Sweeney Todd fic snippet
I haven't posted any fic for aaages, and it's not for want of trying to write it. Where's my muse gone? Still, what I have written recently is this pair of scenes, and I've decided to post it on its own because I'm too pleased with the scenario of Mrs Lovett as Johanna's wicked stepmother to leave it languishing on my hard drive, even though I don't have enough material to flesh it out into a story of its own (Johanna does not feature in the AU post-film fic that I'm actually working on). So, fic: post-film, Sweeney's restructured family confronts itself.
“What did you do with my mother?”
Her father’s face darkened and she shrank back, thinking he would strike her, but he only said, almost choking on the words, “Nothing. I would never, ever have harmed her. She -” He looked to his present wife, who was pasting photographs into an album and ignoring the altercation between her husband and his daughter. “Haven’t you ever told her?”
“Not my place, love,” Mrs Todd said evenly.
“Tell her now.” With that he walked away to the window.
Mrs Todd hesitated, glanced at Johanna’s father, and took up two or three loose photographs and reordered them to her liking before she spoke. Then she said flatly, “Your Judge Turpin wanted your mother for his own. When she wouldn’t have him on account of already being married to your father, he got your father transported on a trumped-up charge. When she still wouldn’t take him, he had his way with her anyway and in the end your mother poisoned herself.”
This was so unlike the horrors Johanna had imagined that for a moment she was almost relieved. Almost, and only until what she had heard began to sink in. “Poisoned -”
Her stepmother wouldn’t meet her eye.
“He wanted my mother first?” Fresh revulsion bubbled up over the old. “And that was why you were sent away?” she said, addressing her father. “I thought - it must have been because you harmed her.”
At that he shuddered so violently he had to put a hand on the window frame to steady himself. Mrs Todd set down her album and went to him. “Go on,” she said to Johanna, jerking her head at the door. “You’ve upset him enough.”
“I upset him!”
Neither answered her. Her father seemed quite unable to speak; his wife was occupied in rubbing his arm and murmuring to him. Johanna went.
*
There was more, much more, that she wanted to ask her father, but could not. She could not bear that way he had of looking at her as if he wanted to say something, had something of the greatest import to tell her, without ever speaking. More than that, she was afraid of him. His wife, on the other hand, talked more than enough.
“Oh, he only ever did for that Judge Turpin. You can’t blame him for that, can you? For wanting to do in the man who had made him and you suffer so much?”
In fact, Johanna had many times throughout her childhood wished for a weapon of her own, had even contemplated taking the pins from her pin-cushion and sticking them in an effigy, as some heathens were said to do. But Turpin’s was not the only murder she had seen committed.
“What about the beggar-woman?”
Mrs Todd’s expression became guarded. “Beggar-woman?”
“Before the Judge came to the shop ... there was a woman there. My father happened upon her, and -” She shuddered as if the blade were slicing her own flesh.
“Oh. Well, you can’t blame him, can you,” she asked a second time, “if he got a bit distracted now and again?”
A bit distracted! Now and again! Johanna stared at her, but Mrs Todd was warming to her theme.
“Besides, it’s more of a kindness than anything, to put a creature like that out of her misery, and you needn’t worry, he’d never hurt a woman in the ordinary way of things. Still, I wouldn’t remind him of it if I were you. Run along now.”
*
“Dearest Anthony,” Johanna wrote later, “I believe I need you now more than ever.”
“What did you do with my mother?”
Her father’s face darkened and she shrank back, thinking he would strike her, but he only said, almost choking on the words, “Nothing. I would never, ever have harmed her. She -” He looked to his present wife, who was pasting photographs into an album and ignoring the altercation between her husband and his daughter. “Haven’t you ever told her?”
“Not my place, love,” Mrs Todd said evenly.
“Tell her now.” With that he walked away to the window.
Mrs Todd hesitated, glanced at Johanna’s father, and took up two or three loose photographs and reordered them to her liking before she spoke. Then she said flatly, “Your Judge Turpin wanted your mother for his own. When she wouldn’t have him on account of already being married to your father, he got your father transported on a trumped-up charge. When she still wouldn’t take him, he had his way with her anyway and in the end your mother poisoned herself.”
This was so unlike the horrors Johanna had imagined that for a moment she was almost relieved. Almost, and only until what she had heard began to sink in. “Poisoned -”
Her stepmother wouldn’t meet her eye.
“He wanted my mother first?” Fresh revulsion bubbled up over the old. “And that was why you were sent away?” she said, addressing her father. “I thought - it must have been because you harmed her.”
At that he shuddered so violently he had to put a hand on the window frame to steady himself. Mrs Todd set down her album and went to him. “Go on,” she said to Johanna, jerking her head at the door. “You’ve upset him enough.”
“I upset him!”
Neither answered her. Her father seemed quite unable to speak; his wife was occupied in rubbing his arm and murmuring to him. Johanna went.
*
There was more, much more, that she wanted to ask her father, but could not. She could not bear that way he had of looking at her as if he wanted to say something, had something of the greatest import to tell her, without ever speaking. More than that, she was afraid of him. His wife, on the other hand, talked more than enough.
“Oh, he only ever did for that Judge Turpin. You can’t blame him for that, can you? For wanting to do in the man who had made him and you suffer so much?”
In fact, Johanna had many times throughout her childhood wished for a weapon of her own, had even contemplated taking the pins from her pin-cushion and sticking them in an effigy, as some heathens were said to do. But Turpin’s was not the only murder she had seen committed.
“What about the beggar-woman?”
Mrs Todd’s expression became guarded. “Beggar-woman?”
“Before the Judge came to the shop ... there was a woman there. My father happened upon her, and -” She shuddered as if the blade were slicing her own flesh.
“Oh. Well, you can’t blame him, can you,” she asked a second time, “if he got a bit distracted now and again?”
A bit distracted! Now and again! Johanna stared at her, but Mrs Todd was warming to her theme.
“Besides, it’s more of a kindness than anything, to put a creature like that out of her misery, and you needn’t worry, he’d never hurt a woman in the ordinary way of things. Still, I wouldn’t remind him of it if I were you. Run along now.”
*
“Dearest Anthony,” Johanna wrote later, “I believe I need you now more than ever.”