Lying in Ashes

Shards of a Shattered Heart

Prologue

The air on a November evening was usually cold, but that particular night was impressively bitter. It wasn't as though Jonathon terribly minded the chill, yet he was quite concerned on account of his companion. He rubbed his hands together to hide their shaking, and watched the cloud of warm air billow about his face as he exhaled deeply. He could feel the bite of winter catching him on the tip of his nose and tops of his ears, but he refused to complain at once of their insanity at being out in such weather. The woman next to him was red in the cheeks as he was, and yet she didn't seem at all disturbed by the freezing conditions. It was when she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders that Jonathon finally decided to speak.

"It's a cold night Miss Clara. Are you so determined to keep your engagement?"

Miss Clara Cartwright offered a slight smile, but she didn't look his way.

"Have your toes frozen already Jonathon?"

Jonathon stiffened, immediately feeling mildly indignant. He proceeded to correct his companion's misunderstanding when she glanced at him with a satisfied pleasure. Jonathon clapped his mouth shut, realizing she was only joking with him. Miss Clara's gaze fixed itself on the path they were walking; the destination unknown to her escort.

"To answer your question, I am indeed quite determined Jonathon. I don't intend to break a promise, regardless of how miserable the weather chooses to be."

That was the last they spoke for many moments, but the silence between them was pleasant. In Jonathon's eighteen years of existence, he'd never related as well to anyone as he did to the charming lady, who had entered his life without any degree of expectancy. After his own mother's death when he was not a decade old, his father had lived in denial that no one could offer him the happiness he required to fill the hole in his heart. Like Jonathon, his father was a very sensible man, who scrimped and saved for his son's education. However, unlike Jonathon, he possessed a strange dedication to duty before love that his son did not share.

Mr. Wilhelm Edwards was a banker who had thrown himself into his profession after the death of his wife. Jonathon respected his father implicitly, but more as a detached role modal than a doting parent. The elder Mr. Edwards rarely demonstrated ranges of emotion at any time. It was living under that grimly stern influence that the once impressionable and daydreaming Jonathon had grown rational and distant. It was on the arrival of Clarissa Cartwright that his and his father's world changed forever. Clara, as she preferred to be called, entered their lives like a much needed ray of sunshine in a clouded world Jonathon had hardly noticed surrounded them. She was beautiful and full of such passion that Jonathon felt himself staggered and confused at her conduct at first. She brought an energy into their lives that it was no wonder at all that his father married her.

Jonathon was brought back rather hastily to the present when they had arrived at their destination. However, Jonathon was fairly surprised to find that their travels led them to the gate of a cemetery. He subconsciously scratched behind one ear as he turned toward his stepmother.

"You're certain your engagement is here, Miss Clara?"

She slowly faced him, still wearing a regretful smile. Jonathon had found as he knew Miss Clara better, that there was a measure of sorrow concealed in her eyes at times. Despite her vigor for life and happiness with her husband she seemed so unexplainably…sad.

"I've made this journey more times than I can count, lad. I am quite certain."

Her tone suggested that was the only explanation she was to offer, and so Jonathon kept silent. Although the sun had fallen and dusk was upon them, the wintery sky was still a beautiful shade of silver, not yet smothered by the blackness of night. Miss Clara entered the graveyard, the bouquet of preserved daffodils contrasting strongly with her dark clothing. Indeed Jonathon remembered his stepmother retreating away once every couple of weeks with pretty flowers and an unwavering diligence. This was the first time that Jonathon had accompanied her, and by the way she spoke of the engagement Jonathon had never suspected this mysterious identity to be deceased.

The two of them walked silently through the maze of tombstones. A blanketing mist fluttered about their feet as they walked, casting not an eerie milieu over the cemetery but somehow a sense of tranquilly. As they rounded a corner, Miss Clara stopped suddenly. He glanced at her with an intention to question her stillness, yet he refrained when he saw her somber expression. Without words to explain her sudden emotion Clara continued onward as though she had not paused. Jonathon scurried after her.

Tombstones were scattered about the plot of land in no particular pattern, and large angelic statues seemed to watch over the dedications to souls that had passed away. Jonathon shivered in the cold and continued to follow his stepmother without falter. Clara winded through the labyrinth of tombs without any degree of hesitation. She knew exactly where she was going.

Finally she reached the tomb she was evidently looking for. She immediately dropped to her knees before the monument, remaining there for a few silent moments without moving. A soft smile rose to her face and she tenderly laid the flowers on the grave. As she silently prayed, Jonathon glanced at the headstone.

Here Rests Mrs. Lucy Barker. Beloved Wife and Mother.

It was a very short dedication engraved into less than elegant marble, and yet Clara knelt before it with tiny tears tumbling down her cheeks. Jonathon didn't think it appropriate to speak while she was so involved in such a deep sense of mourning. As Jonathon waited for her to finish paying her respects, he took a closer look at the headstone. A glint of silver suddenly caught his eye, and he leaned toward the source with a furrowed brow. The sight, when he deducted what it was, perplexed him. Lying directly against the cold stone was, or what looked to be, a barber's razor.

