Chapter Sixteen: We Learn, Johanna, To Say Goodbye
The day they bury her, the sun is shining. The clouds and the grey usually so prevalent in London swept away by a light breeze, making room for a sky so blue it hurts to look at it. Nellie figures even Mother Nature herself wants to pay tribute to the radiant Lucy Barker. The sun gleams against the polished stone of her grave and Nellie looks away lest it blind her, studying the beautiful arrangement of calla lilies resting over the fresh dirt.
Funny thing – she'd been so wrapped up in finding the right flowers for the wedding; it had never occurred to her she'd be needing them for a funeral instead.
Nellie keeps her eyes fastened on the bouquet, her eyes burning. She had known Lucy for sixteen years. They had never been particularly fond of each other and in fact, they'd been downright hostile at the end. There had been good moments too, though. Somewhere in the middle, there had been times when Nellie didn't covet Lucy's husband and daughter and Lucy hadn't resented her for her strength and independence. Nellie can remember with perfect clarity days when little baby Johanna drove them both batty with all her crying; nights when they would sit in the pie shop after closing with cups of tea, watching life pass them by just outside the window. There were times when Nellie felt almost close to Lucy Barker – they'd both lost the man they loved, after all.
A soft sniffle draws her from her thoughts and Nellie glances across the fresh grave, fresh pain lancing through her when she finds Johanna clinging to Anthony, a handkerchief pressed to her tear-stained cheek. "I just can't believe she did this," she whispers. "I know we had our disagreements and she could be unhappy at times but to take her own life? How could she?"
Anthony cradles her close, pressing a soft kiss to her temple and murmuring something soothing in her ear. Heart going out to the girl, Nellie swallows the bile that seems ever-present at the back of her throat these days and glances away. Even Toby stands at her side sniffling, though he hadn't really known Lucy all that well. The boy has never been to a burial before and the whole thing has been rather overwhelming for him.
Nellie wraps an arm around him, allowing him to bury his face in her shoulder. On her other side, Mr. Todd stands silent and unmoving as stone. His expression remains alarmingly blank, devoid of any spark of life. He hasn't said a word in days. Not since it happened.
That terrible night is still crystal clear in her mind. She can recall with the clarity of a particularly awful nightmare the way she had stood there utterly helpless as Mr. Todd had lashed out at Lucy. The dark crimson spill of blood as Lucy collapsed to the floor in an unmoving, graceless heap. The deafening silence afterward as they'd realized there would be no fixing this. She was gone.
Mr. Todd had just stood there, arms hanging limp at his sides as he stared. He'd probably still be standing there right now if Nellie's practicality hadn't taken over like some sort of survival instinct. It had been her idea to make it look like a suicide. They had moved Lucy's body upstairs to the apartment and arranged her on the bed, tucking the razor into her limp hand.
As they'd moved her, a bottle of arsenic had slipped from Lucy's dress pocket and clattered to the floor. Mr. Todd had been so catatonic he hadn't even noticed. Nellie had been the one to scoop it up and conceal it in the bodice of her dress. Mr. Todd had been like a marionette with his strings cut, utterly despondent and silent. He had done what Nellie asked him to, no more and no less. And the moment it was all done, he'd shut himself away in his shop. Nellie has barely seen him since.
At Lucy's grave, Johanna kneels in the dirt with no regard for her pretty black frock. Anthony hovers at her side, ready to provide whatever she needs the moment she needs it. Nellie has never adored the boy more than these last few days, watching him care for Johanna in a way her own guilt won't allow her to. Handkerchief bundled in her pale hand, Johanna rests her fingertips against the name etched into stone.
Voice strangled with tears, she whispers, "Goodbye, Mother."
They part ways the moment they've paid their respects but not before Johanna clings to Nellie like she'll never let go, her tears wetting the shoulder of her mourning dress. Incapacitated with shame, Nellie can only hold the girl to her and whisper what she hopes are comforting words. She has no earthly idea what passes through her numb lips. But at last, Johanna slips from her arms to hug her father.
