Disclaimer: I do not own the characters herewith.
Author's Note: This story follows the characters pre-movie until Eleanor gets thrown into the oven. Chapter one of however many it takes to finish the story. Sweenett, all the way through.
Silver's Good Enough For Me
Jessica
Chapter One: The Lily and the Pinecone
Lucy Pritchard had never liked her cousin very much. They had been tutored together by the same man, in the same house, for most of their childhoods and teenage years. They had always been polite, as custom dictated, but never friends. No, pretty golden-haired Lucy had never had much time for Eleanor Pearce, her mother's sister's only daughter. She had heard it said that she and Eleanor were a pair of beauties, but Lucy had never considered red hair to be a mark of beauty. And red-haired Eleanor was, the product of her British mother and a Spanish tailor who died soon after the little girl was weaned. The mother had reverted back to her maiden name, changing her daughter's with it, for fear that a Spanish last name might do them some disadvantages in xenophobic London. She and her little daughter had returned to the family home in Essex before being invited to live with the Pritchards when Eleanor was eight. In this way the golden Pritchard girl and the coppery Pearce girl became acquainted.
Initially, Lucy had been horrified at her cousin's deportment, always swinging around the stair banister and speaking quite out of turn. Too, Eleanor was infuriatingly smart and both girls were locked in constant competition in the schoolroom. One was always trying to outdo the other, much to the amusement of the tutor, Mr. Bath.
For her own part, Eleanor Pearce had never been one to contemplate her reflection. She was beautiful, according to many sources, and it warmed her soul to hear it when she had such a perfect golden beauty for a cousin. Lucy was admired by all for her gentle soul and yellow hair. Eleanor was darker, her face heart-shaped, her eyebrows strong. She took the time, as she got older, to pluck them into dark arches, lending her face an air of insouciance that her manners, though grown more demure, still displayed. Her red hair often escaped its orderly braids and twists in eccentric curls, and she was forever pinning this or that strand back into place. Lucy never had that problem, no. Not golden Lucy, whose hair was fine as spun silk, thick as waves of wheat, whose hair always stayed in its low loop. They would always be unequal.
"Nellie, get away from the mirror!"
Eleanor snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of her cousin's voice. She turned her head to look at the girl. At seventeen Lucy Pritchard was ever more beautiful, dressed in a gown of pale rose with her yellow hair left loose. She looked like an angel just standing on the stairs. A shaft of sunlight painted half of her in its glow. Lucky Lucy. "Mr. Bath is here and Mother will scold if we're late."
Eleanor took one last glance at herself in the hallway mirror, straightened her hair, and hurried off. Her aunt had a sharp tongue, and Eleanor often bore the brunt of it when she and Lucy got into mischief since golden Lucy could do no wrong. She went quickly down the steps, rather louder than she had intended, her dress pulled hastily out of her way.
She could see her reflection in the mirrored walls of the hallway as she passed through; mirror, marble, mirror, marble, flashes of herself going by. She turned her head to observe herself. She looked pretty, as pretty as Lucy. Her dress wasn't pale or angelic; rather she preferred jewel tones and somber colors, to set her pale skin off to advantage. No matter what Lucy thought of her, Eleanor was aware of herself as a woman. Today she was wearing a dusty green dress, cinched tightly to show off her tiny waist, her breasts pushed high. In deference to propriety she had added a lace collar, but it hadn't stayed and so she had abandoned it. Her hair was pulled back to cascade down her back in curls, curls that had taken hours and much frustration.
"Good afternoon, Miss Eleanor," the tutor said as she swept into the room, disturbing Lucy's neat pile of quills.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Bath," Eleanor said, giving him a slight curtsey as she'd been taught to do. She plucked a quill from Lucy's pile and they settled into their lessons: math, spelling, catechism, geography, history, French. Education was her family's vanity, at least with the Pritchards. If they could not be aristocracy (and Eleanor certainly could not, what with her widowed mother and her Spanish blood), they could at least act like it. The Pritchard house was large and well-appointed, with stables and a courtyard. Both Eleanor and Lucy were proficient horsewomen and while Eleanor certainly enjoyed it more, Lucy liked to display herself on her sidesiddle along Rotten Row just as often. Eleanor preferred to risk her mother and her aunt's fury and gallop astride through as many muddy fields as she could. Typical, really, of a tomboy of the day. Her mother despaired, her aunt tutted, her cousin mocked.
All of this changed one day when he came to the house. The young barber with the black eyes and black hair. He had startled her on the stair; she was sneaking bonbons from the trays laid out in the sitting room and had dropped them all with a gasp when she saw him step into the house. He had smiled, a bright, open smile, and said, "Excuse me, miss, I didn't intend to make your drop those." And he had gathered them all for her, putting them into her hands with an apologetic, "I suppose those won't be good anymore, sorry, miss."
"Who are you?" Eleanor managed at last, sounding rather shriller than she'd intended.
He looked momentarily surprised. "Benjamin Barker. At your service, miss." When she didn't react, he added, "I'm here for Miss Lucy?"
"Oh! Uh, yes!" Eleanor shook herself. "I'm sorry, my cousin. I'll... go get her, shall I?" And she took herself up the stairs in a hurry, dazed. Here for Lucy?
"Lucy!" she said in a loud whisper, leaning into her cousin's room. "There's a young man here for you!"
Lucy turned from her mirror, smiling delightedly. "Is it Benjamin?" She looked ecstatic.
"Er, yes," Eleanor said. "Who is he?"
"A suitor!" Lucy said, excitedly grabbing her cousin's hands. "Oh, Nell, do I look beautiful?"
Eleanor frowned. Everyone told her that all the time. "Of course," she said, a little brusquely. "Why isn't Aunt here? You should be chaperoned."
Lucy smiled. "I don't care," she said simply, and left her red-headed cousin to hang over the banister and wonder jealously how she had managed to get such a nice young man to visit her without a chaperone. Surely he was more of a gentleman than that.
The sound of a delighted shriek and contented sigh from the floor below made her think that maybe he was not. She felt a little thrill and thought too that she would like that just as much.