Jonathon did not have time to contemplate the presence of the folded blade, nor did he directly ask his stepmother about it. He offered once final glance at the tombstone before following after Miss Clara. Finally, he found he could not hold his questions any longer.

"May I ask, Miss Clara, who was the lady?"

The question was rather vague, yet Clara understood what he meant. She sighed deeply, but she did not slow her pace.

"She was an acquaintance of mine, one whom I cared deeply for but hadn't the pleasure of knowing very well. Her death was a tragic one, which is why I come here as often as I can to offer her companionship."

"I noticed the title read Mrs. Barker. Does her husband still live?"

Clara faltered in step for only a moment before continuing on. She allowed such a lengthy pause between the question that Jonathon wondered if he should repeat himself. However, she gathered her thoughts eventually and spoke.

"He does. I cannot say how often he visits. At least on one occasion, of that I'm certain."

Jonathon thought back to the exquisite blade decorating the tomb. Could it have been a token left by her husband? A strange gift, to be sure, but then again Jonathon supposed he had no right to judge. Jonathon took his stepmother's arm in his and the two of them took their leave of the cemetery and began the journey home.

...

A year later Jonathon's father, Mr. Wilhelm Edwards, died. His sickness and cause of death was quite unexpected, for the elder Edwards had been a very fit and healthy man. Jonathon had paced the floor back and forth, unsure of how he was to act in response to such a horrible situation. He had already spoken once to his father, saddened beyond words at witnessing the once strong man bedridden and weak. Clara was inside the room, consoling her husband whose second anniversary of marriage they would never see. Jonathon had collapsed into a chair and buried his face into his hands.

In his miserable state he remembered the soft touch on his arm. He recalled looking up into the delightfully pretty face of Katrina Harper. Concerning the sickness or death of any loved one, condolences were useless in their intention to ease the pain of the sufferer, and yet Jonathon appreciated the young maid's sympathies just the same. A few hours before Mr. Edwards' death, Katrina remained beside Jonathon without movement. She left him alone only when she rose to put on some tea. It was during this absence that the doctor stepped out of the room with his head bowed. Jonathon jolted to his feet, his eyes wide and his face pale. The doctor approached him and patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, son."

Jonathon felt the air choke him, but he didn't collapse into tears. He nodded to the doctor and fixed his gaze upon the floor. Clara leaned out of the doorway, her cheeks streaked with tears. Jonathon met her eyes despairingly. Clara took a deep breath before motioning for Jonathon to enter. Jonathon stepped with stiff legs and nearly collapsed before making his way to his father's bedside.

Mr. Edwards' face was pale as was standard for a dying man. His light brown hair was dampened with the perspiration that dripped from his face. His cheeks were sullen and his eyes looked so very tired. He was a man of forty-four years, and far too young to face the gates of death. Mr. Edwards turned to face his son, and then reached out a weak hand. Jonathon dropped to his knees and took his father's hand, attempting to hide his tears.

"You are a good lad, Jonathon, and a good son." Mr. Edwards smiled softly. "A man such as you needs no guidance, and as I pass into God's hands I must say that no father could be prouder of his son."

Jonathon could not restrain his tears any longer, and they rolled down his cheeks without mercy. Jonathon swallowed to strengthen his voice.

"Can I do anything for you, Father?"

Mr. Edwards was fading farther and farther into oblivion, but he could find the strength for one more dialogue before his soul departed.

"Take care of your mother. I'll be watching out for the both of you." Mr. Edwards lifted his mouth into one final smile before his features relaxed forever.

...

The funeral was a modest event. The middle-aged banker had many acquaintances but few if any good friends. He was well liked among the social setting but modesty kept his name from the common gossip. Mr. Edwards' was simply a man who died before his time as far as the community was concerned. For his family, however, the matter was looked on quite differently.

After his father's death, Jonathon noticed that his stepmother had not shed a tear- in his presence at least. She was a strong woman, and yet Jonathon was still quite flabbergasted at how frail she could instantly appear in certain instances. As she watched her husband's casket being lowered into the ground, her face remained dry of tears. Despite her lack of emotion, her sadness was clear and Jonathon stood beside her and took her hand in his. Her skin was cold. He recalled the sweet smile she offered him, and without a word she patted him on the shoulder and strode toward the grave, and after a pause she gently tossed a flower within. The casket and flower were buried beneath the earth.

On the walk home, Jonathon felt Katrina at his side. She, perhaps, shed the most tears of them all. Jonathon had noticed, not for the first time, at how classically beautiful Katrina was. He'd known her since his childhood, and they'd grown to be the greatest of friends. It was this connection, perhaps, that caused Katrina to outpour the sorrowful emotion that Jonathon himself could not release. At the sight of her swaying hand as she walked, and the silver tears sparkling against her cheeks, Jonathon grasped her fingers and offered her an attempted smile of comfort.

