A/N: Surprise, I'm not dead.
Listen guys, this fic has haunted me for YEARS. I found an old outline on my external hard drive and quarantine gave me plenty of time to work on it. SO. If anyone is still interested, the whole thing is finished. I'll be posting it all over the next few days. Happy Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, etc.
Also, if you're in the US don't forget to vote!
Chapter title from Jolene by Susanna and the Magical Orchestra.
Chapter Fourteen: Just Because You Can
The Most Honorable Judge Turpin,
I know we do not know one another as well as I would like but you have done me a great service, Sir. If not for you, I would be ignorant of the true character of the man called Anthony Hope. You have shed a light on him, Your Honor, where before I could only guess at what lay in the darkness. I cannot properly express my debt to you for saving me from the likes of such a criminal but I hope to try in person. If it pleases you, Sir, I would be honored if you would meet me tomorrow at my home on Fleet Street at dusk. I await your arrival with a grateful heart.
Yours,
Johanna Barker
Though Johanna had written the letter with her own hand, it had been Auntie Nell who had hovered at her shoulder and dictated the words to her. Johanna can barely remember writing it now. She can only recall the way her hand had clenched white-knuckled around the quill and the way Auntie Nell had rested a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed whenever Johanna hesitated, too overcome with grief and nausea to go on.
The letter rests now in the pocket of her dress, waiting for the proper time to be sent. Whenever she brushes a hand over her skirts and feels the outline of the envelope, her stomach turns over on itself and her head begins to spin. Can she really be about to do something so heinous? Sometimes she thinks she might be going mad.
And then she remembers Anthony's sweet smile and the way he'd held her hand. It instantly strengthens her resolve. She will not let what happened to her father happen to Anthony. He is too good, too kind, too innocent. Not him. She can remember the pictures her mother used to stare at all the time, before he'd returned to them so changed. Benjamin Barker had been young and idealistic, with the kindest smile and the brightest eyes. And while Sweeney Todd is still indeed a good man beneath the gruff exterior, the difference between that man and the one in her mother's pictures is sometimes enough to break her heart.
Not Anthony.
Johanna pats the letter in her pocket and nods once to herself. Yes, she will do this. She trusts her father and Auntie Nell. If they say this is what must be done, then she believes them. She sets her jaw and gets to her feet, determined to deliver the letter to one of the messenger boys down the lane, perhaps along with a few extra pence to ensure its safe and speedy arrival at the Judge's doorstep.
When she reaches the doorway, she nearly collides with her mother. "Oh," she says, dropping her hand hurriedly away from her pocket, as though Lucy might discern its contents with a single glance. "Excuse me, Mother. I was just going-"
"Could we talk?" Her mother offers a timid smile and Johanna stares at her, trying to remember the last time Lucy Barker did something so rude as to interrupt someone mid-sentence. She doesn't apologize, however, and her directness is enough to give Johanna pause. "I promise I won't keep you long."
It's obvious her mother has something important to say and Johanna bites back the urge to groan aloud, both over the delay of the letter's delivery and what is no doubt already shaping up to be another disagreement between them. Her mother has been very quiet lately so she supposes they're due for another tiff. Johanna pastes on a patient smile and nods, stepping back into the parlor. "Of course, Mother."
Together, they settle onto the settee and look everywhere but at one another. Johanna can easily attribute her own unease to the unsavory but necessary task ahead of her but she cannot begin to discern the reason for her mother's. Despite her initial boldness, Lucy does not seem to be in a hurry now. She stares at her lap and fidgets with the delicate lace on her sleeve, appearing to flounder for words.
At a loss, Johanna clears her throat. "Shall I make tea? I believe there are still some leftover biscuits-"
"I want to apologize." Lucy darts her gaze up quickly to meet Johanna's stare, apparently unbothered to have committed the dreadful sin of rudeness twice in less than five minutes. She purses her lips and Johanna can only watch in helpless fascination as her mother's eyes fill with tears. "I know I haven't always been the mother you would have hoped for." She pauses, as though waiting for Johanna to contradict her. When Johanna only gazes back at her with pained eyes, Lucy forges ahead. "But I have always done the best I knew how. I'm sorry it was never quite enough."
Bewildered, Johanna begins to shake her head. "Mother-"
Lucy holds up a slender hand, silencing her with a sad smile. "I've never managed to be the mother you needed but I do hope you know you have always been perfect to me. Even when we disagreed." She reaches out a tremulous hand and rests it lightly against Johanna's cheek. "My little bird. You've made me so proud."
Johanna leans into her mother's soft palm, brow furrowed. "Really? You always seem so…disappointed in me."
"On the contrary, my love." She blinks rapidly, tears clinging to her lashes. "You are everything I wish I could be. Everything I might have been, had things been different." A strange expression settles over her face then, some mixture of grudging respect and bitter resentment that Johanna does not understand until she whispers, "I suppose I have Eleanor to thank for that. She was determined you never end up like me."
Watching her mother smile another of those strangely pained smiles, Johanna wishes she had some comforting rebuttal to offer. Something to soothe her mother's insecurities and wipe the guilty furrow from her delicate brow. Nothing at all comes to mind. It is indeed true that Lucy had never really learned how to be the mother Johanna craved. Perhaps she had only known how to be a family and operate within her role but once Benjamin Barker had gone and Lucy was left to be both mother and father, she never managed to find the right balance.
She'd known how to go dress shopping and teach Johanna proper etiquette and make her dolls. She hadn't the slightest idea how to give Johanna advice or make her laugh; how to fuss over her when she was ill or hold her when she cried; how to be strong enough for the both of them. For all her devotion to keeping things neat and proper, Lucy had never been able to find her place in their strange little family.
As Johanna allows her mother to brush a hand over her cheek and smooth back her hair, only one thing dances tauntingly through her mind – the horrible deed she is about to commit. After this afternoon, she will be an accessory to a crime. A murder. Would her mother still be proud of her then?
No, definitely not. Even Johanna's reason for involving herself in this awful business would not be enough to assuage Lucy's horror. Her mother lives in a world of black and white – right and wrong. There is no room for grey in Lucy Barker's tidy little world, where everything must be in its proper place. Not even love would be enough to sway her.
