Chapter 3

The day begins, and the stillness of the pie shop is overwhelming compared to the activity that had occurred within it. Everyone had returned to their places—Lucy and Mr. Barker upstairs, Johanna to behind the counter, and herself to scrubbing tables to prepare for a long day at the pie shop. After all the emotion minutes before, the inactivity hangs in the air like weight.

Benjamin Barker is home, like she had dreamed.

He has changed. No doubt years of prison had done that to him—poor soul. Here he was, with eyes as dark as a London night and pain on his sodden face. Her heart aches in her chest at the thought. So she concentrates on scrubbing the woood table in the corner. She cannot escape the thoughts of him that invade her now, especially knowing he is just upstairs.

Memories dance in the back of her mind. Benjamin Barker coming downstairs before work early to grab a warm pie that she had just pulled out from the oven, greeting her warmly…Benjamin cooing at his daughter as he sits in the booth…Benjamin's smile, Benjamin's warm eyes…Benjamin…

Would she ever be able to escape this man, even this new man who looks ready to harm anyone who looks at him in an untoward way? Would her heart ever stop aching?

"He doesn' seem…like 'imself…but o' course he ain't! Poor sod probably'll never be the same again."

As if on cue, his boots are scuffling on the floor. She swears she can hear the sound of his breathing in this quiet-as-a-tomb shop. Will he return to barbering again? No doubt Lucy showed him the razors.

Now, she wonders if he will ever smile again at a customer—the man seems incapable of it. She doubts that that same happiness and warmth will ever come from him again. Not from a man who looks as though he has lost everything and returned a shell of his former self, who looks as though he is on the wrong end of a bargain with Death.

Yet, there is still something magnetic about him, trapping her to him. He still has her heart, after all these years. Fifteen years. Fifteen long years of working non-stop, years of being cordial with his nit wife, years of helping raise his only little one as her own should have dulled the affection for Benjamin Barker. Alas, it has only increased.

She feels eyes burning into her neck, and she turns to find the picture of Albert on the wall, looking intently into her soul with his honest, open eyes.

Albert Lovett was good to her in their five years of marriage. Their marriage was one of convenience and not of love—Mother had told her it would be right, and Father wanted her out of the house before she reached spinsterhood. Still, there were attractive things about the man—the way he worked carefully, the way he supported her, the way he was thankful to her for taking care of him. She did love him, it was true, but there was not passion in their marriage.

Albert was the one who had decided to open up the shop upstairs for rent. He said it would give them more money to be landlords. She had agreed.

Benjamin Barker had been one of the first customers to look at the upstairs room.

She remembers the kind smile and the respectable way he carried himself. He had spoken to her with dignity and respect, his eyes kind if full of naivete, like a puppy. He was so handsome, like a god come down to earth. She had fallen in love with him the moment she saw him.

She merely thinks his name and her heart soars.

Albert's eyes still stare into her, focused and unwavering. She doesn't look up. There was never any need to, not even when he was alive. Albert was her security; Mr. Barker was her passion. She would help Albert settle into his chair for the night, the firelight making him look washed out and pale. But her mind would be focusing on the man above her head, on his beautifull smile and careful hands and loving eyes—

Smack! She whips around.

Johanna is there, drying the bowl with a white rag. Momentarily, her brown eyes flicker up from her task to the baker. "Sorry, Aunt Nellie. I did not wish to disturb you."

Mrs. Lovett smiles at the girl's meekness. "'s alrigh', love. After all, yeh've go' a lo' runnin' through yehr mind."

Johanna sighs in agreement, and Mrs. Lovett's heart fills with pity. Poor girl, never knowin' 'er own father no' till now.

Mrs. Lovett examines the girl and her lithe if distracted movements. Johanna's shoulders are tensed and burdened, face drawn together in concentrated thought. Her eyes are focused on the task, but it appears as though she needs a moment to think. Mrs. Lovett knows that Johanna would be singing or humming to herself by now, yet Johanna is uncharacteristically silent.

Much like her father.

"Sit, love, an' rest. You got a lo' of thin's ta think on now."

Johanna looks up in disbelief. "May I?"

"'Course."

Johanna glides from the counter to the booth, plopping down in an unladylike fashion. She looks tired and confused by all the madness that happened this morning. Nellie has moved to cleaning pots behind her counter while watching her niece. The silence and pensiveness in Johanna's eyes is killing her.

