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smilingformoney · 16 days ago

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Die With a Smile

Chapter II. The Watershed

Summary: Elliott discovers a danger lurking just around the corner, and enlists Turpin's help to keep Mary safe.

AN: I know Barker was transported for life and escaped, but I changed it to a 15 year sentence for plot convenience

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

Not long after arriving at the shop the next morning, Mary’s order of materials was delivered. She tidied away everything but the leather, and promptly set to work on Elliott’s coin purse. Initially Mrs Harris questioned her as to why she was working on this order before others which had been placed earlier, but when Mary explained that the customer was Lord Turpin’s cousin, Mrs Harris congratulated Mary for her smart thinking - if Lord Turpin were to hear a recommendation for Mrs Harris’ Dressmaking & Alterations, he may grace them with his own patronage, and that would be a great honour indeed, with the potential to open the door to recommendations to more Lords and Ladies in London.

Once she was satisfied that the coin purse was as perfect as it could be, Mary set to work on her other jobs, though her mind stayed firmly on the man who’d been on her mind ever since he’d walked into the shop yesterday.

He was nothing like anyone she’d ever met. Although he was wealthy, he insisted he wasn’t one of the gentry, and Mary was inclined to believe him. She’d learnt over the years that one could tell a lot about a man by his clothing. Elliott’s was high quality, which meant he could afford such a luxury - but it wasn’t garish like many of the gentry of London. He favoured practicality for certain, and although the fact his clothing was both practical and well-fitted meant he had the funds to afford both, his preference for practicality meant he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and do work of his own - unlike the gentry of London whose practical work hardly consisted of more than the lifting of a pen.

He hardly acted like them either. The gentry Mary passed in the street would never acknowledge her; those that were forced to by visiting the shop, unless they sent their servants in their stead, spoke to and looked at her as little as possible.

Elliott did all that and more. He spoke to her, he listened to her, he asked her questions. And his gaze had hardly left her all night. She’d look at her plate as she cut her food, and when she looked up again, she’d catch him watching her. And with all the confidence that he carried so easily, he felt no shame in being caught looking.

He made her feel seen for the first time in her life. She had only ever been another child in the street, or the apprentice who was little more than furniture and served no function but to sew clothes. Elliott treated her as a person and, at times, Mary thought he might even have been seeing her as a woman.

But that was silly, though. Despite his protestations at being labelled gentry, Elliott was of a much higher class than her. He would never see her that way. And even if he did - he couldn’t act on it. It would bring him too much shame to be seen to court a seamstress’ apprentice.

Still, Mary wanted his company, in whatever form that would take. So when Elliott reappeared with that charming smile at the end of Mary’s work day, full of praise for her workmanship on his new coin purse, Mary was only too happy to accept his invitation to dinner again.

“I thought perhaps we might try that pie shop on Fleet Street,” Elliott suggested as Mary bade Mrs Harris goodnight and joined him on the street. “I hear the meat is excellent. It seems to be frequented by all walks of life, but my cousin refuses to go there for some reason.”

“Oh, do you mean Mrs Lovett’s? Yes, I’d heard it reopened. It used to be just awful. Even Mrs Lovett herself said they were the worst pies in London. But she must have found a new recipe because now the place is packed to the rafters whenever I go past. We might not get a table.”

“Well… I hate to do it, but… perhaps if I use my cousin’s name, we’ll get a table.”

“If you think it’d work… I must say, I’ve been wanting to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Just don’t tell him, he’ll never let me live it down.”

Mary laughed, not least at the absurd idea that she might ever have a conversation with Lord Turpin that didn’t involve her ending up in his courtroom.

Just as Mary had predicted, the pie shop was completely full. Although he hesitated at first, Elliott mentioned to Mrs Lovett that he hoped to recommend the place to his cousin, Judge Turpin; the woman’s eyes widened immediately and seemed to flick towards the upstairs of the building for a moment before she smiled widely at Elliott.

“Well, now, just you ‘old on a minute, sir, I’m sure I can get a table cleared for ya.”

A few minutes later, Mrs Lovett showed Mary and Elliott to a table inside the shop and quickly scurried off to get them some drinks and their pies.

“I hated doing that,” Elliott admitted with a shiver. “In Australia, I need only give my name and people run to do what I tell them. I don’t like to rely on another man’s power.”

“So if you went into a restaurant in Australia and they were full, then you said ‘I’m Elliott Marston’, they’d suddenly have a table for you?”

Elliott smirked and straightened up a little proudly.

“They sure would. Perhaps some day you could come and visit me and I’ll prove it to you.”

“Oh, I can’t see I’d ever have the opportunity to do that…”

“Then you’ll just have to come with me when I leave.”

“Oh, well, I —”

Mary’s stammering was fortunately interrupted when a figure approached the table. She looked up, expecting to see Mrs Lovett, and was surprised to see a man instead, with pale skin and an odd eye, staring strangely at Elliott.

Sensing Mary’s sudden discomfort, Elliott turned to the man with the intention of telling him to fuck off, but with a blink of surprise, his frown turned into a smile of recognition.

“Well, well… fancy seeing you here.”

Elliott stood to shake the strange man’s hand, apparently unperturbed by the way the man took it stiffly and shook once, as if he were a puppet of a man.

“I told you I’d be coming back here, did I not?” said the man gruffly.

“Ah, so this is your place!” Elliott laughed. He turned to Mary with a grin. “Seems I could have used my own name after all. Mary, this is —”

“Todd,” said the man quickly. “Sweeney Todd.”

“Oh, the barber! Yes, I’ve heard about you. I hear you’re the best in town.”

The corner of Todd’s mouth twitched as if he were trying to smile.

“I’d bet my fortune he is,” Elliott agreed. “This man worked for me in Australia the last few years of his sentence and never let go of his razors. Practising all day and night, he was. Bar - uh, Todd, this is Mary Taylor. She’s, ah… a friend of mine.”

Todd gave Mary the slightest of nods, then turned his attention back to Elliott.

“How about a shave?” Todd suggested. “On the house, of course. For old times’ sake.”