Lucy had everything, she reflected bitterly as she went to throw the bonbons out her window into the garden. Pale skin, golden hair, blue eyes... and here she was, her first cousin, as different as a lily from a pinecone. No matter how long she walked in the sun, her hair never lightened from its reddish shade. She ended up brown as a nut, which forced her aunt to keep her in the house for two weeks until she was back to her sugar-white self. Lucy never set foot in the sun unprotected. She always had a bonnet tied prettily over her neat hair, her sweet eyes shaded by cottons and muslins and lace.
Another burst of laughter, his this time, came floating from the garden. Eleanor watched as they came into view, Lucy on his arm like a perfect wife. Her frown relaxed and she took him in greedily. He was lovely, his burnished leather overcoat displaying his fine figure, down to his polished boots. His hair was smooth, his face clean-shaven, his eyes dark, and she liked that. And he was here for Lucy. So she turned away from the sight of them and sat slowly at her small upright piano, her fingers sliding along the keys. Another facet of her lady's education; the piano, and singing. Lucy was miserable at singing, which made Eleanor inwardly exultant, for finally, finally there was something she was best at. Eleanor herself had a talent for the piano and a pure voice, which, while not destined for Bayreuth, was pleasant to listen to and she was often exhorted to sing at gatherings.
She pressed down, a small melody issuing from her fingers. It was simple, not based in any repertoire, just the work of idle hands. She elaborated on it until she grew bored. By then Lucy and Benjamin were gone from the garden and it was quiet. Eleanor sighed, got up, and stood by the window again. The garden was still.
"Miss!"
Eleanor frowned, leaning out the window to see who was calling. She craned her neck to look past the bushes, and there he was.
He was standing below her window, looking up. He waved, once, tentatively. "Hello," Eleanor said, a bit puzzled. "How did you know I was up here?"
"Your music," he answered. "Who are you?"
Eleanor smiled despite herself. "Lucy's cousin."
He smiled back. "I meant your name."
"I know." Eleanor couldn't help leaning over just a touch more; this gown was so becoming on her. She allowed her red curls to fall over a shoulder. "My name is Eleanor. Eleanor Pearce."
He bowed to her, his black eyes dancing. "You're very beautiful." And then he was gone.
Eleanor shut the window as Lucy burst into the room. "He's perfect!" was her first breathless exclamation. "Oh, Nellie, he's perfect for me." She looked rapturous.
Eleanor swallowed her immediate, nauseating flash of jealousy. She smiled thinly, feeling her face drain of color. "That's lovely," she said. "He looks like a nice young man."
"You look pale, Nell, are you all right?" Instantly Lucy was all concern for her cousin, feeling magnanimous in her glow of excitement.
"I'm fine," Eleanor said, rather faintly. "Really. I leaned out the window a little too far and almost fell." She smoothed her hands over her skirts. "So is he going to marry you?"
"Oh, I hope so!" Lucy said, clasping her hands together in a gesture Eleanor found to be soppily romantic. She disapproved.
"I hope he does, and that we have our own house just like this, and that we live happily ever after--"
"Oh, bollocks," Eleanor said, causing Lucy to cover her mouth in ladylike shock. "Happily ever after? You've been reading novels again."
"So have you!" Lucy retorted. "And really, Nell, you shouldn't swear. You sound like a man."
"I don't care," Eleanor said defiantly, but she was hurt. Her cousin's opinion mattered more to her than she cared to admit, and when it wasn't favorable, especially in light of the day's events, she felt it keenly. She wanted to be beautiful and golden and have Benjamin Barker wait on her and make her smile. "And anyway, at least I understand that they're just stories. There's no such thing as a novel ending."
Lucy harrumphed and went out of the room, leaving Eleanor to sit heavily down in the window seat and imagine the young man still in the garden below her.
In the next six months, Lucy and Eleanor turned eighteen and Benjamin Barker asked Lucy to be his wife. On that day, when Lucy came bursting into Eleanor's room, startling the red-headed girl out of her reading, displaying a ruby ring, Eleanor thought she had never seen a person so happy in her life. She had been nothing but polite to Benjamin, disregarding a few small indelicacies that included racing him in the main meadow on the Pritchard property, hiding his carved box full of razors when he was distracted with Lucy in some private nook or other, and once, daring him to swing from one side of the brook bordering the Pritchards' pastures and the woods to the other, using only an old rope that had held up a tree swing when she and Lucy were girls. This he had done, obligingly, laughing when she held the rope out of his reach so he could not return. Half of her thought she might just leave him there, out of spite and to punish him just a little for wanting Lucy and not her. But in the end she had relented, swinging the rope back towards him and turning to go as he landed safely. He had been puzzled with her reaction but she had refused to answer any questions concerning it, and in time he dismissed it. Anyway, he had asked Lucy to marry him and she had accepted. Now she wore his ruby ring and plans were being planned.
He noticed Eleanor's wide-eyed look of envy many times and sought to make her feel less so. But she gently refused any courtesies he tried to show her beyond the most proprietary ones, and kept her distance from him. She had fallen violently in love with her cousin's fiance, a bad offense that would make her mother very unhappy and very angry.
But in time, she too had her own suitor. His name was Albert Lovett and he arrived four months before Benjamin and Lucy's wedding. He was thirty-four, sixteen years older than Eleanor and Lucy, a butcher, and comparatively well-off. He was also fat, bald as an egg and sported an impressive mustache that neither girl liked. Eleanor was soon to learn, however, that this was less of a courtship and more of an arrangement. Her mother would not listen to her pleas not to be made to marry so young, pointing out that Lucy was eighteen and Mr. Barker twenty-five and Lucy did not complain. Moreover, he would take her with a small dowry and could provide her a home next to his shop. And so, with tears in her eyes, Eleanor accepted his proposal. Albert took it for maidenly fear, and gave her an emerald ring in honor of their engagement.