"Wot's on your mind, dearie?"

Johanna twists her hands as though grasping at the little amount in her world that still makes sense. "I…It's just…my father is home, Aunt Nellie. I thought I would never see him, and now, he is here as though nothing happened!" Johanna tucks a lock of yellow hair behind her ear and gestures to the ceiling above.

Mr. Barker's boots still scuffle above them.

"I know, love. 'e gave me a bit of a shock, 's well."

"You are certain, though, that he is my father?"

Mrs. Lovett's eyes widen. "Course I'm sure! I woulda' tossed 'im ou' on the street 'f 'e weren't! Yeh mother recognized 'im instantly."

"She did?"

Mrs. Lovett nods. "Course she did! 'e's 'er 'usband, 'fter all." In spite of herself, she can't keep the bitter edge out of her voice.

Past memories assault her once again. Pretty little Lucy Barker, standing in the pie shop like an angel with her golden hair and pink gown. Lucy, laughing at Mr. Baker's jokes with that bell-like sound that made Nellie want to slap her into oblivion. Lucy, dancing on air and twirling about in an impromptu waltz. Lucy, patting her very large stomach while pregnant, sitting down like a bloated whale in the very booth her daughter sits in now.

She loved Benjamin at first sight; she hated his wife at first sight more so.

She hated her leisure, her carefree laughter, her adoring husband, her having a baby so young, and the way life seemed to go so easy for her. Never having to lift a finger. Never knowing hardship. How she'd hated her for that.

It was the sound of Lucy's cries after Benjamin was taken that she hated most of all.

In truth, she had felt pity for the woman—who wouldn't? But Lucy just cried and cried. When she spoke to Johanna to try and soothe her, her voice was thick with tears. She had cried herself to sleep virtually every night. She let the apartment be cluttered with those decaying roses for weeks before bothering to clean them. Her steps were filled with the weight of her predicament. Lucy wept like she was just introduced to the ugliness of life.

Strangely enough, she barely sobbed at all after coming back from that party—

Then, Lucy slowly learned to stitch herself together again after deciding to raise her child and live. Mrs. Lovett helped raise Johanna and support her in her sewing. Lucy tried to learn the harmonium and to bake a pie. So they had formed a tolerant, polite acquaintance with each other. As close to friendship as two women in love with the same man ever could be.

Yet watching Lucy fling herself into Mr. Barker's arms brought the old hatred alive once more, like a subtle stab in the heart. For all she had done for that woman—and she repays her by passionately kissing the one man Nellie dared to love!

I've waited for him jus' as much as she 'as! Loved him the moment I saw him—an' she gets 'im for 'erself! Bloody nit—

"Auntie, what was my father like before?"

Johanna's soothing voice takes her out of the anger. It wouldn't do at all to reveal her true emotions to the girl, so she takes in a deep breath and thinks back on all the stories she remembers of Benjamin and his baby daughter. They come fairly easy.

"Yeh father was a kind man: 'e'd never 'urt a soul. Loved your mother and your 'e was close wit' yeh, Johanna. Yeh were 'is little girl, pride 'n' joy. 'e would've loved ta see yeh grow up. I remember when 'e used ta spin yeh 'round in 'is arms—you'd always laugh at that. Used ta lift yeh up in the air an' 'ave yeh fly…" As she says each word, the memory springs to life in her mind. Mrs. Lovett feels her small lips curl into a nostalgic smile.

"Good wit' a blade, too. Men came from everywhere ta ge' a shave from 'im. Made good money—paid 'is rent on time and was a good tenant. 'e was a good man, Johanna. Innocent—sent away on false charges. Benjamin Barker woulda never done wot they said. Said 'e stole a loaf o' bread. Poor soul: thrown in jail, given a quick trial wit' no jury or witnesses an' thrown on a ship ta Botany Bay."

Kind Benjamin of years past fades away into the hollow shell of a man she just saw. What happened to him that would turn him from a naïve man into the spitting image of Death?

She supposes it's the treatment in all the stories she's heard. Men being worked until they dropped lifeless to the ground, being forced to work heavy machines until their hands bled and their rough skin cracked, being whipped like wild pigs until all one could see was muscle and bone on their quivering backs.

Benjamin Barker would not have survived such evil.