Sweeney is like stone beneath her, one hand lifting absently to pet her hair.
Quietly, Anthony sidles up to Nellie as father and daughter embrace, whispering his plan to take Johanna and Toby for a day at the park. "I haven't much experience with grief," he says softly, running a helpless hand through his hair. "I can only hope what she needs is a distraction."
"She needs you, love," Nellie says, squeezing his arm. "You're doin' fine."
After watching Anthony guide Johanna and Toby away with an arm around each of them, Nellie turns to find her barber. He hasn't moved from the grave, staring at it without blinking.
She holds in a sigh. "You stayin' here?" She calls quietly. "Or comin' home with me?"
Without a word, he turns away from Lucy's grave and walks to her side.
Nellie bites her tongue, turning on her heel to stalk out of the graveyard and back to the pie shop. He follows sedately behind her, wordless as ever the entire walk back to Fleet Street. She doesn't bother trying to initiate conversation for once, too bone weary to make the effort. They make the trip in the same tense silence that has befallen them since Lucy died.
Once they reach the pie shop, Nellie slips into her room to change into a more comfortable dress. As much as she wants to curl up on her bed and not venture out for a few days, the apartment upstairs needs cleaning out and no one else is going to do it if she doesn't. She could never expect Johanna to take on such a task and Mr. Todd is fairly useless at the moment. It'll have to be Nellie.
By the time she emerges from her room wearing a different dress and locates her cleaning supplies in her messy kitchen, Mr. Todd is nowhere to be found. Bloody typical. Probably back in his shop again, she thinks, brooding away.
It comes as a surprise when she steps into the apartment and finds him sitting at the kitchen table. There's a bottle of gin in front of him and a glass clenched in his fist. By the look of him, he's been at it since the moment they arrived back. His eyes are already a little glazed over with the shine of alcohol. Things can't go on like this much longer, with him wandering around like a drunken bloody ghost but today has already been taxing enough for both of them. For now, Nellie lets him be.
She walks silently through the apartment, taking stock of what needs to be done and doing her best not to think too deeply about how much the whole place reeks of Lucy. Her perfume still lingers in the air. Her dresses are hanging neatly in the wardrobe. Her knitting is still half-finished, bundled into a knotted pile on a chair by the window. Scattered on the coffee table are a few hairpins and draped over the back of the settee is a pretty pink shawl. Standing there on the rug in the middle of the parlor and staring at the evidence of a leftover life, it's impossible not to think of the last time she found herself in this apartment after a burial.
Years ago, when Albert passed, Lucy had insisted on the two of them having tea. Poor thing was hopeless even at making that but Nellie had been grateful for the company anyway, sitting at the little table where Sweeney sits now and sipping Lucy's horrid tea. It had been only a year since Ben Barker had been shipped off to Australia and at the time, Albert's death had seemed like yet another unmanageable blow.
She and Albert had never been particularly well off but without his income, Nellie had already resigned herself to a life of poverty. And yet she hadn't been the one sitting there at that table fighting back tears. It had been Lucy who had sniffled into her handkerchief and clutched her teacup. It had been Lucy who had looked at Nellie like she held all of life's little secrets in the palm of her hand.
"You're so much stronger than I am, Eleanor." She'd dabbed at her eyes, shaking her head. "When my husband… I went to pieces. But you… how do I become like that? Teach me to be strong."
Nellie hadn't the heart to tell her the reason she seemed just fine was because she was. It was no act, no stiff upper lip nonsense. She had never loved Albert the way Lucy had loved Benjamin. It had been a barely civil business arrangement, nothing more. And rather than sitting there weeping over the loss of her husband, she'd been fretting over how she'd afford to feed herself. So she'd reached across the table and patted Lucy's hand, her eyes straying to the babe tucked snugly in the crook of Lucy's arm. "You're stronger than you think you are, love."
