Epilogue: Mend What Is Broken
At first, Nellie is certain she'll come back.
A week goes by. Seven days is the longest she has been away from Johanna since she was born. Every second that carries her further and further from the girl is a stab in the heart. Another week goes by. And another. She checks the post religiously just in case Johanna decides to write and barely leaves the shop for more than a few minutes at a time lest the girl stop by and find her missing.
Six months pass in this fashion, with Nellie staring out the window waiting for a flash of pale blonde hair in the crowded streets. And one day, sitting there gazing out at the rain with a cold cup of tea in front of her, the truth hits her squarely in the chest. It steals all the breath from her lungs and leaves her gasping: she'll probably never see her girl again.
After that, she stops bothering to get out of bed at all.
"Ma'am?"
She hears Toby, lurking in the doorway for the third day in a row, but she hasn't the energy or the will to pull the sheet from her head or lift her cheek from the pillow. She already knows what he wants and nothing short of Johanna herself could persuade Nellie from the comfort of her lonely bed. Curling tighter into a ball in the middle of the mattress, she squeezes her eyes shut and waits for him to go away.
"Please, ma'am. You need to eat."
The boy sounds so fretful Nellie almost opens her mouth and says something but what could she possibly say? That food tastes like ash in her mouth? That the thought of swallowing one single bite makes her want to gag? That nothing at all seems to have much purpose if her child hates her and never wants to see her again? What's the bloody point of dinner when Johanna is gone?
"I brought you some dinner and a nice hot cuppa," Toby says, and she hears him inching further into the dark room. "I'll just leave it 'ere and you can 'ave a bit when you're ready."
Nellie listens to the soft clatter of a tray being settled on the bedside table and wonders distantly if Toby is doting on Mr. Todd this way. She doubts the barber would be any more receptive to the coddling. Still, her heart goes out to the boy. He shouldn't be looking after them. She had taken him in with the promise of doing the looking after.
Slowly, she inches her hand out from the bedcovers.
Toby clasps her fingers instantly and she can feel the relief in his grip like a palpable thing. "Ma'am?"
"Thank you," she whispers.
Toby squeezes her hand. "Just doin' what you'd do for me."
She breathes out carefully, tears burning behind her closed eyes. "Sit with me a spell?"
He stays until she falls asleep and when she wakes, there's a fresh cup of tea waiting.
Mr. Todd lets her wallow in her own misery for a grand total of one week, which he probably spends doing his own amount of self-pitying. Nellie doesn't see him the entire week but on day seven, he barges into her bedroom and yanks open the curtains with a glare. Nellie flinches from the sudden and unwelcome daylight, cringing as she lifts her arms to shield her eyes.
"The bloody 'ell are you doin'?"
"Returning the favor," he snaps, and tugs the blankets from her bed. "Brooding doesn't suit you, Eleanor."
Nellie gapes at him, feeling strength return to her weak limbs for the first time since she climbed into bed and didn't bother climbing back out. She scrambles to sit up, fury making her hands shake. Shoving her tangled curls from her eyes, she says, "You're a fine one to talk about broodin'. Where 'ave you been all week, eh?"
His glower is downright smoldering. Nellie considers it a miracle she isn't a smoking stain on the bedsheets. "Waiting for you to take your own advice. Life is for the alive, you said."
"That's not fair," she argues, crossing her arms over her chest. "Johanna isn't dead. She's out there somewhere – hatin' my guts, yes, but alive."
"And so are you," he snarls, leaning in close to meet her glare without flinching. "So you'd better damn well start acting like it."
Tears spring to her eyes and she blinks them back with effort, staring up at him imploringly. "How?"
Mr. Todd sighs, his expression softening into something pained and knowing. The look on his face reminds her sharply that he has lost everything once before. How does one survive losing a child twice? His hand lifts to caress her cheek. "One day at a time, pet."
Six months turns to a year.
Nellie cannot walk into the kitchen without thinking of Johanna – the little mite sitting on a footstool watching her bake gingerbread men and waiting for a taste; the look on her face the first time she tried to make a pie and nearly burnt the place down; the way she'd dance around the counter on nights when the tips were particularly good, waving pound notes through the air with childish glee; the way she'd always flick water at Nellie when it was her turn to wash the dishes. The girl is everywhere.
For a while, that brings Nellie comfort.
A year becomes two.
Nellie sits at her vanity, combing irritably at a tangle in her curls. "It 'appened again, you know."
