We Could Get By

ix.

Every time Nellie's stomach lurched, she could not crush the little spark of hope that rose in her that she might perhaps be pregnant. Even when she knew it was only the rancid smell of the bakehouse making her nauseous, she let herself believe for a moment that she was certainly not nearly forty. It wasn't that she was particularly old- just too old to carry a child of her own. Nellie had always wanted a child; not with Albert, of course, but every time she had caught a glimpse of her upstairs neighbor and the little bundle that had been his new daughter, her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She had entertained the idea, many times since they had moved to this seaside town, of bringing it up to Sweeney just to see what he thought, but the words died on her lips.

She emptied the pail of soapy water onto the ground, sloshing away the filth of the bakehouse floor the best she could manage with the mop she had borrowed from Sweeney. Nellie kept up with the cleaning so well, she wondered how bad it might smell if she hadn't. It was vile enough as it was. No matter how many times she came down there, it still made her stomach turn a little. Mrs. Lovett kicked a long bone out of her path with her boot, listening to the hollow sound of it skittering across the stone floor. She had learned quickly to stay out of the cellar when Sweeney was with a customer, but sometimes, it could not be helped. The bakehouse seemed to ring permanently with the echoes of the sickening crunch that Mr. Todd's latest unfortunate patron made upon hitting the floor.

She could not very well expect Sweeney to learn how to prepare the pie filling, though, so she stiffened up and kept her mouth shut about it. Poor ol' Mister T does enough as it is. Shrouded in the gloom of the bakehouse, Nellie thought she might attempt to make candles and sell them on the side. There was plenty of excess fat to boil down. She wrung out the mop over the grate in the corner under which the sewers flowed. They did nothing to help the putrescence, but it did give her something to blame the smell on.

-

"Ya ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Sweeney said, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and squinting in the brightness of the day. He looked anything-but-pleased to be standing outside in the blaze of the sun.

"Here, love, ya stay right there and I'll be back in a tick," she instructed, hurrying back into the house and down to the cellar. Nellie slid a rack of pies carefully into the big oven, staying as far back from the wall of heat that radiated from it as she could. The massive iron thing made her nervous no matter how many times she used it. Her fingers felt burnt even inside the thick oven mitts Sweeney had given her.

When she returned to their yard, Sweeney was standing with his arms impatiently across his chest, just as she had left him. He craned his neck to stare up at the black smoke that bubbled from their chimney and started its rise skyward. The breeze carried it down the slope of the hill and off towards town.

"I don't smell anything, Nellie." He shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun with his hand. She took a deep sniff for herself, catching only the salty tang that floated in off the sea.

"There's been quite a stink comin' up. Ol' Mrs. Kitteridge come over 'ere to complain about it at ya party a few weeks back. 'Course I spend so much time down there, I can't smell it no more."

"Did you clean it?" He turned to watch their neighbor's house, dark eyes searching for any sign of movement. Mrs. Kitteridge was far nosier a woman than they had first assumed.

"Certainly did."

Sweeney's face twisted into a look of absolute horror. "That's disgusting, Nellie." She had to stifle an indignant scoff; Sweeney Todd thought the bakehouse was disgusting! It was, of course, but with the things that man did on a daily basis, she hardly would have expected him to mind a little carnage.