A/N: Thanks to Sythar and BeBopALula for the encouraging reviews! :) I'm not sure if I like this chapter or not...x.x But this and chapter two will be coming quite quickly, as I've had the two of them, including the prologue, written for several months now.
:CHAPTER I:
The Implication of a Mysterious Incarceration
Fleet Street, London, 1823
"Mr. Barker! What a delight to see you 'ome so early!" Chirped the young woman behind the counter. Mrs. Lovett. She was dusty with flour, with a spread of it across her cheek, as she bustled from one end to the other as Mr. Barker emerged from the cold outside. He'd gone with Lucy to the neighbours, the McAndrews, who'd been gracious enough to invite them over for tea.
Mrs. Lovett had been smitten with him from the start. From the moment he and his wife had stepped through the door three months ago. Her husband, Albert, was less taken with him, Mr. Barker especially, but obliged to their rooming above. They could use the money, after all, he'd said. His wife Nellie was delighted, and it showed on her face every time. But she would never be so bold as to show her affections. Not around her husband, at least.
It was times like these, when both of their spouses were away, that she allowed herself to let go of all pretence.
"Where is…Mrs. Barker?" She wiped her hands on her apron, and found it difficult to breathe in his presence.
Benjamin shrugged off his overcoat, and proceeded towards the stairs, hair slightly tussled from the wind and snow. "With Mrs. McAndrew. I'm afraid I'm not much for tea parties."
"Oh won't you--" Began Mrs. Lovett, slipping out from behind the counter to his side. But she couldn't find the words.
"…Pardon me?"
"I…you'll be closin' up shop then, will ya?" She folded her arms across her chest casually, taking care not to look into his eyes for too long.
"Well…well yes, I suppose so. Was there something you needed?" On the whole, Benjamin was not the most intuitive fellow. Indeed, he saw no reason or rhyme behind Mrs. Lovett's increasingly open attitude. She was like that with everyone, surely.
"Oh, no, no. Nothin' at all…I jus', I…feel free to…" But there was no way to say it without sounding inappropriate. Feel free to join me in the parlour for tea, Mr. Barker. But he'd just had tea with the McAndrews. Feel free to sit with me in the kitchen, Mr. Barker. Feel free to take me in your arms, Mr. Barker. Feel free to abandon your wife for me, Mr. Barker. Albert need not ever know. "If ya get lonely up there, you'll come an' we'll chat a bit, hmm?" Well there was no use taking it back now.
"…I'll do that, Mrs. Lovett. Thank you." His smile was sheepish, and he stepped around her awkwardly to climb the stairs.
Albert wouldn't be home for another hour.
Mr. Lovett was a kindly man and a kindly husband, they said. That was the most scrutable description. His neighbours would find merriment in his face, and a spring in their steps after each visit to the butchery and adjacent meat pie emporium. This was not only due to the favourable prices of said pies and veal, but the jolly dispositions of the proprietors. Mrs. Lovett was chatty and flirtatious, and would almost always let patrons slip out with an extra pie for free. Mr. Lovett went through quite a show of examining each slab of meat he sold before the customer, indicating the best way for it to be cut, cooked, and served. He and his wife were rarely seen together during the day, business being a top priority. The neighbours of the Lovetts, Mr. and Mrs. McAndrew, found the couple wholesome and genial, often inviting them, along with the young couple who boarded above, the Barkers, for tea and croquet on Thursdays.
Those who knew Mrs. Lovett well however, and not many did, knew better than to assume. Mrs. McAndrew had been aware of the beatings for several years now, though Mrs. Lovett would never be caught in admittance. She would now and then appear with dark spots on her cheeks and arms, only to be covered up with flour once she began working. On these days, she refrained from going to the McAndrews' parties. The only two people who seemed to know of her reasons for certain were Mrs. Ethel McAndrew and Mr. Benjamin Barker. Neither of whom knew that the other knew. Mr. Barker was a quiet fellow, to say the least, and Mrs. Ethel McAndrew was not particularly inclined to talk with him. Nellie Lovett would talk to anyone, Ethel concluded, and therefore it was no surprise that she had become quite chummy with Lucy Barker's husband.
Mr. Barker was somewhat aloof. He would rarely engage in conversation, finding more pleasure in staying in the background, while his wife mingled, and if one were to watch carefully, one would notice his eye always remained upon her. Mrs. Lovett happened to notice. But what could one do with such a fair thing? Lucy was younger, blonder, and apparently a lot more appealing than she was. She did try though. She talked to Benjamin when no one else would, finding even a stumbling reply from him more appealing than anything else in the world. For this, it seemed Mr. Barker was appreciative. He felt freer to discuss things with Nellie, as it seemed she always understood.
