Page 46 of Razors & Ruin

I set her on her feet and stand, rearranging my clothes. “You better hope she’s alright, for both our sakes. She’s the wife of a fucking Lord, not some street slattern.”

“I complete you, don’t I?”

Nellie looks punch-drunk but triumphant, like a gypsy boxer who knows he’s won, even if the fight took ten years off his life.

“You’re everything and more to me, but onlywithme. These people, this world—it’s not yours. You can’t be part of it, can’t even fucking visit. Stay with me, Sweeney, and stop chasing nightmares. I’ll be dreamy for you, always. Everything you need. But stay withme!”

The words won’t come. There are a million things I could say to my precious treacle right now—she has once again derailed my plans with her foolish jealousy—but despite it all, I’m poleaxed by adoration for her, too dazzled by her audacity.

No other woman in the world wouldbeginto conceive of something so unhinged. How did I summon her? How does the sick, strange universe conspire to open my veins and find this sublime creature running through them?

We both jump at the scream. It’s the kind you hear in silly, melodramatic chapter plays. The blood-curdling terror type.

“She’s dead! Murder! Oh, saints!”

I sigh.

“Mrs. Lovett, you are a fucking liability.” I point at the back of the trellis, which is attached to the wall. “Would you care for a lift?”

I steeple my fingers, and Nellie steps into my hands so I can vault her to the top. It’s not too tall, and we use the ivy to scrabble down the other side, landing beside a man smoking a pipe.

“Beg pardon, sir,” I say, turning away fast.

My horse and cart are parked where I left them, and I untie the nag, leading him into the road.

Then we’re away, the cacophony of panic behind us fading as the smoggy night air closes behind us. The horse’s hooves clatter on the cobbles, and Nellie snuggles close, tucking herself under my arm.

“Whatever the fuck am I to do with you?” I ask.

She wriggles her shoulders gleefully. “Ask yourself what you’d dowithoutme, love.”

25

Nellie

The envelope on the floor pulls us both up short. Right there on the doormat, almost glowing in the lamplight. The paper looks expensive, and Sweeney frowns as he picks it up.

"Silk thread in this," he says. "No stamp, so someone hand-delivered it." He holds it up so I can see. "Addressed to Mr. Todd."

I say nothing as he sits at the counter, turning up the gas in the lantern so he can see better. He takes a razor from his inside pocket, splitting the envelope in one swipe, and I take the stool opposite, studying his face as he reads.

His features go on quite the journey. Benign interest gives way to a frown of confusion, his skillet-dark eyes scanning ever more rapidly from right to left.

His brow furrows deeper until his forehead is crisscrossed with canyons, and his lip curls into a venomous sneer. Whatever he is reading disagrees with him.

"Mr T?—"

He tosses the letter over the counter, and I catch it before it flutters.

Mr. Todd,

I endeavor in this epistle to appeal to your sense of decency regarding a matter long since settled, to whit the circumstances of your daughter. You may regard me as a benevolent force, but a force nonetheless, and it would be in your interests to cease your line of inquiry. No good can come of it.

Johanna entered the care of Porter's Workhouse following your transportation to the colonies. She was unregistered, being an infant of no means, and not expected to survive in any case, but in actual fact, she died in a fire that ravaged the nursery block. She would have been just less than a year old at the time.

I tell you this now to illustrate the futility of seeking her out; she is long since deceased, and there is nothing more to be said about it.

Furthermore, I beseech you to keep your place and be thankful for it. Some people other than me have their suspicions, if not outright proof, of your previous identity. London has a more extendedmemory than you think and ways of making you pay more than once for your transgressions.

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