On the mantel over the fireplace, the light streaming in through the windows catches on something shiny. When Nellie steps closer to inspect it, she finds a necklace – gold and pretty, with a glittering bauble on the end shaped like a star. It had been a favorite of Lucy's and Nellie had seen her wear it often over the years. She closes her fingers around it, holding it in her palm for a moment and wondering why the bloody hell it hurts so much to think of someone she'd barely liked at the best of times.
With a sigh, she dangles the necklace on her fingertip and turns to Mr. Todd. "Should I see if Johanna wants this, do you think?" She holds it up to the light, examining the way it shines. "Think she'd like it, don't you?"
She receives no reply from the man currently attempting to drink his weight in gin.
Tucking the necklace into her pocket, Nellie bites back a sigh and turns away. Distantly, she can hear the clink of the glass as he pours himself another but she tunes it out. There's only one more thing resting on the mantel – the framed photographs of Benjamin and Johanna, though the glass has been shattered. It distorts their faces, turning the sweet into the macabre. Nellie can hardly stand to look at it. She plucks it from its place and holds it up, turning again. "What about these? You wanna keep 'em or should Johanna 'ave them?"
He doesn't even look at her, lifting the glass to his lips and draining it in one gulp.
Her eyes narrow and she settles a hand on her hip. "Mr. Todd?"
Nothing. The man doesn't even blink.
The sudden flare of white-hot anger thrumming under her skin takes her by surprise but perhaps it shouldn't. He hasn't spoken a word to her in days; hasn't looked directly at her in just as long. He'd shut himself away and left her to deal with arrangements for the burial, comforting Johanna, and dealing with her own bloody guilt and grief all by herself. And now he's just sitting there drinking himself into a stupor like he's the only one who has something to be sorry for. Half-existing, secluded in a dark cloud of his own selfishness. It reminds her so viscerally of the way Lucy had behaved after his banishment that Nellie cannot stand it a moment longer.
Setting her jaw, she drops the frame back onto the mantel and stalks quickly across the room. She snatches the bottle out of his grasp just as he goes to pour himself another drink. She takes the glass too, just for good measure. He stills, hand still outstretched for the bottle that isn't there any longer.
"You've had enough."
He scowls, still not lifting his eyes to meet hers. "Give it back."
"No."
With a low growl, he leaps to his feet and lunges for it.
Nellie smashes the bottle against the table, shattering glass everywhere and feeling gin splatter her dress and spill across the toes of her boots. It feels so bloody good to be angry that she throws the cup too, listening in satisfaction as it explodes spectacularly against the wall. "I said you've 'ad enough."
And finally, he's really looking at her for the first time in days. She hates what a relief it is, like rain in a desert. Of course, he looks angrier than a rabid dog but even that is better than the awful blankness she has seen since Lucy. "I killed my wife," he snarls. "I will let you know when I've had bloody enough."
Voice trembling with grief and fury, she stands her ground. "Listen 'ere, Mr. Todd. I looked into the eyes of the girl I love like my very own and I lied to her-"
He barely blinks, cutting her off sharply. "I didn't ask you to."
"No, you never ask anythin' of me, do you?" She scoffs bitterly. "Only to 'ide your crimes and clean up the blood and supply your gin. Only to look after your wife and daughter for fifteen years. To wait for you to finally notice me." She smiles grimly, shaking her head. "I've never asked for anythin' in return but that's done now. I'm cashin' in on your debt."
His dark eyes cloud over and she knows he's already well on his way to retreating back into himself again. She's never seen him like this. It's far worse than even the state of him the very night he returned. It's starting to scare the hell out of her. "No one made you do those things."
