Proof of Heaven

On the Friday two weeks after beginning her new job with the Fosters, the sun is shining brilliantly for once and the birds are twittering away in the trees as Johanna makes her way outside and nearly skips down the stairs to the pavement. Despite the rather difficult week she has had – Judge Turpin made it a point to visit three times – Johanna isn't worried. Of course, she had been at first. At night, she would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, too anxious to sleep but too distracted to join the other servants making merriment downstairs. However, now isn't the time to feel afraid. Today is the sort of day she reads about in fairy tales, where everything is going right for the heroine of the story and nothing can possibly get in the way. Today, Johanna is going home.

Weekends are hers, and nothing can take that away. Thoughts of Judge Turpin can wait until Monday.

In the streets, everyone seems to be enjoying the rare day of beautiful weather – children are running through the streets barefoot and not even properly dressed, young men and women are leaning out of carriages to call out to each other and smile at the blue sky overhead. It's almost as though the whole world and all of nature is as happy as she is this morning, and though the thought is a fanciful one, Johanna smiles at it anyway.

Clutching her bag to her side – stuffed with dresses and books for the weekend – Johanna turns to make her way to Fleet Street only to spot Anthony in front of her, leaning against a tree across the lane. Slouched in a way that still somehow manages to look elegant, Anthony has his eyes glued to a crinkled newspaper, his brow furrowed but a faint smile on his lips. Whatever he's reading, it's confusing him. Smothering the grin that instantly wants to bloom on her face, Johanna gathers her skirts in one hand and scurries across the street, darting between carriages.

Anthony looks up at her approach, beaming. Tucking his newspaper inside his jacket pocket, he relieves her of her bag and offers her his arm. She takes it with a shy grin. "And how is my lady this charming afternoon?"

"I'm well," she says with the right amount of proper stiffness her mother would be proud of, but that makes her want to burst into giggles. "And you, kind sir?"

Anthony gives her a slow smile, and the breeze lifts his sandy hair from his face. "Much better now that I have a lovely young woman on my arm, Miss."

Johanna laughs delightedly. "Alright, enough pleasantries. What were you reading before I interrupted you?"

"The horrible tripe that passes for a newspaper in London," Anthony laughs. "Part of the reason I love visiting is that the newspapers are so terrible. It amuses me. Is that horrible?"

"Yes," Johanna says without hesitation, giggling when Anthony looks shocked. "Well you can't criticize this city's newspaper and expect me to defend you. You're quite insulting."

At once, Anthony disengages his arm from hers and sweeps into a low bow. "My apologies, my lady. How can I amend for such an erroneous point of view?"

"You could buy me a bag of candy from that vendor down the street," Johanna offers, looking thoughtful.

Anthony straightens, contemplative. "I suppose I could…if your good opinion is truly worth two pence. I shall have to think about it."

Johanna lets out a scandalized laugh. "Anthony Hope, you're a horrible human being."

"Really?" He grins, regarding her from under dark lashes. "Then I shall strive to be better for you."

Johanna blushes.

XxX

Voices carry through the paper-thin walls of the pie shop, even when one isn't trying to listen. It's how Eleanor always knew when Benjamin and Lucy were having a disagreement – as rare as those moments were. She always knew when baby Johanna was fussy or amused, when Johanna had had a nightmare as a little girl. Now, with her ear pressed to the closed parlor door, Eleanor can hear every word Anthony Hope is saying to Mr. Todd and Lucy.

"I know that you both love Johanna very much, and I can assure you that I care for her as well. I would like your permission to court her, in the hopes of one day making her my wife."

Eleanor grins, glancing back at Johanna, who hovers over her shoulder anxiously. "'E just asked, love."

Johanna's eyes widen and she presses forward, nearly shoving Eleanor out of the way. "He did? What did Father say?" She tries to press her ear to the door with Eleanor. "What did Mother say?"

"Shh," Eleanor hushes her, scowling. "I won't be able to tell you if you don't shut your gob, dearie."

Johanna nearly stamps her foot. "I can't hear anything!"

Sighing, Eleanor suggests, "Squat down there and look through the keyhole. Bet your father's about to go into a bloody rage."

Johanna crouches down and squints through the keyhole. "Hmm…Father's glaring. That's not a good sign."

