Thank you Ravencaller! I'm so glad you're feeling better. Ha, yeah, the legalities, I swear I wish I could have just written a nice romantic story, but the more I wrote the mor complicated I realised this would actually be. Bloody Sweeney... :)

xxxlindazzz and booksroc, thank you (I've streaked my hair purple before too...Should do it again)!

Haha, very true Vicki.

I have the biggest damned headache..Not that any of you would care about my rambling. :P

Thanks guys, loveth youz all.

Ah, screw it, I'm going to say it. When Sweeney first returns to Fleet Street and he asks Lovett, "Where's Lucy? Where's my wife?" isn't that the most heartbreaking question? Not necessarily the question as such, but the emotion and misery in those words...I swear I could watch that one little bit over and over and over again. *Fangirl moment*

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Sanders pushed open the door of the Thorny Crown and immediately the sound of dozens of men just finishing their day of work washed over him. He could smell them too, the stench of sweat made his nose twitch in a most unfavourable manner. It was odd, a tavern in London was usually full all day, and while this tavern had its share of patrons it wasn't till the late afternoon and the evening did it seem as if it was bursting from the seams. Raucous laughter met his ears, and as he moved his way through the throngs of men he could feel their eyes burning his back, watching the man wearing a well-cut and tailored suit in their territory with suspicion. Good job, idiot, Sanders seethed to himself thinking about Anthony, bringing Jo to such a place.

"Louise, Louise, our employer doesn't pay you to curl your hair around your finger, get back to serving at once!" he heard Laura's voice over the chaotic din, and he had to grin at that.

The girl she was reprimanding pulled a face when she saw Laura walk back into the kitchen and she pouted prettily at the three men she had been talking to, gracefully dropping from the table she had been sitting on, and flounced off to do as she was told. Sanders did not escape her notice however, and in one flicker of her eyes she had deduced she would talk to him at the next available opportunity.

Sanders found a stool and sat at the bar, leaning forward and ordering out, "I want a piece o' that cake yeh promised me, woman."

"I'll give you a piece of something else if you ask like that again!" Laura's voice came from the kitchen, but then her tone softened and he barely heard her as she said pleadingly, "Jacob love, I need that pan – no, please – here, use this other pot to bang away on, there's a lad."

He sat there for a couple of minutes, and to his amusement it was Louisa who pranced out of the kitchen holding a plate with a generous slice of cake for him. She moved over and he couldn't help but notice her delicate waistline under the sheer gown she wore of heather green. He leaned his chin upon his palm as he rested his elbow on the counter and she seemed pleased that his attention was all on her. Oh, what a pretty thing she was, with blonde hair a shade darker than Jo's but with an elegant curl. The stench of desperation was upon her as distinctly as the perfume that lingered on her young flesh.

"Potato spice cake," she said to him smiling, "I made it myself."

"Yeh did now, did yeh?" he said as she placed the plate in front of him.

He frowned at the inviting delicacy in front of him. The orange piece of cake actually did look inviting; in spite of the doubts he had that morning. He picked up the fork and stabbed at it – how could something made from potatoes look so sweetly inviting? He placed a piece into his mouth and had to laugh as his tongue exploded with the taste of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. Bleedin' hell, he owed the wench money. She was right, he would be wanting a second piece. He pulled out his coin purse and fished out the right coins, plonking it beside his plate.

He then surveyed Louisa again and quoted from Shakespeare as dulcetly as he could manage before shoveling another forkful into his mouth, "Looks like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it," and winked.

She looked at him half smiling, half pensive. He had spoken to her so nicely but something told her it wasn't a compliment, and she furrowed her brow, "What does it mean, Sir?"

"It means," Sanders was gorging down the dessert now, "That it ain't nice to lie when I know yeh weren't the one to bake this. That lie makes yeh as foul to me as yehr face makes yeh pretty to those drunk louts."

The girl's half smile faded and she mumbled something about having to do some work and hurried away. He watched her disappear into the crowded room, appreciating her figure, but then went back to the cake. A few moments later Laura came out with two jugs of beer and went into the crowd too, and returned empty handed. She spotted the coins of defeat by his plate and she grinned, "Shall I get you another piece then?"

Without waiting for him to answer she disappeared and in two moments she returned and placed it on the counter, then smirked at him, "That wasn't nice, by the way."

Sanders shrugged, "Yeh heard then? The wench probably has the pox for all I know, I don't want her anywhere near me."

"Indeed," she turned and started putting some glasses away in a cupboard, "How is everything, anyway?"

There was a silence, Laura assuming he was still eating as she turned to admonish his greedy self for not answering, till she saw the serious look on his face.

"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked quietly.

Sanders paused a little while longer, then mumbled, "If I knew it would do her any good, I'd bundle Jo into a hansom and I'd take her the hell out of this cesspit, no matter how much she fought me. It ain't good Laura."

"You can't give up hope – for goodness sake, you've been vowing to them it would all be fine," Laura retorted.

Sanders didn't answer, in fact, he looked furious at himself for revealing such doubt and muttered, "Bleedin' witch is what yeh are, concocting such temptations and making a man talk when he'd usually be unwilling. Bleedin' Eris."

He took the second piece of cake and stomped off, up the stairs to the inn and quietly knocked on Jo's door.

There was no answer.

"Jo dear, I'm back," he said quietly.

There was still no answer.

Looking down at the piece of cake, he took a crumb and nibbled it, calling out again, "Jo, open the door."

When there was still no answer, he opened the door and stepped in quietly incase she was dozing but then looked around blankly when he saw she was not anywhere in the room. He poked his head back out the room, and called out, concern creeping in his voice, "Johanna!"

Worry began to take hold of him and without thinking he turned back to the room looking around and spied a piece of paper on the table. He rushed over to the table, dumped the plate down and read the simple sentence – I have gone to Oakland cemetery, - Johanna. – And without further loitering he dashed from the room in a panic.

Women would be the death of him, he damn well knew it.