“Perhaps later,” Elliott replied, glancing back at where a boy was pouring two drinks behind the bar. “I promised Mary some dinner.”

“Of course.”

Todd nodded stiffly to Elliott, glanced oddly at Mary, then promptly left.

“Is he… a convict?” Mary whispered once Elliott had sat down and the door had closed behind Todd.

Elliott chuckled.

“Sure, but he’s served his time. He was a good worker. A little odd, as you can see, but…”

Elliott trailed off, and before he could finish his thought, Mrs Lovett came over with a tray carrying two drinks and two pies.

“‘Ere you are, loves. Two ales, two pies. Hope ya enjoy.”

She glanced at the door through which Todd had left, then quickly followed in the same direction.

“She’s a little strange too,” Mary whispered, as if Todd and Lovett could hear them through the door.

“The strange ones are always more interesting,” Elliott said conspiratorially. “But… you do have to keep your eye on them.”

He smirked and raised his drink to her.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart. You’ve nothing to worry about from Todd and Lovett. I’ll keep you safe.”

If there was any danger from either of them, it certainly wasn’t from the food or drink. Mary could see why Mrs Lovett’s shop had become so popular - her pies had gone from being the worst in London to undoubtedly the best. And as much as she wanted an excuse to stay out with Elliott, she was so full after her pie that she couldn’t possibly have the second that Mrs Lovett tried to give her, even if it was on the house.

They were halfway out the door when Todd suddenly reappeared in front of them from the stairs that led up to his barbershop, so suddenly that Mary let out a gasp of surprise.

“Leaving so soon, Mr Marston?” Todd said in that ominous, gravelly voice of his. “Don’t you want a shave? I’ve been hoping for a chance to speak to your cousin too - I owe him an apology for a recent… misunderstanding. I’d appreciate the patronage of such a fine, upstanding citizen as the great Judge Turpin.”

There was a long pause. Mary felt Elliott’s arm wrap around her waist, his hand resting firmly on her hip.

“Another day, Todd. Mary here’s feeling a little sick, so we ought to get back. Isn’t that right, Mary?”

He squeezed her hip slightly as he asked her to confirm his lie.

“Yes, I’ve come over a little queasy,” Mary said, putting her hand over her stomach for effect. “Nothing to do with Mrs Lovett’s cooking, I’m sure, the pie was very lovely.”

Todd looked between Mary and Elliott, then stepped aside. Elliott quickly and calmly guided Mary out of the shop and across the road.

“Elliott, why —”

“Shh. Just come with me. I’ll explain in a minute. Just act like everything’s normal.”

Other than Elliott’s sudden strange behaviour, as far as Mary was aware, everything was normal. Lovett and Todd, although certainly very strange, had been perfectly kind to them both.

In that moment, Mary realised that, although she’d only met him yesterday, she trusted Elliott. If he’d noticed something to be off that she hadn’t, she would do as he said, and trust that he’d tell her what was going on in time.

Elliott led her around a corner and, Mary realised as she followed him down Kearneys Lane, towards Judge Turpin’s house.

“Elliott, I need to get back to my brother —”

With a sudden movement, Elliott pulled Mary into a side alley and pushed her back against the wall. He pressed his body close against hers, much closer than was proper. One hand snaked around her waist, the other cradling her head, and he leant down as if to kiss her — but, instead of bringing his lips to hers, he brought them to her ear.

“Put your arms around me,” he murmured. “As if we’re kissing and you can’t get enough. As if the bedroom is… just that bit too far away.”

Mary had no idea what it was like to kiss someone, much less in the way Elliott was describing, but she wrapped her arms around him all the same, holding him tightly as if to bring him in even closer.

“Good girl. Now, listen to me very closely. You were right about Sweeney Todd. He’s dangerous. The last thing he said to me before he left Australia was that he was going to kill the judge that sentenced him. And he was far too interested when he learnt my cousin’s name.”

“Do you think —”

“Shh. Just listen.”

Elliott moved away from her ear and towards her lips, his hardly more than a few millimetres from hers. She could feel his breath on her lips, taste the ale he’d drunk… she could even feel the tickle of his moustache against her skin. She only had to make the most imperceptible movement to make the kiss real.

“I’m sorry to ask this of you, Mary. But - just until we get inside - I need you to pretend to be a whore I’ve hired. Can you do that?”

Could she? Maybe. Mary had seen plenty of whores. Some of them she’d even known, as unless they lived in the whorehouse they were street-dwellers just like her.

But would she?

“Yes,” she whispered.

Elliott smiled, though there was hesitation in his eyes.

“Good girl. I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“…Okay.”

If this was what a pretend kiss felt like, Mary wasn’t sure she could handle a real kiss. It was hot, it was passionate, it was desperate. Elliott kissed her like he needed it to live, and after a few moments, the shock wore off and Mary remembered she was supposed to be playing the whore.

She kissed him back, parting her lips for him, and as his tongue explored her mouth, some quiet voice in her head reminded her that they were supposed to be heading inside.

As if he’d heard the voice too, Elliott pulled away, panting, and if it weren’t for the darkness of the evening, Mary might have noticed the way his pupils were blown with lust in a way that couldn’t be faked.

Elliott dragged her back into the street and practically chased her the rest of the way. Mary giggled in a mimic of the way she had heard whores giggle, playing up to the chase.

It was smart, she thought as they approached the gate to Lord Turpin’s house. By pretending to be a man and a woman eager to get into bed, they were able to give the impression that their guards were down but still hurry down the street without causing anyone who may be following them to think they were onto them.

“Get inside, sweetheart,” Elliott growled in her ear. He yanked the door open and took Mary by the hand to lead her inside.

As soon as he closed the door, Elliott continued down the hallway, Mary’s hand still in his. How far exactly was he planning on taking this ‘whore and client’ charade…?

Elliott paused outside a door. He knocked, letting go of Mary’s hand to do so, and she actually felt a slight pang of disappointment when he didn’t take it back afterwards, instead placing it on the small of her back.

