"ashes to ashes, dust to dust, forever and always amen."
Having finished the prayer the Reverend made the sign of the cross and signalled the six strong team of undertakers to begin lowering the coffin into the ground. Raising her black handkerchief Eleanor Lovett used it to smother an irreverent giggle as the six burly men sweated buckets trying to slowly lower her Albert's bulky coffin into the ground, their strong biceps tense as they kept a firm grip on the ropes which creaked ominously under the late Mr Lovett's massive weight. Then taking her cue from the vicar she grasped a handful of earth tossing it down into the open grave, watching beneath her dark veil as her so called friends and kindly neighbours followed her lead. Friends that was a joke indeed and one that the new Widow Lovett did not find amusing in the least; vultures, voyeuristic scavengers, that's what they were.
In the last six months of her husband's life, when his leg had finally given out with gout and he had been bedridden, well chair-ridden, not once had any of them called round to offer her a friendly ear, or offer to sit with him to give her a chance to rest; yet now here they were. The good people of Fleet Street, all crowded round the graveside their greedy beady eyes taking note of every detail, hmm oak coffin, and six undertakers, expensive and her without any income coming in... must have gone into debt up to her eyebrows either that or hocked her every possession. And the fact that she a woman was at the graveside at all clearly shocked those good men of business in the extreme, it simply wasn't done, it wasn't appropriate; it wasn't fitting for a lady. Nellie Lovett could see the speculation behind the eyes of those good and noble London merchants, she could feel their hot lecherous gazes as these bastions of the community wondered what other unladylike habits the Widow Lovett indulged in, well they could just keep on wondering the bastards.
Biting her tongue she stood by her husband's graveside and swallowed down the snide remarks that sprang to mind as each of her neighbours sidled up to express their heartfelt condolences. Yet their false pity was nothing when compared the vile oiliness of Beadle Bamford. The short, rotund, balding Beadle stood as if awaiting her heartfelt gush of gratitude, his small beady eyes raking up and down her tightly corseted figure as he disturbingly fondled his Beadle staff.
"My dear Mrs Lovett may I be the first to offer my most sincere sympathies on your loss." He sleazed, false concern oozing from his tone like a bad actor, as he leaned forward and patted Nellie's hand patronisingly. The stink of his cologne assaulting her nostrils and his fake sympathy clear as day to her as his gaze fell from her own to settle on her tightly bound bosom. "If there is anything I can do for you my dear, a friendly ear, a reassuring arm...." He added quietly for her ears alone, his pretence at condolence undermined as his hot sticky eyes remained locked on her ample breasts. "You will find me your most dependable of friends."
Forcing a tight fake smile on to her face Eleanor choked back the feeling of nausea. "You are too kind sir to trouble yourself with my problems..."
"Well I am a kind man Mrs Lovett; it is a burden really this soft heart of mine, so few people seem to understand the weights I carry..." The beadle interrupted his cloying breath hot and sickening on her cheek. "Perhaps later this week I can pop round and see how you are faring, make sure you have everything you need. I understand how overwhelming it must be to suddenly be all alone no strong man to support you."
Not trusting herself to speak Nellie settled for dabbing at her dry eyes with her handkerchief and faking a few sobs. Panicked by her immanent breakdown and clearly afraid he was going to be lumbered with a bawling female Beadle Bamford backed away quickly. "Well perhaps the week after next would be better I wouldn't want to intrude on your grief."
Smirking behind her hand Eleanor watched the odious little man waddle away as fast as his short stumpy legs could carry him. 'In your dreams you bastard' Nellie thought maliciously, 'just try any of that nonsense with me sunshine and I'll be happy to introduce your wide wobbly arse to a nice firm swipe from my best marble rolling pin'.
It didn't take long for the rest of the mourners to follow the Beadle's example and leave, leaving the Widow Lovett all alone by her husband's grave as the diggers came along and slowly filled up the hole. Eleanor stood and watched them work, not from any overwhelming sense of duty to her recently departed husband but more due to the fact that for the first time in years she had no idea what to do. Ever since she was a child there had always been someone telling her what to do, her mother scolding her to attend to her chores, her father pressing her into accepting Albert's attentions, then her husband's business and lately his ever expanding waistline and sickness demanding her time. Now there was no one, her parents had been dead these last five years, her Albert was finally gone, even her tenants had been carted off either through deportation or madness and the prospect of a silent empty parlour kept her from simply returning home. No children to keep her going, her old friends scattered to the winds, at twenty eight years old there was not a single soul alive who cared for her and the only flickering ember in her own heart was for a ghost, a man who was probably dead and even when he lived had barely noticed her.
Wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders to ward off the growing chill Nellie let her feet take her where they may, her heels clattering over the cobbles as she wandered familiar streets her eyes glazed until a rough shove and a muttered curse drew her from herself. Glancing around at the sudden riot of colour Nellie immediately recognised the splendour of the Covent Garden flower market in full swing. Breathing deeply she enjoyed the fresh heady scents so different from the heavy smell of smog that clung to London's streets. Wandering from stall to stall she spied the exotic hot housed roses, orchids, and full bloomed camellia's but it was the simply white headed daisies that had her reaching for her almost empty money bag. Their innocent little faces shining up at her reminding her of a certain barber who whenever he would surprise his lovely Lucy with an exotic bloom never forgot the handful of white headed daisies that brought such childlike glee to his landlady's face. She knew it wasn't sensible as she handed over a few of her last pennies, Albert would have scolded her, but as she buried her face in their white petals and breathed in that soft scent that hinted of more innocent times, times spent frolicking with childhood playmates in the spring grass or those few precious days of snatched holidays by the sea with her Aunt, Nellie couldn't bring herself to care about the expense.
Stroking the soft blooms Nellie was able to block out the noise and overbearing presence of the bustling market. For a moment she was able ignore the babble of the crowd and harsh cockney rasp of the flower sellers and perhaps it was a trick of her mind but for one moment she heard the gentle roll and rush of the waves on a pebbly beach and she felt completely at peace until the hairs at the base of her neck began to prickle and she gained the unerring sense of being stared at. Glancing up suddenly her eyes locked with another's, a pair of eyes so achingly familiar one moment and the next so different, eyes that seemed to reflect back her own loneliness, eyes that seemed dull and lifeless as if the owners had lost all hope, that spoke of nights filled with demons of midnight terrors...Eyes that were far to old for the young fresh face that held them, they were his eyes staring out of her face, and they seemed to call to her as a kindred spirit. Blinking Nellie took in the fine carriage, the ornate furnishings, the plum damask curtains and the bolted door; a gilded prison.
Crossing the marketplace Nellie stopped a few feet from the carriage and it's young captive whose gaze hadn't left hers for a moment, and now she was closer she could something else, the child's eyes weren't completely dull there was a brief flicker of something be it hunger or hope Nellie wasn't sure. Smiling softly Nellie plucked the finest stem from her bunch and reaching up offered it to the silent child who tentatively reached out to take it her hand trembling as if expecting a slap or chastisement. 'Thank you' the child mouthed as she cradled the delicate bloom in her hand before hiding it in her sleeve, her eyes flickering in panic over her shoulder when a deep gruff voice demanded the driver move on.
For as long as she was able Nellie kept her eyes locked on the departing carriage, her mind mulling over what she had seen and the very deep resonance she had felt reflected in that child's eyes. Then suddenly as if the idea had been sent from above, it blazed hot and instantly through her mind, at once shocking and daring and causing her pulse to race in a way nothing had in years. It was insane, reckless but the only thing she could think of and somehow she was going to make it happen.
She was going to steal back Joanna Barker.