That night, Eleanor wept for her lost chance at love. Lucy came in to embrace her, and, feeling desolate, Eleanor accepted, though it was at Lucy that she was angry. Lucky Lucy, golden Lucy, perfect Lucy, who had the perfect man and was proving to her that novel endings did indeed exist. Soon there would be golden babies, Eleanor thought despairingly, and a beautiful home, and visitors and servants and bliss. She could hope for none of that. Albert kept a modest house, though he had already bought her several new dresses. They were finer than the ones she had, and made her look older than her eighteen years. WIth a smile, Albert had pronounced her "quite wifely," and departed. Benjamin and Lucy had four months until their wedding, Eleanor six. Then both girls would be married off and the household would settle into the calm activities of older society.
Lucy and Benjamin were married in May, on a beautiful sunny afternoon in the Pritchard chapel. It was a simple ceremony with a simple dinner afterwards. Eleanor was breathless with exhaustion, having spent the entire morning helping Lucy get ready before managing to get herself into her own gown, this one a deep burgundy like good wine. She piled her hair on top of her head and laced roses from the garden into the mass of curls, She inspected herself closely in the mirror, fighting back the tears she was still able to shed over her lucky cousin's fate. She would not cry today, not today, when she had to prove to the world she was content with her fate and with her cousin's.
She was Lucy's only bridesmaid, and so was on display the entire time. Lucy looked radiant in her ivory gown, her face covered with a gauzy veil, her eyes glowing. Benjamin was similarly radiant, leaning to kiss his new wife with a barely-contained glee that made everyone laugh. Everyone except Eleanor, who managed a smile and a nod when Benjamin glanced her way. She left the wedding supper as quickly as was decent, to go walk in the meadow by the brook and cry the way she needed to.
The music went on faintly behind her, the wedding party dancing and singing like a perfect little vignette. When she was far away enough that she was sure she couldn't be seen, Eleanor let her tears go. It was ugly, a crying that pulled her lips back from her teeth and forced her breath from her in short gasps. She covered her face, heedless of the roses in her hair, which was slowly falling out of its pins anyway.
"Eleanor?"
With a choke, Eleanor looked up, mortified. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears, her hair in disarray, she was in no fit state to be seen-- and there was the groom himself, looking perturbed that she should be so unhappy on the happiest day of his life.
"Why are you crying?" He knelt down in front of her. "It's a happy day."
"Why aren't you at the party?" she asked.
"I told them I was going to take a piss," he said jocularly, trying to exercise their former familiarity before this wedding rose up and turned her from a friend into an acquaintance. She couldn't laugh.
"Come on, Nell," he said, taking her chin in his hand. "Smile for me. I'm married."
The last two words made her eyes overflow, but because he had asked her to smile, she did. "You'll break my heart looking like that, you will," he said. "Will you dance with me when we get back?"
Eleanor nodded, attempting to pin her hair back up in some semblance of order. "No," Benjamin said, stopping her hand. "I like it when it's loose. Just leave it." He held out a hand and helped her to her feet. "You go back first. Albert'll be looking for you."
So she did. Eleanor spent the rest of the day dancing and laughing as she was expected to. She did give Benjamin his dance, during which he whispered, "Albert's a lucky man. When you go to him like this on your wedding night you'll shower him in rose petals."
The image of her being undressed and roses tumbling from the folds of her gown and her hair was far too domestic, much too erotic for Eleanor to think of. She blushed as red as her dress and turned her face away, whispering, "Mr. Barker, please."
The dance finished and she gave him the customary curtsey before hurrying back to Albert's side as was expected. He was uncomfortably hot, even in the mild May weather, and didn't want to dance, though he gave his young fiancee his blessing to do whatever she pleased, so long as she remembered the emerald on her finger.
In addition to dancing wildly, Eleanor consumed more champagne that day than was strictly proper, and ended up stumbling back to her room after saying a hasty, unsteady goodbye to her fiance, and fell into her bed with a groan. She didn't even bother unlacing her corset, though it was very tight.
As of this night Lucy would no longer be across the hallway in her room. Eleanor felt a confusing mix of emotions at this fact; for one, she would miss the companionship of a girl her own age, no matter if it wasn't always friendly. For another, now she was the daughter of the house and the next bride, for which she should have been excited. She wasn't, of course. She was vilely, blackly jealous of her lovely cousin, almost sick with it. The accompanying surge of love and bitter disappointment made her retch a little (or perhaps it was the champagne) as she thought of Benjamin Barker, so handsome in his tails and tie, his black hair neatly combed, his lovely angular face clean-shaven. She wished it were him she would be showering with roses on their wedding night. Albert was nice enough, but not an affectionate man by nature, she was discovering. This would be a marriage of convenience. Moreover, she had managed to convince herself that she could make the best of the situation by being a model wife, and was hoping that eventually he'd come 'round to it. She fancied she'd never be as happy as Lucy, not ever, but that seemed to be her lot in life. She was Lucy's dark shade, forever tagging along in somber colors, attempting to be equal and always falling just short. Mostly just by inches, but sometimes by miles, and this was one of those times when she felt separated by a continent from her cousin.
She tried not to think of it. She eased herself up onto her feet, undid her laces, and wriggled out of her gown as best she could without a maid to help. Clad only in her chemise and bloomers, she crawled under her covers, shed a few last tears, and fell asleep.
The house seemed curiously empty without Lucy, though once the wedding was cleared away, plans went into motion for Eleanor's nuptials. She was fitted and re-fitted for a white dress that she thought washed her out but was met with nothing but rapturous praise from her mother, her aunt, Mr. Pritchard, and the maids. "Oh, Miss Eleanor, you look like a queen," the dressmaker gushed, pinning a flounce in place. Eleanor could only observe herself with detachment. Yes, it was the most beautiful dress she had ever owned. Yes, it was ornate and stylish. Yes, she looked very beautiful in it. "Smile," her mother urged her. "You look lovely." Eleanor turned up the corners of her mouth and let them drop when her mother turned away. The dressmaker pinned the veil into her hair and stepped back.
"A proper bride," she said with pride and satisfaction. Eleanor looked up again at herself, and had to pause to take in her reflection. She was a proper bride. She wished Benjamin could see her now, standing at the threshold of a new life.
Eleanor and Albert were married on a murderously hot day in July. Of course the young Barkers were in attendance, Lucy looking lovelier than ever with the added complement of an adoring husband.
