Page 40 of Razors & Ruin

“Lord Wetherby!” the Beadle says, beaming. “And Lady Beatrix Wetherby. May I introduce Mr. Sweeney Todd, tonsorial wizard of Fleet Street?”

I glance from His Lordship to his wife and back again, seeing the quickening in the good lady’s tender throat.

She's too fast and easy to give away what she likes, and she sure as Hell likes me; her heaving breasts give a lurch as I seize her with my eyes.

That’s it, you slut.You’re my play.

21

Nellie

Icleave Uriah’s head from the spine with several firm swipes of the chopper before putting it in the saucepan.

I can’t have his teeth turning up in a pie, but I can boil his head and make brawn. Serve it on the side, a penny a slice.

Waste not, want not.

The rest of him comes apart easily, as any meat will, sloughing away from the bone in long fillets. Not all of it is useful; there needs to be some fat in with the muscle, but luckily, his love handles give me plenty to go on, and then it’s into the grinder.

Harry insisted on the big, industrial-size mincing machine but neglected to pay for the motorized version, meaning I have to hand-crank the fucking thing.

Still, the blades are as sharp as a nun’s tongue and just as capable of reducing a man to shreds.

So now I have a handsome-looking trough of minced meat, ready to fill the pies that will be standing proud, in rows of ten at a time, on my counter tomorrow.

Maybe we’ll make a fuss, call it a grand reopening at dinnertime, and pull the punters in off the streets with the homestead scent of a good, hot meal.

All comers, of high or low estate, you’re all the same to Mrs. Lovett! Glad to serve you either way.

Now, to the real business of the evening. Sweeney left an hour ago, and I can wait no longer.

I wash up quickly and put up my hair with a silver comb. A bit of rouge and powder goes a long way to pretty me up, and I even rummage out a cake of kohl, combing it into my eyelashes.

I regard my blotchy neck with some trepidation before I remember; I own a whisp of chiffon that’ll do as a scarf if I attach a cameo to it.

The dress is white, with a full skirt and petticoat. I suspect it’s a fine lady’s debut gown, intended to show off her potential at her first coming-out ball. I don’t recall where it came from—I think it was always here—but it lives in a box with pasted cabbage roses on the lid.

With some costume pearls and delicate matching gloves, I look pretty as a picture, and the classic gold Venetian mask covers my face completely, with only my eyes to give me away. Mr. T isn’t the only one who found a minute to nip to the pawnbrokers today.

If he is loyal, he won’t test me, and he won’t know I’m there. So there’s nothing for him to get mad at me about. Unless he acts out and makes me intervene, I will hang back.

I don’t trust him, of course. He wrapped his sexually rapacious aura around him like a highwayman’s cloak and stole off into the night, more than ready to weave his spells and get what he wanted.

So dear Nellie will have to swing by and see what’s a-brewing.

I arrive at The Regent and join the back of a small group as they enter the hotel, hoping they’re going my way.

To my astonishment, no one accosts me, assuming I belong to this little herd of laughing fops and their flighty women. As we ride the elevator, the tinkling giggles of the society wives ring in my skull, and it’s all I can do to pout and titter alike.

Once inside the ballroom, I press the mask to my face and peel away, my eyes darting. It doesn’t seem wise to wander too far, so I pick up a coupé of champagne from a passing tray and perch on a chaise, partly obscured by a potted spider plant.

The room has a lazy, louche atmosphere, indiscretion heavy in the air like it’s being pumped in. People huddle, sharing whispers and loud commentary, sometimes interchangeably.

“He sank his ship on purpose, you know, for the insurance.”

“So rich! True, he likes to fraternize with very young boys. But, as I say, simply minted.”

Minted.Good idea. Mint sauce is strong stuff, popular, too, and cheap enough to make.

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