Behind her, reclining on their bed with a book in his hand, Sweeney doesn't even lift his eyes from the page. "Hm?"
She sighs, jerking on the brush harder than she should. It pulls at her scalp and she grimaces, swearing under her breath. "Walked into the parlor and screamed loud enough to scare the bejesus out of poor Toby because I thought I saw Lucy Barker sittin' in that chair by the fire. Again." She pauses, glancing at him through the mirror when he looks up with a frown. "Not to mention every time I walk into the kitchen and think I 'ear Johanna callin' for me."
He lifts a single brow. "And?"
Though he's gotten a bit better about not expecting her to read his sodding mind just because he doesn't like saying more than two words at a time, Nellie cannot help but think she might be encouraging this behavior. Because more often than not, she really does know what he's thinking. And right now he's asking what do you want to do about it?
She takes a deep breath. "I want to leave."
He doesn't say anything for a long moment and she wonders if he'll deny her this – if the idea of leaving the place where he spent so many happy days with his wife and baby will be too much for him to endure. She'd understand. Index finger holding the place in his book, he furrows his brow and murmurs, "There aren't any ghosts here, Eleanor. It's in your head."
"Course it is. I know that." She ducks her head, studying the brush clenched in her hand. It's a beautiful silver, inlaid with gold filigree along the handle. It's part of matching set, along with a comb and a mirror, that Johanna had given her for a birthday once. Saved up all her tips for months, the dear thing. "But it's still like bein' haunted. And I can't bear it anymore."
Sweeney shifts on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath his weight. Nellie glances up and their eyes meet in the mirror. "Then we'll leave." His expression shifts, a smirk curling his mouth, and Nellie is instantly suspicious. "On one condition."
She exhales wearily, aware of exactly what he wants. The same thing he's wanted for months. If someone had told her a decade ago Benjamin Barker would ask her – repeatedly – to marry him and she'd turn him down every time, Nellie would have laughed herself sick. Now, she looks away and puts down her brush with shaking hands, busying herself with needlessly tidying her vanity table. "On about that again, are you?" She tsks quietly, avoiding his gaze burning into her back. "Thought we discussed this, love."
"No," he snaps. "I asked. You stared at me like I'd slaughtered Toby in front of you."
Nellie huffs. "I did not-"
"The second time," he interrupts ruthlessly, still looking vexed at being forced to recount his failures. "You mumbled something about needing to check on the pies."
She straightens, whirling from the mirror to glower at him indignantly. "I did need to check the pies!"
"The third time-"
"Oh, all right." She holds up a hand, feeling her cheeks flush. "We 'aven't discussed it. Ruddy fine time to practice your conversational skills, by the way."
Sweeney only gazes back at her in silence, eyebrow raised impatiently.
It's not as if she doesn't want to marry him. Of course she bloody well wants to – more than just about anything else in the world. Though there is a small part of her that recoils from the idea of getting married without Johanna there – it would be like admitting to herself all over again that the girl simply isn't coming back – for Sweeney Todd, Nellie might have even managed to overcome that. If it wasn't for one other little thing.
She'd promised herself after Albert finally gave up the ghost and freed her from the chains of holy matrimony that she wouldn't ever marry for practicality's sake again. Though she loves Sweeney Todd like mad, marrying him because he likes to bed her and won't leave because he's lost everything else that matters to him seems a bit too close to breaking that promise for comfort. It's ridiculous and fanciful and something she should have outgrown by now but she wants him to love her. Undeniably. Passionately.
Nellie bites her lip and fidgets with the sleeve of her nightdress. "You don't have to marry me, you know. I'm perfectly 'appy livin' in sin." She glances up with a wink, a weak attempt at distracting him. One glimpse of his stony expression and she deflates once more. "It's just a piece of paper, darlin'."
On the bed, Sweeney shifts to lean forward. His book lies forgotten on the mattress beside him. "Then why not indulge me?"
She frowns. "Isn't this about you indulgin' me? It can't be somethin' you want yourself. Not as if you-" She only just manages to stop the words from tripping clumsily off her tongue, swallowing them back and tasting acid in her mouth. Even the suggestion might be enough to scare him away. And after all this time of having him to herself, she doesn't think she could bear to go back to living without him again.
Oblivious to the sudden tide of fear rippling through her, Sweeney asks, "Not as if I what?"
Nellie glances away quickly. "Nothin'."
Through clenched teeth, he demands, "Not as if I what, Eleanor?"