"Oh, Nell, you look like a vision," she'd gushed, abandoning Benjamin with her father and clasping her cousin to her chest. She seemed to be different now, gentler, kinder towards Eleanor. "Aren't you happy?" she added, holding Eleanor at arm's length.
Eleanor looked past her at Albert all trussed up and sweating in the early afternoon heat. She turned hooded eyes on her cousin. "Mercy, no," she said, quite dispassionately. "Whatever gave you that impression?" With that she moved out of her cousin's embrace and went to refresh herself with wine before the ceremony. She would need its calming effects not to scream her refusal at the priest. She had agreed, she would bear it, she would make it work.
"Eleanor."
Her name was said on a breath. She looked up from pouring another glass of wine and set it down hastily, before she ruined her dress. "Mr. Barker," she said courteously.
He took her by the shoulders. "You look like an angel," he said admiringly. "Albert's a lucky man."
The memory of the last time he had said that to her made her blush hotly again. "Thank you," she said shortly. She made as if to go past him, but he stopped her.
"Eleanor, would you look at me, please?"
It was asked so sweetly, so genuinely, that she did it almost without thinking. She would have followed him anywhere if he'd asked like that. Brown eye met black and she swallowed the urge to kiss him. "I'm your family," he said gently. "Please call me by my name. You make me feel as though I've offended you simply by being here--"
"No, no!" Eleanor interrupted him, frantic lest he should think she didn't like him. "It's not that. I'm... I'm afraid." This at least was true, and he smiled down at her.
"What's to be afraid of?" he asked her with the assurance of a happy young husband. "You're young, you're beautiful, you're marrying a good man with wealth to his name. What have you to fear?"
Her eyes searched his for a brief moment. Did he suspect her? Perhaps he did, but this was not the day. "I suppose nothing," she said on a breath. "Thank you kindly, Mr Bar--Benjamin."
He smiled at her. "Go," he said. "It's your happy day now."
Eleanor left him standing by the table. She was beginning to think he was terribly naive.
She stood straight as an arrow during the ceremony, said, "I will," clearly and without faltering, and modestly reciprocated the nuptial kiss. The wedding lunch was plentiful, though the dancing was rather subdued in the heat. Albert sweated mightily and before long Eleanor began to feel very uncomfortable in her tight corset. She danced a few dances as was obligatory, and then spent the rest of the day sitting and observing. She watched Lucy and Benjamin dance a few rondos and a minuet or two. She was in the process of downing her fifth glass of wine when a voice said behind her, "Mrs. Lovett, if you're not too tired, might you favor this humble man with a dance?"
She turned around in her chair to see Benjamin, who, with a nod to her new husband, swept the bride off into a dance before she had a chance to protest. It was an energetic quadrille, and Eleanor could only give him looks of astonishment as they galloped through the dance. "What are you doing?" she managed to ask as they were paired again in the dance.
"Trying to make you smile," he answered, swinging her about rather more energetically than was strictly necessary. "You look as though you've been sentenced to hang."
When tears filled her eyes, he pulled her aside from the dance, glancing over at his wife, who was engaged in conversation with her mother. "Eleanor, are you happy?" he asked again. This time he was very serious.
Eleanor stepped back, out of his grip, and crossed her arms. "No one cares whether I say yea or nay, so I won't answer that question." She widened her eyes, willing the tears away. She wanted to collapse into his arms and sob, but that right was Lucy's and had never been hers. So she took two very deep breaths and composed herself. Benjamin watched her transform from a scared young bride to a woman with a will of iron right before his eyes. "It's not my right to ask for comfort. I've made my choice," she said, her voice steady. "He said he's bought a shop, in Fleet Street, and he's naming it Mrs. Lovett's Meat Emporium. In my honor." Those last three words were spoken bitterly. Benjamin considered her disappointment, thinking that a butcher's shop was hardly the kind of romantic gift a young girl dreamed of. He had seen her in several new dresses and a necklace or two, but there was no... he didn't know how to describe it other than to say it was what he and Lucy had. There was no glow on Eleanor's pale face; rather she just looked young and scared and unhappy. He hurt for her.
Taking her on his arm, he whispered, "Great things are ahead for you, Nell. If ever you forget to smile, remember me. I will always hope to see you happy." And with that he led her back to the wedding party, which was winding down. "I wish you luck, wealth, and sons," he said as a parting.
Lucy came to embrace her cousin as people began to leave. "Good luck, Nell," she whispered. "You'll be all right." Eleanor knew she was talking about the night to come, and shut her eyes against that thought. She would make it work. She would be a good wife. And if things ever got really terrible, she could always kill herself.
Albert had ordered a carriage for them and drove her to Fleet Street once she had changed into her traveling dress. She had to admit, he had made a wonderful choice of location: the shop was huge, well-lit with new windows, and a pretty apartment attached to it. There was also a large room with a slanted roof above the shop, large enough to rent out. The downstairs apartment was furnished and clean, and there was a bakehouse down below the shop since it had once been a bakery. Albert used it to cut and store his larger pieces of meat, and presented her with a key to the shop, the bakehouse, and the upstairs. "Welcome home," he said. "I hope you'll be happy here."
Eleanor stood in the doorway, hanging back, observing everything. "Thank you," she said vaguely, and wandered into the attached apartment. It was freshly wall-papered, the windows open to let in the cooler evening air. Overstuffed sofas and chairs filled the room. It was pretty.
She endured the wedding night with a stoicism she would show through most of her life's ensuing problems. In the morning she got up, wincing, and began to cook. Food had been delivered to the house the day of the wedding so that she would have a stocked kitchen. Everyday things such as vegetables would have to be bought, but she would never lack for meat nor chicken, and for that she could be thankful.
She made Albert a big breakfast and ate a plate of her own by herself. There would be no honeymoon like Lucy and Benjamin; Albert needed to get his shop settled and running, and he could waste no time with that. He needed a capable wife to run his house so he could occupy himself with his shop.