Tomorrow, the very thing that carried him through years and years of wrongful imprisonment will be finished. Other than his memories of Lucy and Johanna, the only thing he'd had to keep him warm at night was the thought of revenge. So many nights he had lain awake, staring into the dark and picturing the rich red of blood. Judge Turpin's blood. And tomorrow, he's finally going to have the filthy bastard bleeding out in front of him. He'll get to watch the life leave his miserable eyes. He'll get to feel the delicious hot spray of blood against his skin. Taste copper on his tongue and know that finally justice has been served.
Tomorrow is the end of fifteen years of fantasizing.
And all Sweeney Todd can think about is the way Eleanor Lovett tastes of cinnamon.
She paces the length of the pie shop, skirts clenched in her hands as she mutters under her breath. He remembers with fondness that she'd always had trouble keeping her thoughts to herself, even half-formed ones had a little habit of slipping out. Benjamin would watch in bemusement as she trailed off mid-sentence and retreated back into herself until the thought had finished cooking. Half the time he hadn't the faintest idea what she was going on about but he'd listened anyway, purely for the reward of seeing the surprised delight on her face when she finally looked up and noticed him still there – still attentive. Benjamin had always gotten the feeling her husband Albert never quite managed it.
Sweeney doesn't pay much mind to her muttering now but the years have altered her too. She no longer cares if he's listening; only that he doesn't leave. So he takes a long pull from his glass and tracks her agitated movements with his eyes.
Lucy had retired to bed hours ago, without bidding him goodnight or even glancing at him before she swept up the stairs and into their apartment. He has a feeling she no longer sits up waiting for him to come to bed. And he suspects she knows exactly where he is instead. Guilt flickers at the edges of his consciousness for a moment, though brushed away easily enough when he remembers it is not him his wife wants anyway.
At least when Nellie looks at him, she isn't seeing someone else.
Thoughts turning to the piemaker once more, he brings the glass back to his lips and mutters before he drinks, "He has the letter. It's done."
Johanna had delivered it to a messenger just this afternoon and then trailed the lad to make certain it arrived safely at its destination. She'd gone to bed some time ago as well, and the look in her eyes when she'd kissed his cheek goodnight will stay with Sweeney Todd for a very long time. One day, when his time on this wretched earth is finally through, he will burn in hell for what he has asked his only child to do.
Despite the necessity of the crime and despite how crucial her participation may be, he can never forgive himself for involving his daughter. His sweet, innocent lamb. Now innocent no more. That's his doing. It's impossible to be thrilled over finally getting his hands on Turpin when it will taint his Johanna so.
Mrs. Lovett whirls, her fidgeting hands still and her auburn curls drifting from their updo to frame her pale face. "It's not done," she hisses, and it's only when she glances over her shoulder warily that he remembers Toby lies fast asleep in the parlor. "We still don't 'ave a clue what to do with the bleeder's body."
Brow furrowed, he lowers his glass. "Wait until dark and toss him in the Thames."
He doesn't care at all for the way she looks at him then, as though he must be a few razors shy of a full set. Sweeney clenches his jaw and arches an eyebrow, silent permission to hear her criticism. Not that she needs it. One thing he's grown alarmingly fond of is her complete indifference to whether or not he actually wants to hear what she has to say.
She leans against the table opposite him, palms flat on the top. He stares determinedly at her face, refusing to be distracted by the tempting décolletage suddenly on display. God almighty, he spent fifteen hellish years without a single beautiful thing to look upon; not a glimpse of womanly flesh to be found. That it – she – can weaken him so easily should infuriate him. He refuses to dwell on why it doesn't.
"You're a smart man, Mr. T." Mrs. Lovett whispers. "Surely you know it could never be that easy. Quite a difference between a travelin' con man and a prominent judge turnin' up missin', after all."
As the reason for her sudden bout of restlessness dawns on him, Sweeney swears under his breath. They'll scour all of London for a man as important as Judge Turpin. Not a single stone will be left unturned. And once the coppers discover his bloated body floating in the Thames without a single witness with a story of spotting someone throwing a corpse into the river, they'll start tracing it back to the drains. And the drains will lead them right to the pie shop.
They'll be investigated. Every single person with access to the bakehouse will be scrutinized by the police and the moment they look too closely into his past, they will realize exactly who he is. It's only a matter of whether they'll send him back to Australia or execute him. Sweeney would gladly choose death over going back to Botany Bay but not even that is an acceptable option anymore. He will not abandon his family. And he will not leave Mrs. Lovett alone with the responsibility of looking after them again. He won't leave her, full stop.
While they have not spoken a word of what had happened between them the previous day in the parlor before Johanna had interrupted, Sweeney has thought of little else but her since then. Even the imminent approach of the vengeance he'd once found so vital has not been enough to deter his thoughts from wandering to her again and again. The fire in her kiss. The small, capable hands curled into his shirt and fisting in his hair. The whimper he'd felt against his mouth as he kissed her. What manner of man could keep his wits about him with thoughts such as these?
Perched on the table in front of him, Mrs. Lovett keeps talking and he clenches his jaw, forcing himself back into the present. "What do you suggest then?"
Mrs. Lovett huffs a curl out of her face and crosses her arms petulantly, muttering under her breath. "Like to put 'im in a bloody pie, I would."
She straightens suddenly, her eyes going wide. A slow, deliciously wicked grin curls her lips. Sweeney regards her warily, always suspicious of that particular expression on her face. True, it's been an age since he saw it last, when he was another man entirely, but even Benjamin had known to be wary when Mrs. Lovett looked so terribly pleased with her own cleverness.
"Mr. T," she breathes, dark eyes glittering. His breath catches and he finds himself leaning forward, nearer to her. Drawn like a moth to a flame. "I've got an idea."
He frowns, struggling to remember what she'd been chattering on about while he'd sat there staring at her like a fool. The only thing he can recall is what she'd said right before that terrifying, lovely grin lit up her face. But surely she doesn't actually mean… He stiffens, eyes darting to her again, desperate for confirmation. She doesn't seem to be breathing, gazing back at him as though waiting for him to scoff and dismiss the idea.
Instead, he can only stare at her in wonder. "Undetectable," he whispers, stunned by her brilliance. His mad, beautiful genius. "Nellie, you practical, clever girl."
