Lucy sat at her dressing table, staring intently at her image in the mirror in front of her. How the years had changed her. The soft wrinkles that now appeared at the corner of her eyes, across her forehead. Of course, she knew she was young enough for these blemishes to not be noticeable from a certain distance, but she saw them clearly. She encouraged them. If she gained a thousand wrinkles, came to look like a hag of the streets, maybe she'd be let free. She wouldn't be desirable.

With a heavy sigh, Lucy stood and looked towards the door. It seemed such a distance away. She made her way from the room, looking both ways down the corridor to assure herself that Judge Turpin was nowhere near her. Content, she walked down the hallway until she found Roseanne's door.

"Rosie?" she said with a light knock on the door. There was no reply, but more often than not her daughter was far too quiet to be heard. Lucy opened the door gently despite the silence and poked her head through to look inside. Immediately she regretted it.

"Ah, my dear," Turpin said, closing the book that he held on his lap. "So glad you came to join us."

Roseanne looked up from her lap, her face pale and her eyes wide. Her lips twitched slightly, wanting to smile, upon seeing her mother but she refrained.

"I came to see my daughter," Lucy said stiffly, not looking at the Judge.

"We were just reading through Rudyard's theories again."

"I've told you I don't want my daughter exposed to those law theories again. He was nothing but a sadistic monster."

"With some very interesting ideas," he replied, standing and placing the book in the crook of his elbow. "Though if you are so against his theories, then of course I won't mention them again."

"You said that last time."

"And now I mean it."

The Judge placed a hand on the back of Lucy's neck as he kissed her forehead before leaving, closing the door gently behind him. Lucy shuddered slightly before again turning to her daughter who had sighed with relief and leant her head against the wall behind her.

"Don't listen to a thing he says, Rose," Lucy said quietly, sitting lightly at her daughter's side. "It's all utter nonsense."

"Father or Rudyard?"

"Both."

"It's such a terrible book," Roseanne said, looking up at the ceiling. "I have no opinions on torture in the most extreme of cases, but to hear of it in court? It simply doesn't do."

"I won't let him read that horrible thing to you again- I shouldn't let him read to you at all."

Roseanne said nothing but smiled weakly, leaning to rest her head on her mother's shoulder. Oh how she wished she could be as determined as to simply say 'No' and expect her father to never read from that damned book again. She doubted very much she'd ever be that brave, though. Roseanne was still in disbelief that her mother could be that brave.

"He wants me to accompany the beadle to St Dunstan's next week," said Roseanne with slight amusement- it wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last. However, Lucy stiffened beside her. "You don't think I should?"

"I never like the way he stares at you." The clipped tone made Roseanne jump slightly, but she soon softened as Lucy wrapped an arm around her.

"I'm still far too young for anything like marriage, mother. Father will have come to his sense by then."

"You're sixteen in a few months," Lucy whispered, her voice breaking as she said it. Yes, young. No, not too young.

"Mother, you're crying."

Lucy wiped away the few tears that had started to fall, smiling overly-brightly in attempts to hide her thoughts. She shook her head determinedly, squeezing her daughter tightly.

"No, no, it's just the dust, dear, just the dust."

"Should I refuse the beadle, mother?"

"It would only make matters worse. No, go with him to the market. You needed wool, after all, didn't you? And it should be lovely outside… best not to let yourself get cooped up in this house."

"Why don't you ask to join us? "

"I wouldn't be welcome, Rose."

Rose nodded slowly, breathing out steadily. It wasn't the first time that her mother's wishes to accompany her to the market had been refused. The idea that Lucy may one day join her in her trip to the market was so out of sight now that Roseanne didn't know quite why she bothered to ask anymore. Although, she could not quite see why her mother was in such a state about the beadle; Roseanne has never experienced any trouble from him. Any stares that he gave she thought of more as attentive. He listened to her, he did not complain when she decided to.

"Do you really believe that the beadle will ask for marriage?"

"I'm not too sure," Lucy lied. "Perhaps. One day."

Saying the words created such a bitter taste on Lucy's tongue that she could barely stand it. But Roseanne was, and always had been, a naiive child, as her mother had once been. It wouldn't do her any good to be told so bluntly the truths of the world.


"What the bloody 'ell do you think yeh're doing?"

Johanna looked up, alarmed, and smiled brightly upon seeing Nellie standing at the doorway, her hands placed comically on her hips.

"Cockroaches," Johanna said, standing up and brushing the dust off her skirt. "They're everywhere now, y'know."

"Don't remind me," Nellie said, shuddering.

"What happened to Tabby?" Johanna asked, looking around as she did so. "We only got 'er a few weeks ago, wouldn't have thought she'd gone that quickly."

"That bitch Mooney got 'er 'ands on the poor love. Didn't stand a chance."

