Warnings at the bottom of the chapter.
Chapter Twenty-One:
There it Is
"Is this how you thought your life would be?"
Anthony rumpled his brow, leaning away slightly. He kept his arms around her waist. "Well, I really don't know."
"Did you expect to have a useless wife and have a baby so young?" Johanna found his eyes. "Did you expect to not be able to see your wife? Didn't you expect to actually live with your wife?"
"Jo, where did this come from?"
"Really, Anthony, I'm curious. You must've assumed you would be married happily to a beautiful woman. You healthy wanted children who weren't harmed because their mother made a mistake before they were born. You wanted a life where you weren't on the run or trying to get away from your father-in-law. This wasn't the life you wanted. You deserve better."
She gave a laugh. Chuckles flowed through her lips without a trace of humor. Johanna felt tears going down her cheeks. Happy tears, of course. She was perfectly fine. Her life was nothing, but she was fine. It was funny really. They had hopes and dreams that would never come true. Silly little fantasies they should've known were that childish. That wasn't how the real world worked. She pulled herself up and looked away.
"Johanna! What's wrong?"
Anthony turned her. She refused to look at him. He gripped onto her elbow. Concern flowed through his features.
Johanna looked back up at him. Her chest tingled and little ripples of pain tore through. She gripped at her chest as her face tightened.
"I can't breathe."
She tugged on the neckline of her dress, hoping it would allow her air. She was going to die. Right here and now. She couldn't breathe. Her stomach was clawed at by some uncertain doom. Johanna looked up. The walls taunted her as they spun around and around. She gulped for air. None came for her. It didn't fill her lungs enough. She was dying.
There were many times Johanna thought she was dying. Convinced she was dying. When she'd gotten her first womanly cycle. Times she had disobeyed Turpin and let her mind convince her that he was going to throw her out and she would die a beggar.
But Johanna knew now. This was the end. She was dying.
She didn't feel herself clutching at her hair, only the pins of pain on her scalp as she realized what she was doing.
Anthony. Oh, Anthony. And the baby. The baby was still inside of her. It would die with her. Johanna failed. Her body failed her baby. She failed her child by dying. It didn't deserve to die alongside her.
Maybe she wasn't real.
Nothing felt real. Her brain was as foggy as London outside. She couldn't feel Anthony against her. She couldn't feel her locks or anything. Johanna was a ghost already.
Does it ever stop? Will it stop?
"Save the baby."
"Johanna!"
Arms were around her. Soft and gentle and warm. She didn't want them there.
Johanna backed away. But took the hand. She liked that. Yes.
They were moving her into another room. Dark swirled around her. Anthony helped her into a chair. Was it a chair? He took her hand, gripping it tightly. That felt right. It was nice. Was it Anthony? Yes, yes, it was.
"It's all right, Johanna. It's all right. I'm here."
She whimpered.
"What do you need?"
Her throat was tight. Trapping her words in her mouth. Johanna held onto the hand, looking down at her belly, she couldn't even see her lap anymore.
"Can I get you some water?"
His voice wobbled, Johanna noted. Panic sprung through her as he rose. She didn't want him to leave. He couldn't leave her now. She gripped his hand harder. Anthony sat.
"You're not suffocating, Jo," he said, "You're okay. You're not dying."
Johanna found the energy to look into his terror-stricken eyes. She nodded. Not dying, not dying, not dying. Breathe.
The moment dragged out until her fear left her like a thief in the night; stealing every ounce of strength left in her. Johanna reached her other hand out. Anthony caught it. Holding the hand close to his chest.
They remained like that. As Johanna came to understand her surroundings. The walls weren't closing in. It wasn't black around her. She was safe. She was with Anthony.
He helped her into bed, asking for permission before he climbed in with her. Johanan snuggled against his chest. It was quiet. She liked that. The sun was hovering out the window. Nearly blinding her. Johanna closed her eyes. Allowing herself to fall asleep at last.
Anthony's arms were wrapped around her when she opened her eyes. He was awake, kissing her neck gently.
"What happened to me yesterday?" Johanna asked, wincing at the way her voice croaked.
He hesitated. "I don't know."