The door opened, and in the doorframe stood an imposing man, tall and handsome, older than Elliott though bearing some resemblance to him, with grey hair and stubble on his cheek. He glanced from Elliott to Mary, and when his eyes rested on her, he looked at her with a piercing gaze. He looked her up and down, an eyebrow raised, and smirked.

“Brought me a present back from the whorehouse, have you, Elliott?”

“This is Miss Taylor, the apprentice I told you about,” Elliott said. “Mary, this is my cousin, Lord Turpin.”

Mary dipped into a curtsey just as Mrs Harris had taught her.

“Good evening, my Lord.”

“The apprentice?” Turpin repeated with a smirk. “And you’re bringing her home to meet the family already? A little soon to be proposing, don’t you think?”

“It’s not like that. We need to talk, cousin. Your life may be in danger.”

Turpin looked back at Elliott in surprise.

“Well… in that case, you’d better come in.”

He stood aside and held the door open to allow Elliott to lead Mary into what it quickly became apparent was the Judge’s private study. Books lined the walls, many with unmarked spines, and two armchairs sat by a lit fireplace. Turpin picked up a book that lay open on a small table between the two chairs, marked the page, and placed it aside as he sat back into the chair he’d previously been occupying. Mary hesitated, noticing there were three of them and two chairs, until Elliott gestured for her to sit in the other armchair. She sat as he directed, but he placed a firm hand on her shoulder protectively.

Turpin glanced between the two of them curiously.

“So… my life’s in danger, is it?”

“I need you to think back fifteen years or so. Do you remember sentencing a man named Benjamin Barker?”

Turpin’s face immediately twisted from curiosity to a look that could only be described as hatred.

“Barker?” he spat. “Of course I remember him. He’s Johanna’s father. Why?”

“You sentenced him to transportation. To Australia. He worked for me.”

“Yes, I supposed he might end up with you at some point.”

“So you can imagine, when I saw his face again today telling me he’d changed his name, I recognised him instantly.”

“Barker? Here?” Turpin seethed. He thought for a moment, then said, “Well, I suppose his sentence would be up. I didn’t imagine he’d survive Australia, to be honest. A meek little man like him.”

“Meek?” Elliott scoffed. “Maybe when he left London. But I assure you, by the time he came to work for me, he’d been in Australia for ten years and it turned him twisted. A shadow of the man you sent away. He had fifteen years to think on his crimes, but all he thought on was the apparent injustice he suffered at the hands of the judge that sentenced him. He swore his innocence until the day he left.”

Turpin didn’t reply. He sat stiff, his gaze fixed firmly on his cousin. The anger emanating from him was terrifying. Mary knew his anger wasn’t at her, and yet, it terrified her.

“The last thing he said to me before he left for England was that he would exact vengeance on the judge that wronged him. I thought nothing of it at the time — my men swear vengeance on people back in England all the time. But when I saw him again today and mentioned you by name… he was far too interested. And that’s when I realised — you were the judge that sentenced him, weren’t you? You’re the one he spent fifteen years nursing a grievance against. You’re the one he came here to kill.”

There was a long pause. Turpin took a deep breath, then looked at Mary with that piercing gaze of his.

“And how do you tie into all of this, Miss Taylor?”

“Mary was with me tonight,” Elliott explained for her. “Before I realised the danger Barker posed, I introduced them. He knows her name, he knows her face. Barker’s certifiably insane, cousin. If he believes Mary is even tangentially connected to you, he might go after her. I want to keep her here, to keep her safe. I can’t have her lose her life for the crime of associating with Judge Turpin’s cousin.”

Stay here? Mary thought in a panic.

The idea of staying in a manor such as this was beyond anything Mary could have possibly imagined. She’d have shelter, warmth…

And Tommy would be out in the cold.

Turpin was standing up now, his imposing figure looming above her as he looked down at her, examining her as if she were a curiosity. He reached out and pushed a stray hair out of her face, then took her shoulder in his hand and pulled her to her feet.

He kept looking at her as she stood in front of him. Mary was terrified, but there was something else there too, some anticipation she couldn’t quite place. Turpin traced his finger along the neckline of her dress, which stopped between her collarbone and her breasts, and for a moment Mary feared he was about to pull the fabric down. For a moment, she hoped he was about to pull the fabric down, and that scared her even more.

“Now that I see her… I understand the appeal, cousin,” Turpin said in a low voice.

He released his hand and stepped back. Mary released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

“She can take Johanna’s room,” he declared.

“Th - thank you, sir,” Mary said ardently with another curtsey. “Your kindness far exceeds your reputation, my Lord. But might - might I ask one boon, sir?”

Turpin hummed with amusement.

“Go ahead. I’ll consider it.”

“I have a brother, Tommy. He’s only a boy. Our parents are dead and I - I’m all he has. He’ll be worried sick if I don’t come home. And - and if he goes looking for me - he might start asking around…”

“Hmph. You’re right, that could be a problem. Very well. He’s a boy, you say? I suppose my staff could do with a boy. Beadle!”

Mary winced at the sudden rise in Turpin’s voice. A few moments later, another man scurried into the room. He was as opposite to Turpin or Elliott as he could be; he was short, slightly hunched, ugly, and he emanated none of the power that the other two men did.

“Yes, milord?”

“Miss Taylor, tell the Beadle where to find your brother. Beadle, you’re to find Miss Taylor’s brother and tell him his sister has secured him employment with my staff and he’s to come back here with you immediately, where his sister waits for him. You’re to ensure no one overhears your conversation, and no one is to know where he is going. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Very good. Miss Taylor, if you’d step outside with the Beadle and give him the information he needs. Elliott and I need to have a conversation that’s not for the delicate ears of a woman. When you’re done, head upstairs, to the first door to your left. This was my ward Johanna’s room, but it’ll be yours for the time being. Get yourself cleaned up; you can take any of Johanna’s clothing to wear. She won’t be needing it any time soon, so it’s yours to do with as you please. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Mary said with a bow of her head. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Turpin smirked. “Hold on to that gratitude, Miss Taylor. I’m sure I can think of some way you can thank me.”