Oh, she hates it when he gets like this. Like a dog with a bone, he is. She shuts her eyes for a moment, gathering the courage she'll need to look him in the eye. If there's one thing Nellie Lovett is determined to do right in her life, it's meeting her doom head on. She opens her eyes, tips up her chin, and sighs. Staring right into his dark eyes, she lifts her shoulders in a helpless shrug and whispers, "It's not as if you love me, is it?"
Silence.
For a man so bloody determined to wrestle an answer out of her, Sweeney doesn't have much to say now that he's heard it. He simply stares at her, his face very still and his eyes narrowed and hard as steel. His mouth firms into a pinched line and his brow furrows the way it usually does when he's trying to make sense of her. Nellie watches in dread and fascination as he works his jaw in tense silence for a long moment, apparently struggling for words. The harsh, bitter laugh that suddenly escapes from between his lips comes as a surprise.
She flinches, watching him shake his head and mutter under his breath. "What?"
"I said you're bloody unbelievable," he snaps, eyes flashing dangerously.
"That's not-"
His glare silences her instantly. Usually Nellie isn't the least bit intimidated by him no matter how scary he thinks he is but right now he looks angry – properly angry at her. "It's been two years," he snarls. "Why else would I be here?"
She stares at him helplessly, wondering why he feels the need to be cruel enough to make her say it. "Because I'm… convenient. I'm familiar." She swallows thickly, forcing the words out. "It's easier with me than startin' over with some other bird."
Sweeney gazes back at her with a peculiar expression on his face, as if contemplating throwing her into Fogg's where she belongs. With an arch of his brow, he says dryly, "Nothing about being with you is easy, Eleanor."
She bristles. "Very funny."
His mouth curls briefly in the ghost of a smirk. "You told me once I'm hardly a comedian."
Her breath catches painfully, an ache forming in her chest as she gapes at him – hardly daring to believe it. If he isn't mocking her then… "You tryin' to tell me you love me, Sweeney Todd?"
Glancing away, he picks up his book again and settles back against the pillows. His irritated expression deepens into a scowl. "If you were as clever as I thought you were, you wouldn't need to ask."
Hot tears fill her eyes but Nellie doesn't let a little thing like being half blind stop her as she abandons her vanity table and crosses the room to him. Her heart in her mouth, she climbs onto the bed and plucks that damned book from his hands, tossing it away. The spine hits the floor and she'd probably dented it and he'll most certainly complain about that later but right now he only opens his arms and allows her to settle on his lap like a child. Nellie buries her face in his neck and clings to the front of his shirt, breathing him in shakily.
He loves her.
Wonder fills her. All those little things he does – bringing her tea in bed when she's ill, taking her hand when they stroll through the market, his inability to sleep without her beside him, the way he looks at her when she undresses – are all suddenly cast in a new light now. He doesn't kiss her good morning or stroke her hair or try so hard to keep the past in the past because he thinks he should.
He loves her.
She blinks back fresh tears. "I love you too, you useless sod."
With a grunt of amusement, Sweeney grumbles into her hair, "Now will you marry me, for Christ's sake?"
It's hardly the proposal a girl dreams of but since it's technically his fourth time asking, Nellie can't blame him for running out of patience. She lifts her head and beams at him. "Y'know what, love?" She cups his cheek in her hand, laughter bubbling in her throat. "I think I will."
They get married the day before they go – a private ceremony with just the two of them and Toby. Despite the heartbreak of the last two years, Nellie is still over the moon to be Mrs. Todd. She sits beside her new husband on the train, staring at the gold band on her finger with a little smile she can't quite hide. If he notices her quiet, giddy grin Sweeney doesn't tease her about it. He sits silently beside her as the train takes them further and further away from dreary London, his own ring glinting in the gaslight.
For weeks, they travel from place to place until they find somewhere they like best. They eventually settle on a small village in France, its neatly cobbled streets and family-owned shops so far from the bustle of London it might as well be another bloody planet. Nellie occupies her time with opening a little patisserie in the middle of town, spending her days perfecting the art of delicate little pastries and fruit tarts.
Toby, bless him, does his best to help but he mostly ends up eating everything. Growing like a weed, that boy.
It takes some time for Sweeney to settle into work as a barber again after what happened with Lucy but he's never been meant for anything else and he knows it. The man is an artist and giving up a gift like that wouldn't bear thinking of. When he tells her of his plans to open up shop down the street from her bakery, she throws her arms around him and kisses him.
