed his heart and filled it with song. When she smiled, angels wept. When she laughed, it was intermittent with the glory of the rapture. But shore after shore, country after country, wondrous city after wondrous city, and her joy became more and more of an uncommon sight, until she had dimmed to a shadow on the wall of their tiny cabin.
She didn’t so much as complain, or even say a word, but after a while she wouldn’t leave the cabin, or she would snap at him when he spoke to her. Once, it was the strangest thing, he watched her stab, not merely stitch but stab, at the throw pillow she had been embroidering methodically, rhythmically. He couldn’t help but gruesomely imagine that it was a piece of flesh she was doing it to. After that incident, he had to admit with woe that life on the sea might not have been for her, and perhaps settling down would do her some good.
Anthony took some time to find some small place to escape to, somewhere small and quiet to retire for a time. The name London still made her upper lip curl, so he decided to find somewhere farther. Kent would do, wouldn’t it? East Kent. Close enough to have some city goings-on, by the sea for him to find work, but far enough in the countryside to be comfortable. He picked the name “Aunington” on the map, a farming village with a population of around six hundred, and they set their course.
As they neared the dock, Anthony retired from his spot on the deck and headed downstairs to his wife’s cabin to rile excitement before arrival. She grew jumpy if he entered a room suddenly without warning, so he always knocked and awaited her response. It took a moment, then her light, airy voice, like the chirping of a bird, would call “come in”.
Johanna was so small and thin, like a will-o’-the-wisp. She sat atop the bed knitting, not creating violence out of her crafts as he had observed her doing. The fingers flew with remarkable, almost frightening speed. Her blue eyes flashed with hot fire as she worked. She did not look at him, not acknowledging his presence in the slightest.
He announced himself to her with an embrace from the back and a kiss to her pale, slender neck. She jumped characteristically, but settled into his touch. “Are you ready, Love?”
Johanna laid a nervous hand on his, though as an action of love or inhibition, it wasn’t clear. “I will be,” she said. Her voice was wavering but high.
She offered him a smile like a weak trickle of water, but his heart blossomed all the same. He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of his young wife’s head.
“Soon,” he promised, and with all of his heart he believed it.
The two of them rode to the town by carriage. The road approaching it was so covered in rocks that the two of them bounced all the way to town. Johanna, due to her size, jostled about so but she uttered no complaint or so much as a sound throughout the entire ordeal.
While the transportation was not ideal, Anthony appreciated the journey all the same. The fresh air, strengthened by the rolling green glory of the English countryside, refreshed him in a way he didn’t know saltless air could. The breeze caught his flaxen hair and tossed it around his face. He closed his eyes in contentment. This wasn’t quite what he had envisioned, but perhaps this would be an adventure yet! Anthony watched with great excitement as they and their paltry belongings bumped up the hills of Kent.
Finally, as their horrible rickety carriage rattled along by the shores of the Stour, the town came into sight. Aunington was the central hub of several small farms surrounding the area that coalesced at the Greenway Mill on the outskirts of town. In terms of excitement there was a cozy pub, a market that met once a week, and, notably, a bakery. The houses in the negligible downtown were already occupied, but several of the farther cottages were unoccupied. Anthony chattered with the coachman about housing in Aunington and discovered the name of a local landlord. For the meantime, they could stay at the inn.
The carriage rattled up the cobblestone road to the downtown area. The houses in the downtown had weathered roofs covered in tiles, of which several were missing or loosened. Small spatters of rain had begun to hit the dusty windowpanes of the shops. Anthony noted with enthusiasm that the approaching inn could potentially be one or two hundred years old.
The roof of the inn was somewhat half-collapsed, perhaps due to some architectural flaw or unrepaired damage from years past. The sign above the battered door, reading “Ye Olde Millside”, depicted a faded painting of a water wheel at the river. The entire thing charmed him. He’d seen many wonders across the world, but he had never suspected that a small English village would capture his attention so much!
The coachman halted the weary horse in front of the dusty doorstep of the Millside Inn and wiped a brow that poured with sweat. Anthony gently tugged on the edge of Johanna’s sleeve to stir her from her silent, dollike trance. “We’re here, my love,” he told her. She startled as always and looked about, as if she had just noticed where they were.
She caught a glimpse of the inn’s sign that swung gently in the breeze. “Millside Inn…” she murmured to herself, reading it aloud.