A faint blush crowded her cheeks. She shouldn't mention it again. It was stupid of her to make such a fuss over nothing. Nothing had happened and she'd panicked like that. Yet she could still feel some of the tension in her.
"Well, it's morning now," she said.
"It is."
"The shop must be open," Johanna stated, looking at the sky, where the sun was blazing through the clouds, "What time is it?"
"It looks like it's a quarter to ten."
"Ten?"
Johanna sat up, making herself lightheaded. She tried ignoring the feeling as she got out of bed. Anthony jumped to his feet and pulled her up.
"Mrs. Lovett expects me when we open up. She'll be furious with me." Johanna's muscles groaned as she removed her dress from the previous day and began on the layers. She didn't have to bother putting a corset on. "Besides with Toby being sick"- She found a clean petticoat, releasing little noises as she tried to put it over her waist, -"She needs"- After noticing the rustle in the skirt, Johanna yanked on another petticoat - "the help." She reached for a dress. "I better"- She threw the dress on, tugging the skirt over her belly - "Get down there."
"Johanna, calm down," Anthony said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I told them what happened yesterday. It's okay."
Her insides ran cold.
"What did you tell them?"
"I explained you weren't feeling like yourself and you needed some rest." He studied her. "Was that all right?"
She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "Did you give them any . . . details?"
"Not . . . No. I didn't."
All those customers had seen her.
Anthony helped her out of the room. They hadn't seen everything. Well, she wasn't certain what they'd seen. Hopefully, it wasn't much. The last thing she wanted was for normal people to treat her differently.
When Judge Turpin took her on walks around Hyde Park, Johanna noticed a man who suffered some sort of an attack. A similar attack to her own. He pushed people away with irritable remarks. He grabbed att his neck. Turpin observed the man. He didn't go near him, either.
"That's the kind of person that belongs in an insane asylum," Turpin muttered.
Johanna heard and remembered those words for years. At night, they would pop into her head. Making her consitor those people in mental asylums.
Would someone want to take her away? Maybe she would end up in Foggs Asylum because of her attack. . It was the only asylum she heard of and the things she heard about it made her sick. They would drag her away and this time there wouldn't be any place to run. She couldn't run now. Unless it was to Anthony's. But she didn't know where that was. Or perhaps she did know and it slipped her mind.
"Anthony, where are you staying?" Johanna asked, taking his elbow.
"I'm at the Gentle Doves Inn. It's near here. About six blocks that way." He pointed.
Doves. Her mother liked doves. That's how she would remember it.
She nodded. "I'll go there, then, if anything happens."
"I'll be there." Anthony moved a stray lock of hair out of the way. "Do you want to go downstairs?"
Johanna thought it through. She should. To pretend everything was normal and everything was fine. She didn't want to, but it was the best course of action. She nodded again and took Anthony's arm to balance herself down the stairs.
The beggar man was out the window again. Johanna stared at him, knowing it was rude. Yet he reminded her of the beggar woman she'd befriened again.
"Mrs. Lovett," Johanna said at the woman.
Mrs. Lovett turned around, clearly shocked to see her in the shop. She recovered quickly. "What?"
"Do you remember the beggar woman?" she questioned, stepping forward, "The woman I would give pies to, sometimes, she use to walk out there."
Mrs. Lovett gave a slow nood.
"When the police took her away, what do you think happened to her?"
"Probably charged her with loitering or something or other," Mrs. Lovett said, sliding a pie onto the table with a smile. She turned back to Johanna. "What do you ask?'
"I was just wondering."
The beggar would never get to see her baby or husband again.
Johanna's heart twidged.
She was innocent. The beggar's days were spent asking for food and money she didn't have. She hadn't done anything. It was nothing more than unfortunate circumstances that brought her into such a life. Wrongfully accused like Benjamin Barker.
"Where do you think they took her?" Johanna pressed.
Mrs. Lovett huffed. "How should I know? I'm no judge."
"Oh, right, sorry."
"Don't worry yerself with that. She's just a beggar. Nothing more."
And a mother and a wife.
"You're right. Sorry."