She beams, her cheeks blooming with pink. "Seemed a waste," she murmurs, shrugging. "All that meat on 'is pampered bones."
Slowly, as if in a dream, Sweeney sets aside his half-finished glass of gin and rises to his feet. Mrs. Lovett doesn't move, watching raptly as he crosses the distance between them in two quick strides. He stops right in front of her, not touching her. Hovering just close enough to feel her warmth, letting the flames of her lick at him as their eyes lock.
"It's brilliant," he tells her, voice roughened with admiration and longing.
She shudders under his stare, licking her lips. "Mister-"
He doesn't let her finish, curling a hand around the back of her neck and tugging her roughly from her perch on the table. She stumbles into his taller, broader frame and catches herself with her hands on his chest. Swallowing audibly, she tips up her head and the moment she does, he bends to kiss her.
And oh, if he thought that kiss in the parlor yesterday had been enough to drive him to madness, he'd been a naïve simpleton. There is no surprise in her kiss this time, only the same desperate desire he feels every time he looks at her now. She melts into him, molding her curves against the hard planes of his body like she wants to seep beneath his skin and nestle there alongside his bones. Her mouth opens eagerly beneath his own, all heat and fierce devotion. She still tastes of cinnamon and gin – two things he will never be able to taste again without picturing her mouth.
When they finally part, gasping raggedly for air, he presses his forehead against hers and tries to make his hands release their iron grip on her hips. Mrs. Lovett doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get away, panting against his cheek. She sounds almost drunk as she laughs softly and whispers, "Thought you might 'ave changed your mind, love."
Sweeney shakes his head. He couldn't go back now even if he wanted to. She is under his skin now, in his veins. As necessary to him as the blood running through him or the air in his lungs. He could no sooner part from Nellie Lovett than from his own flesh.
There is, of course, the matter of his wife. He has no intention of carrying on some illicit relationship behind Lucy's back. The two of them seem to have arrived at the same shattering conclusion that their marriage is essentially over and has been since the moment he was taken but she still deserves far better than such deception from him. He plans to release her. The law had as good as declared him dead once he'd been shipped away and Lucy would be doing nothing wrong by marrying again but it's a conversation that needs to be had.
Perhaps once free from each other and any lingering misplaced obligations, they'll both be able to find some semblance of happiness – separately. It still pains him to think of giving up so entirely on his marriage – on his Lucy – after she'd kept him going for fifteen years in that living hell. The alternative, however, is continuing to torture one another by trying to find in each other people long gone. The alternative involves giving up the woman in his arms. It doesn't bear thinking about.
"I'll tell her," he says, staring into the darkened corners of the pie shop. "When this is over."
Mrs. Lovett shifts against him, ducking her head. "You don't have to, you know," she whispers. "I'd understand if you-"
His fingers curl tightly around her hip once more, silencing her. His wife deserves his honesty but a hot, angry spike of protest churning in his stomach tells him Nellie deserves better too – more than clandestine meetings because he's too much of a coward to hurt Lucy. He will not make her some filthy secret, locked in dark rooms in the middle of the night or empty corridors when they're sure they're alone. Botany Bay had changed so many things about the man he used to be but it did not make him such a scoundrel as that.
"She deserves to know," is all he says. "She deserves… peace."
Mrs. Lovett curls warm fingers just inside the collar of his shirt, her fingertips brushing his throat. When he risks a glance at her, she's already gazing back at him with dark eyes. "So do you," she whispers. "Do you think… do you think you'll ever find it, Mr. Todd? Once this is all over?"
Not so long ago, he would have believed it impossible. Peace had been a fairytale notion, meant for a man like Benjamin Barker. And when he'd returned home to a wife who left him cold and a daughter he hardly recognized it seemed to only confirm the truth of it. Now, however, Turpin will be dead within hours. His daughter, his angel, loves him and trusts him enough to make herself complicit in the crime. And when Eleanor Lovett touches him, it burns – scorches him right down to the core and he can forget what the cold had ever felt like. It may not be peace but it's damn close. As close to it as a man like him will likely ever get.
Sweeney presses a kiss to the top of her head in answer. Ever understanding even of the things he cannot bring himself to say aloud, Nellie tucks her head against his shoulder and smiles into his neck.
She doesn't know if he loves her. After all these years of pining in silence and resigning herself to never quite measuring up to the goddess called Lucy Barker, it seems laughable to hope now. Eleanor doesn't really know what it feels like to be loved like that anyway, not the way she loves him. Not the way Benjamin had loved Lucy. She and Albert had been civil for the most part but she'd never felt anything but a cold sort of fondness one might feel for a distant uncle. Being loved, passionately and unconditionally loved, is as foreign to her as another country.
But she knows desire well enough. And Sweeney Todd wants her. In the grand scheme of things, it's a mere morsel but she's been living off crumbs of his affection half her life. She'd be willing to starve a little more if he wanted, letting him stave off malnourishment with kisses and caresses when they're alone. She'd let him stay with Lucy, let him live the life of a family man he'd spent years dreaming of. After decades of nothing, Nellie would easily agree to just a small piece of him for the rest of her life.
I'll tell her. When this is over.
Her stomach pitches and she pauses in the middle of taking a pie out of the oven, sure her trembling fingers would drop it if she tried. He doesn't want to be with Lucy. He wants to be with her. If she hadn't been there herself and heard it with her own ears, she'd never have believed it. She doesn't know if he loves her; has no point of comparison to even begin to guess. But whatever Sweeney Todd is willing to give her, she'll take it.
"Mrs. Lovett, ma'am? Should I start on the next batch?"
She looks up, startled to find herself still standing in front of the oven. Toby watches her uncertainly, as though fearing for her sanity. Join the club, lad. "Oh. Yes." She grabs the pie from the oven and drops it onto the counter to cool, wiping her hands on her apron. "On second thought, dear, let's 'ave a break and we'll start on the next batch after lunch, eh?"
"Yes, ma'am," he says, looking up guiltily from stealing a bite of the pie filling on the table.
She stifles a laugh. If her hands weren't shaking so badly, she might have reached out and ruffled his hair. Instead, she chides gently, "Leave some for the pies, hm?"
Toby nods, licking the remainder from his lips.