She wouldn't have gone so far as to say she was in love. If she did, there would be a risk of it being a crime. Or at least an abhorrent deviation. She liked Benjamin, liked him more than anyone else she knew. (Not to mention he was better looking than anyone else she knew, but that was beside the point.) The point was, she was a good wife, and she couldn't possibly be doing any harm in confiding in him, rather than, say, her own husband.
Not that she ever had a chance to confide in Albert Lovett. When he wasn't working, he was drunk, and when he wasn't drunk, he was lascivious, or sometimes a horrible combination of both. She trooped on however. He was her dearest and her only, after all. He'd been decent enough before they'd married. He offered her a comfortable life, and his disposition was impenetrable upon their meeting. Nellie's mother, Eleanor Kingsley Corrigan, said he was the best thing to have happened to her daughter. Oh, and how humble was this Albert Lovett, how sincere, how genteel. Mrs. Kingsley Corrigan was the queen of trump-ups. Her daughter was left between a rock and a hard place however, either she married this homely meat-seller, who assured her of a good home, and a successful business and subsequent income, or she be carted off to Liverpool to tend to her sick aunt Nettie and live as a matron or a nun or something equally horrid upon Nettie's immanent demise. And being a chastised crone was far from appealing to a young seventeen-year-old. So she married Lovett. And became Lovett. Not Corrigan Lovett. Albert would have none of that.
They'd been married for two and a half years before the Barkers arrived. However successful their business had appeared to be, in reality, due to the cheapness of the meat, not to mention the lack of prowess from the baker, finances had gone under, and their only conceivable option was to rent out the unused space upstairs. They didn't have children, however many times they'd tried, so the rooms above were virtually useless. It had been Nellie's idea to rent them out, of coarse. She was the resourceful one in this relationship. Albert rarely even spoke when not at work, and was, lesser still, compassionate towards his wife when they were alone together. But Nellie endured, reminding herself over and over that this was the only way. She'd stay in London at whatever cost. Things weren't so bad, really. Plenty of people didn't love their husbands. Plenty of wives were knocked about when said husband cradled the bottle. Nothing unusual. Her parents were proud of her, at least, for once in her life. She'd made the right choice in their eyes. And someday she would have a child. Someday. Perhaps she should just try harder. Refuse Albert less. There would be fewer beatings that way. And with a child, she could forget about everything, and concentrate on it, love it.
She had such love to give. Perhaps that was what drew her to this man, Mr. Barker. He adored his family, and with good reason. They were lovely in all and beyond all respects, Nellie thought, but there was something about him in particular that made her feel like she could forget all about her sorry little life, forget about keeping people happy with false feelings, and just…be.
"Bugger…" She breathed, after dropping her new china plate, smashed cleanly in half, save a few jagged bits, on the floor before her. She'd just bought that from St. Dunstan's today. And it was expensive, too. So much for a refined Christmas dinner…
She'd been startled when she'd heard footsteps from down the hall. Now who would be coming into the kitchen at this hour? She'd thought she'd been sure Albert was asleep in their room before coming down here to prepare things for tomorrow. It was about half-past twelve in the morning.
Oh God, it must be Albert. She just knew it. He wanted her to come to bed. And she would have no choice but to do it, lest she acquire a fresh bruise for tomorrow morning. Oh, God…
She held her breath, and stood straighter, clutching her hands into fists before the figure emerged in the doorway.
It was not Albert Lovett however. It was Mr. Barker.
"Mr. B…you…gave me a fright!" Nellie exhaled appreciatively, clutching a hand to her chest, feeling rather embarrassed at his witnessing her clumsiness. She was eternally grateful however. She would rather Mr. Barker see her drop a hundred plates than spend even an hour alone with Albert.
Mr. Barker was silent for a moment, staring down at the broken plate, frowning slightly.
Mrs. Lovett bent down to pick up the pieces, sighing heavily and hoping he wasn't laughing at her with those eyes of his.
"My…apologies, Mrs. Lovett." He intoned at length, bending down to take the pieces from her. "I just…was curious."
She blushed visibly as he drew near. Even if it meant absolutely nothing at all to him, she didn't care. "What brings ya down 'ere so late, Mmm?" Her voice was soft, softer than she'd intended, perhaps, and she eyed him tentatively.
He remained knelt for a moment, piling the two large pieces atop one another, and then sprinkling the smaller bits on top with his other hand. "I…suppose I lost track of time. I'd thought you and Mr. Lovett had gone to bed for the night."
Was it just her imagination, or was he blushing too? "Oh, 'e's out like a light, I'm sure." She replied, not making a move, awaiting his next one. Awaiting his next vowel, his next consonant, his next breath, even.
He said nothing however, merely nodded rather hastily before clearing his throat.
She ached to know what he had to be embarrassed about. Was it not she who dropped things and stumbled about in the face of his company? "Somethin's on your mind, Mr. B. Don' be beatin' round the bush wi' me." At that she gave a little smile.