Anthony smiled at the sound of her voice. “Yes. Yes, Millside. This village is very much based on their mill. We saw it as we passed by, remember?”
“Yes…” she murmured dreamily, and stared back out into the distance, the endless ocean of hills, rising and falling like waves.
Anthony was troubled by her response but was used to it by now. He helped her out of the carriage and led her in the manner of a gentleman through the door of the inn.
It was only mid-day, so the low turnout was to be expected, but not as low as what was present in the warm, dimly-lit room. A lone laborer sat at one of the round and rough-carved wooden tables, drinking long draughts from his pint of beer. A few moths fluttered lazily around the oil sconces on each of the support beams.
Behind the bar, a short and stout woman, clad in an apron that had perhaps once been white, argued with a reedy, finely-dressed gentleman on the other side. His coat and waistcoat were in style, but the bottom of one side was slightly frayed. His shoes were fine but the bottoms were caked in the mud of country roads. He carried with him a cane topped with what looked like silver, but was actually lead. This man was Foster Greerson, the landlord. He prided himself on “owning half the county from here to Canterbury”, which, due to the vagueness of his claim, could not be clarified. While the extent of his reach was somewhat exaggerated, there were things that were certain about him that every citizen in Aunington knew. For one, he was known to be hot-headed, always arguing with everyone about everything, occasionally even brandishing his cane threateningly at the offender. He also had a reputation as a shrewd businessman. He counted every penny and could often go for hours haggling over rent. He had no tolerance for late payments, and was rumored to snoop around his tenant’s apartments to look for anything that could result in a fine or penalty. And, since his business was contrary to hers, he had a heated professional rivalry with the innkeeper woman, old Mrs. Frank.
In fact, at the moment Anthony and Johanna entered the Millside Inn, Mrs. Frank and Mr. Greerson were arguing. Anthony caught snippets of the conversation, such as “rent” and “my customers”. However, as soon as they had noticed the young couple standing behind them, they stopped, and stared at Anthony and Johanna with the blank, guilty stare of parents whose children came in on them fighting.
Immediately Mrs. Frank’s round face broke into a smile. “Ah, customers! Good afternoon, Sir, Ma’am. Might I int’rest you in the Monday Special? I promise you ‘tain’t as bad as the Tuesday Special.”
Anthony chuckled good-naturedly at what he assumed to be a joke. “Perhaps later, Madam. We’re actually interested in a room here, if that’s all right.” Greerson’s head shot up sharply like a dog’s. “At least until we’ve found our footing here.”
“Oh, is that so?” Mrs. Frank replied, and she shot Greerson a knowing look. “Well, I’ll have you know that Ye Olde Millside is a perfectly respectable establishment for you and the missus to live in.”
“—Until you can find a more permanent place of residence, that is,” Mr. Greerson quickly added. The smile he shot back to Mrs. Frank was akin to a shark’s.
Anthony laughed weakly, not sure what to make of their subtle, jabbing interactions. Moving on was a good start. “Yes, we’ll be getting our feet here quite soon, I reckon. Do any of you know the name Foster Greerson?”
Upon mention of his name the landlord smiled triumphantly, tugged on the lapels of his coat, and strode over to the couple. “You’re looking at him. I suspect, then, newlyweds, looking to settle down in a little town for some fresh air?” He extended a gloved hand out to him.
“That’s about right,” Anthony replied. He took the man’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “You and I will have to discuss a living situation later. But, for now, my wife and I will settle here until we get our footing.” Greerson’s salesman smile faltered slightly.
“Well, I’ll get you and the missus set up right away, then.” All of the sudden Mrs. Frank pushed Greerson aside with her outstretched elbow, holding a set of heavy iron keys. She jingled them in front of her, though held them closer to Greerson. “I’m called Mrs. Frank, dear, though don’t ask about my husband.”
“Good to meet you, Ma’am,” Anthony replied, charmed, and shook her hand as well. Johanna clutched him tightly on the arm as a chorus of rain began hitting the roof. “So why don’t we get–Oh! I know you!”
The remark was made mostly to himself, but the subject of which was crept behind a support, shrouded in the dim light of the sconce. He seemed around Anthony and Johanna’s age, though a little younger and perhaps small for his age. His face was round and still boyish, or it would have been if not for the intense fire that burned in his dark eyes. He gave the impression of a shadow, not so much like Johanna’s fragile silhouette but like a sort of phantom or a bogeyman, tangible and dangerous. He was familiar to Anthony somehow. And, while Anthony had seen many faces across many years of travel and adventure, something about this one held more weight, he was sure of it.
