Proof of Heaven
It feels like a dream. A surreal, vivid, wonderful dream. He's afraid that at any moment, he'll open his eyes to a dark cell, thousands of miles from his loved ones. It's certainly happened before - it still pains him to remember the nights he woke up in a cold sweat, eyes searching frantically for the family that had felt so tangible only moments ago - so he keeps his dark eyes on Lucy as she flits nervously about the room. She occupies herself with searching for a blanket, filling up a basin with cool water and rearranging the knitting needles lying on an end table.
He watches her surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye, taking a turn about the room, frowning at knick-knacks and bric-a-brac but not touching anything. He cannot say that she looks the way he remembers; Lucy's face had long ago become nothing but a blur. He'd known she had a luminous smile and sparkling blue eyes, but he could never picture them. Try as he might every time he closed his eyes, Sweeney could never conjure the image of his wife. But oh, how he remembers now. She's beautiful and pale - skin like creamy milk, with a smile sweeter than the toffees she so loved. But there's something new in her eyes, he'd seen it in the landlady's eyes as well, before she recognized him - a certain weariness, as though the world has dealt them more than they could bear. It makes him feel a little less alone, to know that he isn't the only who has suffered.
Turning his attention to the long, waist-high oak table pushed against one wall, his eyes fall on a picture frame next to a vase of cheerful pink tulips. He scowls at it, having the sensation of looking at a distant relative or an old friend, someone he used to know very well, and he runs one long finger along the side of the double frame. One side shows a smiling young man with a blonde child on his knee. His hands hold her gently to him, and the little girl seems entirely enamored with her own little fists, one clutching a dolly tightly, the fingers of the other lodged firmly in her mouth.
Sweeney swallows, quickly averting his eyes to the next portrait. It isn't any better, the same man standing in a finely made suit, holding the cherub-faced child to him, both of them smiling.
"Those are the only pictures I have of you with Johanna," Lucy says, and her voice is much closer than he expects. Withdrawing his hand quickly from the frame as though scalded, Sweeney turns to look at her smiling face. "We'll be able to take more now."
Pressing a hand to his arm and guiding him to the settee, Lucy seems much more composed, sniffling only a little, eyes mostly dry. As though fearing he might be cold, dressed in his leather coat in the warm room, she takes up a thin blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders with shaking hands. Her fingers linger at his shoulders in a gentle caress, and the warmth in her eyes then overwhelms him.
"Can I get you anything?" She asks, fiddling with her ruffled dress sleeve and turning her eyes to the floor. "Eleanor has quite a large supply of alcohol downstairs." She wrinkles her nose, obviously disapproving of this. "But I'm sure I could find something else - " She stops when he shakes his head slowly. Lucy settles onto the settee next to him, arms wrapping around his neck as she presses herself into him tightly, as though she doesn't plan on letting go anytime soon. "I can't believe you're home," she breathes into his neck, and he can scarcely believe it either.
Over the years, he's thought of millions of things to say to her when the time finally came, but now that it's here, now that she has her arms wrapped around him, none of those things seem powerful enough. None of them could ever really convey what he's feeling and every time he opens his mouth, the words turn to ash on his tongue.
Settling more comfortably into his side, Lucy says suddenly, "You said you would come home one day, but Benjamin..." She trails off, a troubled look in her eyes and he's glad she misses the way he flinches at the sound of his name. "Men never return from places like that. The stories I've heard...it's horrifying." She shakes her head, fingers tightening their grip on his arm. "How did you escape?"
He stiffens at her question, and she notices, drawing back a little to look at him. Sliding in mud, traipsing through forests for days and never once stopping for fear of being caught or picked apart by army ants, swimming in the piranha and crocodile-infested waters, floating for what must have been thousands of miles on a burlap sack stuffed with straw and coconuts upon the sea. The last thing he wants to do is speak of his harrowing escape from that eternal purgatory. Jaw clenched, he says tightly, "I don't want to talk about it."
She visibly flinches at his harsh tone, and he regrets speaking at all. Staring long and hard at him, tears in her eyes, Lucy reaches out to trail her fingers over his cheekbone. She sounds choked as she whispers, "My God. What did they do to you?"
Even if he wanted to, he could never tell her. Could never truly convey the horrors of Botany Bay for the hellish experiences they were, could never tell her that he feels like he hasn't slept in fifteen years, that he sees blood every time he closes his eyes, that he still can't sleep without fearing rats or even men themselves will devour him in his sleep, that he hears the lash of a whip and pained shrieks when he's alone.
As though hoping to draw his attention away from whatever has placed that dark look on his face, Lucy pulls her hand away and begins lightly, "I've been working. There's a sweet old lady who owns a charming little dress shop near St. Dunstan's market. She gave me a job as a seamstress several years ago. I wasn't very good at first, but I've gotten much better."