Some days are easier than others, of course. Some days Nellie will be in the middle of slicing fresh fruit for her tarts and remember the way Lucy always loved raspberries; unable to shake the lingering ghost of her for days after. Some days Sweeney comes home from work and doesn't feel much like talking. But for the most part… they're happy. Well, as happy as a couple can be knowing their child is out there in the world without them. It's always there, somewhere in the back of their minds, but it gets easier as time passes to put that aside and live.
They get by.
Six months after they've settled into their new home, a letter arrives.
Mr. Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Eleanor Lovett
186 Fleet Street
London, England
The letter had been forwarded along to their new address and Nellie thinks it a bloody miracle it hadn't gotten lost in the post. She rips the envelope open with shaking hands, her husband standing at her shoulder and watching cautiously. Inside, there is only a single sheet of paper, written in familiar hand. It isn't much – just an address and one small request – but to Nellie, it's everything.
She looks up, wide eyed and grinning. "It's Johanna. She wants us to visit."
They both close up shop and catch a train to Florence the next day. The entire trip, Nellie finds herself exchanging bewildered glances with her husband and knows neither of them can quite believe it. She hardly sits still the whole journey, bouncing in her seat, looking out the window, talking a mile a minute. Sweeney is the exact opposite and barely moves or speaks a word for hours at a time, gazing out at the passing landscape like he might be dreaming.
Thankfully, Toby is just as excited as Nellie. He eats his weight in cake from the dessert cart and talks animatedly about Johanna and Anthony and getting to see Italy. Nellie never had the heart to tell him what happened between them, perhaps afraid deep down that she would lose him too. She had only ever said there had been a falling out and Johanna didn't want to see her again. Toby, always conscious of the way talk of Johanna could make her take to her bed for days, never pressed the issue.
Florence is beautiful. The water is as blue as the sky, the flowers are in bloom and every street is awash in their fragrance. But the sun is hotter than Hades and all the buildings are so squashed together it reminds Nellie of London. She's grown rather fond of their picturesque little village and its sprawling cottages. Living there feels rather like that first breath she takes after shedding her corset.
The little house where Anthony and Johanna reside is along the canal. Any other time, Nellie might have cooed over the view of the water or fawned over the rose-lined path leading up to the door. Today, however, she can only grip her husband's hand and stare at it with trepidation. She swallows tightly, taking one tiny step back and coming into contact with his broad chest. "Are we sure about this?"
Sweeney squeezes her hand and nudges her forward with a muttered, "No."
She squares her shoulders. "Right then."
The very last thing she expects when she finally gathers the courage to knock is for Anthony to answer the door, balancing a baby in one arm and a tea kettle in the other. His eyes widen at the sight of Nellie, Sweeney, and Toby on the doorstep. "Oh. Hello." He beams at them, then as though remembering his manners, "I'm so pleased you've come!"
Nellie cannot say a word. Every single word she's ever learned in her whole life has dried up into dust, catching in her throat like sandpaper. She swallows against the grain and feels her eyes sting. For a moment, there is nothing in the world but that tiny babe peering at her from the crook of Anthony's arm. He's perfect – the spitting image of his mother as a baby, dark-eyed and blond. Chubby thing too, with fat rosy cheeks and a dimpled, gummy smile. Nellie stares at him longingly but doesn't dare ask to hold him, afraid she'd be refused.
Sensible people don't let murderers near their babies.
Noticing the subject of her teary-eyed stare, Anthony smiles and says, "This is Heathcliff."
Nellie presses a hand to her mouth, stifling a disbelieving giggle. Of course Johanna would name her child after a character in her favorite book. She'd expect nothing less.
Anthony shares a long-suffering glance with her. "I've convinced her to let me call him Cliff."
"He's lovely, Anthony." She tears her eyes away from the baby reluctantly. Only one thing is important enough to keep her from the lad. "Where is she?"
Anthony's smile softens and he glances over his shoulder. "In the garden. She'll want to see you immediately." He steps aside to let them into the house, his attention on Sweeney now. "Perhaps you'd like to meet your grandson, Mr. Todd?"
Nellie watches fondly as her husband gazes at the tiny baby like anyone else might look upon a demon from the pits of hell itself. The fear on his face is plain but so is the small flicker of longing. He had missed everything when Johanna was a baby and Nellie can only imagine what it means to him, to be given the chance to watch his daughter's child grow and change. He looks at Nellie before he answers, brow furrowed as he silently asks if she'll be alright without him – if she needs him.
Managing a wink, Nellie pats his arm reassuringly and whispers, "Back in a tick, love."