But by the time the others’ attention was drawn to him, he was gone, slipped away somewhere. The innkeeper and the landlord looked to him for half a millisecond, each giving him the same odd look.
It was gone the second it appeared from Mrs. Frank. “Must be the other family staying here,” she explained. “Don’t see ‘em around much, mostly here and there for meals. Keep to themselves, really. Good neighbors if you don’t want company.”
“They tell me that they’re moving soon,” Mr. Greerson added, his tone chipper.
“I see,” Anthony replied, though his attention was still fixed on the empty point where the boy once stood. Who was he? Where did he know him from? But he could hardly take the time to divulge when Mrs. Frank took his and Johanna’s hands and began leading them upstairs to the rooms. Johanna flinched, as she always did with sudden contact, but she did not fight against her. Foster Greerson watched the two of them go with hard eyes.
The staircase of the Millside Inn was so cramped that it was a tight fit for three people to walk side-by-side up it, but they managed without a scratch. As she walked, Mrs. Frank prattled on about the lovely landscape of the Aunington area, the bakery, and the character of the town. Anthony, in turn, enthused about their travels around the world, London, and potential areas of work, and promptly forgot about the boy.
Mrs. Frank threw open one of the four doors in the hall (with some difficulty as the hinges seemed to be badly rusted) to reveal a small, homey room with one bed and one worn dresser. Though the blankets had clearly been nibbled by something and the floorboards creaked, to Anthony it seemed like paradise.
“Well, I ‘ope you two are comfortable with it,” Mrs. Frank passed Anthony his room key, which he took and thanked her kindly. Mrs. Frank smiled, squeezed his hand, and promised a spot of supper in an hour or so. Then, she left the two of them with their bags to unpack.
Upon gaining privacy, Johanna sat atop the bed and stared out the window at the beginnings of the downpour outside.
Anthony sat beside her and put her hand in his. She smiled down at it, and her emerald eyes met his, turning his knees to jelly. Yes, they’d make a life here. He was sure of it, even if it meant he’d have to learn to farm or some other trade like that. Already he could see what the fresh air would do to her: Put a smile back on her face, coax the laughter out of her lungs, until she was as fresh as a spring rose, and they would be happy, and they would raise a sprawling family.
He squeezed her hand twice and then released it. “Is there anything you need from me? A glass of water, perhaps? Something to eat?”
“No, thank you, Anthony,” Johanna answered him. She resumed her melancholy staring off into the rain. “If it’s any trouble, I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“Oh.” His heart bobbed a little like a fishing float. It was not uncommon now that she requested such a thing, but it always put him off. But anything for Johanna. “Alright. I will give you privacy.” He lingered for a moment more, then left the room.
However, when he found himself with his back to the door, Anthony realized he had no idea what he should be doing. Their luggage was in the room with Johanna. The rain made any sort of countryside escapade impossible for the time being. He supposed he could start asking Mrs. Frank about possible job prospects, but the idea made him feel somewhat skittish. Hours of being cooped up on the road had dramatically enhanced his usual need for social interaction. He needed to speak with someone. And then he remembered that familiar face. Perhaps he should see who that is. Mrs. Frank said they had neighbors, didn’t they? A family. He could start there.
He knocked on the two doors directly across from his, but no response came from either of them. Finally, he came to the final door and gave it a brisk knock.
The man who came to answer the door was tall and gaunt, pale-skinned, with streaks of white in his jagged dark hair. His grey waistcoat and slacks were somewhat torn and greyed from long use. But most strikingly were his eyes. A similar intense fire to that boy’s, but different. Black as the void. Almost completely hollow, in a way. Anthony would know those eyes anywhere.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Sweeney Todd!”
Two years ago, Sweeney Todd uprooted his operation in London completely and moved his accomplice and her ward out of their home and in pursuit of his disappearing daughter.