---

“This certainly explains a lot,” Turpin said once the door was closed and he was alone with Elliott. He sat back down in his chair thoughtfully. “I visited Todd previously — some weeks ago now. He came at the Beadle’s recommendation. If I needed any proof that the Lord favoured me, it came that day, when a sailor who’d been stalking my Johanna burst into the shop and announced his plan to steal her away before he noticed my presence. I had wondered what association Todd had with the boy - now I understand. Of course he’d want to abet stealing his daughter away.”

“Todd mentioned some misunderstanding he wanted to make right.”

“Mmm.”

Turpin stared into the fire, as if the answer to his problems might be in the flames somewhere.

“Do you believe he suspects you know I’m the one he swore vengeance against?”

“Possibly.”

“So I suppose your gaining his trust is out of the question.”

Elliott shook his head. Turpin sat back with a sigh. He heard the sound of water running as the bath upstairs was filled; he glanced up, thinking.

“What about her?”

“We… put something of a show on for them. Mary’s a good actress - I almost believed myself that she was a whore coming back to a client’s house.”

Turpin snorted. “A shame she’s not. Bloody gorgeous little thing. Is she a virgin, do you suppose?”

“Fucking hell, William. Is that really what you’re thinking about right now? There’s a lunatic on Fleet Street plotting your demise and you’re thinking about getting your dick wet. Unless you’re suggesting she seduce Barker?”

“Well…”

“That’ll never work. He talked about his wife until the day he left. He won’t be interested in another woman. Not everyone’s as easily hypnotised by a good pair of tits like you are.”

Turpin laughed.

“You’re one to talk, cousin. She may be at risk of Barker’s wrath because her good pair of tits hypnotised you into taking her to dinner.”

Elliott rolled his eyes, then said, “Look, it’s late. I’m exhausted. How about we get some sleep and come up with a plan in the morning.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose you’re right,” Turpin sighed as he stood up. “Goodnight, Elliott. Try not to wank too hard thinking about her tits.”

“Oh, shut up.”

---

Elliott slept fine that night; he hadn’t lied about being exhausted. It was Turpin who was too distracted to sleep.

He laid in his bed restlessly, his mind swimming.

Benjamin Barker. Turpin hadn’t thought about that man in a long time. Could the meek barber he’d once sentenced really have come back a madman with a vengeance? Elliott certainly seemed to think so.

He knew he should have sent the man to the gallows. He’d only spared his life because he didn’t suppose Lucy would have accepted the advances of the judge who’d had her husband killed. Let her think he granted him mercy, and she’d be grateful.

Except it hadn’t worked out that way. He hadn’t accounted for Lucy being so daft as to reject him.

Now, all this time later, he was paying the price for his mercy.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Restless, Turpin got out of bed. He was angry, frustrated, his heart racing. If only he had a whore nearby to take his frustrations out on.

… Perhaps he did. He still wasn’t entirely convinced by Elliott’s story that the girl he’d brought home was a mere acquaintance.

His feet carried him purposefully through the bedroom door and down the corridor to Johanna’s old room. He removed the painting he’d hung up some years ago when Johanna had begun to grow into a woman, and peered through like he had so many times in the past…

And there she was. Mary Taylor. Whether an innocent seamstress’ apprentice or a whore simply pretending to be an innocent, quite frankly Turpin didn’t care. He wanted her. He would have her. And if he had to, he would take her.

Turpin replaced the painting on the wall and quietly opened the door to Johanna’s - no, Mary’s room. He’d sworn to Johanna he’d never come into her room unbidden, but he’d made no such promise to Mary. The girl hadn’t even locked the door. It was practically an invitation.

The moonlight illuminated Mary’s sleeping form in the bed. She certainly looked innocent, lying there peacefully, any worry she may have had during the waking hours melted away from her pretty face as she lay in the comfort of sleep.

Yes, she was a very pretty woman indeed. Turpin hoped that Elliott had been telling the truth, that she was an innocent little virgin - he did so love the feel of a tight virgin cunt. He hadn’t taken a virgin in such a long time - they were rarely taken into the whorehouse, and when they were, they were often bought quickly. One had to be lucky to be the one to come across a virgin for sale.

And here she was… not even for sale. Lying in her bed, unprotected, door unlocked… he needed only to pull down the blanket that covered her sleeping form, and she’d be his for the taking. The barrier of her nightgown and bloomers could be done away with so easily… he didn’t even need to wake her up. She just needed to lie there, her legs spread, and he would do all the work.

Oh, but… he did love the noises they made. And surrendering one’s virginity to the great Judge Turpin wasn’t something many could brag of. It would be cruel of him to avail her of experiencing it fully, of feeling his cock breach her entrance and pierce her innocence… no, she had to be awake for this. He wanted to do more than take her virginity — he wanted her to surrender it willingly.

Of course, he could wake her now and offer himself to her… he didn’t doubt for a moment that she’d want him. A poor thing like her could only dream of being in a Lord’s bed.

But it would be even sweeter if she came to him.

A shiver of arousal swept over him at just the thought of it… a knock on his chamber door at night, her tiny frame quivering with need as she offered herself to him. I can resist no longer, my Lord, I implore you to rid me of this desire… even in my sleep I cannot escape the thought of you, I dream of surrendering myself to you… I beg of you, my Lord, take me… teach me what only you can.

Before he could give in to the temptation, Turpin stood quickly and left the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He hurried back to his room, and when he expelled his seed into his hand with a muffled groan, it was Mary’s face, not Johanna’s, that he saw in his pillow.

And it was her he would have.

---

The next morning, Mary was awoken by a maid, who told her breakfast would be served shortly. She put one of the dresses in the wardrobe on and made her way downstairs to join Lord Turpin, who was sitting at the breakfast table sipping a coffee.

“Good morning, Lord Turpin,” she said with a small curtsey.

“Ah, Miss Taylor, good morning. Come, sit, sit. Elliott will join us shortly, I’m sure.”

