PART TWO
The room upstairs was much different at night.
Even with the large window it missed the moonlight. Or the moon managed to miss it. It was deadly quiet too, as if you're all alone in the world. Not a soul to save you.
Pretty little Johanna wasn't much company, curled up and sleeping as she was. I had given up my warm marital bed for her, but she paid no mind to me. Offered no comfort at all. Not that I blamed the child. She didn't know me well enough yet to understand. She would though, that I was sure of.
Ah. The silent dark can play tricks on you, it can. It does. It did.
I could have sworn I saw none other than Benjamin Barker standing by the corner, watching me sleep on the settee, in the place of his wife. His eyes burrowing into me, telling me something beyond this world. It wasn't of course, just a spare shirt on a hook, awaiting its call to duty. But the vision was so fresh, I swore it breathed life into the room. I had to hold the shirt in my own hands to know what was an apparition. It was like having Benjamin slip through my fingers.
Oh, but I could smell him. The scent hidden behind the bay rum, fragrant pomade and stale cologne that stained the room. Something that unmistakably spoke of Benjamin. Like he was there with me. Lingering around. It was something I realised I missed. It was such a comfort to feel him around though. Silly, I know, but I didn't feel so alone while I held on to his shirt. Imagine, a simple scrap of cotton!
I've always been a woman of little comforts, and the smallest embrace was all I ever needed. It's what I craved.
I must confess; I slipped on his shirt. Feel silly about it now, but the dark plays nasty games on you, seeps into your mind it does. But the soft brush of his shirt on my skin helped. Wrapped me up safe enough to sleep. Protected me too.
That Mr. Barker: such a man.
But the rest was short lived. It weighed heavy on me, nagged at me. Prevented me from staying in that blissful state of slumber. Something did. As if it were staring right down into my soul.
When I opened my eyes I found that it was Lucy. Standing over me she was, just staring. A ghost in the night. If the living could haunt a place, that's what she was doing.
"Thank heavens dear," I slowly sat up, "I was frightfully worried. Been up half the night."
She just continued to stare, all ragged and wasted. Wherever she had been, she hadn't bothered to clean herself up. It was disturbing. I hugged my arms around myself to fight off the cold chill of her eyes – and I realised, I was still wrapped in Benjamin's shirt. Oh, what a sight it must have been. Finding me curled up in her husband's clothes. Caring for her daughter too. Imagine the wrong idea.
"It gets deathly cold up here at night, doesn't it?" I slipped the shirt off my shoulders and laid it on the seat beside me. I missed the embrace immediately. I couldn't fight the chill now. Couldn't miss the broken look in her eyes.
I leapt to my feet, had to move around. I couldn't stand being struck by Lucy's stare like that. "You must be starved then, let me fix you up something to eat down in the shop, eh? 'Fraid there's no milk though. That little Johanna can sure eat. It's good to see such a healthy appetite in a child. Sleepin' like an angel now – not a care in the world she has. There'll be time enough for that…" I shivered. How could anyone stand the cold like that? And Lucy in only that tattered dress now.
"You must be cold to the bone…here," I picked up one of the barber's sheets and moved to wrap it around her. Offer comfort of a sort.
The look of terror and hate that flashed in her eyes I'll never forget. And the gargled screech could have woken the dead. She pushed me away with a strength I'd imagine she never had before. Oh, but she sure used it on me.
I took the slap in the face as it was, dropping the sheet to the floor. Let her freeze then!
I stormed down the stairs, but I wasn't all that sure why I was so angry. Mrs. Barker had come back at least, shouldn't that have elated me? I should have been glad that Johanna had her mother again. That the woman could deal with her own problems now. But I wasn't.
"Didn't sleep well now?" Albert chuckled at me. Idiotic man. He had no idea what was going on in my head, not even under his roof.
I scoffed, "And it does me no good to have Mrs. Mooney poking around asking questions no one wants to hear the answers to. Only trying to help, I am. Not even a note of thanks," I dumped flour and water together, not watching what I was doing, nor was I caring. "If Turpin had kept his hands to himself none of this would have happened. I tell you that," I slammed the crust dough down hard onto the counter. A small gust of flour flew up in a ghostly cloud.
"Judge Turpin you say?" Albert leaned on the counter. That peaked his interest. He always listened to my chatter with mild interest – I was entertaining he said – but now I was running off at the mouth. Telling things that weren't my business.
"If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be fretting about worrying about that baby all day, and her daft mother," I was working the crust into a frenzy. Dried out and flaking. Wasted it was. "Sends Mr. Barker away, than goes about taking what he wants from Mrs. Barker – leaving her in the sorry state she's in now."
I tossed the wasted concoction to the side and caught Albert's twisted smile. The wheels in his head were spinning to life.
"Clean yourself up pretty," he barked at me, "You've got to go fetch the Beadle. Tell him it's something important. Something of civic pride- yes! He must take a meeting with me right away. A friendly chat."
Didn't trust that at all. The look on Albert's bloated face was unnerving. But he was my husband – I brushed the flour off my dress and set off for the Beadle.
And I found him making eyes at the young women peddling apples at the market. It made my stomach turn to think about it: What fate was in store for those pretty little things if they looked back his way? And what if they didn't? With the company he'd kept, there was no telling what girls would know the same suffering as Lucy.
Oh, but I gave him my best smile, and wrapped my hand around his arm with the softest caress. Without him knowing why, I brought him home to Albert. A dutiful wife indeed.
The bell above the door jingled and Albert was there, waiting.
"Good of you to visit," Albert greeted him with a slimy
smile, not even noticing as I followed the man through the
door.