"Poor pet," Johanna murmured, sitting gently at the booth opposing Mrs Lovett who had now taken her place at the oven, pulling out the remains of the freshest batch of pies. Freshest perhaps isn't the word, she thought to herself, tilting her head and wrinkling her nose when the smell wafted itself across the room.

"Ah, me beloved pies," Nellie said enthusiastically, inhaling deeply before placing the tray on the table in front of her. "What would the world do without such delicacies? Without such scrumptious delights? Without the magnificent odour of… of…"

"Rotting fish?"

"Not quite sure 'ow that 'appened, it's veal."

"It happened because you haven't cleaned out that oven in years, Nellie," Johanna laughed, pinching her nose as the smell became stronger. "I'll do it, if you like, but you 'aven't had the decency to ask!"

"Like I'd trust yeh in there! No, I'll get it done soon enough, you'll see."

"Well get it done quickly," said Johanna, grabbing hold of the cloth in front of her and throwing it at Nellie. "The customers'll be 'ere any minute now and I doubt they'll come here to smell what they could buy down at the market."

"Nah, there won't be any customers 'ere," she replied, though dutifully dropped to her knees and began to scrub at the oven with the dry cloth. "Only reason they come 'ere's for your pretty face and they stopped doing that since yeh kicked the last one."

"He deserved it!"

"Well, 'is wife didn't think so. Took a lot of work to stop 'er pressing charges, she wanted children so badly."

"And she got 'em, didn't she? Had to have a go with the baker to get it, but she got one."

"Where you been 'earing all that gossip from? Yeh know I'm not one for gossip, so hold that tongue of yours, missy."

Johanna smiled smugly, pulling her feet up onto the seat of the booth and wrapping her arms around her knees. She watched in amusement as Nellie scrubbed away, her elbows bent carefully and her hair falling out of the pins as she did her work. How jealous Johanna was of that hair! It was horribly messy, and utterly untameable, but so much better than this black silk that seemed better befitting a doll.

"When're we gonna stop dyeing my hair, Nellie?"

"Told yeh, pet," Nellie answered between sharp breaths as she continued working. "When you're married."

"I shan't get married if you'll have me walking around prepared for a funeral."

"Eh? What you talking about? Plenty of the girls've got dark hair down the road."

"They aren't coerced into it!"

"Don't know what yeh're complaining about," Nellie said, chuckling to herself. "I would've killed for hair like yours, yeh know? Always made fun of me hair, the kids when I was little. Flaming red head, that was me. Nah, you're much better off."

"But I'm not a read head," Johanna said indignantly. "I'm a perfectly lovely blonde, that's respectable enough."

"Going around saying I'm not respectable?" Nellie said dramatically, stopping her scrubbing and placing a hand on her forehead, feigning shock. "Don't know why I don't give you a good 'iding, love, I really don't."

"Oh, Nellie, you love me far too much for that!"

"Yeah, love yeh enough to turn yeh into such a spoiled little madam."

"Exactly." Nellie looked up to see Johanna grinning from ear to ear, laughing cheerfully. It was so nice to see the girl in such high spirits. Of course, she was always in high spirits. With a groan as she heaved herself up to her feet, Nellie rested her elbows on the counter and surveyed the girl in front of her.

It had been quite a while since Johanna had mentioned her hair, and Nellie desperately wanted to know what had brought the thought about, but held her tongue. The girl's mind often ran away with her and it didn't do to question it. She was so little like her mother that it was alarming, to say the least. Where Lucy had been quiet and demure, Johanna had followed in Nellie's footsteps and become loud and brash. Not, of course, without her charms. Just one smile from little Johanna and all the boys would swoon. More often than not, at least. Unless one looked even slightly suspicious, at which point… well, Nellie simply didn't want to think about one of Johanna's episodes.

"You might want to bake another batch, Nellie," Johanna said, looking past her shoulder at the pies. Nellie shook her head and smiled, looking down at the pies.

"Don't know why I bother," she sighed, pulling out a rolling pin and bags of flour and such. "No one'll eat 'em, anyway."

"Keep the faith, Nellie." Johanna laughed to herself and stood again, brushing her skirts out of habit. "I'm going to put the kettle on."

Nellie nodded, waving a hand to dismissed her. Her forehead crinkled slightly as she looked amongst the bags, tapping her finger on the counter top. Why did she bother to continue with the baking for the day? Still, she felt best to continue mindlessly without any motivation other than her own boredom. There wouldn't be a customer, but what else was there to do?

It was the combination of both the lack of belief such a thing would happen and the dull thud of her knife against the counter that stopped her from hearing that brief, ever so light, tinkle of the bell as the door opened.

A/N- In case anyone feels like reviewing- no pressure, but I'd like it!- I just want to pre warn you that the timing here is going to be a bit weird compared to the movie. Johanna's age, the time of day that Sweeney appears, etc, all that sort of thing. I promise it won't be too off, only by a couple of months or so!