The way to the garden is easy enough to find on her own. All she has to do is follow the sweet sound of humming down the corridor and through the parlor. A wedding portrait hangs over the fireplace but Nellie doesn't let herself study it, keeping her gaze firmly away as she passes by. She had missed Johanna's wedding day. Hell, she'd missed the birth of her first child. The weight of all the things she didn't get to witness is so staggering she wonders how she keeps walking under the burden without stumbling.
The doorway leading into the garden is slightly ajar, sunlight slipping through the windowpanes and turning everything inside golden. The air smells of citrus and honeysuckle. Nellie breathes it in as she steps outside, her gaze drawn instantly to the slender young woman plucking lemons from a tree and dropping them into the basket hanging from her arm. She looks as beautiful as ever, more suited for paintings of fairy princesses than living among the likes of mere humans.
The sight of her after two bloody years is enough to form in a lump in Nellie's throat. She stands there in the middle of the garden, listening to Johanna hum as she struggles to compose herself. At last she calls over the soft breeze, "'lo there, stranger."
Johanna whirls with a gasp. The basket hits the ground, spilling out lemons all over the grass. For a moment, they simply stare at one another and the gap between them is filled with two years of silence and missed moments. However much Johanna may be a wife and a mother now, she looks very much like a lost young girl to Nellie. She doesn't really know what to expect from her and part of her braces herself to be pelted with those lemons. And then, between one breath and the next, Johanna gathers her skirts in hand and breaks into a sprint.
She only has time to open her arms before Johanna is there, barreling into her with a choked cry. She staggers under the sudden weight of the girl, only barely keeping them both upright. Johanna buries her face in Nellie's shoulder and weeps, clinging to her like she'll disappear otherwise. "Auntie Nell," she whispers. "You're really here."
Nellie grips the girl to her, blinking back tears. She smells like citrus and sunshine and old books. Home, if Nellie ever had a true one, would smell just the same. "I'm 'ere, darlin'," she says, biting her lip. "I've always been 'ere."
Up until now, Johanna thought herself her son's favorite person in the world. She had earned the title after all, with ten hours of hard labor and sleepless nights ever since. Looking at him now, however, so content in Auntie Nell's arms, she begins to fear she might have new competition for his affections. Johanna can hardly blame him – Auntie Nell has always been her favorite too.
She has missed her so very much. Nothing was quite as exciting or as funny in Auntie Nell's absence and Johanna's heart is thrilled to have her back again. She smiles, watching from her side of the blanket as her little boy giggles under Auntie Nell's tickling fingers. It had been the right decision to send that letter and she quietly puts to rest the tiny part of her that had wondered if letting her father and Auntie Nell back into her life was the smart thing. They'd been a family once and she hopes, with time, they can be again.
Auntie Nell pets Cliff's blond hair and caresses his rosy cheeks, taps her fingertip to the end of his button nose. Her eyes sparkle with adoration. "Look at you. Who's my 'andsome lad? You are, yes you are." She lifts the boy in the air, touching her lips to his tummy and laughing when the boy squeals. "Perfect, you are. 'andsome and perfect."
"You'll spoil him," Johanna says, shaking her head fondly.
"Well, e's not my son, is he?" Auntie Nell offers her a cheeky grin. "It's my right to spoil 'im."
"Hopeless," Johanna mutters, unable to stifle her smile.
Auntie Nell looks very nearly radiant, her auburn curls vibrant and bouncing around her face as she plays with Cliff. Her smiles are wide, color blooms in her cheeks, and there are no shadows under her eyes. Johanna had caught sight of the wedding band on her finger right away and though she hasn't dared to bring it up, she suspects her father might have something to do with how happy Auntie Nell looks. He's been looking after her, just as he'd once promised Johanna he would.
"I'm glad you've come," she says, ducking her head. "I missed you."
Auntie Nell pauses, her eyes filled with such pain it almost steals Johanna's breath. "Missed you too, imp. Thought I'd never see you again."
Johanna looks away, a lump in her throat. She'd gathered honeysuckle earlier and she reaches for it now to keep her hands busy, beginning to weave it carefully into a crown. "When I left, I had no intention of ever seeing you again."
Though Johanna doesn't glance up, she hears the tremor in Auntie Nell's voice as she asks, "What changed your mind?"
Allowing her eyes to stray across the blanket to the tiny feet kicking away at the air, Johanna almost smiles. "Heathcliff."