Eleanor snorts. "'E's always glarin', love. That means nothin'. What's your mother doing?"

"I can't see her, Anthony's in the way – Ouch! You're on my hair, Auntie Nell!"

"Well kindly move out of my way, love," Eleanor stifles a laugh at Johanna's wounded glare, watching her clutch at her hair protectively. Holding out a hand, she helps Johanna to her feet. "Come on, let's 'ave a seat and wait for the verdict, eh? I'll fix us some gin."

Casting one last worried glance at the door, Johanna nods and follows Eleanor from the room. "Yes, I think a glass of gin would do my nerves well just now." She collapses into a chair in the kitchen with the dramatic flair normally only seen on the stage, and sighs. "What do you think they're saying?"

Carrying a bottle of gin and two glasses to the table, Eleanor smiles. "I'm sure your father is probably starin' the poor boy down, waitin' for 'im to quiver in 'is li'tle sailor boots and your mother is probably sayin'," she pauses, putting on a breathy, falsetto voice, "'Oh Benjamin, what a lovely young man. How charming! In fact, everything is charming! I love everyone – beggars, whores, flower girls and alcoholics. The world is a wonderful place! Anthony dear, is that your real hair?'" She flutters her eyelashes theatrically.

Johanna doesn't even attempt to keep a straight face, giggling uncontrollably into her glass and waving her hand. "Stop it, Auntie Nell. You're horribly wicked." She purses her mouth against another wave of laughter and attempts to look stern. "Now, I've been meaning to ask you something and now that we're alone…"

Eleanor, sensing Johanna's change in demeanor, sits up a little straighter and puts all thoughts of Lucy impressions out of her mind. "Of course, love. You know you can ask me anythin'."

Staring contemplatively into her gin, Johanna bites her lip. "I want to know what you think of Anthony. Your opinion is important to me and…" She trails off, shrugging self-consciously.

Taking pity on her, Eleanor smiles and pats her hand. In the past few days, Anthony has been pestering her constantly about asking Mr. Todd and Lucy for permission, whether they would allow their darling daughter to court a lowly sailor. Then, he'd gone and earned Eleanor's respect for eternity by asking for her blessing as well. She'd laughed, patted his cheek and given him a cookie.

Anthony is perfectly suited for Johanna, in character and personality alike. He's calm and mild, where Johanna is rambunctious and quick to laugh. Anthony is good-humored and charmingly child-like while Johanna has always been mature for her age, and far too cynical for her own good. At the same time, they're both well-read, curious, and eager to see the world. They complement one another in ways that tell Eleanor more than Anthony's speech to the Barker's ever will.

Instead of saying all this, Eleanor merely squeezes Johanna's hand and says loftily, "No one is quite perfect enough for you, love. But 'e's close enough."

XxX

When Johanna is seven years old, she comes home crying after playing with the neighborhood children and runs straight into Lucy's arms. Eleanor and Lucy had been reclining in the parlor – Lucy knitting quietly and Eleanor trying to persuade her to play cards instead.

Shocked at her daughter's tears, Lucy pulls the little girl into her lap and asks softly, "Johanna, darling, what on earth is the matter?"

For a while, Johanna does nothing but sniffle into Lucy's gown, and Eleanor exchanges a befuddled look with the worried mother. "Joseph Washington," Johanna eventually manages, hiccupping as she tries to draw in a breath.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere," Lucy smiles gently, lifting Johanna's face by the chin and wiping at her tear-stained cheeks with a lace handkerchief. "What about Joshua Washington?"

Wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress and missing Lucy's frown of disapproval, Johanna swallows and tries again. "He and his horrid friends were teasing me." She scowls. "And they wouldn't let me play with them. They said I would ruin their fun."

"Nonsense," Lucy fiddles with one of Johanna's braids. "You make everything better."

Johanna looks up at her mother pleadingly. "Won't you make them let me play, Mother?"

Lucy shakes her head. "If they don't want you to play, I cannot make them. Besides, darling, you should be playing with little girls. Wouldn't you like to play with Lorraine and Henrietta instead?"