"No," she agrees, pushing aside the fear that she might just lose him entirely over this mess. She has to get him back, though she isn't quite sure how yet. "S'pose I could 'ave thrown your family out onto the street all those years ago. Could 'ave told you to sod off when Pirelli threatened you. Could 'ave slapped you the first time you kissed me. Maybe I should 'ave told the truth about Lucy and let them drag you off to be hanged."
That lost, hollow look returns once more and he mutters, "Maybe you should have."
"I never would and you know it," she snaps, angry tears burning behind her eyes. "Because I've loved you since the moment I saw you and I've loved your daughter since the first time I held 'er in my arms."
He shakes his head, gaze far away and somewhere else as he mumbles, "I don't deserve-"
"I don't give a bloody damn what you deserve. What about Johanna?" Her hands shake and she curls them into fists at her sides, trembling as she lifts her chin and stares him down. "She deserves at least one parent in 'er life. I lied so she could keep 'er father and I'm not lettin' that lie be in vain. What good will you be to that girl drinking yourself to death?"
He scowls. "I'm damn well here, aren't I?"
"Oh, you're 'ere, alright." Nellie sneers. "You're 'ere the same way Lucy was 'ere all those years."
Stiffening, he warns, "Don't."
"Sittin' around like a useless lump, not really existin' or doin' anybody a bit of good." She goads him mercilessly, watching with satisfaction as the spark returns to his eyes once more. "Livin' in your head like the past is more important than the people right in front of you-"
"Shut up."
"I am sick of livin' with people who don't want to live anymore." He glances away, avoiding her both her pleading stare and the truth of her words. "You bloody look at me, Sweeney Todd."
She shoves at his chest and he stumbles briefly before the anger takes over once more. He snarls in her face, stalking forward like some dangerous predator. Nellie has never seen such a look on his face and she takes a step back, and another, and another – until her back slams against the nearest wall and he's looming over her with a sneer. Her head smacks against the wall as he crowds her threateningly but the moment she winces, he freezes.
To her relief, clarity returns to his eyes for the first time in days.
"Eleanor?" He whispers, dark eyes taking her in like he only just noticed her. He steps back, looking even more tortured than he had only a moment ago. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" He shakes his head and Nellie watches helplessly as he sinks to his knees in front of her like the brief burst of energy had depleted him entirely. He gazes numbly at the hem of her skirts, looking for all the world like a scolded boy. "She was right. I'm a monster."
She sighs, all her irritation slipping away as she peers down at him knelt at her feet like a supplicant. Pitiful thing, he is. And yet something in her blood still calls out to him even now. Always will, she supposes. "No, you're not." Carefully, she lowers herself to kneel in front of him. Pressing a cool palm to his cheek, she strokes her thumb over his skin and looks encouragingly into his eyes, slowly coaxing him back to himself. When he blinks at her, looking more present, she says, "It was an accident, what 'appened to Lucy. And I provoked you just now, so stop punishin' yourself."
He only looks at her, his gaze clearer than it has been in a while, but still disbelieving. Nellie drops her hand from his face, ducking her head as she rummages through her dress pockets. She's been carrying the bloody thing around with her ever since she found it that night, her own twisted form of penance maybe. She hadn't planned to ever show him something that would probably only cause him more pain but perhaps it's what he needs after all. With reluctance, she pulls the arsenic from her pocket and holds it out to him with an open palm.
"Found this the night it 'appened. Fell out of her pocket when we were movin' 'er." She watches him carefully take the bottle from her, like it might have teeth. He stares at it, pain etched into every line of his face. "She wasn't happy, love. Hasn't been for a long time, I think. Not since you left all those years ago."
His fingers close around the poison and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "She was… going to take this."
At Nellie's nod, his eyes close. "I s'pose, in a way, she and Ben Barker died together a long time ago. Let them rest, Mr. T. Life is for the alive, after all." She reaches for his hand, waiting patiently for him to open his eyes and look at her. "I already spent fifteen years waitin' for you. I'm not waitin' anymore. I need you to be 'ere with me now."