In the ensuing year, Eleanor learned to bake and began making modest contributions to her husband's business with little meat pies and small confections. She found she rather liked the alchemy of cooking and grew to enjoy it. She was elbow-deep in flour one Tuesday, dressed in a bright blue gown and white apron (looking very picturesque, if she did say so herself) when the door to the shop opened with a tinkle of the bell.
"Good morning!" she said without looking up from her dough-making. "Mr. Lovett will be with you in one moment."
"I'm not looking for Mr. Lovett," said a female voice, and Eleanor looked up.
"Lucy!" she exclaimed, astonished. "What are you doing here?" Hastily she took her hands out of the flour, wiped them on the cloth kept on her table for that purpose, and hurried to embrace her cousin.
"Nell, you look beautiful!" Lucy exclaimed, holding her at arm's length. "Albert keeps you in good dresses!" She looked around the shop, bright and well-appointed. "And what a lovely shop!"
The bell tinkled again, and Benjamin walked in. Eleanor smiled immediately, feeling the familiar catch in her heart and throat. "Benjamin!" she exclaimed, accepting his gentle embrace.
"What are you doing here?" Eleanor asked, running to fill a teapot and seating her cousin and her husband at the corner booth. She sat down across from them, looking expectant.
"Well," Lucy said, sharing a glance with her husband. "As you know Benjamin is a barber." Eleanor nodded. "He's been looking to get his own parlor, now that we've saved enough." With another glance between husband and wife, Eleanor could only suppose that they'd lived frugally but with much love, so there wasn't much lack felt. Her throat closed.
"And so?" she managed.
"Well," Lucy continued, putting her hand over Benjamin's. "We're also expecting a baby in December. Around Christmas, actually."
The smile was automatic. Nellie loved babies, felt a natural affinity for them, and had to, once again, swallow a lump of jealousy that there had been no babies for her yet. Albert had told her she was young yet and there was time, but she had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't her fault. He was copiously overweight, and already gout was beginning to set in. Her courses were as regular as the moon and she was healthy, so the fault couldn't be hers. "That's wonderful, Lucy," she said, a note of excitement creeping into her voice.
"So we came to inquire after your upstairs room," Lucy finished. "Benjamin wants to open his own business, and we need a place for the baby. We have enough to pay you a good rent."
Eleanor jumped as the teakettle started to whistle. "I'm sure," she began thoughtfully, "that Albert would give you a fair price. Though he might ask you for a free shave or two," she added, grinning at Benjamin, who nodded.
"It would always be on the house for my brother," he said. "You can tell him that."
Eleanor poured them each a cup of tea and went downstairs to fetch her husband. She recounted her cousin's words, and Albert, busy with a joint of beef and unwilling to entertain, told her to tell them they could rent it and welcome, for twenty pounds a month, and a free shave for him when he wanted.
Lucy and Benjamin agreed readily, and as they went to leave, Lucy clasped her cousin in a tight embrace. "Won't this be nice, Nell?" she whispered. "We'll be back together again, just like the old days."
Eleanor watched them go with tears brewing. A baby. Benjamin and Lucy and a baby, upstairs from herself. It seemed the girls were destined to compete their whole lives. She went back to making dough, salting it with a few disappointed tears before collecting herself and making more pies.
In a week they were moved in, and Benjamin paid for posters to be printed, announcing his opening at 186 Fleet Street, and soon the sound of footsteps of customers was heard on the staircase outside Mrs. Lovett's Meat Emporium every day except Sunday, when the Barkers and the Lovetts closed shop and went to church as was decent. He even hired a boy, Davy Collins, to help around his shop and eventually become an apprentice.
Eleanor watched Lucy grow larger and larger, the glow of motherhood only making her more angelic. Her belly protruded hugely in front of her and she gave up corsets, her graceful, gliding walk becoming more of an ungainly waddle. Eleanor stood straighter next to her, trying to make the most of her own grace, but Benjamin only loved Lucy the more. They paid their twenty pounds a month and ate supper with Albert and Eleanor every night. Albert's gout grew steadily worse, but he continued working.
The night Lucy went into labor, Eleanor threw Benjamin out of the upstairs room and sent him downstairs to pace in the shop. She spent a moment outside the door, fighting down the urge to sob as Lucy labored inside. A baby. She had almost managed to convince herself it would never happen, even as Lucy's body swelled. It was December twenty-third, the night before Christmas eve, and Eleanor had wound holly into her braids to welcome the baby with proper Christmas spirit. Lucy had laughed at her between contractions, always her old self. But as the pains grew more intense, she stopped laughing and began to cling to Eleanor, begging for her to do something, anything, to ease the pain.
Eleanor sat all night with her cousin, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort. When the time came, she pushed her cousin's knees apart and encouraged her to push, through the pain and envy in her heart. Truly she thought Lucy suffered more from fear than pain, for the infant came easily, after six or seven pushes, screamed lustily from the first, and, once washed and swaddled by Eleanor, ate greedily at her mother's breast.
Eleanor wiped her hands and arms clean, washed her face, and pushed her hair back into some semblance of order. Lucy slept, finally, and Eleanor took the baby from her arms, holding the little girl close. "Her name is Johanna," Lucy had murmured before falling asleep. And so she was.
"Johanna," Eleanor murmured. "Fanciful. But lovely, just like you, pet." She looked down at the tiny sleeping face, and went to the window. Looking down at London, she felt the word was a very big place, a lonely place. Tightening her hold on the baby, she wept for a minute or two, indulging her vanity and selfishness. Then she went downstairs to bring Benjamin his new daughter.
He was in the shop, and he was very, very drunk. Albert sighed, laughing a little, saying he had tried to stop Benjamin from having more than a glass or two to calm his nerves, but eventually had given up.
He was so drunk Eleanor was afraid to give him the baby, but his eyes brightened when she walked into the room. "Mr. Barker," she murmured, her eyes lowered demurely, "Your daughter."
"Johanna," they said at the same time. She handed him the baby, staying close in case he was too unsteady. But he stood firm, looking at the tiny baby with awe in his eyes. "And Lucy?" he asked.
"Sleeping soundly," Eleanor answered. "Let her rest." She took the baby from Benjamin and brought her for Albert to see.