Wrinkling her nose, Johanna shakes her head. "They're not fun at all, Mother. All they want to do is pretend their dolls are real babies and have tea parties! I want to play with the boys – they run and climb trees and - "

"Johanna, climbing trees is not something little girls or proper young ladies do," Lucy interrupts with a frown. "You know that. You belong with little girls your age, not Joshua Washington and his band of filthy followers." Patting her daughter gently on the head, Lucy pushes Johanna from her lap and stands. "I'll get you a cup of tea, darling. Stay put."

As Lucy sweeps from the room, Eleanor, who has remained silent through the entire conversation, takes one look at Johanna's dejected face and says quietly, "Oi! C'mere, love."

Johanna looks up, eyes still red and watery. "Me, Auntie Nell?"

Eleanor nods, motioning her forward. Johanna hesitantly approaches her side, looking wary. Eleanor doesn't want to interfere, but she cannot watch Lucy mould Johanna into her own image, stifling her curiosity and that wild nature Eleanor is so fond of. Little girls shouldn't worry about keeping their dress clean or how to host a tea party – Lord knows she never did. All children should have a chance to be silly, to explore and get their hands dirty. After all, they're only children for such a short amount of time. Why spend that time making them miniature adults? Eleanor has never understood the need high society parents have to rush their children through adolescence and straight into adulthood.

Reaching for Johanna's hand, Eleanor pulls the girl to her side and whispers, "Your mother means well, love. She just wants you to grow up and be a proper lady is all. But you can't let 'er stop you from 'avin' a bit of fun."

Johanna's brow furrows and she looks up at Eleanor with impossibly wide eyes, so much like Benjamin's used to look when she said something particularly scandalous, that Eleanor almost smiles. "What do you mean, Auntie Nell?"

Hearing Lucy putting together a tray of tea and little cakes, fine china clinking together, Eleanor struggles with how to tell Johanna that it's alright to be exactly what she is – a child. "Next time that lit'le bleeder Joshua Washington tells you 'e don't want you playin' with 'im, you give 'im what for, understand? Ain't no reason you can't run just as fast as 'e can."

Johanna smiles brightly and climbs into Eleanor's lap. "I'm really quite fast, now. I've been practicing on the stairs."

Amused, Eleanor nods and tucks an errant blonde curl behind Johanna's ear. "I know, I 'eard."

XxX

Two days later, Johanna comes home from playing with her friends with a grin on her face and dirt on her white dress. Eleanor manages to get the stains out before Lucy comes home from work and sees them, and Johanna sits on the settee and hums to herself, looking quite satisfied.

Eleanor doesn't think to inquire about Johanna's activities – the dress had been enough evidence of running and tree climbing – but when a rather angry-looking woman comes into the pie shop that night with a sullen little boy who refuses to look up, and asks for Lucy Barker, Eleanor thinks maybe she should have asked.

The woman returns from the upstairs apartment twenty minutes later, her nose in the air as she drags her son behind her out of the shop. Burning with curiosity, Eleanor climbs the stairs and knocks before letting herself into Lucy's sitting room. Johanna is nowhere in sight, but in the quiet of the apartment, Eleanor hears sniffling from the girl's bedroom.

Standing at the window, arms folded, Lucy says, "That was Mrs. Washington and her son Joshua."

Feigning disinterest, Eleanor glances around the room and says, "Awful late for a social call. Thought those upper class folk 'ad better manners."

Lucy's expression doesn't change, but she shakes her head. "Joshua came home with a black eye today and told his mother that Johanna did it when he refused to let her play marbles with him in the street."

Catching herself before she grins right in Lucy's face, Eleanor purses her lips and glances away. Remembering the way the boy wouldn't look up and kept staring at his shoes, Eleanor realizes he'd been trying to hide a swollen eye. Pride fills her and she meets Lucy's eyes without guilt. "Maybe next time 'e'll play nice."

This time, Lucy's jaw tightens and her eyes narrow. "Johanna is my daughter, Eleanor, not yours. You have no idea what it's like to raise a child alone and wonder if you're doing it correctly or if - "

"I don't know what it's like to 'ave a child at all, love," Eleanor interrupts softly. "But in my opinion, you seem to be doin' alright. And you're not alone. You've got me."

Lucy shakes her head again. "No, I don't have you, Eleanor. Not when you're giving my daughter contradictory advice behind my back."

"I didn't tell 'er to punch the boy," Eleanor protests. "Although the bugger probably deserved it."