Useless hands fisted in her skirts, she sweeps past him and escapes to the parlor. The moment she's alone, she heaves a great, shuddering sigh and braces herself against the mantle. Bowing her head, she squeezes her eyes shut. "Get it together, Nell," she mutters, gritting her teeth.
Judge Turpin is due to arrive tonight and though they've still got hours yet, they're all on edge. Johanna has been a jumpy, anxious mess all morning – wringing her hands and flinching like a startled bird at the slightest noise. Nellie had sent her for a walk in the park before she gave them both a nervous breakdown. Mr. Todd has done nothing but pace since the sun rose. Even now she can hear him overhead, walking back and forth in front of the window.
Nellie hasn't fared much better. She'd barely slept last night after she and Mr. Todd had decided on what to do with Turpin's body. If the enormity of the crime they're about to commit hadn't been enough to keep her awake, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling all night, the memory of Mr. Todd's kiss and his whispered promise to tell Lucy everything would have done it. Already this morning, she has had more cups of tea than any person should consume in a single day, cleaned the shop from floor to ceiling, and then made her way upstairs to the Barker's apartment.
It had still been early enough that Lucy was still abed, sulking the morning away. Nellie had taken one look at the mess – books in piles all over the floor, laundry and dishes no one had bothered to bring downstairs to be cleaned, Lucy's knitting scattered every which way – and gotten straight to work. Muttering under her breath the whole time about silly, spoiled nits who can't be bothered to clean up after themselves, she'd slowly put the apartment back in order piece by piece. Lucy might not have cared to keep things neat any longer, letting the apartment fall into disarray just as much as her life, but Nellie still owns the bloody place. Even if Lucy won't care for it, Nellie still has to.
She'd put the books away on the shelves, gathered up the dirty dishes and the laundry into manageable piles to be carted away downstairs, and snatched up Lucy's knitting needles to tuck them into a drawer. Still cursing the woman under her breath, Nellie had yanked open the first drawer of the bureau against the wall and looked down.
And stared.
Every single fantasy she'd entertained the previous sleepless night of finally having Sweeney Todd to herself had crashed down around her ears. Of course Lucy would do this. Silly, selfish twit. She'd reached into the drawer with a shaking hand and snatched up the bottle, tucking it into her apron. Leaving the knitting needles where she'd left them and not bothering with any of the laundry or dishes piled up by the door, Nellie had fled back down the stairs with angry tears burning behind her eyes.
Even now, hours later, she has to blink them back when she thinks of the bottle still in the pocket of her apron. If she shows this to Mr. Todd, he'll never tell Lucy anything. It'll scare him right back into her arms. He'll return to her side like a loyal dog. It's where he belongs, after all. Where he has always belonged. Nellie had been so stupid, so hopelessly naïve, to ever believe it could be otherwise.
Upstairs, she hears a crash – the sound of an entire drawer being upended.
She glances up, eyes narrowed. The moment Mr. Todd finds out about this, he'll never look at her again. A dark little voice in the back of her head whispers that perhaps she just shouldn't tell him. But if she doesn't and something happens – could she really live with herself? Nellie might not particularly like Lucy and lately the animosity between them has reached levels heretofore unseen but to wish this on her...
And that is the crux of it. Whatever else Lucy Barker might be, she's Johanna's mother first. Nellie couldn't sit idly by even if she wanted to. Over the years, Johanna's needs have eclipsed Nellie's so completely she cannot even remember the last time she did something without thinking of the consequences to that girl.
Except kissing Sweeney Todd.
No matter his name, that man never fails to make her lose her senses entirely.
Nellie listens, head tilted, to the sound of another drawer being ripped from the bureau and upended. When the clatter of its contents being frantically examined and found wanting is met with a distressed cry, she slowly straightens from her slouch against the mantle. As if in a daze, she moves to the stairs and starts climbing. The noise from the upstairs apartment grows louder and louder the higher she climbs, thumps and crashes one after the other as Lucy turns the place upside down in her search.
Leaning against the doorway, Nellie observes Lucy in silence for a moment, gazing at the mess she had just cleaned up a few hours ago now scattered all over the floor again. "Lookin' for somethin'?" She ignores Lucy's startled cry, reaching into the pocket of her apron. Plucking out the bottle of arsenic, she holds it aloft and gives it a little shake. "This, maybe?"
The blood drains from Lucy's pretty face, her usually rosy cheeks turning ashen as she stares at Nellie in dismay. Blue eyes wide and lips parted in shocked silence, she doesn't say anything for a long, tense moment. And then in a hoarse whisper, "That's mine."
"Is it?" Nellie frowns at the bottle, shaking her head. "Don't see 'ow it could be. Cause we talked about this fifteen years ago and I distinctly remember we decided you wouldn't poison yourself."
Lucy flushes, the color returning to her face in an angry red. "Give it back, Eleanor."
Slipping the arsenic back into her apron pocket, Nellie says, "'fraid I can't do that, dear." She shrugs. "Told you last time. You can't be trusted."
"Then I'll just get another one!"
Lucy hesitates, pausing as soon as the shrill words leave her mouth. Perhaps realizing how hysterical she sounds even to her own ears. Once glance at Nellie, who does nothing but arch an incredulous eyebrow at her, and she deflates instantly. She clears her throat delicately and reaches up a slender hand to smooth back her blonde hair.
With a completely superfluous tug at her immaculate pink gown, she murmurs, "I was just going to put a drop in my tea. There's no need to treat me like a helpless child."
"Tea, hm?" Nellie crosses her arms over her chest, leaning all of her weight into the doorframe. "Never seen someone get so worked up over their complexion before."
Eyes narrowed, Lucy purses her lips tightly together. "Fine," she says, voice frosty. "Keep it. I'll fetch another from the apothecary when I go out this afternoon."
Nellie doesn't bother to respond for a while, watching as Lucy begins to pick up the mess she had made in her search. She slips the emptied drawers back into their slots in the bureau and slowly begins the task of collecting the hodgepodge scattered on the floor. The strained silence between them stretches an uncomfortably long time but Nellie cannot bring herself to turn around and walk away just yet. She has spent so long dragging Lucy Barker out of bed, making her live her life for Johanna's sake, that she doesn't really know how to leave the woman be. Even when she can barely stand Lucy, it seems impossible to let her destroy herself after all these years trying to keep her alive.