He wants to say something, tell her how proud he is that she's been taking care of herself and Johanna, but he feels as though someone has placed a heavy stone on his tongue, weighing it down and preventing the words from spilling from his mouth. So he only looks at her, wondering if she understands anyway.
She isn't watching him though, her eyes on the floor and her lips pursed. "It wasn't easy at first. Sometimes it still isn't."
--
The day is a bright one, and through the windows, light bathes the entire room in liquid sunshine. Silence has settled over the upper floor now that Johanna has finally settled down for an afternoon nap, nestled safely in her crib. Lucy stands at the window, one hand pressed against the glass, gazing out onto the street below. The view from this room is terrible compared to the one from Benjamin's shop, with its huge window overlooking all of Fleet Street, but she couldn't bear to stay in there any longer. His presence is everywhere in there - the barber's chair he used to sit in while he waited for the first customer in the morning, the shaving brushes and bottles still lined neatly on the dresser, the box of gleaming razors, resplendent even without his gentle hand to hold them.
She hasn't slept in the bedroom since he'd been taken, although she'd tried once. The sheets smelled of him, and Lucy couldn't take that either. She sleeps on the small settee instead, waking up in rumpled gowns every morning, but she can't bring herself to mind. She doesn't see the point in anything anymore. Why should she care if her dresses are wrinkled and stained? Benjamin isn't here to admire them anymore. What does it matter if she eats the food Mrs. Lovett brings her? Benjamin isn't here to care if she wastes away. Why should she even bother to get off the settee every time the sun rises? She has no one to get up for, no one who will smile at her and hold her. She has no one. Not anymore.
Pressing her forehead to the cool glass of the windowpane, Lucy sighs, watching her breath fog the window. Not quite knowing what she's searching for - a sign, perhaps, or maybe her husband himself - Lucy scans the street quickly, feeling a sense of disappointment when she doesn't spot whatever she'd been looking for, only the same sights she sees every day. She finds it intolerable that everyone else can go on with their lives when her own life has halted so completely.
A firm knock on the door draws Lucy sharply from her thoughts. As always, Mrs. Lovett doesn't wait to be invited in, bustling into the room carrying a tray of food in one hand and a rag fisted in the other. "Brought you some lunch, dear," she says cheerily, her disapproving eyes not on Lucy but on the general disarray of the small apartment. "And I think I'll clean a bit while I'm up 'ere. S'not good for that baby of yours to be breathin' all that dust."
An annoyed expression clouds Lucy's features as she turns back to the window. "I'm a little busy, Mrs. Lovett," she huffs. "Could you come back later?"
Mrs. Lovett snorts derisively. "Busy starin' out the window? Tell you what, dearie - I won't go near your precious broodin' spot while I work, eh?"
"You'll wake the baby," Lucy tries again.
However, Mrs. Lovett seems determined to get the upper rooms completely spotless because she ignores Lucy's warning, fluttering about with her rag to polish candlesticks and the tops of dressers, humming faintly to herself. Lucy watches the redhead's reflection in the glass of the windowpane, noticing the way Mrs. Lovett quiets her humming and practically tiptoes whenever she comes near Johanna's crib, the smallest of grins on her face when she peers inside to look at the infant as she passes. Her attitude around Johanna reminds Lucy so much of Benjamin's own giddiness towards his daughter.
"Do you think he'll ever come back, Mrs. Lovett?" She asks, pressing her fingers to the glass and staring vacantly past the window.
Mrs. Lovett pauses in scrubbing vigorously at an end table with her rag and varnish. With forced cheeriness, she says, "As I've said before, I don't know. I 'ope so."
Lucy sighs, her voice trembling, "I miss him so much."
Straightening and putting a hand on her hip, Mrs. Lovett stares at Lucy's back for a long moment. "Y'know, it's been a month. Don't you think you should try to leave the 'ouse? Or just come downstairs for a spell? Might do you some good, love."
Shaking her head, Lucy doesn't bother turning around. "I don't want to leave. What's the point, anymore? Besides, he's everywhere in here." Her eyes begin to fill up, and she closes them, letting tears slip down her cheeks. "I can still smell his cologne, if I really try."
Mrs. Lovett makes a small noise of irritation in the back of her throat. "Sooner or later, you're goin' to 'ave to move on with your life."
Spurred into action, Lucy whirls around, blue eyes incredulous. "Move on? How am I supposed to move on? He's gone, Mrs. Lovett!" She makes a show of gesturing about the empty flat. "My husband is gone and he's never coming back!"
The fire and conviction in Mrs. Lovett's eyes then is something Lucy has never seen before and she finds herself wanting to shrink away from her landlady's ire. "Alright, fine. Yes, Benjamin is gone. But Johanna is not," Mrs. Lovett snaps. "She's right bloody 'ere and she needs you! So stop mopin' and take care of your daughter!"
"How dare you talk to me like that," Lucy breathes, shocked. "I'm doing the best I can. You have no idea what I'm going through!"