He was initially content with losing her forever but avenging her and her mother with the murder of that wretched judge, but after…after. The revenge tasted sweet, but once he had feasted upon it, it was gone, and there was nothing left. He was left with an emptiness that consumed him for several days. He would take no customers. Mrs. Lovett was becoming impatient with the lack of supply, and would send herself and occasionally the boy to ask him about it. But he would see no one. He had lost faith in his cause. Perhaps it would be better for the razors to be used again for one final man. Only then he would be reunited with his beloved Lucy, and, one day, his Johanna…
And then it came to him. An Epiphany. He shouldn’t have let her go, should never have let that sailor take her away. She was his daughter, wasn’t she? And it would only be when she was with him that his mission would be complete, and he would be whole. So he left his room and immediately told Mrs. Lovett and the boy that they would be leaving London, and would not be back for some time.
Since then, Sweeney had tracked his daughter to Paris, then Portugal, then India, all around the world, but had not taken action yet. It was never right. Too busy, or too obvious, or too difficult. There was always something, something that kept him from her. He knew that there would be a perfect time, a perfect place, that would display itself for him like a dream. It had been two years of travel with the other two, sneaking aboard boats and collecting jobs here and there, until he’d finally struck gold.
This time, they’d been lucky. He’d managed to secure the three of them spots in the kitchens on the ship Bountiful. The irony was not lost on him. But this wasn’t the right place, either. No, if he killed Anthony here, he would have no avenue of escape to whisk Johanna away with.
Sweeney was well-liked on the Bountiful . The head chef told him he was good with a knife. So Sweeney asked the man where the ship was headed, so he could plan for whatever location lay ahead of them. The man told them they were docking briefly at Dover, since “the cap’n’s favorite little cabin boy an’ his pretty young wife are going off to some Kent village”. And that was it. Somehow, Sweeney knew that it would be this town that would hold the perfect opportunity to steal her away. The excitement of the chase, as enticing as the rush of the kill, set fire to his blood. So, when the Bountiful arrived in Dover, Sweeney and his companions crept off the boat and set off in the direction of the small town.
The problem was that they had somehow beaten the lovebirds to it. Perhaps it was the carriage they rented, perhaps their drive was a bit more keen, perhaps they avoided the use of those rickety country roads, but they had reached Aunington and none of the locals, not the doddering innkeeper or the buffoon of a landlord, not any of the simple-minded farmer folk, had seen a glimpse of any new couples here. Sweeney cursed his poor luck, though Mrs. Lovett tried to convince him to see the bright side of things.
“We’re in the right town, aren’t we, Mr. Todd?” she’d say with her hands on his shoulders. “So Johanna and her lovey will be here soon enough.” And even through his current mood, and his growing impatience with Mrs. Lovett, he begrudgingly agreed with her.
For a while as they travelled together, it was just as it had been before. Her wicked genius spurred him along, much farther than if he had been on his own. But after a while, friction set in. First she complained about the constant travelling, about the health of her ward, about the financial strains. Then, it was about their “relationship”, and whether or not they should be married “to ease travel”. His admiration for her was slipping by the day. She didn’t understand. Neither of them did, not her, and not that wretched boy whose adolescence had increased his hostility tenfold. They couldn’t understand that it was the mission that was important. Nothing else. When he had Johanna, then the other troubles could be addressed.
They had rented a room from the innkeeper woman for three. Mrs. Lovett went on and on about renting a proper cottage by the mill, and getting jobs at the local bakery, but all of her chatter blew over him like wind over a cliffside. None of that mattered. He could live wherever, he didn’t care. As long as he could still see her.
And now, at last, they were here. Anthony at his door was a shock he didn’t anticipate. Sweeney’s first instinct was to reach for the razor he kept folded in the pocket of his slacks, but it would be impossible to hide the body before someone came running to see what the trouble was.
He didn’t hate Anthony, at least not before. He was a decent enough lad, though Sweeney found his naivete disturbing. But now, now that he was an obstacle , looking upon him filled Sweeney with that hellish fire that consumed him like an infection. The boy was suddenly and irrationally detestable.
“Oh!” Anthony exclaimed, the pitch of his high young voice spiking with serendipity. “Mr. Sweeney Todd!”
Sweeney could hardly hear the boy over the sound of his heart pounding in his chest. She had to be here. She had to be close , if her loyal wretch was at his doorstep. She could even be in the very room across from theirs. Or next to theirs. Yes, this place would do nicely.
Anthony’s tanned face broke into a hearty smile. “What a twist of fate that we meet again! And in such a place as well! I thought your business in London was doing well?”