"A fine daughter," Albert pronounced. "Congratulations, brother. I would propose a toast, but you've had enough. You'll sleep down here tonight." He left the room, slowly because of his leg.
"Oh, Nell," Benjamin said, his words a little slurred. "You're a jewel, you really are." He surveyed her holding his daughter. "You're going to be a fine mother."
A tear escaped, unbidden, but she turned before he could see it. "I have hope," was all she said. "Let me put the baby down and I'll bring you something to eat. Take the edge off that gin." She helped him sit down again with one arm, and went back upstairs. She put the baby in the little cradle that Albert had brought from his sister's house the week before. She checked on Lucy and went for the door.
"Nell."
Lucy's voice stopped her. Eleanor froze, her hand on the doorknob. She turned. "Yes, Lucy love?"
"Why were you crying?" Lucy asked. "I heard you."
Inwardly, Eleanor swore blackly. "Oh, nothing, dear," she said, her voice light. "Birth is a momentous occasion for all women, and I have no babies. I wish to be a mother." Half the truth was better than none at all.
Lucy's face softened in sympathy. "You'll have your babies, Nell," she said. "Never fear. You're young and healthy and beautiful to boot. You're made for babies."
Eleanor smiled with her lips only. "Sleep, dear. Benjamin is staying with us tonight so you can rest properly." With that she shut the door and went downstairs. After giving Benjamin thick blankets and a good pillow and settling him on the sofa in the sitting room, she went to bed. Albert was already snoring, and so she contented herself with the thought of a good night's sleep.
In the morning she gave Benjamin a hangover cure of her own making and sent him up to see his wife and new daughter. That was a scene she didn't want to witness. Tears were always at the edge of her vision, though she smiled and worked as she ever did. Albert worked as usual, preferring her pies for his lunch and tea. But still there was not much attention spared for his wife or her relations living above them. He was absorbed in the pain from his gout and the endless business of meat. There was always meat.
The baby grew, Lucy recovered, and Benjamin's business flourished. Life continued thus until one summer day Lucy burst into the shop, sobbing and screaming that Benjamin had been dragged away by the police and she didn't know why, and what was to become of them--
"Slow down!" Eleanor shouted finally over her cousin's frantic cries and the baby's wails. "Lucy, start from the beginning, please, tell me exactly what happened." She scooped Johanna into her arms and comforted the girl.
In between the woman's hysteria, Eleanor divined that they had been in St. Dunstan's market, looking at flowers for the barber shop when two constables had approached, hit him on the head, and dragged him away.
"For what crime?" Eleanor asked, horrified, and Lucy could only shake her head.
"He doesn't gamble, he doesn't whore, he doesn't... do anything!" Eleanor said. "What charge could be brought against him?"
"It doesn't matter!" Lucy wailed. "What am I to do without him?"
"Well, we'll get him back," Eleanor said, brisk and sensible. "It's plain he can't be accused of anything." She jiggled the baby. "This is folly. It must be a mistake." It must be, she thought to herself, dread filling her heart and throat. She wanted to scream and sob too, but knew that she couldn't. She had be to strong for Lucy's sake, for weak-willed, weak-minded Lucy, who had dissolved at the least crisis. "We'll go to the bailey straightaway." She made as if to go for her bonnet, but Lucy stopped her with a cry.
"I'm afraid of the law," Lucy said pitifully. "What if he's done something we don't know of? I couldn't bear to find out he's a criminal."
"Nonsense!" Eleanor exclaimed, rather annoyed. "He's not a criminal!" She put the baby down in her carriage, reached for her bonnet again and tied it securely. "Surely they'll listen to a good subject of Her Majesty's." She left Lucy sitting in the corner booth staring at her daughter.
Heart pounding, she headed for the bailey as fast as her feet could carry her. There had to be some mistake. Benjamin Barker was the most harmless of men, making honest money trimming the beards and hair of London's best citizens, poor and rich alike. He was well-regarded by all, went to church faithfully every week... there was nothing she could think of that would make Benjamin Barker a criminal.
"Sir!" she addressed a constable. "I wish to address the matter of Mr. Benjamin Barker, who was arrested this afternoon!"
The constable looked her up and down, taking in her frilled grey gown and fine bonnet. Eleanor straightened indignantly. "Where is a judge?" she asked loudly. "I must plead this man's case. He has been arrested wrongfully."
"Is that the barber?" another constable asked from a few feet away. Eleanor turned to him.
"Yes, sir," she said firmly. "From Fleet Street. He has been taken with no charge against him."
The constable shook his head. "That's not what I heard, miss." He too looked her up and down. "He's been put on a ship bound for Australia, he has. Charged with rape."
"What?" Eleanor was horrified.
"Aye, rape of a child," the constable said, nodding. "A little boy by the name of Davy Collins."
"His apprentice?!" Eleanor felt her throat close and swallowed hard. "He would never!"
"The law's the law, miss," the constable said. "Nothing you can do now."
Stunned, Eleanor turned from the bailey, and then turned back. "Who sentenced him?"
"Judge Turpin," the constable answered as he walked away. Eleanor could only head back to Fleet Street.
Lucy was upstairs when she returned, sobbing at the slanted window. Johanna was asleep in the cradle. Eleanor went to her cousin, putting an arm around her shoulders. "What did you find?" Lucy asked, her voice trembling.
"No one would tell me anything," Eleanor lied, as steadily as she could. Then, she couldn't control her tears anymore. "He's already on a ship bound for Australia."
The two women collapsed against each other, united at last in tragedy. Their tears were for the same man, the same love, the same horror. Poor Johanna, was all Eleanor could think.
Albert was predictably outraged, but upon hearing that Benjamin was already on a ship, he sighed and shook his head. "That's the law, dear," was all he said, leaving Eleanor crumbled on the sofa, in near hysterics herself. She had drugged Lucy with laudanum to make her sleep, and taken the baby downstairs and fed her mashed bread soaked in milk to make sure she wouldn't starve. She rocked the little girl to sleep, singing little lullabies through her tears, and settled her in the cradle, which she had also brought downstairs. Now she had her head in her hands, sobbing and scheming at the same time. Surely there was some way to disprove these charges, go to the Collins' home and demand they disprove these absurd charges, something. This couldn't be real.