The arsenic clatters from his hand, rolling away and coming to rest beneath a table. Nellie barely notices because he reaches for her then, tugging her abruptly from her spot before him and onto his lap. He cradles her against his chest and suddenly she's enveloped in strong arms, overwhelmed by the scent of his aftershave and the gin lingering on his breath. He ducks his head, burying his face in her hair and murmuring quiet apologies into her curls.
Nellie clings to him, tears of relief stinging her eyes as he holds her. Her hands clutch at his waistcoat, terrified he might disappear and grateful beyond measure to have him back with her again. She has missed him. These last days without him have been the loneliest of her life.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, and she realizes she'd spoken out loud. "It won't happen again."
His lips brush her temple, as if to seal the promise, and Nellie turns her head. Fingers curling tightly into the soft hair at the back of his neck, she captures his mouth with her own. He groans against her lips, grip on her waist tightening until she's sure she'll bear bruises.
They haven't ever gone further than stolen kisses while Lucy lived and right now hardly seems the time but he isn't pulling away from her and Nellie is reluctant to stop him. His kiss is almost violent, raw and biting. She melts into his chest, content to let him devour her. Her heart pounds and her breath comes in short, sharp pants as he ducks his head to nip at her throat.
His teeth scrape over her skin and as his hands trail up her back and leave fire in his wake, she can't help but wonder if this might be it. Will he really, finally touch her the way she's been aching for him to for weeks? For years?
She forgets everything else for a while, except for his hands roaming over her bodice and the dark desire in his kiss. They're so wrapped up in each other, in wandering touches and breath hot between them, they forget where they are. There is no pie shop, no apartment that needs sorting, no glass shattered all over the floor or gin drying in sticky patches on the table and the walls. No grief. No guilt. There is only each other.
They don't even hear the door open.
"Are you certain Toby will be alright?"
Johanna bites back a smile at the concern in Anthony's voice as they stroll leisurely back along Fleet Street. "He grew up in a workhouse and used to work for Pirelli. He's hardly helpless." She glances at him, fondly studying the furrow in his brow. "Besides, he's just playing with friends. He'll be back before dark."
They'd been taking a turn about the park when Toby had run into a few friends from his days as an orphan. He'd been so excited to see them Johanna hadn't the heart to drag him away. If she'd learned anything from being Lucy Barker's daughter, it was that smothering a child never did a bit of good. Toby had been on his own most of his life – she doubts unsupervised time in the park with friends will hurt.
"I suppose so," Anthony mutters, still looking worried.
Johanna rests her head on his shoulder as they walk. "It's sweet how you fret over him." She nudges him gently when he flushes. "We'll bring him back a little something from the restaurant. How does that sound?"
Anthony brightens. "He likes cake."
Biting back a giggle, Johanna nods. "Then cake it shall be."
The park had been a good idea, despite how much she had longed to go home and fall into bed to weep for a few hours. Though she still feels a crushing pain in her chest every time she thinks of her mother, the fresh air has somewhat revived her spirits. There will be plenty of time to mourn in the days to come and she feels certain she will, but today is for remembering Lucy. Johanna would like nothing more than to remember her mother over dinner, to trade stories with Auntie Nell and Father about her. Today, she needs her family.
When she'd mentioned the idea to Anthony, he'd smiled and said, "I think we could all use a bit of merriment. Let's invite them."
As the pie shop comes into view up ahead, Johanna slips her arm from his. "I'll just pop in and ask them to come. You wait here."
He frowns. "But-"
"Trust me," she says, pressing a gentle hand to his chest. "If Auntie Nell sees you, she'll have you washing dishes before you know it and we'll never get a table."
Anthony pauses, looking ill at ease as he remembers Auntie Nell's dreadful habit of charming him into doing her chores for her. "Perhaps you're right," he mumbles. "I'll wait here for you."
"Wise choice," she says, smiling. "I won't be long."