Again, he said nothing, shaking his head this time, though he wasn't very convincing, and she knew that frown anywhere.
"Somethin' about…Lucy? The baby? Wha's on ya mind, dear?"
His face was much like a living canvas. His eyes told endless stories, one unfolding right after another. Rather romantic sort of thinking, really, but she rarely had a chance to admire anything, that when the time came, she'd do it with gusto. At the moment, he seemed lost in thought, and she ached to climb inside that head of his. Tread lightly between each current, and marvel. Encased with marble halls and golden gilt on all sides, she imagined. Her face moved inexplicably closer to his without her even knowing.
But he broke her trance, as he stood, the air from his abruptness whooshing up and throwing her back slightly. "Nothing. Please, don't trouble yourself over me, Mrs. Lovett." And with that he placed the broken china carefully on the wooden counter before exiting. Though not before throwing a rushed "Good night" her way.
The day Mr. Barker was arrested was rather like a trip to an alternate reality. The world had turned upside down. The very notion of his ever committing a crime was atrocious to begin with, no less the actuality of it. But the law don't lie, do it? That's what Ethel McAndrew had said to her husband after the whole affair. She'd been the first to hear the news.
"Nellie!" She huffed, sweeping through the door with the tintinnabulation of the bell. "I've jus' seen the Barkers…"
Mrs. Lovett's attention was caught, and she rose from her seat in the parlour hastily, "Ethel…dear, whot's the matter?"
She took a moment to catch her breath, whilst being led to sink into the settee, wrinkling the knitted spread of drab blue and grey draped across it. "I've…jus' 'eard from the courthouse…Mr. Barker's been taken in for ques…huhh…questioning…"
Mrs. Lovett sank into her chaise lounge opposite, hands twisting in her lap. "…Wh…why?"
There was a silence, in which Mrs. McAndrew only supplied a frank shake of the head. She had no idea.
They found out from Lucy soon enough.
A rather severe-looking gentleman, who knocked on the door with a little clatter hours later, escorted Mrs. Barker home. Mr. Lovett sat in his corner of the parlour, pawing through a case of cigars. His wife was called down moments later.
"Ah, Mrs… Lovett, I presume?" Said the gentleman, with a permanent glare and a long nose.
"Tha's me, sir." Her eyes drifted from him to the young woman. "Lucy!" she gaped aghast, "Where've you been, love?" and she actually was concerned this time.
Mrs. Barker looked rather petrified.
"Excuse me Madam, I am Judge Horace Turpin," He cut in.
"...Judge? An' what business does a Judge 'ave walkin' other people's wives 'ome?" A less than delicate reply, truly. She noticed another man behind the Judge, who eyed her back with beady eyes.
"I wished to see to it that Mrs. Barker…" His eyes drifted down to the young Aryan woman adjacent, "…was brought home safely."
Mrs. Lovett said nothing, hands at her hips, disapproving.
"…I was told she resides above your shop. Correct?"
Still she said nothing, eyeing Lucy again, who took a few steps inside eventually, hands wrung.
Giving a disgruntled sigh, Mrs. Lovett placed a hand on Lucy's back and led her towards the parlour. Then returned shortly to the Judge. "Where is Benjamin…?"
"…Mr. Barker has been taken into custody. It was with uncanny fortune that I, myself, and the Beadle Bamford," he gestured to the other man, "Caught him in the act this very afternoon."
"The…act?" She did not sound convinced. Though within her began a tirade of nervousness.
Judge Turpin surveyed her coolly, "Of such acts, I am not at liberty to discuss…with a lady." The accent on 'lady' was sarcastically punctuated. "If you'll excuse me." And with that he was gone.
Lucy Barker fumbled with a lace handkerchief, dabbing her eyes. Though she seemed obviously distressed, Mrs. Lovett was inclined to label her disposition as…shocked for the sake of the event, rather than the potential jeopardy of her husband. But who knows.
"…What did 'e do, Lucy?" Asked Mrs. McAndrew, who had rejoined them an hour later, the three women congregated in the parlour, fire ablaze.
Albert Lovett had retreated down to the bake house. His wife barely took note, as she normally would, since that was the place he preferred to go to drink.
Lucy shook her head rapidly, "I don't know. The bobbies dragged him out of the courtyard, and the Judge…Judge informed me of some…some charge they'd been able to extract from his records."
Mrs. Lovett frowned, her back straight as a board, "He told me he'd caught Mr. B in the act."
Lucy sniffed. "Well, he told me the details were difficult t-to…to…for a woman to hear…" At that came more tears.
Ethel McAndrew patted Lucy on the shoulder. "There, there, love. It's prob'ly just a mix-up. Poor Mr. Barker. 'e'll get outta there quick enough."
Mrs. Lovett was not convinced. Mrs. Barker was perhaps mentally incapable of being convinced. Mrs. McAndrew was as convinced as one could be politely with the current company.