"That attitude is exactly why Johanna punched that boy," Lucy says, and her voice is nearly trembling with suppressed emotion.

"She was stickin' up for 'erself," Eleanor exclaims. "I'm bloody proud of 'er for not lettin' that li'tle tosser boss 'er around!"

"Don't you think it makes me angry to see my daughter treated that way?" Lucy shouts. "But it isn't proper behavior – running around with boys and being involved in fights! I won't have her growing up to be like - "

Lucy stops abruptly, looking regretful, but Eleanor has grasped her meaning perfectly. "Like me, you mean?" She asks quietly, looking at the floor.

Taking a step forward, hesitant, Lucy says, "Eleanor, that isn't what I meant."

Drawing in a deep breath, Eleanor forces her expression into careful blankness and raises her chin defiantly. "I'd rather Johanna grow up like me than like a weak li'tle damsel who falls apart without a man to take care of 'er."

Lucy looks stricken but she takes another step anyway. Eleanor moves too, throwing open the door.

"Eleanor - "

Her only response is the apartment door slamming.

XxX

Looking at Johanna now, all grown up and smiling at her from across the table, Eleanor marvels at how time changes things. Johanna is no longer the odd little girl that none of the little boys want to play with, but a beautiful young lady they follow around in the market. Joshua Washington had wanted to court her, just last year. Johanna had laughed and sent the boy on his way, like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs.

Instinctively, Eleanor knows that this time, things are different. Johanna will marry this boy – a far cry from Joshua Washington – and spend the rest of her life utterly in love. Eleanor imagines Johanna traveling the world, visiting all the places she's read about and collecting exotic treasures from foreign countries, sending letters home when she finds the time. The thought of losing her is almost physically painful. Eleanor wonders how selfish it is to hope that Anthony won't take her away – to wish desperately that she never has to know a day without the bright-eyed girl in front of her.

Eleanor shakes her head, blinking. She will not be Lucy. She will let Johanna go, let her do all the things the girl has always longed to do, things Eleanor couldn't afford to give her.

"I'm scared, Auntie Nell."

Glancing up in surprise, Eleanor stares at Johanna's troubled, sweet face. "Of what, love?"

"I know you'll think I'm terribly silly, but I don't want things to change," she says, and her eyes fill up. "I've already started another job away from here, and now Anthony and I are becoming rather serious. I'm just…scared. I like being here with you."

"Oh love," Eleanor breathes, reaching across the table to caress Johanna's soft cheek. "Change is always scary, it's not silly to be afraid. But change is a part of life, there's no escapin' it. Nothin' in this world stays the same forever."

Johanna reaches up and takes Eleanor's hand in her own, holding on tightly. "I know."

"As much as I would like to be selfish and keep you 'ere with me for the rest of my life, I can't do that. It wouldn't be fair to you." Eleanor smiles brilliantly. "You're goin' to get married, and 'ave your own babies, and I'll be there for that."

Johanna grins, looking more like herself. "You promise you'll be there to spoil my children and teach them all sorts of highly improper things?"

Laughing, Eleanor pulls her hand back. "Try and stop me, love."

At that moment, they hear the door to the parlor open and footsteps move toward them. They wait in silence, staring intently at the doorway. Anthony appears, looking pale but pleased. He grins at Johanna, nodding.

Letting out a girlish squeal of delight, Johanna jumps from her chair and rushes to Anthony. He catches her in his arms and spins her around, beaming as Johanna giggles and wraps her arms more tightly around his neck.

Watching them from the table with tears in her eyes, Eleanor smiles too.

XxX

A shriek, quickly followed by a loud bang, stomping and the clattering of dishes, brings Johanna, Anthony, Toby and Mr. Todd rushing into the kitchen to find Eleanor amidst the mess. Covered in flour, hair in disarray and frying pan gripped tightly in a raised fist, she stares intently at the floor, looking murderous.

"Auntie Nell, are you alright?" Johanna asks, and Eleanor looks up to find them all crowded in the doorway, staring at her.

Blowing a wayward curl from her forehead, Eleanor lowers the frying pan, letting it hang limply in her hand. "Just fine, dear. Saw a rat - li'tle bugger startled me, is all."