She would shudder at the gruesome thoughts, but the evil and insanity of man was already too commonplace in London for a woman such as herself. Goosebumps prick themselves up like thorns on her skin, but that is all. She has lived through evil of a different sort.

Her eyes travel towards Johanna. She's a strong one, but I can't tell 'er of all tha'! She'll vomit on me floor, she will!

Johanna moves to get behind the counter before Mrs. Lovett stops her. "I'll 'andle the pies, love. Go' ta roll the dough."

Mrs. Lovett moves swiftly and silently, leaving a brush of wind behind her. Her skirts cling to her boots as she stands behind the old, stable counter. She grabs the dough and flour, and pounds it lightly, bringing some elasticity back into the dry lump, which feels like each grain is pronounced under her coarse and dry fingers. She snatches the wooden rolling pin and rolls the dough flat with gentle, soothing motions.

Johanna grabs the broom and sweeps, moving too quickly for the baker's liking.

Before she can tell Johanna to calm down, the outside door opens. A young man races inside as though dogs were baying at his feet. "Ye open, ma'am?"

He is undoubtedly a poor worker, with his ragged clothes and bloated stomach from lack of food. His face is emaciated and his eyes are large like those of a puppy.

Pity strikes a chord in her maternal heart and excitement increases her alertness. She looks towards Johanna, who meets her eyes with a knowing expectation.

"Love, the day's begun!"

"Miss, more ale!"

"Need another pie!"

"Susan, stop scraping at your plate!"

The shop is flooding with hungry crowds, greedy for a taste of the succulent pies. The smell of the pastry seasons the air, the aroma thick and heavy. The heat inside the shop is a sea of moisture, threatening to trap air inside their lungs and prevent escape. They sit and laugh, their merry sounds becoming the shop's music.

Johanna prefers outside.

Orange lights cast a warm glow on the cobblestoned ground and light dances on customer's hair, illuminating the color. Here, she can move freely without worrying about knocking a tray of the coveted pies off her hand or wiping her forehead to chase away sweat.

Cold air embraces her legs, a longed for gift, and her skirt flutters to her calves as she whips around in a blur of yellow hair, stopping to put down a tray of pies before hungry patrons. They thank her before grabbing at the pies with nimble fingers, not caring that their skin turns pink from burns. She smiles as she whips back towards the door, ignoring the cat-calls of men that call her the "little yellow-'aired angel of Fleet Street." She maneuvers through the tables, stopping to give a man another glass of ale.

Children sing, drunken men laugh with gusto and passion, parents scold, lovers gush about each other. A cacophony of voices, as though their own symphonies in the middle of an orchestra, drown out each other. Johanna is amazed she can finish a coherent thought, for on most nights, their voices invade her mind and soul; then, she can only focus on pies or ale.

Such is typical at the pie shop.

She goes towards the door and enters the pie shop, eyes darting and heartbeat frantic. Inside, the chatter is the same. The air is thick and the space too crowded. Just get the pies and go! Johanna moves with single-mindedness, concentrating solely on the pies. Time to feed them, again.

The girl knows she should be more grateful—these greedy customers eager for cheap fare are the reason she and her mother have a roof over her head. That, along with Aunt Nellie's lowering the rent when Mother struggled during the off-season. It is work, and it pays just enough to get by. She will take it.

They are rowdy, and Johanna almost resents the coins they throw at her when she brings a refilled ale mug. "Little angel," one man breathes, just reaching up as if to stroke Johanna's yellow hair. Bile rises in her throat, and she pockets the money after briefly toying with the idea of throwing it back at him.

She needs some time, so she goes and stands by the staircase that leads upstairs.

I know how Mother feels about the customer's rowdiness…but what about…Father…? Father…he's home.

Johanna watches as a small girl, no older than four, tugs on a man's hand. The man eagerly bends down to scoop up his little girl before planting a big kiss on her cheek. Melancholy and the familiar ache fills her chest like rainwater in a bucket. She never had that with her own father. Mama said he was away, and that he just couldn't be with them right now, but he loved them so much. Mama told her this every night before bed, and especially when she helped clean the barbershop. It felt at times like cleaning a museum for its caretaker—cleaning a dead man's coffin. Johanna remembers standing by the window in her home, press her small hand against the cool glass and close her eyes.