Turpin gestured to the seat next to him.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

Mary sat in the proffered seat as a servant poured her a mug of coffee.

“You slept well, I trust?” Turpin asked.

“Oh, yes, sir. The bed was most comfortable. If your serving girl hadn’t woken me, I might have slept all day.”

Turpin chuckled. “It is tempting sometimes, isn’t it? But the day must continue, no matter how comfortable the bed.”

The door opened and Elliott joined them to sit opposite Mary, on Turpin’s other side.

“Morning, cousin. Miss Taylor. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you. I was just telling Lord Turpin how comfortable the bed was.”

“Yes, they are comfortable beds, aren’t they? Quite large, too. I could easily fit another in that bed with room to spare.”

Elliott looked at Mary with a smirk, and she blushed under his gaze.

He really needed to stop flirting with her. She wasn’t sure she could handle getting her hopes up when she knew it was just a fantasy.

The food came out, and for a few minutes, they sat in silence as they ate. Mary was amazed at the amount of food that was prepared for just the three of them, and though neither of the men held back in sating their appetites, Mary reserved herself, not wanting to embarrass herself with her lack of knowledge of table etiquette.

“Lord Turpin, if I may make a suggestion about Sweeney Todd?” Mary said as the plates were cleared away.

Turpin looked at her with amusement. “Go on.”

“Well, I was thinking about this last night while you were talking between yourselves. The boy that works for Mrs Lovett - I thought I recognised him, but it took me a while to place him. I don’t know his name, but he used to work for another barber named Pirelli - he was a bit of a showman, I’d see him in the street sometimes entertaining customers. Right before Todd’s shop opened, Pirelli just stopped showing up. I didn’t think much of it; I supposed he’d left town. But it’s surprising that he didn’t take the boy with him. How he ended up with Mrs Lovett, I don’t know.”

“Maybe Barker got rid of the competition,” Elliott suggested. “The boy was left with no employer, so Lovett took him in. Or he lost his customers to Barker and couldn’t afford to keep the boy so he left town to find some new turf.”

“Boys are cheap,” Turpin reminded him. “Pirelli would have to lose everything not to afford him. It seems much more likely their separation was… unintentional.”

“Do you really think Barker might have killed Pirelli just because they were competition?” Mary asked. “Is that not a little extreme? I know you say he’s insane, Elliott, but… surely he would try that last, not first?”

“Don’t underestimate the capacity of men for evil, Miss Taylor,” Turpin said warningly. “They can do terrible things for reasons we can never understand.”

“Don’t scare her, cousin,” Elliott said. “We’re men too, you know.”

“Law-abiding men. I’m sure Miss Taylor sees that.”

“Of course, sir,” Mary said quickly. “I know of your reputation, my Lord, you show no mercy to men who commit crimes. I’d hardly expect you to commit any yourself — unless you intended on sentencing yourself to the gallows afterwards.”

Turpin chuckled and placed his hand over hers. His hand was large and it enveloped hers completely. It was also warm, and his touch sent a tingle down Mary’s spine.

“I’m flattered by your positive view of me, Miss Taylor. And I can assure you that my cousin would never harm a woman. Isn’t that right, Elliott?”

“Of course,” Elliott said, though his gaze was fixed firmly on Mary. “We’ve only known each other a short while, of course, Mary, but I’d hope —”

“I trust you.”

Elliott blinked, taken aback slightly by her swift response, but he smiled. “Good. It seems we all trust each other. And if we all work together, we can find something to pin on Barker. Send him back into your courtroom, cousin.”

“Yes, and I’ll deal with him properly this time,” Turpin said firmly. “If we can find some evidence to pin him to Pirelli’s disappearance, I’ll send him straight to the gallows, just as I should have done fifteen years ago.”

The day being Friday, Turpin had court to attend, leaving Mary and Elliott alone to concoct a plan.

“Are you alright?” Elliott asked Mary sincerely, guiding her to the sofa in the parlour room to sit with him. “I’m sure this must be frightening for you… I’m sorry, it’s my fault you’re caught up in this at all.”

“I’m alright, Elliott, really. I feel safe here with you and Lord Turpin. And now Tommy’s here too… so long as he’s safe, that’s all that matters to me.”

Elliott smiled. “Your love for your brother is really something, Mary, you know that?”

“Oh… well, he’s all I have. And I’m all he has. He was so small when our parents died, I - I had to protect him. Everything I do is for him… if I lost him, I’d have nothing.”

“Well, that’s not true anymore,” Elliott said warmly, placing his hand over hers. “You have me now. You both do. I promise you, Mary, I’ll keep you both safe. From Barker, from… anything.”

“You don’t need to do that, Elliott. You just invited me to dinner, you had no idea Barker would appear.”

“No, Mary, I…”

Elliott laughed incredulously at himself and shook his head.

“This is nothing to do with Barker, Mary. I know we met only two days ago, and perhaps you’ll think me as insane as Barker for saying this, but the moment I saw you in that shop, you felt… familiar, somehow. Like I’d known you but forgotten.”

“Elliott…”

He reached over with his free hand to cup her face.

“I have to confess, that kiss yesterday… it wasn’t entirely a pretense.”

“No, I… I didn’t think it was…” Mary confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’d like to kiss you again, if that’s alright.”

Mary nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Elliott’s lips were on hers again in an instant. He tasted like the black coffee he’d drunk with his breakfast. When he pressed his tongue against her lips, she parted them instinctively, allowing him entry to explore her mouth.

She had no idea what she was doing. Was she supposed to use her tongue too? She tried it, tentatively running her tongue over his; he seemed to like it, because a deep groan came from within his chest, and he wrapped an arm around her waist to push her onto her back.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I walked into that shop,” Elliott growled when their lips parted slightly as he climbed on top of her. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, but… mercy, you’re irresistible.”

His lips came down on her again, but instead of kissing her lips, he kissed her neck, exploring every inch of her he could find. The hand cradling her head crept down - towards her neckline - and Mary froze in shock when Elliott cupped her breast in his hand through the fabric of her borrowed dress.