"All right, out with it." She straightens from her slouch against the door, waving an impatient hand at the blonde as she passes with another armful to dump into a drawer. "Why're you so determined to kill yourself then?"
"I don't see how what I do is any business of yours." Lucy barely spares her a glance, slamming a stuffed bureau drawer shut. "You've made it perfectly clear where you stand-"
"And you didn't?" Nellie scoffs. "Seems to me you're the one who thinks she knows everythin' about me and my ulterior motives. Or 'ave you conveniently forgotten you started all this?"
Lucy freezes, finally lifting her head from her task to stare at Nellie. And Nellie stops too, held in place by the sheer amount of hatred in that usually placid gaze. "I started this, did I?" She asks, a bitter smile curling her mouth.
She turns suddenly, striding across the room to the piles of laundry Nellie had left earlier that morning. She snatches up a shirt from the middle of the heap like she'd known exactly where it was. With the shirt bunched in her fist, she throws it right at Nellie's face.
Nellie catches it easily enough, unamused by the dramatic little display. "What?" She asks dryly. "You're pitchin' a fit cause I fell behind on your dirty laundry?"
"Look at it," Lucy orders, visibly seething.
Reluctant to take her eyes off the irate woman for long, Nellie offers the shirt a cursory glance. It's one of Mr. Todd's white button downs, the sort he wears beneath his waistcoats. The smell of his cologne still lingers and for a moment she has to fight back the impulse to bury her face in it. The urge is easy enough to quell once her eyes land on the collar of the shirt and she realizes what Lucy is so bloody incensed about. Right there on the lapel – a dark, berry stain of lip rouge.
From the other side of the room, Lucy inquires coldly, "I believe that's your color, isn't it?"
Nellie doesn't move, her fingers white-knuckled around the shirt as she remembers exactly when she had smeared her lip rouge over Mr. Todd's shirt. Last night when he'd told her he didn't regret what had happened between them; when he'd as good as said he wanted Lucy to find peace because he was well on his way to finding his own. With her. She hadn't been able to help herself, beaming into the white column of his throat and kissing a giddy path to his collarbone.
The memory had been a warm one but now it feels as though she has been doused in a bucket of cold water. Even her insides seem frozen. She can do nothing but grip Mr. Todd's shirt and stare at the stain, dark and incriminating against the white fabric. She swallows. "Lucy-"
Lucy stiffens, eyes bright with tears. "Don't you dare lie to me, Eleanor."
"I wasn't going to." She drapes the shirt over her arm. "Bit dramatic though, isn't it? Killin' yourself because the husband you don't even want wants someone else? Mr. Todd isn't a toy, love. You can't decide you don't want 'im but no one else can 'ave him either."
Lucy strides forward so suddenly it doesn't even occur to Nellie to back away or flinch from the usually timid woman. When her small, pale hand lashes out and slaps Nellie across the face it actually hurts. Still, she doesn't give Lucy the satisfaction of making a sound. She bites down hard on her lip to stifle the pained cry, tasting blood in her mouth. Immobile with shock and fury, hair in her eyes and cheek stinging, Nellie draws in a deep breath and straightens. Lucy has never raised a hand to anyone in her whole miserable life. Of course Nellie would be the first. The woman has probably been waiting ages for the opportunity.
There is no remorse in her eyes as she stares at Nellie, chest heaving and hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Who do you think you are?" She asks in a furious whisper. "What right do you think you have to my husband?"
Nellie works her jaw silently, reaching up a hand to poke at her sore cheek. If it leaves a mark, there will be hell to pay. She licks the blood from her lip, tasting iron. "He's not your husband, dear. He's a stranger with Ben's face."
With a bitter scoff, Lucy turns and paces away from her. She stops at the window, her pale hand against the glass as she stares out into the street below. It's such a familiar sight that for a moment Nellie can imagine they're years ago in the past, having another argument about Johanna's upbringing. After Benjamin was taken, Lucy had a troublesome habit of ignoring her child and everything else in her life to gaze off into the distance and daydream. Even with Mr. Todd's return, Nellie has caught her at it often enough. It seems whatever life Lucy is living is never quite good enough; there's always someplace better in her head.
"You've always loved him," she finally says, a tremor in her voice. "I could see it your eyes whenever you looked at him. And I know you've always hated me for having what you never could."
The words sting, though Nellie doesn't take offense. She shrugs but with her back turned, Lucy doesn't see it. "Never hated you. Not to say I ever liked you much but… not hated." She turns her attention to the bureau, staring at the framed photographs littering the top. Reaching for one of Johanna's baby pictures, she touches the edge of the frame lightly. "We got along alright, I s'pose. Had our differences, o' course but brought up a fine young woman between the two of us, didn't we?"
She glances over her shoulder when Lucy doesn't respond, catching a glimpse of her hollow-eyed expression in the reflection from the window. She doesn't look as if she's heard a word Nellie said. "You were always trailing after him like some lost mutt, starved for attention. He never noticed, you know. But I did." Her smile in the window is humorless, so utterly without Lucy's usual warmth that Nellie feels the hairs on her arms stand on end. "It does bring me some comfort to know I had his kindness and affection. What are you left with? Growls and drunken lovemaking?"
Ah, that's how she wants to play it then. Nellie sighs wearily. Unfortunately for Lucy, she's a hell of a lot better at this game. "Actually, we 'aven't – y'know. Not yet." She tilts her head, abandoning the bureau and walking slowly toward the window. Lucy tenses at her approach, shoulders going stiff. "Told me 'e wanted to wait until 'e told you about us. S'what he wants, y'see. No sneakin' around after you're in bed and hopin' you never find out. He wants a life – with me." She stops right behind Lucy, close enough to notice the way she trembles. "Funny, isn't it? 'e spent all that time away livin' for you, breathin' for you, and now 'e can't get away from you fast enough."
Lucy doesn't say a word but she squeezes her eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Let's get one thing straight, Lucy Barker." Nellie leans in, voice a whisper. "You 'ave no idea what I feel for that man – what I'd do for love of 'im. Someone as small and petty and weak as you are could never begin to imagine. You wouldn't know where to begin. That's why 'e wants me, love. You want Benjamin and only Benjamin. I just want 'im, whatever form 'e takes."