She can still remember the first time she'd held him in her arms, Anthony practically glowing with pride and adoration beside her. It had made her wish for her own father, to show him his grandson and listen to him tell the story of her own birth. And then Heathcliff had begun to cry. Johanna, filled with equal parts love and fear, had stared into her child's eyes and wondered how on earth she was going to care for this tiny creature. She'd panicked, instinctively seeking out Auntie Nell for guidance, eyes searching the room before she remembered herself. There was no Auntie Nell with all the answers anymore. Johanna was on her own.
"Having a child makes one realize the importance of family. And despite how terribly we left things, I kept thinking how essential you were to me as a girl." She lifts her eyes then, seeking out Auntie Nell in the same way she has every single day since she left Fleet Street behind her. Something unmoored and aching within her finally settles at the sight of her just where she should be. "You raised me. I couldn't imagine raising my son without you."
With a trembling sigh, Auntie Nell hugs Cliff close to her chest. Her chin settles over his head. "I shouldn't 'ave lied to you, love. Just scared, I s'pose. Thought I'd lose everythin' if I breathed a word." She scoffs quietly. "Lost you anyway though, didn't I?"
Turning back to her work with the honeysuckles, Johanna murmurs, "You didn't lose me."
Auntie Nell breathes in sharply and Johanna hears the note of tears in her voice when she rasps, "Well, learned my lesson good an' proper anyway. No more lies."
"Really?" Curious enough to lift her head again, Johanna eyes her skeptically. "None at all?"
Auntie Nell tips up her chin as though her honor has been insulted. "Don't believe me?"
"I didn't say that." Johanna purses her lips. "It just seems-"
"Go on then." Auntie Nell lifts a challenging eyebrow, a playful sparkle in her eyes Johanna has missed something awful. "Ask me anythin'."
"All right then." Johanna directs her gaze to the wedding band on her finger. "When did you and my father get married?"
"Cheeky," Auntie Nell mutters, mouth twisting into a strangely proud little grin. "Almost seven months ago."
Johanna frowns. "So recently? Why did you wait?"
Auntie Nell darts a hesitant glance away. "Not for lack of want, love. Your father kept askin' and I kept puttin' 'im off." At Johanna's curious look, she only shrugs and offers mysteriously, "I 'ad my reasons."
"Well, I'm sorry I missed it," Johanna whispers, and truly means it. "You look happy."
Auntie Nell beams at her then, her eyes brightening. "I am, love." Darting a brief glance towards the house, as though she can see her husband even through walls, she flushes and shakes her head. Johanna cannot help comparing her to a schoolgirl with a crush. "Course, we're still technically newlyweds."
Johanna bites her lip. "Is this your newlywed holiday then?"
Auntie Nell laughs. "No, love. This trip is just for you. We 'ad our own when we moved to France."
"You left London?" Johanna gapes at her. "Auntie Nell, you're still keeping secrets!"
"Am not! Just 'adn't come up yet, is all." Auntie Nell huffs, though a smile still lurks in the corners of her mouth. "It's certainly no Florence but you'd like it, I think."
It's difficult to imagine Auntie Nell anywhere else but Fleet Street and Johanna struggles to place her outside of the comforting familiarity of the pie shop. It's even more difficult to imagine her father there, however. She wrinkles her nose, brow furrowed. "Does Father speak French?"
"Startin' to pick up on it." Auntie Nell smirks. "But I've discovered that scowl of his is universal. Everyone knows it means bugger off."
Johanna laughs out loud, delighted by the notion of her father terrorizing people in any language without ever uttering a word. She looks up, still smiling, as the door opens and Sweeney Todd steps out into the garden. To Johanna's satisfaction, Auntie Nell isn't the only one who looks better these days. Her father looks younger, somehow. He remains pale and quiet but his eyes are no longer haunted and his shoulders are relaxed, as though he has finally stopped expecting the world to snatch away any crumb of happiness he finds.
To her amusement, he looks wary at the matching grins on their faces but he says nothing, silently offering his wife a cup of tea. Johanna's sharp eyes notice the way their hands linger.
"Thanks, darlin'." Auntie Nell winks at him, shifting the baby on her lap in order to balance her teacup. "Was just tellin' your daughter about France."
He eyes are like he very much doubts the truth of her words and Johanna bites her lip against a smile, watching them gaze at each other like no one else in the world exists. She has no earthly idea how she'd missed it before. Too wrapped up in Anthony, probably. "It's true," she says, taking pity on him. "Auntie Nell says you're mastering the language."