She steps into the pie shop and shuts the door behind her, the jingling bell announcing her presence before she can even call out. "Hello? Auntie Nell?" She weaves her way around tables and behind the counter, venturing into the kitchen though she doesn't hear the usual sounds of Auntie Nell clanking pans about and muttering to herself. "Auntie Nell?"
She stops in the doorway when she finds the room empty, her eyes falling immediately to the spot at the counter where her mother used to stand when she'd come in from the flower market, arranging bouquets in vases to place around the shop and brighten it up. She'd always save one to tuck into Johanna's hair.
Looking away as the ache in her chest widens, Johanna turns and flees the room. "Auntie Nell? Father?" She makes her way down the corridor and peers into the parlor, which is also empty. Odd. Where could they have gone? She checks Auntie Nell's bedroom next, hoping to find her in there rearranging her wardrobe or sorting through the trinkets at her vanity. She always did like to keep busy when there was something she'd rather not think about.
Even the bedroom is empty.
Dread fills the pit of Johanna's stomach as she realizes there is only one place left to look. Auntie Nell probably did have every intention of keeping busy – by cleaning the upstairs apartment so Johanna will not have to. Fondness for her dear Auntie Nell fills her heart even as her footsteps feel heavier with every step toward the staircase. Johanna has not been inside the apartment since that horrible day her mother had killed herself up there. It was simply too much to bear, to stand there in the place where they had once lived together; where Johanna had grown up watching Lucy Barker brush her hair and drink her tea and stare at pictures of Johanna's father.
"Auntie Nell?"
Johanna reaches the top of the staircase and braces herself for the memories she knows will flood over her the moment she steps inside. She curls her hand around the doorknob and pushes it open, taking a deep breath before she ventures into the apartment. Sunlight fills the room, as it usually did on bright days like today, bathing everything in soft yellow. The vase of flowers Lucy had last arranged still sits on top of the bureau by the window, though the tulips have dried up and the petals have begun to crumble and fall. At first glance, everything looks normal but… Something isn't right.
It's only as Johanna forces herself away from the door and takes another look around that things begin to piece themselves together. The air smells of pure alcohol rather than her mother's soft perfume. The floor is covered in broken glass that crunches beneath her shoes as she walks. And her father and Auntie Nell sit in the middle of the kitchen floor, wrapped around each other like they'll never let go.
Johanna freezes, feeling like someone has just doused her in a cold bucket of water. Her insides turn to ice and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she takes in the unmistakably amorous sight in front of her. "Dear God," she whispers, and her voice must come out louder than she'd intended in the silent apartment because her father and Auntie Nell spring apart like guilty children. "What are you doing?"
Auntie Nell recovers first, scrambling to her feet with wide eyes. Her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes wide with guilt, she looks like a little girl with her hand caught in a jar full of biscuits before supper. She wipes at the corners of her red mouth with a shaking hand.
Johanna feels like throwing up.
"Hello, love," she says. Johanna has always been grateful for Auntie Nell's insistence on talking to her like an adult deserving of honesty and respect, but right now, it isn't helping. She doesn't want to be spoken to like they're old friends. They can't be friends when she's been hiding this from her. "This isn't what it looks like."
Johanna stares at her in silent incredulity.
Auntie Nell exchanges a swift glance with Johanna's father, who climbs stiffly to his feet and stands at her side. At her questioning look, he merely shrugs. "Well, I s'pose it's exactly what it looks like." She wrings her hands together, looking at Johanna hopefully. "But I swear-"
Johanna cuts her off with a sharp, angry shake of her head. "You're – you and my father?" She presses a hand to her mouth, stomach churning. "I can't believe you would do this. How could you?"
"It's not like that, love." Auntie Nell holds up her hands, placating. Another quick, fond glance at Johanna's father. Johanna muscles down the urge to throw something. "It's… it's always been 'im."