With a shuddering sob, Lucy rasps, "I hate you. You've ruined everything."
Nellie lets out a sigh, moving away from her to the opposite side of the window. She leans against the frame, arms crossed over her chest as she studies the other woman. "Is that right?" At Lucy's trembling nod, she bites back a snort of derisive laughter. "You tellin' me all your problems would just disappear if I did? Your daughter could magically stand bein' in the same room with you for more than five minutes? Mr. Todd would miraculously transform into Ben Barker before your very eyes? Awful lot of power you give me, dearie. I'd be flattered but-"
"Hypocrite," Lucy spits at her, blue eyes snapping up to pin Nellie in place with a dark look. "You speak so often of your love for Johanna, yet you're so willing to rob her of her true family. And she'll know, Eleanor. She'll know you ruined her only chance at a proper mother and father."
"I 'aven't ruined a bloody thing," Nellie snaps, bristling. "Can't take somethin' she never 'ad in the first place."
Lucy shakes her head, a horrible, gleeful light filling her whole face as she smiles. "She'll never forgive you when she discovers the truth. Her precious Auntie Nell falling so far from the pedestal she's hoisted you on."
Heart in her throat, Nellie glances away. "And let me guess?" She whispers. "You'll be the one to tell 'er?"
"If you don't stay clear of my husband?" Lucy juts out her chin, eyes glittering. "Absolutely."
For a long moment, silence stretches between them. Nellie stares out at the street below and contemplates what might have been if Sweeney Todd had never walked back into their lives. She wonders if she and Lucy might have ever come to this point, a permanent crack in their relationship that can never be mended. It isn't fair to lay the blame on Mr. Todd. She and Lucy have always been headed here, always destined to stand in opposite corners and swear their hatred for one another. They're too different, too certain they know what's best for the darling girl child they both love. Johanna was always going to come between them.
Nellie turns from the window. "You do that, love. Tell 'er everythin' and we'll see where her loyalties lie, eh? With the woman who raised her…" She musters a smile, full of bitterness and cracked around the edges. "Or you."
Lucy draws in a sharp, pained breath.
Reaching into the pocket of her apron, Nellie pulls out the bottle of arsenic and tosses it to the other woman. Lucy fumbles to catch it, tear-filled eyes wide and confused. "Do what you like with that," Nellie murmurs, turning to leave. "I don't much care anymore."
It's time.
Any moment now, Judge Turpin will come swaggering through the door of the pie shop and everything Sweeney has been dreaming of for fifteen years will fall into place. Only Nellie's continual supply of gin keeps him from jumping out of his own skin.
As the time had neared, he'd sent Johanna away upstairs with Lucy for the night. It eats at him that she has had to involve herself in this business at all but he will not see her stain her soul another ounce. He wants her well away from the blood and gore of what is about to happen and he doesn't want her anywhere near what he and Nellie plan to do with the body. All she needs to know is that once it's all over, Anthony will be a free man again.
They'll likely get married as soon as they're able and while the part of him that longs for nothing but her happiness is thrilled for his child, Sweeney still finds himself the mournful father losing what he has only just found again. It's as things should be, of course, and he would never deny Johanna her chance at the sort of life he'd lost so long ago. He'll get to be here for it, to see her flourish and grow and become a wife and mother. There is a whole future spread out before him once Turpin's life has been extinguished and none of it has a damn thing to do with sweating in that living hell called Botany Bay.
And Nellie will be there for all of it.
Nellie.
Thoughts of her plague him more than the Judge these days but Sweeney finds he doesn't mind the change. It's a welcome reprieve to think on her lips and her wild auburn curls, her dark eyes and her small, clever hands. He'd dreamed so long of having someone to come home to but he'd had no idea it would be Nellie waiting for him – welcoming him, accepting him, loving him despite the changes time and sorrow had wrought.
Even now she sits beside him, steady and reliable as she matches him drink for drink. He won't need her help until the deed is done but she'd insisted that he would not wait alone. It's only as he empties his glass and watches her pour them both another drink that he notices her shaking hands. He pauses, frowning. "Alright?"
She nods once, silent.
And he realizes she has been silent for quite some time. A feat in and of itself. He might have appreciated it once. Tonight, of all nights, however it is nothing less than alarming. Nellie babbles when she's nervous – always has done, ever since he's known her. Tonight, she purses her lips tightly together and stares blankly into her glass. It's been a lifetime since he offered comfort to a woman and then it had been another woman entirely. He doubts the concept of offering comfort differs much from woman to woman, however.
Slowly, with the caution of so many lonely years weighing him down, he reaches out a hand and covers her shaking ones. Nellie stills at once, drawing in a shuddering breath that seems to go through her whole body. With a grateful glance at him, she laces their fingers together and brings their joined hands to her lips. He watches with his heart in his mouth as she brushes her lips reverently over his knuckles.
Swallowing heavily, he murmurs, "Almost over."
"Is it?" She whispers, sounding tired. "Mr. T… she knows."
He frowns. "What?"
Almost mouthing the words, Nellie elaborates softly, "Lucy. She knows… about us."
Sweeney goes cold. All that gin on an empty stomach suddenly seems like an awful idea. The room spins and his hand slips from Nellie's to grip the edge of the counter. He grits his teeth against a bout of nausea, stomach churning. He had planned to break the news to Lucy after Turpin had been dealt with, unable to face the prospect of both in the same week. He's been grappling with how to go about it for days but every imagined scenario only led to heartbreak for them both.
How could he possibly look her in the eye and tell her that he loves another? That Nellie Lovett has become essential to him; that she sets him alight in ways he thought he'd never be again. Though he'd known the conversation would not be a pleasant one, he had clung to the hope that perhaps it would be the permission Lucy needed to move on herself. He wants her happiness as earnestly as he yearns for Johanna's. His selfless love for Lucy seems to be one of the few things about Benjamin he had held onto all these years.
At his silence, Nellie presses on bravely, apparently returned to her nervous chatter now that her secret is out. "She found my lip rouge on your collar. I didn't even realize I'd-" She reaches out for him, hand hovering just over his. "I'm sorry, Mr. Todd."
Tongue stuck to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth, he forces out, "Don't."