"Hardly," he murmurs, but his gaze lands on her and softens. "You'd like it."
"S'what I told her." Auntie Nell beams. "You'll have to visit, of course."
"Of course," Johanna agrees, getting to her feet with a sly grin. "I wouldn't miss the chance to see the French learn the language of Sweeney Todd."
Darting in quick as anything, she drops her makeshift crown of honeysuckle directly on top of her father's dark head. The white and yellow blossoms look utterly absurd, contrasting starkly with his unamused scowl. Johanna can't help it – she bursts into laughter. Auntie Nell struggles valiantly for a moment before joining in, spilling her tea in the process.
Her father only sighs, eyeing them both in despair.
Perhaps she won't have to wait long at all. They already feel like a family again.
Having his daughter back feels remarkably the same as it had felt standing on the deck of young Anthony's ship and watching London appear through the fog. It's that same feeling of everything falling into place, that easing of the knot of tension in his stomach, that sigh of relief he'd waited fifteen years to breathe – finally.
Without Nellie, he knows the years without Johanna would have taken a permanent toll on him. He would have fallen down a dark hole he couldn't climb out of if not for her being there every day, keeping him firmly in the light with her. They have a good life together, he and Nellie. Far more than he deserves after the things he's done. But it all feels so much more complete having Johanna with them, and he knows his wife would agree.
Even now, he can barely keep his eyes off her. Marriage and motherhood agree with his daughter. She shines here in this little house, sitting here at this table and laughing over a glass of wine with Nellie. Her cheeks are flushed with drink and merriment; the crinkles in the corners of her eyes when she scrunches up her face that way reminds him so much of Lucy that for a moment he finds it difficult to breathe. Memories of Lucy sneak up on him now and again, but tonight it feels less like a punishment.
"Auntie Nell, are you certain you feed him?" Johanna asks, eyeing Toby leaned over his plate.
Despite Nellie's frequent reminders to eat like a person rather than a wild animal, Toby still eats like his food will be taken from him the moment he comes up for air. A scar from the workhouse that hasn't quite faded despite two years of steady meals. With the boy growing steadily into a teenager with each passing day, Sweeney wonders not for the first time whether Toby might actually eat them out of house and home.
With a fond shake of her head, Nellie says, "More often than I should." She picks up a bread roll and tosses it across the table at Toby. "Oi, watch your manners."
Toby picks up the roll with a sheepish grin and takes a large bit out of it. Around a mouthful, he mumbles, "Sorry, Mum."
Nellie sticks out her tongue at him.
Laughing, Johanna chides, "It's a wonder he has any manners at all with you for a role model."
"What a rude little imp you've become." Nellie clucks her tongue, grinning as she ducks her head and addresses the baby settled comfortably on her lap. "Don't you listen to 'er, lad. She'd be a right proper heathen without me. Isn't that right, Granddad?"
Sweeney cringes at the name, just as he has every time she has used it since they arrived – always with that smug grin, like she relishes implying he's an old man. She barely leaves the boy alone when he's awake and oftentimes when Heathcliff is asleep, Sweeney stumbles upon her hovering over his cradle and peering at him with a soppy smile on her face. As he does every time he catches her looking at the child like that, he gives her a stern glare in warning.
Don't get any ideas.
Nellie rolls her eyes and mutters something in Heathcliff's ear a child that young probably has no business hearing. Despite his exasperation, he must admit he loves seeing her like this. France has done wonders for them and ever since he'd finally managed to get her to marry him, they've been happier than ever before but tonight she glows. Nellie is never cheerier than when she's surrounded by the people she loves.
The loss of Johanna had been a near fatal blow for them both but they'd clung to each other in the end. Sweeney hadn't spent fifteen years waiting to come home only to lose everyone he'd survived to see again. And that included Nellie. It does ridiculous things to his blackened heart to see her now, smiling at Cliff and looking radiant in the candlelight. He's quite aware that he's openly staring and for anyone else, he'd revolt against such vulnerability but for her he has spent the last two years learning not to hate it.
Oblivious to his scrutiny, Nellie picks up her glass of wine and surveys the table with a sudden frown. "Bugger. Looks like we're out of wine." She pins him in place with a begging glance, batting her lashes at him. Her violet dress shimmers under the lights. "Fetch some more from the kitchen for us, love?"