"What are you talking about? You've never mentioned-" She hears her voice waver and stops, hating how close to tears she feels. Blinking hard, Johanna curls her fingers into her palms and breathes out, "You lied to me."
"No, not lied at all." Auntie Nell watches her intently, looking torn somewhere between love and desperation. It reminds Johanna painfully of the glimpse of herself she'd caught in the mirror right after she delivered the letter to Judge Turpin to save Anthony. "Remember that talk we 'ad in the park on your birthday? You asked me what love meant and I told you-"
The memory comes back to Johanna all at once and she murmurs, "It meant letting him go."
Auntie Nell beams at her, as though thinking her very clever. Johanna thinks that smile used to mean the world to her. Now, she doesn't feel much at all. "I was talkin' about your father. I've always loved him, dear. Never really stopped." She sighs, refusing to look at the man standing beside her. He watches her though. When he isn't studying Johanna fearfully his eyes remain locked on Auntie Nell like he can't bring himself to look away for long. "I let 'im go so many times. I couldn't let 'im go again."
Her Auntie Nell has been in love with Johanna's father this whole time. All these years and she never let on. Johanna feels the sharp sting of betrayal lance through her like a knife. She digs her nails into her palms, suddenly dizzy. It all makes so much sense now. The way she'd always been eager to indulge Johanna's requests for bedtime stories about her father; why Auntie Nell had always had such faith that he would return one day; why she kept his shop in order all that time; why she and Lucy had never really gotten along.
Her mother.
Johanna feels her knees buckle and reaches out a hand to grip the doorframe. Her knuckles turn white with the strain of holding herself up and she sways on her feet, wondering if she might pass out. Auntie Nell seems to notice how pale she has grown and she takes a hesitant step forward, like Johanna might need rescuing. As if she still has the right to mother her. She wonders what it means if part of her still wants that.
Auntie Nell has been just as much if not more of a mother to her than Lucy had been. And right now Johanna aches for her mother – both of them. Of course, right when she needs them most it simply isn't to be. One of them lies in a plot in the cemetery and the other has betrayed her trust so thoroughly Johanna isn't sure how long it will take to build it back up again. She and Auntie Nell have always been so honest with each other about anything and everything. A small, selfish part of her cannot help feeling resentful toward her father for changing that.
Numb, she stares between the only members of her family left and asks, "When did this begin? The second Mother died?" Her father flinches but it's Auntie Nell who gives them away. Johanna could read the guilt in her eyes from miles off. Her breath catches as the woman who raised her refuses to meet her eyes, fiddling with her hands. Filled with dread, she whispers, "Before?"
Auntie Nell nods once, cautious and wretched.
A sneaking, vicious, horrible thought occurs to her then. She feels twisted and sick for even thinking it because of course it isn't true. It can't possibly be true. But it has slithered into her mind unbidden and now that it has, she cannot get rid of it. Johanna looks up, nails digging into the wood of the doorframe until she feels it begin to splinter. Cautiously, she meets Auntie Nell's grief-stricken gaze and draws in a shaking breath.
"Mother did kill herself, didn't she, Auntie Nell?"
She pales, pressing a trembling hand to the bodice of her dress. Stumbling back a step into the unmoving shadow of Johanna's father behind her, Auntie Nell musters a weak smile. "Of – of course, she did. What would make you ask such a question, darlin'?"
And Johanna feels her heart shatter.
Hot tears fill her eyes and something that feels remarkably like a fist squeezes in her chest until she feels like she might die right then. Every breath rattles in her throat, threatening to turn into sobs. "Do you know the trouble with never lying to me?" She asks, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I can always tell when you are."
Aunt Nell's face crumples. Her hand lifts, hovering between them like she wants to reach out but doesn't dare. "Johanna, love-"
"You killed her," Johanna says, hardly believing the words coming out of her own mouth. Surely she must be dreaming. This is all a horrible nightmare. She has fallen asleep in the park and any moment now Anthony is going to shake her awake with a gentle smile. "You killed her so you could be together, didn't you?"