“Elliott —”

“Mmm…”

His lips were moving dangerously further down her neck, the contrast of his soft lips and rough whiskers sending a shiver down Mary’s spine.

“I - I need to tell you something…”

Elliott detached his lips from her skin and raised his head to look at her, his eyes heavy with desire. Mary’s neck felt strangely empty all of a sudden, as if protesting his absence now that she knew what his presence felt like.

“The kiss yesterday… it was… well, it was my first.”

“Your first kiss?” Elliott repeated in surprise. “I find that hard to believe, a beautiful woman such as you. The boys must be lining up to kiss you.”

“One or two have tried but… I didn’t want to kiss them. I find myself wanting to kiss you, though.”

Elliott smiled smugly. His eyes flickered to her lips and back, then he said, “Mary, if you’ve not been kissed before… does that mean you’ve not been touched? And I don’t mean just any touch - I mean this.”

He squeezed the breast in his hand. Mary shook her head shyly.

“Fucking hell,” Elliott groaned, arousal coursing through his veins. He pressed his forehead against hers, trying to contain himself. “Are you a virgin, Mary?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her again then; he had to do something with the arousal that was driving him insane. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and he wasn’t certain of her age but she’d surely been a woman for some years now - how had no one claimed her yet?

Mary didn’t know what to do with herself. She liked Elliott - she liked him a lot - and she liked kissing him, liked having him on top of her, and she wanted, in time, to do more with him. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what the rock-hard bulge between his legs meant. Even through her skirt, she could feel it pressing against her thigh. She knew what Elliott wanted, and if it was going to happen, she wanted it to happen with him.

But… here? Now? They were on Judge Turpin’s sofa, and worse, they were unmarried. She didn’t want to just surrender her innocence to Elliott like this, as much as she liked him.

His lips were still on hers as one hand pushed her skirt up, exploring the skin of her leg as much as he could until he reached the edge of her bloomers. He took hold of the waistband, ready to pull them down, and it was only then that he pulled his lips away, only then that he gave her a chance to speak.

“Elliott… Elliott, this isn’t right, we’re not married…”

“I want you, Mary. Do you want me?”

“Yes, but —”

“But nothing. The Lord made humans to fuck, didn’t he? It’s the most natural thing a man and a woman can do. Marriage is a man-made concept.”

“Elliott, please, I want you but… not like this.”

“Shh, it’s alright,” he said soothingly, noticing the panic in her voice. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to save yourself for marriage, of course I’ll respect that. But… if you’ll allow me… there are other things we can do. Ways we can satisfy our desires while leaving your virginity untouched. Would you like me to show you?”

Mary had no idea what he was talking about, but she trusted him in all things, this included. She nodded, and Elliott’s eyes lit up with desire.

“Oh, the things I’ll teach you, Mary… if ever you want me to stop, you just say so, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now… where was I?”

He knew exactly where he was, because his hand hadn’t moved from its hold on her bloomers. He sat up slightly, hooked both thumbs under the waistband, and pulled her bloomers down past her ankles. He discarded them on the floor, then pushed her legs apart further, causing her skirt to fall back and reveal her private parts to him completely.

Mary felt a shiver of cold air between her legs as he exposed her, contrasting with the heat she could feel herself giving off. Elliott’s eyes were transfixed between her legs, and he must have liked what he saw, because he smiled hungrily.

Before Mary could ask what he intended to do, Elliott bent down again, but this time instead of going anywhere near her face, his lips connected with the skin of her inner thigh. Her skin there was sensitive, she discovered, and she let out an involuntary giggle as his moustache tickled her skin.

Elliott smirked at her response, his kisses ghosting up her thigh, before he stopped, hovering right above her mound. He glanced up at her.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No…”

“Good, because I desperately want to taste you.”

Mary was about to ask what he meant - had he not tasted her with every kiss already? - but she interrupted herself with a gasp when Elliott’s tongue darted out and licked a line through the hair down there, following the shape of the flesh buried underneath, and the gasp turned into a surprised “oh!” when he reached the top and, just for a moment, his tongue glanced over one particular spot that felt very good.

“Do that again,” Mary gasped.

She heard Elliott chuckle proudly, and he obeyed, his tongue delving a little deeper this time, lingering just a little longer, and when he reached that sweet spot at the top, he paused. He looked up at her expectantly, as if waiting for instruction.

“Just there, Elliott, please…”

He made a small, precise circle around the sensitive nub he’d found, and Mary let out a high pitched noise she didn’t know she was capable of making.

“More… please…”

That seemed to be the permission Elliott was waiting for, because he started moving his tongue against that sweet spot, but this time, he didn’t stop when she reacted. He kept going, sometimes changing his movements, from a circling motion to up and down to side to side, faster, slower, each time paying close attention to her reactions as he searched for the perfect way to please her.

He desperately wanted to slip his fingers inside her too, but that could wait. He’d promised to leave her cunt untouched, and so he would. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t play with the rest of her body as much as he liked.

Mary’s every nerve was on fire. She had no idea pleasure like this was even possible. She could feel her insides burning, her instincts begging her to let him take her, but she ignored them. Even without her trepeditions about sex before marriage - which were very quiet at the moment - she wasn’t sure she could handle even more pleasure.

The pleasure was building even now, coiling inside her, and she cried out as a wave of indescribable pleasure washed over her, causing her legs to shake; she grabbed onto the sofa cushions for purchase as the blissful feeling hit her again and again. It was incredible, and she never wanted it to end - she could die happily like this, Elliott’s face between her legs - but end it did, the waves of pleasure subsiding, and it was only when she exhaled and collapsed onto the sofa that Elliott stopped his movements and gave her some respite.

He sat up, looking down at her with a grin of pride across his face, along with some glistening substance that must have come from her. He wiped his face with his hand and licked it away, humming happily as if the stuff was ambrosia.

“Fucking incredible,” he murmured. “Oh, Mary, Mary, Mary… you’re going to be the death of me.”

“I… didn’t know I could do that,” Mary admitted.