She flinches as though he'd reached out and struck her. She draws her hand away, gripping her glass instead. Avoiding his eyes, she peers steadily into her drink and asks, "You angry with me?"
He shakes his head once, knowing the fault lies solely with him. It had been his shirt. He'd undressed in the dark after he'd left her that night, tossing his clothes on the floor and grabbing fresh ones before slipping out again to sleep in his shop. It had never even occurred to him to check for evidence of Nellie's exuberant kisses.
To his shame, he feels a certain degree of relief. Of course, he'd have preferred Lucy hear everything from him rather than finding out because he'd carelessly left his laundry lying about but she knows. After lying awake every night conjuring every possible way he could tell her and cause her the least amount of pain, it's a burden from his shoulders he does not miss.
In the last few days, he has been so preoccupied with Judge Turpin and Anthony's arrest that he hasn't really spoken to his wife in some time. Lucy has done her best to avoid him too, never lingering in the same room with him while they're both awake. Neither of them have been willing to discuss what they both already know. While it aches to think of her discovering his treachery in such a way, Sweeney feels none of the guilt he thought he would. He only feels sorry for her and all the things they'd had and lost.
Lifting his glass to his lips, he asks, "How is she?"
Nellie huffs out a humorless laugh. "Bloody furious." She bites her lip, appearing to hesitate. Her dark eyes lift from her drink and find his. When their gazes meet, she seems to deflate. "There's somethin' else you should know. I found-"
The tinkling of the bell over the shop door stalls the words in her throat. They both freeze, wide eyes meeting as someone steps into the shop and shuts the door behind them. Before he even turns around, Sweeney knows who it is. The corrupt stench of him is overpowering. Sweeney feels his hands clench into involuntary fists. This is it.
Nellie doesn't reach out to him but as they stare at each other, her eyes go hard and flinty in the dim light. She nods once before she turns, pasting on a smile as she faces Turpin. There is none of her usual warmth in her face as she looks at him, her eyes emotionless. Combined with the friendly grin on her face, it's a chilling sight. "Ah, 'is Judgeness. To what do we owe this unfortunate surprise?"
Sweeney swallows a large gulp of gin before the urge to smile can overwhelm him. Her ability to make it clear how much she loathes Turpin while still maintaining that pleasant smile never fails to garner his admiration.
"Mrs. Lovett," Turpin says, in the same manner one might speak of mud on their trousers. He looks down his nose at her, brows raised. "You're looking… brazen, as usual."
Nellie's smile doesn't waver but grows wider, baring her teeth. "What can I do for you? Pie? Ale? Nice blonde, per'aps?"
Sweeney bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, eyes stinging as he struggles to swallow a mouthful of gin without choking on it. Impudent little demon, he thinks. It's a wonder Nellie had even been here to greet him when he arrived. Sweeney has no idea how she managed to make it all these years without irritating Turpin into tossing her into Fogg's.
With a frown, Turpin brushes an invisible speck of lint from the arm of his coat. "I've been invited – by the young Miss Barker."
Nellie's expression flickers for a moment, the reminder of just how disgusting Turpin is to prey on such a young girl draining all the wicked amusement from her eyes. "I sent her to fetch supplies for me," she says. "Should be back soon, though."
Turpin sighs, as though pained.
His irritation seems to cheer Nellie up, at least. Her smile returns, bright as ever. "Can I get you anythin' while you wait? Pour you a drink?" She blinks innocently. "Rat poison, maybe?"
Tossing her a mild glare, Turpin snaps, "No. Nothing."
She shrugs. "Suit yourself."
As Turpin settles at the counter, only two seats away from Sweeney, it takes all of his considerable willpower to keep from leaping across the space between them to bludgeon him where he sits. Sweeney grinds his teeth together and tries to remember how to breathe, hand curling around the razor concealed in his jacket. Nellie's eyes snap to his briefly, a knowing glance filled with admonition. Wait.
Slowly, he releases his grip on the razor and picks up his glass again. It burns all the way down and he relishes it, glad to feel something other than the fury slowly overtaking his senses. He nods once, letting Nellie know he isn't about to kill the judge right here in the pie shop.
Satisfied, she turns away.
He turns to address the Judge and get this distasteful but necessary part of the evening out of the way. As his attention falls on Turpin, it's impossible to miss the way his gaze lingers on Nellie now that her back is turned – eyes full of dark desire as he studies her. Filthy, lecherous insect. Red fills his vision once more and the growl in his throat is only suppressed by another greedy gulp of gin.
As it licks fire down his throat, Sweeney forces out the words that will get Turpin away from Nellie, away from Johanna, away from every other innocent woman who might find herself in his path. "We owe you our thanks, Sir. If not for you, that criminal masquerading as a sailor would still be here among us. Miss Barker has spoken of nothing else but your generosity since you saved her from the boy."
Every word tastes like pure sewage on his tongue but the moment Turpin glances at him with surprise and delight, Sweeney is grateful he'd managed to choke them out. "Indeed?"
"Oh, of course, Sir." Sweeney forces a charming smile. "Who among us doesn't feel safer, knowing you work so hard to keep delinquents such as that off the streets?"
Behind them, Nellie rolls her eyes and makes a great show of silently gagging into her hands.
Mouth twitching, Sweeney presses on. "Miss Barker should be along any moment to thank you personally but perhaps you'd care for a shave while you wait? Free of charge, of course. The least I can do for an upstanding man, Sir."
Turpin, the fool, falls for it. He gobbles up every honeyed word like a starving dog presented with a bowl of leftovers. As Sweeney leads him out of the pie shop and up the stairs, he can hardly believe it had been so easy. His heart pounds, louder and louder with every step, until he's certain the Judge must hear it. Wiping sweating palms on his trousers, he pushes open the door to the barbershop and allows Turpin to step inside first.
"A charming girl, Miss Barker." Sweeney drapes the cape over Turpin, securing it at the back of his neck with surprisingly steady hands. His mouth is dry as the desert, his heart feels as though it might careen right out of his chest and the razor in his pocket is screaming to be held, brandished, used. But not a single tremor in his hands. Sweeney almost smiles.
"Quite," Turpin says, watching disinterestedly as Sweeney prepares the lather in a small bowl. "If tonight goes how I hope, I plan to court the girl. She'd make a pretty bauble on my arm, don't you agree?"