"No."
The word echoes in the apartment and it takes Johanna a moment to realize they'd both spoken at the same time, her father and Auntie Nell stepping forward as one in their horror. Johanna can see they're telling the truth but it does nothing to soothe her broken heart.
"We would never have-" Auntie Nell shakes her head jerkily, as if the reason matters when they've killed someone. "It was an accident. Lucy found out about Turpin and threatened to go to the police. She was hysterical. Your father tried to stop 'er and – well, things got out of hand."
Johanna looks at her father. "Is that true?"
He gazes back at her like a man facing trial, hoping that some higher power will have mercy on his damned soul. He nods only once and then swallows audibly, looking in near physical pain as he says, "I never meant to harm her." His dark eyes burn into her, begging for her trust in him. As if any remains at all. "I did love your mother, Johanna."
She laughs. The sound slips past her lips without permission, startling them all. The noise is high-pitched and a touch hysterical – transforming into a choked sob at the end. "You loved her, did you?" She scoffs, feeling outside of her own body as she watches her father and Auntie Nell stare at her with stricken eyes. "Is that what you told her while you slit her throat?"
"Johanna, it wasn't 'is fault. Please, love-"
She recoils when Auntie Nell surges forward. "Don't you dare," she hisses, and Auntie Nell steps back again as if slapped. "I can't look at either of you."
Turning where she stands, she finally releases her grip on the doorframe and flees the apartment. She stumbles down the stairs in a daze, barely seeing each step in front of her through the film of tears blurring her vision. She trips on her skirts as she reaches the corridor, staggering toward the door without stopping once. Her things are still upstairs but she cannot bring herself to stay long enough to pack a bag.
Like a drowning sailor breaking the surface of the water, she gasps in air greedily the moment she manages to make her way out of the pie shop and tumble onto the pavement outside. The rank London air is like a fresh bouquet compared to the inside of that place, filled with the scent of pastries and gin and home. She doesn't have a home anymore, she realizes.
She doesn't even have a family.
"Johanna?"
A gentle hand cups her elbow and she starts until she looks up and sees Anthony's sweet face peering at her in concern. She must look an awful fright but she'd dirtied her last handkerchief at the burial. She lifts a hand to scrub at her tear-stained cheek, breath hitching in her throat. "We're leaving."
Anthony frowns at her. "Where are we going?"
"I don't know." She stifles a sob, gripping his arm. "But I want to go. Now."
Studying her for a quiet moment, Anthony must read the distress so plainly written on her face because he doesn't ask any more questions. He only takes her arm gently and guides her down the street. "Very well," he says. "We'll go."
Her steps ring in her ears as they walk further and further away from the pie shop and her mind forces images upon her unbidden. Meeting her father for the first time and realizing they share the same eyes. Sitting with him and pestering him with questions, feeling on top of the world every time she managed to get him to smile.
And Auntie Nell.
Always Auntie Nell – singing her lullabies, reading her bedtime stories, teaching her how to bake pies and cakes and tasting all her questionable dinner experiments; playing cards late at night and spilling gin over them as they giggled; dancing in the pie shop after closing time because it made the washing up more fun; a motherly hand stroking her hair when she was ill and that mischievous, knowing smile always at the ready. She remembers running to Auntie Nell as a girl, complaining about Lucy spinning another fairytale to avoid the truth.
"Ah, well, your mother is only doin' what she thinks is best."
"You'll always be honest with me, won't you Auntie Nell?"
Auntie Nell had smiled, trailing a flour-coated hand across Johanna's cheek. "Of course, love. You an' me… we'll look after each other, eh?"
Heart in her mouth, Johanna tightens her grip on Anthony's arm as they turn the corner and leave Fleet Street behind them. It aches with every step but she doesn't look back.