Elliott laughed.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve got a lot to teach you. I’ll show you something else you can do too. But first, I need you to get on your knees.”

About half an hour had passed when Mary found herself in the bathroom, cleaning herself up. The stuff she hadn’t known she could make was all over her thighs and stuck between her pubic hairs, and although Elliott had pulled his cock out of her mouth before he finished, some of his seed still managed to get on her face, so she had to clean that up too.

She massaged her jaw as she wiped her face with a wet cloth. Elliott had promised that, with practice, she’d be able to take his cock in her mouth fully, but Mary was a little more sceptical. It was much bigger than she’d thought a cock would be, and even just taking some of it in her mouth had been enough of a challenge.

There was some of his seed on her chest, too; she’d have to change her dress. Hopefully Lord Turpin wouldn’t ask why she’d changed clothes when he came back from court.

What a strange situation she’d found herself in. Just two days ago, her life had been as it always had been; working in the shop from 6 in the morning to 8 at night, buying what food she could with her wages, and going back to Tommy in their bedsit to eat and turn in for the night.

Then, Elliott Marston walked into her shop, and everything had changed. She was no longer working - Lord Turpin had sent a message to Mrs Harris that she would be away for a while - and she was no longer starving either. Her diet had gone from half a loaf of bread on a good day to multiple full meals a day. Tommy was working in the kitchens, and Mary was living in the former room of Lord Turpin’s ward.

And… she had just done things with Elliott Marston she could never have imagined in a million years. She had had no idea about the nub between her legs - the clitoris, Elliott had called it - that apparently existed only to feel good. Much less had she known what pleasure a man’s tongue could elicit from her - or that she could bring him pleasure with her own mouth. All this, while preserving her virginity.

Was this normal for men and women to do outside of marriage? Would Lord Turpin expect it of her too? Images crossed her mind of Turpin with his head between her legs, his cock in her mouth…

She felt a tingling sensation between her legs at the thought, a sensation she was beginning to understand, and she tried to shake herself of the thoughts. Instead, she turned her focus back to what she and Elliott were supposed to be doing - brainstorming ideas to pin Sweeney Todd to the disappearance of Signor Pirelli.

When she came back downstairs and met Elliott again in Lord Turpin’s study, they were both looking far more presentable and not at all as if they’d just done what they had, and Mary had an idea.

---

Mr Todd, I write following a conversation with my cousin, Mr Elliott Marston, who has told me of your earnest wish to make amends following our previous disagreement at your tonsorial parlour. In light of this, I invite yourself, your neighbour Mrs Lovett and the young boy who works for you both to attend my house on Kearneys Lane for dinner tonight at 7 o’clock. Regards, Lord W. Turpin

“What do you think?” Elliott said once he’d finished drafting the letter for his cousin to sign. He handed it to Mary, who took it instinctively before she looked down at it, and hesitated.

“I, um… I don’t…”

“I know my handwriting’s messy, but it’s only a draft, isn’t it? I’m sure he’ll write it out much neater.”

“It’s not that. It’s just… I can’t read.”

“…Ah.”

“Sorry.”

Elliott shook his head and took the letter back. “No, don’t apologise. It’s my fault for assuming. Here, I’ll read it to you.”

He read it out to her, and Mary listened carefully, then nodded.

“Yes, I think that sounds good.”

“Can you really not read at all?”

“I can do numbers! I need to, for measurements. But words… no. Nothing.”

“Here. That’s my name.” Elliott pointed to his name in the draft letter.

“Why are some of the letters in there twice?”

“Do you know what… I don’t know. My mother taught me literacy, and that’s how she taught me to spell it. Perhaps I could teach you.”

“You’d teach me to read? Really?” Mary gasped.

“Of course,” Elliott chuckled. “And write too. How else are we to write to one another after I leave?”

Mary’s face fell slightly. She’d forgotten that Elliott was only in London temporarily.

“Here - why don’t I show you your name?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down to sit on his lap. He pulled out a clean sheet of paper and made some marks on it.

“There. That’s Mary. Now, there are two ways I’ve seen your surname spelt - which do you prefer?”

He wrote out Tailor and Taylor

“Oh, I like that one,” Mary said, pointing to Taylor. “I like the little curly thing.”

“That’s a Y. You have it in Mary too, see? It matches. Mary Taylor.”

“Can you show me what Tommy’s name looks like?”

“Of course. He has a Y like you, actually. And two letters, like me. Here.”

He wrote: Tommy Taylor

“This letter” - she pointed to the T - “is that the ‘tuh’ sound?”

“It is! Very good. You’re a smart girl, Mary.”

“Then why does it look different in your name?”

“What do you mean?”

Mary picked up the letter and pointed to the word Elliott had told her was his name.

“This one.” She pointed to the small t. “It’s got more of a curl at the bottom, and the line is in the middle instead of at the top.”

“Ah, well - there are uppercase and lowercase letters. Uppercase letters are used at the start of a sentence or a name.”

“Why?”

Elliott laughed. “Mary, you are asking questions I never thought to ask my mother, so I can’t say I know. It just is. Why don’t we start with the basics? I’ll show you the alphabet. There are twenty-six letters, which make different sounds, and sometimes that sound changes when certain letters are put together, but we’ll come to that later.”

“Well, I already know this one,” Mary said proudly.

She picked up the pencil and wrote out the letter T. She looked between her name and Tommy’s, trying to figure out the letter sounds.

“And… this one. That’s a ‘mm’ sound, right?”

She wrote out the letter M.

“Very good. But let’s start at the very beginning, there’s an order to the alphabet to help you remember…”

By the time Turpin came back from court, Mary had migrated from Elliott’s lap to her own chair, claiming that being so close to him was distracting her, and as much as he enjoyed having her on his lap, it surprised Elliott to realise that he enjoyed watching her enthusiasm for learning even more, so he let her pull up another chair to Turpin’s desk as she copied out the alphabet he had written out for her.

He kept his hand on her knee, though. There had to be some compromise, after all.