Sweeney clenches his jaw, teeth grinding together as he bites out, "Of course, Sir."
For a moment, nothing more is said as Sweeney comes face to face with Turpin – as close as he has ever been – to brush the lather over his cheeks, along his jawline, and down his open throat. Sweeney eyes his jugular hungrily, wanting nothing more than to tear it out with his teeth. He imagines it as he works, the violent spurt of blood and the warmth of it coating his tongue. Turpin starts talking again but with his pulse pounding away in his ears, Sweeney barely hears a word he says.
"I tried to court her mother once," Turpin recalls, a faraway look in his eyes and a little smile on his face – as though recalling a fond memory of some youthful fancy rather than the moment he'd torn apart a happy family and ruined an innocent man's life. And then his lip curls bitterly. "She never seemed to be without that guard dog Lovett. I'm amazed the woman is letting me anywhere near young Miss Barker without a fight."
Back turned, Sweeney pauses in the middle of stowing the shaving foam and brush. "She isn't."
Turpin hums low in his throat. "Sorry?"
Finally allowing his hand to close around the razor waiting so patiently in his jacket, Sweeney turns on his heel and grins at him – without mirth, without warmth, without mercy. "Nellie wouldn't let filth like you anywhere near my child. And neither will I."
"Your-" Turpin snaps his gaze up, staring at Sweeney with wide eyes. Even beneath the shaving foam covering his face, Sweeney can see the moment the blood drains away from his cheeks. Two terrified, strangled words slip from his lips. His very last. "Benjamin Barker."
Sweeney smirks, flicking the blade open. "Benjamin Barker."
With one graceful sweep of his arm, he watches as every dark fantasy he ever entertained comes to fruition right in front of his eyes. Throat torn open, Turpin gasps and gurgles and chokes on his own blood. His chest heaves, struggling in vain to draw air into his lungs. His eyes are wide and frightened, his expression frozen in one of horror. Benjamin Barker had died fifteen years ago without a single witness to the tragedy but tonight, as Judge Turpin finally slips away into hell where he belongs, Sweeney Todd gets the privilege of watching.
He isn't sure how long he stands there, gazing upon the beautiful carnage in front of him. Something tells him he could have stood there all night, watching the blood dry between the cracks in the floorboards and witnessing rigor mortis begin to set in without feeling a single hour pass him by. It's only the quiet click of the door opening that draws him from his stupor.
He stiffens, grip tightening on the razor once more, and relaxing the moment he sees Nellie in the doorway. She shuts the door behind her, flicking the lock, and leans against it. Gaze drawn to Turpin at once, she lingers on the massacre before her with wide eyes. "It's over."
Reaching for a cloth to clean his blade, Sweeney nods. "It's over."
She lets out a quiet breath, hand pressed to the bodice of her dress as she leans her head back against the door. And then she does something he never would have expected. Perhaps he should have. Nellie is full of infinite surprises. She smiles – wide and beaming, like she is the one who has just gotten the revenge she has waited years to achieve. As though she has just saved her own flesh and blood from a fate worse than death. The grin lights up her whole face and she looks like some dark goddess, fiery curls slipping into her eyes and dark gaze glittering with wicked delight.
"You did it," she whispers.
Too stunned to form words for a moment, Sweeney shakes his head. "We did it, pet."
She looks away then, biting down on her bottom lip as her gaze returns to the Judge. "Teamwork then," she murmurs. "S'pose we should…"
He nods. They'd planned it all out the night before. They'll carry him down the interior stairs and into the pie shop, then to his final destination in the bakehouse. It won't do to leave the body moldering away down there even for a day – not with Toby and Johanna always down there helping Nellie with the pies. Sweeney will chop him up himself and leave Nellie the meat to tuck into pies to sell. She'd told him last night with a sly grin that she's saving a couple for the Beadle in particular.
In the morning, the world will be one less horrible man. And a few more pies.
It's done.
Sweeney thought it might lift some great burden from him when it finally happened. While he's more than glad to be rid of the vermin, saving his daughter from his clutches and securing Anthony's freedom, it isn't Turpin's death making him feel lighter than air right now. It's Nellie, standing there bouncing a bit on her toes as she studies the Judge with morbid fascination in her eyes. She doesn't shy away from the gore and she isn't even a little afraid of the man who had wrought such a bloody scene.
"Should we get started?" She asks, stifling a yawn. "Helluva lot of work to do 'fore dawn, Mr. T."
"In a minute," he says, and crosses the distance between them with a pounding heart.
He must look a fright, blood coating his cheeks and spattered in his hair, drying in splotches all down the front of his shirt. Nellie doesn't back away, standing her ground as he reaches her and tugs her into his arms roughly. His biting, overeager kiss must taste of blood. She doesn't seem to mind, sinking into him with a sigh. Her mouth opens hungrily beneath his and her arms wrap around his neck as she stands on her toes, pressing herself close.
Kissing Nellie is otherworldly – like nothing and no one else. Before her, he'd only known soft, gentle presses of shy lips that always tasted of vanilla. Innocently sweet hands on his chest, too unsure to wander. Always giving but never taking. Nellie is nothing like that. She kisses him with gin on her tongue and she smells like warm bread and the rosewater perfume she spritzes at her wrists. Her hands are never still, stroking his face and carding through his hair, sneaking beneath his shirt to touch his bare skin. She kisses like she lives her life – a deep, fiery intensity; giving just as much as she takes and takes and takes. He doesn't need to hold her like a delicate china doll he fears he might break because Nellie responds to his roughness with her own. She bites and scratches and pushes right back with equal fervor. A partner in his desire.
His match, in every way.
How had he not noticed before? He hasn't the faintest damned idea how a creature as magnificent as the one in his arms could ever have escaped his attention but he cannot help but feel grateful for it. Benjamin could never have understood Eleanor Lovett's charms and guileless eyes until Botany Bay made him what he is. If he had fallen for her as Benjamin, she would have been his undoing. The clever, shrewd, seductive marvel purring for another bruising kiss would have made Benjamin Barker a miserable man – and he would have made her a terrible husband. They weren't suited at all for one another; she too passionate and he too mild and meek.
Benjamin and Nellie would have destroyed each other.
But Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett? They'll do wonders.