“Circumstances forced us to follow the wind and see where it went,” Sweeney replied, his voice cold and cool. The razor’s silver handle grew warm in his hand. He was having trouble focusing. The bloodlust that he had forgotten for so long had bubbled back up to the surface, and in his mind the sweet smell of a coming storm was approaching. Soon, he thought to himself. Soon.
Blessedly, Mrs. Lovett interrupted, shoving her way past Sweeney and through the doorway. Though her stature was small, she took up enough space to put distance between Anthony and Sweeney. “Oh, is that you, Anthony, Sir? I thought I recognized that voice!” Her usual affect was so friendly that one could have assumed Mrs. Lovett knew him well, even though she had only met him briefly. It was a special knack she had that served them well in their travels, something that Sweeney wouldn’t necessarily have been able to do if he was travelling on his lonesome.
Immediately the tension around them dissipated. Anthony beamed at the new arrival and gave her a respectful bow. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Lovett!”
She giggled, pleased by the flattery. “Why, thank you, lad! How was your journey?”
As they began to chat about their travels, Sweeney crept backwards and out of the conversation back into the safety of his room. The steady stream of conversation from the two of them drove Sweeney nearly to the back corner of it. The relative peace of his seclusion released some of the tension building in him. Being alone was, in some ways, far superior to conversing with companions.
He turned to his left and was startled to see the boy staring back at him with hatred smoldering in his dark eyes. For the past year or so, the boy had grown sullen and argumentative. As Toby grew older, he began to shed some of his childish inhibitions, and even the doting Mrs. Lovett had to admit that he was becoming a man, much to the chagrin of her and especially Sweeney. Sweeney and him, so similar in brooding but often explosive demeanor, fought with each other frequently about everything. The fights were brutal, cruel, and sometimes resulted in violence until Mrs. Lovett leapt into the fray to intervene. Sweeney was beginning to detest him, rather than merely tolerate him as he had done in the past. He had half a mind to kill the boy, but he told himself that it would be inconvenient to do so without attracting the ire of Mrs. Lovett, or something of that kind.
The boy glared at him from his spot on the bed. Sweeney glared right back. Sweeney thought that perhaps this place would be perfect to be rid of two bothers instead of one.
“Oh, what are you two doing? Not startin’ another tiff, I hope.” Mrs. Lovett’s voice cut through the intensity of the room. The boy’s eyes looked up and softened at the sight of her. She smiled at him in turn and ruffled the top of his head.
“Nothing, Ma’am,” the boy replied. He’d never lost the use of that honorific for her, though while his accent made the two words near indistinguishable, over the years it had started sounding a lot like “Mum”, and in turn Mrs. Lovett had taken to calling him “her boy”. She took him with her wherever they went, and in turn he leaned into her touch with affection.
Mrs. Lovett acknowledged his answer, as well as Sweeney’s silent one, with a withering stare. She did not tolerate the fighting between the two, although she often could do nothing to stop it when it really got going. After the fact, she would pretend as if nothing had happened and act as amicably with the two of them as ever.
She released her hand from the boy’s head. “Toby, dear, why don’t you run along and get yourself somethin’ to eat, alright?” she asked, smiling all the while. She was masterfully adept at getting rid of the boy so she and Sweeney could converse about their own business, but lately he had been questioning even her more than usual, part of his plunge into willful adolescence. He furrowed his eyebrows at her request in confused and suspicious ire. Mrs. Lovett merely smiled back. “You can get me and Mr. Todd something, too, alright?”
To that his face softened a little, somewhat more trusting or perhaps just relenting, and he leapt up and out the door. “I’ll bring you back something nice, Ma’am!” He called back.
She watched him go with a warm smile. Then, as soon as the sound of his descending footsteps was out of earshot, her expression sobered and she turned to Sweeney Todd, her dark eyes glittering with that familiar guile. “So. Your Johanna made it here, after all. What now? Are we going to set up somewhere? Or are we just going to twiddle our thumbs again until she’s gone?”
Sweeney did not go so far as to flush, but his upper lip curled. “This will be the one.”
Immediately, her demeanor shifted. She clapped her hands and her face lit up into a cheery smile. “Oh, finally! Just as long as you wait , love. Don’t forget that, alright? We can’t have you waving that razor around like a maniac and get us all found out!” She tittered like a pleased bird.
“I understand.” He didn’t need her to tell him that. It wouldn’t be prudent to do such a thing. But, even so, the wait would be excruciating. He would have to find at least some semblance of a distraction, or it would all fall apart three times as quickly as they had built it.