Johanna looks amused, Anthony is staring at the frying pan with wide eyes and Mr. Todd merely looks annoyed that he'd hurried to her aid only to find her defending herself against a sewer rat. However, Toby looks positively delighted, stepping away from the others eagerly. "A rat? Brilliant! How do we catch 'im?"

As the others disperse, leaving the kitchen to return to what they were doing, Eleanor pinches Toby's cheek fondly. "You can 'elp me find the arsenic, since you're so eager, lad."

Eleanor is almost positive she stored the arsenic in a cabinet somewhere in the kitchen, but as she and Toby turn the room upside down looking for the little bottle, she is beginning to doubt her own sanity. An hour later, with the kitchen in a state of chaos and no arsenic to be found, Eleanor admits defeat and sends Toby off to play cards with Anthony and Johanna in the pie shop.

Annoyed and disheveled, Eleanor leaves the kitchen without bothering to clean up, determined to search the parlor. Her plans change, however, when she finds Mr. Todd already there, staring into the fire with an unreadable expression on his face. His shoulders are lined with tension, and yet he still manages to look defeated.

Watching him then, Eleanor realizes he lost his little girl today. Of course, Johanna is just in the next room, laughing at Anthony's appalling lack of skill in cards, but Eleanor is sure Mr. Todd feels just the way she does. Johanna may live here for now, but in so many other ways, she has already left.

Eleanor takes pity on him, going back to the kitchen and returning with tea and a plate of cookies. "Alright, Mr. T?" She asks, putting her offering in front of him on the table. He nods, but says nothing. She nudges the plate further toward him, lifting an eyebrow. "'Ave some tea and cookies, love. They're Johanna's favorite."

Mr. Todd doesn't move to take a cookie or the cup of tea before him, but he lifts his eyes from the fire to stare at them. The man makes no sudden moves. He is precision personified – every move he makes and every word he speaks has a purpose and is entirely deliberate. It makes him fascinating to watch, and Eleanor doesn't realize she isn't blinking until her eyes start to burn. She turns away, cheeks flaming.

"Thank you," Mr. Todd says, so suddenly that Eleanor almost jumps.

She smiles. "You're welcome, dear. Tea's gettin' cold, though. Might want to take a sip - "

"No," Mr. Todd shakes his head, frowning. "I mean…thank you for taking care of Lucy. That night at the ball…" He trails off, eyes distant.

He is no doubt thinking of the night, several days ago, when Eleanor told him of Turpin's ball. Eleanor watches him brood, thinking of the way Lucy looked for weeks after that party. Just the way Mr. Todd looks now, vacant and troubled. As if nothing else is real or important except what exists inside his head.

With a sudden jolt, Eleanor realizes she knows exactly where her arsenic is.

Shaking with the possibility, Eleanor rises quickly to her feet. "Think nothin' of it, Mr. T. Have a cookie, love."

Not waiting for a response that probably will never come, Eleanor marches down the hall and up the stairs, where Lucy sits in her apartment. Not bothering to knock, she throws open the door and stands in the center of the room, hands on her hips.

Lucy looks startled, sewing needle poised in mid-air. "Eleanor, where are your manners?"

Hardly in the mood to play her part in Lucy's burning need for etiquette, Eleanor gives her a hard stare. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?" Lucy asks patiently, turning back to her sewing. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"You know bloody well what!" Eleanor snaps, moving forward and snatching the needle from Lucy's hand.

Eyes wide in her shock, Lucy rises from her seat, forcing Eleanor to step back. "Eleanor, I can assure you that I have no idea what you are referring to. If you would be so kind as to explain what you are shrieking about, perhaps I can help you and get back to my sewing."

Walking to the other side of the room, needle still in hand, Eleanor begins opening drawers and rifling through them, ignoring Lucy's indignant protest.

"There's a rat in the pie shop and I need the arsenic to poison the blighter. I know I put it in the kitchen, but I tore the bloody place apart trying to find the bottle and it's not there." She whirls around to face the blonde. "So I'm gonna ask you a question, love, and I'd like you to answer me honestly." She swallows, setting the sewing needle aside and squaring her shoulders. "Did you take it?"

XxX

For a moment, when Mrs. Lovett leaves him to scurry up the stairs, Sweeney only frowns and listens to her footsteps against the wooden steps. It is entirely unlike Mrs. Lovett to leave so soon into a conversation – she hadn't even begun to complain about the rat in the kitchen.