If he was alive still, would Tuurpin send her to Australia, too? Or would he go right to send her to be hanged until death? Both options seemed likely. She could easily believe both. Poor thing.
She could only hope the beggar got a more merciful judge.
"Is Toby doing better?" Johanna asked.
Mrs. Lovett gave a small smile. "Some rest will do him good. Problem is: he hates being stuck in there."
"I could entertain him, if you'd like. After work, of course, but I could read to him or play with him," she offered.
She considered it.
"I think that'll be good for him. Go on ahead. No need to wait until the end of the day. He'll try sneaking out before then anyway."
There was a thud behind them. Both turned. Speak of the devil, Toby was on his hands and knees. Johanna smiled as she helped him to his feet. Mrs. Lovett raised her eyebrows at him.
"Come along, Toby," Johanna said, rubbing his back, "Let's see what books Mrs. Lovett has."
She was surprised to find a small collection. Many mentioned the sea in the title. There was a fairytale collection of sorts. A few classics, such as Shakespeare's plays. Nothing worth noting. With a sigh, Johanna took the fairytale collection and returned to the sofa with Toby.
"Sleeping Beauty," she read, then paused.
Turpin read this one to her. The story of a princess who was cursed to die when she pricked her finger on a needle. On her eighteenth birthday, she pricked her finger, causing her to fall into a hundred year sleep. She was discovered in her castle by a wandering queen. It was described as the king "carrying her to a bed, where he gathers the first fruits of love." When Johanna heard the story, she wrinkled her eyebrows and asked what that meant. Turpin's look was almost deadly. Her governess described the passage to her later, masking her stomach churn for asking such a question to her guardian. The princess gave birth to twins. Later, she finds the king whose wife was not happy with the other woman's arrival. She plans to serve the princess and her twins in a stew. Johanna couldn't recall exact events after that, but the king, princess and their twins lived happily ever after.
It was a tale of warning. Of what, Johanna never figured out.
She flipped through the pages, hoping to find a more suitable story. Toby leaned his chin on his hand. He stopped her with his other hand.
"I know that picture!" he exclaimed.
"Rapunzel," she read, turning the page, "All right."
Johanna read through the fairytale of a girl with yellow hair who was trapped in a tower until her prince came for her. When she caught a glimpse of the world outside her window. The part when Rapunzel said her dress was growing tiger around her waist with such innocence broke Johanna's heart.
Once she'd finished, Toby had a toothy grin. He leaned on the crook of his elbow.
"They use ta' read that one at the poorhouse," he said.
"Thursday was everyone's favorite 'cause they would read us a story from that. My favorite was Snow White."
"Snow White, I've never heard of that one." Johanna pulled the book towards him. "Could you read it for me?"
Toby pushed the book back, shaking his head. "I can't read."
Her eyes widened. A little boy who couldn't read. Well, Johanna reasoned, they were quite common. Many children never learned how to read. Johanna was lucky. Though it hurt her heart to know Toby was one of the unlucky ones. He'd never get to read a fairytale to himself or Shakespeare or Jane Austen (little boys most likely weren't interested in Jane Austen and her brilliant romances, but even if he wanted to, he couldn't).
"I'm sorry," Johanna said, unsure of what else to say.
"It's all right. I've gotten along this far. Can't be much harder than this."
He'd never read a street sign or an ad or the paper. Toby couldn't live life like this. Johanna wasn't sure how he'd gotten this far without being able to read.
When she looked over at him, his eyelids were heavy and fluttering. Johanna gave a small smile and tucked him under the covers. Nice and tight.. Nice and cozy.
Turpin took advantage of the illiterate. He called them out on the street. Somehow he always knew. Johanna never replied to his remarks, although her heart twidged for them as Turpin muttered something about them being untrustworthy. He held on tighter to his purse around those crowds.
Toby was a sweet boy and Johanna hoped her baby would turn out that way, too. Mischievous, but with a warm heart. The two of them would get on quite nicely. She looked forward to their shenanigans.
Johanna nestled Toby's hair before turning out the lamp. She left, closing the door as quietly as possible.
"Goodnight."
Warnings: Self hatred, panic/anxiety attacks