...

Jonathon sat in the parlor without a shred of evidence to what ideas and emotions churned inside his head. He was utterly melancholy, and could not even bear to lift himself from his chair. A novel, one Katrina implored him to read, was on his lap but he had not yet read a word. Normally, Jonathon was not thought to be a brooding sort of fellow, but under the circumstances the reaction was typical. However, it was not just the instance of losing his father that caused him to sulk, but also the thought of what lay in store for him.

His father had been a successful, middle class banker in London. Despite the ease at obtaining the position as a clerk, which is what his father had wanted, Jonathon realized he had no desire to follow his father's path. It was not as though banking was Mr. Edwards' passion, it was simply the best paid position he could acquire. His father had been very practical.

A week later Jonathon sat on the floor with his head leaned back on the sofa. He thought the roof deserved a new coat of paint judging by the splotches, and yet, he remained unmoved. He heard Katrina enter the room, pause for a moment, and then continue to advance. She knelt down beside him and Jonathon could smell the soothing essence of Chamomile.

"Would you care for some tea, sir?" Katrina asked in her polite, sing-song voice.

Jonathon rewarded her effort with a crooked smile. "You know I hate that."

Katrina grinned. "I know. But, I am your employee after all."

Jonathon reached for the cup Katrina presented. He took a whiff of the tea and then placed the cup to his lips and sipped. The liquid was most gratifyingly warming.

"A friend first, always, Katrina. Your thoughtfulness is something to be admired."

Katrina smiled once again before getting to her feet and striding toward the door. Jonathon ran his fingers though his dark blond hair and called out before Katrina closed the door.

"Has my stepmother returned?"

Katrina's pretty round face scrunched in thought. "Not yet, but she should at any moment."

Jonathon let his head fall back onto the chair as the door gently closed. Miss Clara had informed him only a few hours ago that she was going out, and that she would be back soon. Jonathon knew his stepmother was regretful at his lack of vigor, and yet there was not much Jonathon could do to correct it. He was in a slump, and there was not even a trace of light to lead him to the end of his mournful tunnel.

Suddenly, he heard the commotion that signified Miss Clara's return. He could hear the muffled voices of the two women whom he shared his home as they spoke behind the parlor door. Jonathon forced himself up and scrambled onto the sofa; nearly spilling his tea as he did so. There was a knock at the door, which Jonathon acknowledged. Miss Clara stepped inside, her cheeks rosy and her expression content. Jonathon smiled.

"Good afternoon Miss Clara."

"To you as well, Jonathon." Clara took a seat directly beside him, and by the look on her face she had something she wished to say to him. When silence prevailed she began.

"I know it is not my place to pry, lad, but unfortunately I seem to recite this phrase to myself daily but my habit still returns." She stopped when Jonathon attempted to disagree with her harsh self-berating, but he quieted when she held up a hand for silence. "I've pushed my way into the business of others so much now that I really don't see the harm of continuing. I have a proposition Jonathon. A job offer, to be more specific. I've made an arrangement, if you're interested."

Jonathon considered. He was unsure at which direction he wanted his life to lead him, but he once secretly hoped he would travel away to find love and adventure. He was far more sentimental than his father had been. Yet he was nearly nineteen years of age now, and he had to try something new. He turned toward his stepmother and nodded his head.

"Thank you Miss Clara. I'd be very interested to pursue this offer."

Clara wrinkled her forehead. "Don't you wish to know the profession before accepting it?"

"My career choice is undecided, so there's no reason for me to know, I suppose. Could I have the name of the gentleman who's agreed to employ me?"

Clara gazed downward for a moment, and then her eyes came up to lock on his. She smiled softly, with slight hesitation.

"His name is Todd. Mr. Sweeney Todd, of Fleet Street."

Author's Note:

Hello everyone! I am so excited I finally began posting my third Sweeney Todd fan fiction. I hope this story is enjoyed by my fellow Sweeney-lovers, and I am having a great time writing it. Please let me know what you think of the prologue. I would just like to take this moment to quickly say something that is bugging me about the beginning of the story and I'd like to explain my reasoning. After I reread the first draft of my prologue, I realized with some distress "Why would Clara send her stepson to go and work for an unstable, former murderer? However, I convinced myself this was alright because Clara has visited Mr. Todd on many occasions, and can see that now that the motivation for his revenge is out of the way, he has no more reason to kill. The vibe I got from Sweeney Todd was not necessarily insanity, but innate desire for vengeance to get back at the people who wronged him (and some other pie-fillers along the way:). Anyway, I just want to make it clear that I know this part is a little off, but it was the only way I could think of to get my characters where they're supposed to be. Thanks for reading this silly spiel, and hope you enjoy reading Lying in Ashes!