“Not using up all my good ink, I hope,” Turpin commented with wry amusement when he walked into his study to find Elliott and Mary concentrating hard on something she was writing.

“No, we’re using pencil. I hope you don’t mind, cousin. Mary was eager to learn her letters when I offered.”

“Her letters?” Turpin repeated. He crossed the room and looked down at the paper Mary was concentrating so hard on.

He scoffed. She was writing the alphabet.

“Are you illiterate, Miss Taylor? At your age?”

“Not everyone has access to education, cousin,” Elliott reminded him firmly.

“Hm, I suppose not. I hear Forster’s keen to get all children in school soon, though. Your brother might see the benefit of that, but I suppose you’re too old for any educational reform now. How old are you, Miss Taylor?”

“Oh, um… honestly, I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know,” Turpin repeated sardonically. “You don’t know how to read or write, you don’t know your own age — is there anything you do know, or is your sole purpose in this life to look pretty?”

Mary ducked her head in embarrassment, but Elliott placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Look, I don’t know who or what’s pissed you off today, but insulting Mary’s not going to achieve anything. She’s a smart girl, she’s picked up half the alphabet already, and she’s the one who’s come up with a brilliant idea to help you deal with Barker.”

Turpin raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And what plan’s that?”

“Write this letter out in your own handwriting,” Elliott explained, handing his cousin the draft letter. “We’ll have it delivered in the late afternoon tomorrow. You and I will entertain them here while Mary and Tommy sneak into Todd’s parlour to look for evidence.”

Turpin read the letter through, then tossed it back on the desk.

“Very well. It’s not a terrible idea. I’ll write it out shortly — first, I need a drink. It’s been a long day. Would you like one, Elliott?”

“Go on, then,” Elliott said. He pointed Mary to the next letter in her alphabet. “Keep going, Mary.”

Turpin looked at Mary as he brought a glass of whiskey over to Elliott.

“Look at me a moment, Miss Taylor.”

Mary looked up, wondering if she was about to be berated for something else. Turpin looked at her curiously for a few moments.

“Hmm. I’d say you’re a few years older than Johanna. She’s fifteen, so… seventeen at the youngest, I think. No older than twenty, certainly.”

“Yes, I was thinking eighteen,” Elliott said.

“Old enough to marry. Have you no suitors, Miss Taylor?”

Mary blushed under Turpin’s intense gaze, wondering if he’d somehow figured out what had happened after he’d left for court that morning.

“Oh, um… no, my Lord. No one’s expressed interest, sir.”

Turpin swirled the liquid in his glass thoughtfully. “Really? A beautiful woman like you?”

“Well, I work a lot, sir. I don’t have time for courting. And if I did… Tommy may be my brother, but I might as well be his mother. I don’t think anyone of my - my station would want to take on the responsibility of a child that’s not his.”

“Boys are easy to look after,” Turpin scoffed. “I’d just put him to work — as I’ve already done. A small price to pay for the hand of a beautiful woman.”

He took a long swig of his drink.

“Well, I’ll get this letter written out. To deliver late tomorrow afternoon, yes? Why so specific a time?”

“If we give it to him too early, he’ll have time to wonder the sincerity,” Mary explained, “and he might think to hide any evidence. But if it’s delivered just a few hours before, they’ll both be too busy getting their shops closed in time to think about it before coming.”

“Hm. That’s not completely daft thinking, I suppose. Alright, out of my way, you two, let me write this out.”

“That’s the highest form of praise you’ll get from him,” Elliott said with a jest to Mary as they tidied up and moved out of the way for Turpin to sit down. “‘Not completely daft’ is his way of saying ‘you’re brilliant, Mary.’”

She laughed, and as Mary followed Elliott to the armchairs by the fire, Turpin said, “When you do something brilliant, Miss Taylor, I’ll be sure to tell you. Elliott’s only never heard such words from me because he’s never earned them.”

Ignoring him, Elliott instead paid attention to Mary and asked, “Does eighteen sound about right to you?”

“Hmm… I suppose so. I don’t know when my birthday is, so it’s hard to track.”

“You don’t know your birthday? Did your parents never celebrate it before they died?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what the date was. Oh, but I know when Tommy’s birthday is! I remember because he was born on Easter Sunday and Pa made a joke about him being Jesus born again. What day is Easter on?”

“It changes every year,” Turpin replied from the other side of the room. “It’s the first Sunday after the full moon that occurs on or after the spring equinox. Do you know what year he was born?”

“I’ve kept count, he’s had ten birthdays! Though we’ve always celebrated his birthday on Easter Sunday, I didn’t realise it changed every year…”

“1853, then,” Elliott said, doing the maths before Turpin could berate Mary for not knowing what year it was ten years ago. “Do you know when Easter Sunday was in ‘53, cousin?”

“Of course I bloody don’t,” Turpin snapped. “I’ll ask at church on Sunday, I’m sure they’ll have a record. Now, stop talking, you’re distracting me.”

Elliott glanced at Mary with amusement, though she was clearly much less amused by Lord Turpin’s irritability than he was. Every time he snapped, Elliott had noticed, Mary looked upset, even if it wasn’t her he was angry at, as if she wanted desperately to please him and any hint of his displeasure was a personal failing of hers.

He pulled forward the small table that sat between the two chairs and put it in front of Mary with her almost-finished alphabet. Grateful for the distraction, Mary went back to writing out the rest of the letters, starting with the funny swirl that looked like a hook, which Elliott told her quietly was an S.

“S as in silence,” Turpin barked from his desk, and when Elliott smiled with amusement, Mary couldn’t help smiling too.

“S as in smile,” Elliott said, softer, choosing to ignore his cousin. “Like the pretty smile you have.”

Mary blushed, and neither of them noticed the way Turpin glanced up when he heard Elliott’s comment, his eyes narrowing.

He had hoped he had time to allow Mary to come to him, but from the way she was blushing at Elliott’s simple compliment, Turpin realised that, if he wanted her, he had to act sooner rather than later.

#alan rickman #sweeney todd #quigely down under #judge turpin #elliott marston #die with a smile

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