When I open them, he'll be home, she used to think. Each time, she was met with disappointment when Benjamin Barker did not appear out of thin air. She would stare enviously out the window as she saw girls her age walking with their fathers by their side. Why? Why couldn't she have a father, when many others were blessed theirs.

Father…

She grew to believe he would never return—though she kept it a secret from Mother, who always believed he would return, even as days dragged into months and months became ceaseless years.

Father.

Her father has changed. In her mind, she had dreamed of a warm man. A knight in silver armor that gleamed in the sunlight, only to reveal a man with kind brown eyes and a charming smile—the smile that she inherited from him. This new man creates a chill up her spine, and the silver is in his eyes, a gleam of light as frightening as a tiger filled with lust at finding prey.

He is your father, no matter what has happened.

Would her father find her interesting? What if he did not like her? What if she did something wrong (at the thought she involuntarily smooths her skirt) or what if she says something wrong?

The more her eyes linger on the rickety wooden steps, the more an itching sensation travels down her legs, daring her to cross the threshold and say something to her father. What does she say? Hello, Father. I was hoping to chat because I am afraid that you do not love me and I do not know you and—

Pathetic.

"Miss, where's Mrs. Lovett?" someone calls. Johanna snaps out of her daydreaming and turns to face a young woman with a small smile and kind eyes.

She recollects herself. "She is down in the bake house, I believe. I will fetch her for you." She gives the woman a kind smile, reassuring her of the sincerity of the claim before zipping inside to the pie shop. She desperately searches for a head of red curls and a laughing voice.

Father may not like the crowds, she observes their friendly bantering as some patrons leave and abandon coins on the table. She picks them up in her hands, a coveted reward after a hard day's work, and collects her thoughts, forcing herself to think. I certainly know Mother does not. The drunkenness unnerves her—where is Auntie?

"Oy, dear! 'ave a heart an' some kin'ness. Please! Some poor old women ou' there freezin' ta death…"

"OUT!" comes a shrill voice. "Ge' ou' or you'll be sorry yeh ever came in 'ere!"

Johanna weaves through the sea of people. Her aunt's stiff and poised back greets her as the light from inside the room casts her hair a crimson shade, like the flame of an oven.

"Auntie, a woman was asking for you," Johanna places a hand on the baker's hard shoulder. Mrs. Lovett turns towards her, eyes hard from having stared down the beggar in front of her. "Wot did she want, love?" her tone softens but her eyes are still hard and piercing, callous and cold.

"She is outside, Aunt Nellie," Johanna nods tersely and steps to the side and the baker passes. Johanna eyes the small beggar in front of her. Her body is as frail as an old kitchen chair, her dress in tatters, and dirt and grime cover her. Johanna feels the weight of the coins in her hand increase, a small sign to place one in the foul hand extended towards her. The scent of the pies fills her nose, and Johanna sees the beggar's mouth slowly water.

"Please, li'l lass! Only need one, I do." The beggar's eyes, a mad teal that glow like candles, plead with the girl's own.

Pity bursts in her heart and Johanna dispenses a coin, perhaps a two pence, into the dirty hand. The beggar smiles in a mixture of happiness and madness. The rags she wears sway in the wind as she rocks her body from side to side. Johanna recognizes the old tattered dress—it was one her mother had made for the woman nearly three years ago.

"Ay, I thank yeh kindly, lassie!"

"Wait!" Johanna commands. The woman stays frigid in place with her bony arm still extended outward. Johanna swipes a pie from the counter, knowing it was a part of a fresh batch, and gives it to the woman. Her eyes grow large in wonder and she smiles brighter, displaying an array of rotted teeth and filling the air with the foul stench of her breath. She excitedly claws at her matted brown hair, cries a "thank you" as though the girl were an angel bringing glad tidings, and scurries off into the night, shoving the pie into her mouth.

Johanna knows that her aunt will be upset, but she does not care. She smiles instead, glad she was able to make someone's night better. One that meant much more than the customers surrounding her. Her eyes look up at the sky, seeing the three small birdcages hanging next to the lantern lights. Her dear friends chirp in their cages, flitting excitedly. One of the small birds eyes her and promptly chirps in approval.

Yet Johanna lifts her eyes to the barbershop. The shop which Johanna helped clean for years. It's now occupied. Just like Mother said it would be. She'd been right.

I hope you approve, Father. Welcome home.