Haunted

Chapter Three

 The tinkering of the shop door awoke Sweeney, and he flinched in his chair as his sleep-drunken mind struggled to remember his whereabouts and how he had acquired them. Mrs. Lovett's chiming voice greeted someone. "Morning, sir. How can I treat you this morning? Awful blustery day, isn't it? What tickles your fancy? I'm afraid the pies aren't cooked yet, but a drop of ale or tea might treat you, eh?" He cracked his painfully stiff neck and then turned in his chair to watch the shadows moving on the floor of the shop.

"Aye, madam, I'm afraid I'm here on, say, unofficial business? Uh, rather..." The young man cleared his throat, probably not over twenty, and Sweeney could sense his awkwardness at the whole situation. "Rather, Beadle Bamford gave me five shillings to come in here and deliver this here rose and invite you to a Christmas ball at Judge Turpin's house, Christmas night. Here's a copy of the invitation—but, really, if you don't mind, I wouldn't mind some tea, miss."

Mrs. Lovett sighed patiently—better than Sweeney would have done, as his jaw grinded. "Sure, son. Thank you for your delivery." She tried to keep her tone level, but the exasperation seeped into it nonetheless. "Sugar or cream, dear?"

"Neither, ma'am." The stool scraped the ground as he pulled it out. His fingers tapped on the table rhythmically as he awaited the tea. "So, there's a barbershop up there, now? My ma always told me that place was haunted." He laughed a little nervously.

Mrs. Lovett joined him in laughter and poured the cup of tea. "Haunted, eh? Which version of the story did you hear?"

"My ma? Well, she told me that there was a barber-surgeon up there who hacked people up and sold their hearts and livers on the black market, and when his wife found out, he hacked her up, too. But I'm sure that's—well, that's gotta be at least a little exaggerated, I suppose. I don't really believe in ghosts, anyway."

She laughed again frivolously. "Mr. Todd don't believe in no ghosts neither, and he's just a barber, no surgeon to that title. Doesn't even know how to pull a tooth. Tried to arrange it for my little spike boy, but no, no tooth-pulling there. Fine shaves, from what I hear, though." She beat off her dirty apron and returned to the counter. "So did the dear Beadle Bamford even invite you to this ball himself, or did he just pay you off to deliver to me?"

"No, ma'am, I'd never be invited to something like that. But these shillings, I needed 'em if I'm to get my mother anything for Christmas at all. Wish I knew where he got that rose. My ma would love something pretty like that, and in the dead of winter, at that, even!" His fingers drummed a little faster. "I tell you, miss, some of these wealthy folks got so much in their pockets that they can keep Mother Nature from killing their flowers, and I think that's just unfair, me personally."

"Well, young man, I tell you, you can have this here one if you want it. This is the third time this week that Beadle Bamford has reached out to me for his company, and I find his persistence rude at best." Sweeney's gut trembled when he remembered the way the beadle had lunged across the counter at her with entitlement, gratification, on his face. "He's one of those men that thinks it insulting if anyone turns him away, holding grudges and all that, and I've no patience for it at all. Do you want this, dear?"

The young man hesitated. "I'll—I mean, I'll take it, if you're certain you don't want it, miss."

"I'm certain."

"Oh, thank you!" He sprang up from his stool. "I know it won't live til Christmas, so I'll run it home to Ma right now. How much for the tea, ma'am?"

"No charge for you, lad. Run home and show your mother. A boy who cares for his mother is the best thing in the world, you know." She turned to see Sweeney hovering in the doorway, and a genuine smile broke her lips. The blushing young lad, even younger than he had estimated, nodded politely to her and then ducked out of the shop with a yelp of joy. Mrs. Lovett fixed both eyes on Sweeney. "Some tea for you, too, then? Haven't seen any men needing a shave yet. But it's a good thing, you late sleeping plonker."