"Always take invitations from my neighbours," the
Beadle tipped his head, clearly unsure as to why he had been summoned
to one of Fleet Street's many pie shops.
"Friends Beadle,
friends." He dropped one of his meaty arms over the Beadle's
equally meaty shoulder. "Come in, sit. Sit," Albert
motioned for the Beadle to slip into one of the booths, "Some
rum sir? Or a drop of ale?" I hadn't seen Albert fuss over
someone this much since he wooed my mother into letting us marry.
Even then he had that twitching, twisted smile that warned you of his
secret plans.
Beadle rested his hat on the table; "A nice spot of rum would be most welcoming." His smile was crooked. His whole manner was crooked.
Albert turned to me as if I had just arrived to serve some purpose, "Rum for the man Nellie. Run."
I ducked into the parlour, snatching up Albert's private bottle and two of the better glasses. I was back before Albert had a chance to squeeze himself in opposite his guest.
"I'm sure you heard that awful news about Mr. Barker. Imagine, a criminal right under my very own roof, and I was never the wiser," he was studying the other man, "And now it seems his poor wife – pretty little thing that she is – has fallen into a spot of trouble herself."
I went about pouring their glasses. Though, I had a bit of a problem getting it all into Albert's glass and managed to drop some on his lap. Seemed all of London was taken by Lucy's pretty face. I tossed the rag at him, leaving him to clean up his own mess.
He used the rag to mop up the spill, never once breaking his concentration from the matter at hand. "We'd be pleased to take care of the baby and all, but people would ask too many questions. Seeing as we've never been blessed. That Mrs. Mooney's been around already, poking her nose in, asking questions about the girl. About her mother. And it's such a sad tale really. Tragic almost. Poor Lucy Barker, consumed as it were. Swayed and wooed." Albert eyed the Beadle, watching his beety little eyes twitch and dance around the room, "And my wife here, too simple to lie. She's let slip – the whole sad tale. All of Fleet Street would know. Soon, all of London. And that couldn't look too kindly on our friend Judge Turpin. We've got to look out for our friends, don't we Beadle?"
The Beadle cleared his throat, a nervous habit. "I see. Yes. We must look out for each other." He eyed me up and down good. Seemed he didn't trust Albert's opinion of me as simple – not that he should. "Maybe we should discuss this among men? No need to trouble her mind with any other unfortunate details."
Albert's smile only grew, "Quite right. Nellie! Upstairs with ya."
I excused myself. Not nearly happy to do so. Imagine the nerve
calling me simple! And only for spilling at bit of rum… But their
voices did carry, loud booming men that they were. Albert was only
too eager to pawn the child off, get her out of his hair and out of
his house. But a price needed to be paid if they wanted Albert to
keep quiet about the whole mess. That he made perfectly clear.
"No
need for anyone beyond us lot to know about all this. And no need for
me to ever pay another drop of rent, eh? Knowing what I do could
surely cost the Judge more." Albert always had a crafty skill
for money. Skill and a curse I suppose. But the whole business made
me sick, it did. I couldn't stand to hear any more. Couldn't
stand it at all.
I burst into the barbershop. Lucy had herself curled on the settee again as if she wished it would swallow her, and if she wasn't careful, it would. Or worse.
"Get yourself up! A fate worse than death is about to happen to you. Those sweet men are about trading you like cattle. And poor little Johanna," I cooed at the baby, "Benjamin's sweet child." I no longer cared about addressing Mr. Barker in such a formal way in front of his wife, as far as I was concerned she was no body's wife anymore. I turned back to see Lucy still hadn't moved, "You can't go around doing nothing. They'll walk all over you they will. Being pretty isn't enough if you aren't willing to do something about it. You've got to survive with more than that pretty face. All it's done is got you into trouble." There was so much frustration and anger in me: Men and women treating us like we were nothing. As if we weren't worth something. I'd show them. Come hell or high water, they'd learn not to underestimate Nellie Lovett! I was sure I'd show them all what a little wife could do…
"You have to do something! Anything! It won't do for you to just lay around and let them do what they please with you. Again. If they do it once, they'll do it again they will," I sighed, feeling so very heavy and tired, "Sometimes you've got to do things you wouldn't normally do dearie."
I watched a scene unfold on the street below. My darling Albert was shaking hands with the Beadle. A deal with the devil it was. Who knows what trade they had gone and made finally, and to protect a vulture like Judge Turpin. Men could get away with murder and no one would bat an eye, but a woman…
The settee shifted and Lucy made a small choking sound. I turned to her, catching my foot on a small glass vile. "What'ca do there?" I bent to pick up the bottle: Arsenic. So that's where she took off to for the day. "Why'd you go and do that for?"
I rushed over to her side, cradling her head against my shoulder. She shook slightly, and twitched "Oh, you silly woman," I stroked her pale yellow curls, waiting for her to still. Waiting for the calm she had expected to find at the bottom of her little bottle.
Ah, but it never came. Her eyes glazed over, and her cheeks became clammy, but her head burned and her heart kept beating. Who knows what she had gone and done to herself. She doubled over and mewed in pain like some alley cat. Gagging a little. I could only watch her, changing from the pretty little thing she was into something else. Something that was no longer gentle and soft and pretty. She was hard and jagged and ugly. What had she expected that to fix? Killing herself would still leave Johanna. Sad state to think that was the only way out. But she couldn't even manage that.
And now what? Who knew when the Beadle would be back for the baby, or what they would do with Lucy. What was there to do with Lucy? Hospital would only raise more questions. But what would it do for anyone to find her like this, with her arsenic bottle friend? No. No one should know about the poor woman's desperation. Gossip it would only be. I slipped the vile into the pocket of my apron. Waste not, want not. Or something.
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