He really shouldn't fall for such tricks by now. His wife has a bit of witchcraft in her and her magic only grows stronger the more certain she becomes that he is in her thrall. Nellie is charming enough when she isn't trying. Doing her bidding when she's being quite so obvious is encouragement she doesn't need but he still finds himself sighing and rising from the table.
Certain no one is looking, Nellie blows him a kiss.
That, he supposes, is why he keeps doing it.
Once in the kitchen, he finds himself lingering longer than he should. As much as he enjoys the company of his family, he hasn't grown used to the boisterous mealtimes Nellie seems to delight in. All that noise and chatter and laughter after years of solitude can be jarring on bad days. Today has been a good one but the garden calls to him and without even making the conscious decision, he advances toward the door and slips out into the night.
The air is warmer than he's used to for this time of the year and he sheds his jacket, draping it over a rosebush. He tips back his head and studies the stars. He'd never seen them in London. The city was too filled with smog to ever have clear enough skies. The first time he'd seen the stars was on the shore of Botany Bay and he'd been so stunned by the splendor of it that for a single, beautiful moment he'd forgotten he'd just lost everything.
It's the only thing he'd missed about Australia once he'd come back.
"Father?" He turns and finds Johanna watching him from the doorway. "Are you alright?"
He nods, wondering how she manages to make even the stars seem dim. "Just wanted some air."
Johanna smiles, stepping outside and shutting the door quietly behind her. "They can be an overwhelming bunch, can't they?" She tilts her head as she approaches, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'm assuming you aren't out here seeking time away from me, of course."
Despite the humor in her words, he can only stare at her solemnly and answer, "Never."
Her grin softens into something less cheeky but fonder. "I'm glad I caught you alone. I know we've plenty of time to catch up before you leave but I wanted to clear the air." She crosses her arms over her chest, as if warding off some imaginary chill. "I had plenty of time to think about what happened – about the accident, I mean."
He swallows, turning his gaze away from her as he steels himself. He's been waiting for this since they arrived after all. He prepares himself to face his well-deserved censure, to accept whatever she has to say to him and hope that someday he might earn his way back into her affections.
"I forgive you."
His eyes slip shut at those quiet, precious words. He'd had no idea how much he needed to hear them until she'd whispered them into the dark. He wants to kneel at her feet and weep. Instead, he clenches his jaw and locks his knees – tries to remember how to keep breathing.
Beside him, Johanna tucks her hair behind her ear and glances at the night sky overhead. "It took time to put things into perspective but I understand that Mother was… troubled. And you must have been so afraid of being sent back to that awful place."
He shakes his head, feeling woefully undeserving. "It's no excuse-"
"You loved her," Johanna says, adamant. "You'd never have hurt her on purpose."
Her gaze slides back to him, studying him out of the corner of her eye. He swallows and shakes his head, whispering, "Never."
She looks away, apparently satisfied. "Then we won't speak of it again. And I have no wish to discuss what went on between you and Auntie Nell. She's happy. Happier than I've ever seen her. That's all that matters to me. But I need to know…"
Her soft, pale hand curls around his bicep and Sweeney glances down at her, brow furrowed. Her wide dark eyes gaze up at him with that simple faith in him he'd thought lost forever. She has never looked more like a child to him. Whatever she asks of him now, it's hers. "What?"
"Are you happy too, Father?"
Sweeney stares at her. Inside the house, he can hear Anthony and Toby bickering over who gets the last leg of lamb. He can hear Eleanor laughing her beautiful, wicked laugh at their antics and little Cliff's squeals of excitement. His grandson. Never has a child rendered him quite so enamored, other than Johanna herself. His darling daughter, who stands beside him with forgiveness in her gentle heart.
The answer to her question is one he'd never dreamed of when the prison ship pulled away from the dock and set sail for Australia. He hadn't even dreamed of it when he arrived home and found Lucy still waiting for him. But here, with his Nellie close by and his daughter smiling up at him, the answer is so true he can taste it on his tongue.
"Yes," he whispers, curling an arm around Johanna's shoulders and holding her close. A soft smile curls his lips and he hides it in her yellow hair as he says, "I am."
Chapter title from Someday by John Legend.
I want to thank everyone who has commented on this over the years. All of you were a huge part in getting this finished – just knowing there were people out there who would like and appreciate a conclusion to this fic gave me a reason to keep coming back to this and hammering away at it a little bit at a time. Thank you all so much for your support.
Also, I made a playlist for this fic to help me while writing – it's on Spotify if you want it. I'd post a link but this site is still so fickle about it. Just search under Proof of Heaven; it's the one by Pamela :)