It has come to Sweeney's attention during the weeks since his return that in order to find out anything of importance, one has to either eavesdrop or ply Mrs. Lovett with quite a bit of gin. Considering his more recent thoughts, he decides mixing Mrs. Lovett and gin would not be in his best interest, and standing up, he heads for the stairs. Raised voices meet his ears the moment he plants one foot on the bottom step and he tilts his head, listening.

"Did you take it?"

At the sound of Mrs. Lovett's voice, hard as steel, Sweeney takes another step, and then another, pausing in the middle of the staircase. When Lucy responds, she sounds positively irate, her voice breathless and shocked.

"I cannot believe what you're insinuating - "

"Don't you play the victim with me, Lucy Barker! You know very well why I'm askin' you – it ain't like you got a clean record, is it?"

For a moment, neither woman says anything and Sweeney shifts restlessly on the stairs, his mind racing.

Finally, in an irritated tone, Lucy snaps, "Don't you think if I wanted to kill myself, I would be intelligent enough to buy my own arsenic, rather than stealing yours?"

Mrs. Lovett's response is soft, almost apologetic. "Sometimes, love, I don't know what to think when it comes to you."

In a slightly hurt voice, Lucy continues, "I did take your arsenic, Eleanor, but only to move it into a drawer in your bedroom. It's unseemly to keep poison in the kitchen."

Whatever Mrs. Lovett says in reply, Sweeney will never know. Thoughts buzzing unpleasantly with ghastly possibilities and scenarios, he carefully descends the stairs and retreats to the parlor, body numb. He isn't sure how long he sits on the settee, the fire's warmth never registering in his subconscious as he thinks over everything he has heard.

Eventually, Mrs. Lovett comes back downstairs, and when she passes the doorway to the parlor, he calls out to her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He hears her stop mid-step, and he stares at the doorway until she appears, looking pale and uncertain. "Tell you what, love?"

"About the poison."

If possible, Mrs. Lovett pales even further, all the blood draining from her face. It makes her fiery curls look unnaturally vibrant, as if it belongs on a china doll, rather than a grown woman. "What are you - "

He tears his eyes from her, turning back to the fire. "I heard," is all he says.

Mrs. Lovett releases a shaky sigh and he sees her running a trembling hand over her ashen face. For a moment, nothing is heard in the parlor but the merrily crackling fire. Mrs. Lovett moves slowly to the settee, sitting next to him.

She stares at her hands for a long time, hardly blinking. "Lucy was a right mess after you were taken, Mr. T."

"Tell me," he growls, and she surprises him by looking unfazed at his tone.

Instead, she glances up and sighs. "Fifteen years ago, I found a bottle of arsenic in a drawer while I was cleanin' the upstairs apartment. Lucy saw me 'oldin' it and tried to wrestle it out of my 'ands, shriekin' about 'ow she needed it, 'ow she couldn't take livin' without you anymore." Mrs. Lovett stops, shaking her head. "She was always puttin' a drop in 'er tea, for 'er complexion and the like…so I didn't think much of it when I found the bottle. It was only when she fell at my feet, beggin' me to let 'er take it, that I knew she wasn't plannin' on usin' just a drop." Slowly, Mrs. Lovett looks up, her brown eyes meeting his. Sweeney is rendered breathless by what he sees there, though he couldn't put a name to it if he tried. He looks away quickly, not ready to lose himself in them. "Never let 'er 'ave arsenic in the house again, after that."

Speechless, Sweeney finds himself staring at the hem of Mrs. Lovett's dark dress, mind reeling. He isn't quite ready to face what this all means – the reality that Lucy hadn't been as strong as he'd always thought she was, that he wouldn't have had a family to come home to if not for Mrs. Lovett.

Mrs. Lovett reaches out a tentative hand, curling her fingers around his arm. Her touch feels like fire, even with a layer of cloth between them, and Sweeney can't stop a sharp intake of breath. Mrs. Lovett doesn't seem to notice, watching him with large, pitying eyes. "I'm sorry, love."

He nods dazedly, standing as if in a fog. "Excuse me, Mrs. Lovett. I believe my wife and I have things to discuss."