She slept. What else was there to do?
In the morning, she roused herself when the baby cried. More bread and milk went into the little mouth, and the infant smiled up at Eleanor, breaking her heart afresh. She went upstairs with the little girl in her arms and checked on Lucy, who was groggy from the laudanum, but wanted her daughter. She wasn't much better this day, still crying and useless. Eleanor had managed to stem her tears for the moment and spent her day comforting her cousin and making plans for the future. "Of course you can stay here, no rent," she said as Lucy clutched her little daughter. "We'll keep you forever, not to worry. You're family. You and Johanna both."
Lucy looked at her cousin with her limpid blue eyes filled with tears. "Thank you, Eleanor." She looked out the window. "I've got nothing to live for anymore," she said. "Without my Benjamin, there's no life."
"Nonsense," Eleanor said, not ungently. "You've got a beautiful little daughter. Who needs you very much, you know."
Lucy sighed, rocking her daughter. "You love her just as much as I do, Nell. She'll live a happy life."
Eleanor frowned. "What are you saying, Lucy?"
"Nothing," Lucy answered softly, gazing out at grey London. "Nothing at all. I shall never recover from this."
Eleanor put a hand on her cousin's shoulder. "None of us will."
Lucy turned to look at Eleanor. "I always wondered," she said softly, "if you loved him too."
"What?" Eleanor removed her hand.
"You always look so sad," Lucy said. "And then when he walked into the room you would turn into a different person." She pressed her lips together.
"I have a husband," Eleanor said firmly. "Your Benjamin was always yours." And that was the whole truth, not half. With that she left the room. There was baking to be done and she would not indulge Lucy's nonsense, for though it wasn't nonsense, she couldn't allow it to be thought of otherwise.
After she'd had done with the baking, she went to relieve Lucy of the baby for a while, and gave her more laudanum to quiet her sobbing lest it rub off on the child. She sang her little nonsense songs and counted balls of dough, teaching her the names of things around the shop, fashioning her a doll out of scraps of fabric from her sewing box. She danced a bit, sang more, distracted the baby, served Albert his lunch with the child on her hip, and went about her day.
This continued in its way for two months or so. Eleanor was aware of a man standing below the window of the second floor, an older man always dressed finely in a red coat and gold breeches. He was often carrying flowers, some of which were left on the doorstep of the shop, and which Eleanor brought up to cheer Lucy. It never worked, and she wondered why.
One night, she thought she heard Lucy leave the upstairs, but when she looked out the window there was no one on the stairs, and the door upstairs was shut, no one in the street, so she went back to bed. She was sound asleep when Lucy crawled back up the stairs, raped and bleeding. Lucy had taken the laudanum herself that night.
It was yet another day of working, Johanna about eight months old, a bright baby, a happy one. Eleanor had taken to giving Lucy doses of laudanum every day; otherwise the poor woman sat dully at the window day after day, looking for Benjamin to come round the corner and come home to her. Eleanor took the baby every day, singing, dancing, working, mothering the girl.
Around six PM that day, when most of London was tucking into their dinner, an ugly man came to 186 Fleet Street, dressed in a leather coat and shiny breeches. He was the Beadle Bamford, Judge Turpin's bodyguard and henchman, though Eleanor could have no way of knowing this. He was accompanied by a guard. "Madame," the man said as he entered the shop, holding a walking stick braced with brass.
"Good evening," Eleanor said, moving the baby to her other hip. "Mr. Lovett is downstairs, might I take your order?"
The Beadle favored her with an oily smile. "I am not here for meat, Madame," he said unctuously. "I am here on order of Judge Turpin, who has instructed me to bring the orphan Barker girl to him."
"Orphan?" Eleanor exclaimed, backing away from him and clutching the baby to herself. "She's not an orphan, she's got a mother, and I furthermore I am her aunt, and you--"
The Beadle stepped forward, and thrust his walking stick in Eleanor's path. "Albert!" she nearly screamed. "Albert, help me!"
But she knew it would be useless, somewhere deep in her mind. He would never make it up the stairs in time, nor was it easy to hear what was going on above. Time seemed to slow as the Beadle snatched the child from her arms and the guard held her back. She scratched at the man's face, fighting with all her might, but she was, for all her personality, a small woman. She was no match for a six-foot-tall guard. She screamed as loudly as she could, running after them even after the guard let her go, screaming into Fleet Street, but no one stopped. No one heeded her, and she felt her legs give out in a dead faint.
It was Albert who roused her, demanded to know what had happened, and who gathered her to him, though he smelled of meat and sweat, and told her there was nothing to be done, nothing at all. She refused to believe this, but could not find a solution in her quick mind, to reclaim that little girl who had afforded her such happiness and indulged her desire to be a mother. She felt as reduced as Lucy, sobbing until she vomited. Albert heaved himself to his feet, picked her up, and brought his wife into their apartment. He put her into their bed, wiped her face, and gave her the same dose of laudanum she would have given Lucy.
Again, she slept. What else was there to do?
In the morning it was Albert who went upstairs to tell Lucy what had happened the night before. Eleanor shut her eyes as Lucy began to scream. She felt like joining her, but clamped her lips shut and let the tears roll down her face. Lucy tore down the staircase into the shop like a madwoman. She went straight for Eleanor, who, in nothing but a nightshift, was standing in the middle of the hallway leading from the apartment to the shop. Lucy flew at her, fists pounding every bit of flesh she could reach, tearing the red hair, screaming, "You let them take her, you bitch! You horrible bitch! You let them take my baby, you jealous, horrid bitch!"
"No! No!" Eleanor was screaming, trying to protect herself from her cousin's flying fists. "I didn't! I didn't, I loved her like she was mine, I swear!"
"She wasn't yours!" Lucy spit. "She was mine, mine and Benjamin's and you wanted them both for your own, you evil, vile, black witch!"
There was blood from a split lip on Eleanor's face when Albert managed to disentangle the two women. They were both breathless, sobbing hysterically. Eleanor was shaking. "Please, Lucy, believe me," she said unsteadily. "I loved her like she was mine. I couldn't do anything, they were so big, and I am so small--" Here she began to sob again. "She was my baby too."