XxX

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not as if that was the best topic to welcome you home with!" Lucy protests, staring at him in disbelief. "It's in the past, I just wanted to forget it."

"What would have happened to Johanna?" He asks, his voice nothing more than a snarl. "She needed you – how could you even think of being so selfish? What would have become of her, without you?"

Lucy fiddles with her handkerchief, eyes tear-filled. "I assumed Eleanor and Albert would care for her."

It's as if his wife has become another person right in front of his eyes – Sweeney had never thought Lucy would be cowardly enough to think of doing something so drastic. She had actually reached a point of such desperation, had lost hope so deeply, that she had been willing to leave their daughter alone in this world, with only the vague hope that Mrs. Lovett and her husband would look after her. He had always thought his wife so much stronger than that. He had promised her he would come back for her and Johanna. Hadn't she believed him? Hadn't she cared that he could have braved the horrors of Australia, only to come home to a dead wife?

"Are you angry with me?" Lucy asks timidly, studying his stoic countenance.

Sweeney shakes his head in frustration, wondering how she could possibly think otherwise. What would he have done if he'd come home to find his wife dead and his daughter in a workhouse, or worse? Speaking through clenched teeth, he says, "If you had really - "

"It doesn't matter now," Lucy interrupts, her voice tinged with desperation. She fists her handkerchief, twisting it into knots, her expression pained. "Eleanor stopped me; you're home and everything is fine now. I don't want to discuss this."

He says nothing, jaw tight and hands balled into fists at his sides. He struggles to take in a deep breath, seething.

Lucy must sense his ire because when she takes a step toward him, it's careful and hesitant. She rests a hand on his arm – her skin warm but unable to set his whole being on fire the way someone else does so effortlessly. "I was desperate, Benjamin. I was missing you dreadfully and I thought I would never see you again. Can you blame me for being driven to such lengths?"

Not bothering to answer, Sweeney glances at her out of the corner of his eye and sees Lucy gazing up at him with grim determination in her eyes. Slowly, she takes another step, nearly pressing herself against him. His heart leaps into his throat and the sound of blood rushes in his ears as he realizes his wife's intentions. He's been waiting for so long…

Looking like a frightened doe, ready to run at the first sign of danger, Lucy leans in with a timid smile, her movements shaky and unsure. Haltingly, avoiding his intense stare, blue eyes fixed firmly on his mouth, she presses her puckered lips to his in a gentle kiss. Her lips – impossibly pink and thin – are warm and soft over his. She hasn't been so close to him since the day he came home, and he can smell vanilla and lilacs.

Lucy's kisses were always so inviting and irresistible to Benjamin. He vividly remembers the rush of longing and pure, unadulterated love that came washing over him whenever Lucy's lips would brush against his own. He could never get enough of her – pecks on the cheek, his lips lingering on her forehead in the morning as she slept beside him, passionate, arduous kisses in the night. To Benjamin, Lucy's lips had always been a sweet wine, one he never minded getting drunk on.

But now…Sweeney feels nothing.

He realizes with sudden clarity and devastating, gut-wrenching horror, that he feels nothing but the warm contact of her lips and a strange, melancholy sadness for what he once had, and is now lost forever. No flood of affection and yearning washes over him, his legs do not long to step closer to Lucy's willowy frame, so that he may press himself against her. His hands do not itch to bury themselves in her yellow hair and deepen their kiss. He does not feel the desire to lift her off of her feet and carry her to their bedroom, the way he so often used to long ago.

Lucy pulls away awkwardly, touching her lips with her fingertips, bright blue eyes darting up to meet his quickly before glancing away again, a lovely, shy blush coloring her pale cheeks rosy. She looks beautiful, like an angel. Like the dream that kept him going for so long on the other side of the world, the reason he fought so hard to stay alive.

And he feels nothing.

A/N – Yes, women actually used to put a drop of arsenic in their tea for their complexion back then. Talk about willing to do anything for beauty. Haha And thanks to DojoGhost for sharing that useful bit of information with you. She's a freaking Info Guru:) And lots of love to Robynne for being such a fantabulous beta. I would be utterly lost and drooling all over the place without her. Thanks so much for you reviews! Knowing what you all think is very important to me. Aren't you glad it didn't take a year for the next update?

Mariana – Thanks so much for the review! I'm glad you're sticking around for the rest of the story:)