Lucy whirled out of Albert's grip, her eyes wild. She went into the street and disappeared faster than Albert could catch up with her.
"Let her go," he said finally. "She'll come back; she's too much good sense to run away."
"Even now?" Eleanor demanded, rushing to the door. "Even now?"
"Someone will bring her home," Albert said, pulling his wife back. "You've no business being outside in nothing but a nightgown."
A deep silence reigned over the house for half an hour. When Eleanor heard footsteps ascending the stairs she tore out of the living room and followed Lucy's retreating figure upstairs. Lucy nearly shut the door on her but Eleanor forced her way in. "Where have you been?" she demanded.
"The apothecary," Lucy replied, remarkably steadily. She looked almost sane. "We needed laudanum."
"I don't believe you," Eleanor said.
Lucy tossed a small pouch at her cousin. "See for yourself." She had kept the other vial in her bodice. Eleanor needn't know about that.
Having inspected the contents of the pouch, Eleanor took it and tucked it into her bodice. "I'll keep it for you."
Lucy shrugged. "Content yourself. Only leave me some now so I can sleep."
Eleanor prepared a dose and Lucy shut her out of the room with a, "Go make some pies, Eleanor."
When her red-headed cousin had retreated, bruises beginning to blossom on her face, Lucy sat down on her bed, fished out the vial, unscrewed it, and inhaled the acrid scent of arsenic. She sat for a moment, saying a silent prayer for herself and her daughter and her husband, and took the arsenic in one swallow. It burned, it stung, and she wanted to vomit, but through tremendous strength of will, Lucy did nothing but lie down on her bed and wait for death to come.
It was in this way that Eleanor found her several hours later. She let out a shriek of horror at the sight of her cousin's blanched face. "Lucy!" she cried, shaking the young woman. She put her ear to Lucy's chest and nearly collapsed when she detected a heartbeat. She shifted Lucy so that she was on her side if she should vomit. Her skin was cold but she had a pulse, albeit sluggish. When Lucy didn't vomit, Eleanor turned her onto her back again. She sat by her bed until sunset, when she had to go down and cook for Albert, and tell him what Lucy had done. She brought the vial with her, and Albert, upon sniffing it, looked grave and said, "This is arsenic, Eleanor."
"Shall I call a priest?" Eleanor asked anxiously, wringing her hands.
"She lives yet," Albert said. "We'll give it 'til morning. If she is worse, then we'll call a priest and give her last rites." He sighed. "Her soul will burn in hell for her suicide."
Eleanor slammed his plate down in front of him. "Don't say that," she snapped. "She'd be forgiven, what with the awful things that would happen. She deserves to go home to Jesus." She looked around. "This life is nothing for her anymore."
Her heart was so heavy inside her, so heavy she felt she could barely move. But move she did, for if she did not she would drown in her grief. She kept cooking, kept baking, kept vigil by her cousin's side.
Lucy did not rouse for four days. Then, nearly three AM of the fifth day, she suddenly took a great inhalation, threw back her head, and shook her whole body. Eleanor, keeping watch by candlelight, could only hold her hand and watch. At the end of it Lucy turned her head to the side and vomited, a great mass of bile and blood. Eleanor leapt out of the way in time, and when it was over, she crept back to Lucy's side. The woman's eyes were open. "Turpin," she was muttering. "Turpin."
"The judge?" Eleanor whispered, hoping Lucy would hear her and tell her more.
"Rape," was the next word out of Lucy's mouth and Eleanor gasped.
"Turpin raped you?" she asked in horror. "The judge who took Johanna?"
Lucy turned her face to her, her blue eyes void. "Johanna," she moaned. "Johanna."
Eleanor sat back in horror and grief. Turpin had raped Lucy and stolen her daughter, after ordering Benjamin across the world. "Oh, Jesus," she exhaled. The tears followed, but the vomit had to be cleaned, and Lucy had to be tended to.
This became a gruesome routine. Eleanor stopped baking and devoted herself to her cousin, cleaning up after her, attempting to feed her and discern some sense out of the woman's nonsense ramblings. There wasn't much sense to be had. For four months Lucy lay prone and Eleanor kept her clean and alive. But she knew then that the arsenic had ruined her pretty cousin's mind.
Lucy disappeared on a Sunday. Eleanor looked frantically for hours through the dirty streets of London, but could not find her. The words, "Go make some pies, Eleanor," rang through her head at intervals, and it angered her. Everything she had lost, as though she had not suffered as much as Lucy for love and loss of Benjamin, and for the loss of Johanna as well. As if she had not loved just as much. And it was then that the anger suddenly overwhelmed her, and she turned back to Fleet Street. Lucy had been given everything her entire life, the perfect man, the best education, the beautiful wedding, the chance at the moon on a string. She was a fool. Eleanor went back into the shop.
"She's gone," she announced to Albert down in the bakehouse. "I couldn't find her."
Albert offered to have posters printed. Eleanor shook her head. "Albert, she's swallowed arsenic. If she didn't die here she'll die out there."
And so for once Eleanor Lovett took her husband's part and let Lucy wander. Enough was enough, she thought.
There were no babies of her own in the next few years. Albert's gout worsened steadily and he was confined first to his chair, and then to his bed, and then, finally, eight years after Lucy disappeared, he died, massively swollen by gout and weight. Eleanor buried him with dry eyes and paid to have his sign replaced. It now read "MRS. LOVETT'S MEAT PIES."
She drew on her baking experience and began to buy meat from a butcher she had become acquainted with. She began baking pies, and sold her good dresses to make ends meet. When most of those were gone, she went upstairs and sold the furniture up there, but for the baby's cradle. She couldn't bring herself to part with it, the reminder of the little shining girl. After went her better jewelry and rugs, until her apartment was quite bare. She resigned herself to a life of solitude and meat pies.
That changed the day her shop door opened with a tinkle of the old bell, and a black-haired man with a streak of white running through his hair like lightning walked in. She gasped, "A customer!"