Mrs. Lovett shrugs, fiddling idly with the rag in her hands. "Per'aps not. But I know that I 'ear you up 'ere pacin' at all hours of the day. I know that you 'aven't been eatin' the food I bring you. An' I know that Johanna spent an hour screamin' 'er lungs out last night before you got up and tended to 'er."
Lucy glares. "I didn't hear her, Mrs. Lovett. I was sleeping. And whether I pace or not, eat or not, sleep or not, is no concern of yours."
"If you only 'ad yourself to take care of, I'd let you waste away," Mrs. Lovett says tersely. "But it's not just you up 'ere. I won't tolerate you sulkin' about, allowin' the apartment to get so sodding filthy, or lettin' your daughter cry 'erself sick every night because you're too tuckered out from cryin' yourself to sleep to tend to 'er!" The baker breathes out through her nose, obviously livid. "And you got rent, you'know. Due in a week."
At first, Lucy doesn't move or even blink, as if she hasn't heard a word of Mrs. Lovett's tirade. Lower lip trembling dangerously, Lucy wavers on her feet for a long moment before her legs give out and she drops to her knees, bursting into tears. "I don't know what to do," she sobs. "I-I can't take this anymore."
Shocked into silence by Lucy's outburst, Mrs. Lovett only stares, open-mouthed and gaping like a fish for several moments before pity clouds her dark eyes. Tossing her rag onto the end table and glancing once in Johanna's direction to make sure the child is still sleeping, Mrs. Lovett walks slowly over to Lucy's pitiful form huddled on the floor. Reaching down and taking Lucy by the arm, she pulls the woman up and leads her to the settee with much difficulty, maneuvering them both around tables and chairs, muttering to herself about troublesome tenants the whole way. When they finally make it, Mrs. Lovett settles herself beside Lucy, smoothing her hand over her back and murmuring, "There, there, dear. Stop this, now."
"He isn't coming back," Lucy wails, hunched over and crying into her hands. "I'll never see him again, Mrs. Lovett."
Mrs. Lovett draws her hand away from Lucy, her voice steely as she snaps, "So what if 'e isn't? You're goin' to just stop livin' then? Your life is over because your 'usband is gone?" She shakes her head, looking somewhere between confused and disgusted. "You know very well that your Benjamin wouldn't want you doin' this to yourself. Wallowin' in self-pity for the rest of your life."
Lucy nods tearfully. "I know he wouldn't but I can't help it."
"And what about your lit'le girl, hm?" Mrs. Lovett prods. "She needs you, not a ghost of a woman what calls herself a mother."
Lucy sniffles, peeking out from behind her hands.
Mrs. Lovett turns dark, accusing eyes on Lucy. "If you're not goin' to live for yourself, you should at least do it for Johanna. It would be right selfish to let yourself go like this - she'll 'ave a 'ard enough time as it is without a father."
Straightening herself and collapsing against the settee cushions, Lucy wipes at her cheeks. "The rent," she says meekly. "I can't possibly afford to stay here anymore. There's no income..." She trails off, eyes darting to Johanna's crib, where the child still sleeps soundly. "What am I going to do?"
Clucking her tongue, Mrs. Lovett taps her temple with one finger, staring at Lucy as though she's daft for not already knowing the answer. "You're goin' to get a job, that's what. To support yourself and your baby."
"Oh, Mrs. Lovett," Lucy shakes her head pitifully. "I don't know how to do anything."
Mrs. Lovett's eyes narrow. "Well learn, then."
Lucy nods, closing her eyes and not bothering to wipe at her cheeks as tears slip out. Curling up on the settee as Mrs. Lovett stands up and wipes her hands on her skirts, Lucy listens to her landlady's retreating footsteps.
"Eat your lunch now," she says, and from the sound of her voice, Lucy can tell she's standing by the door. "I expect an empty tray when I return." Not bothering to acknowledge her but knowing she'll obey, Lucy keeps still, waiting to hear the door click shut. It opens, but before Mrs. Lovett closes it behind her, she gives one last word of encouragement, her voice firm and resolved, "And Mr. Barker is comin' back. You wait an' see, dearie."
--
Lucy shakes her head, wiping primly at her cheeks with a laced handkerchief. "Eleanor always believed you'd come back. Long after I stopped hoping."
Aware that he's practically gaping at her, Sweeney turns away to glare at the floor. He can't imagine the pain she must have been in, but it seems so unlike his Lucy to lose hope, to let her life fall apart before her very eyes. He'd told her the day before he was shipped out that he would come back for her, no matter what it took. Hadn't his promise been enough to keep her from despair? "I told you I would come back."
Taken aback by his curtness, Lucy stares at him. "Men don't return from Botany Bay, Benjamin. I thought I'd lost you."
Brow furrowed, he says, stonily, "I promised you I would return. That should have been enough."
"It doesn't matter," Lucy protests, sounding hurt. "You're home now. Eleanor helped me get back on my feet; things are better."
He nods, still unable to look at her. Their landlady had believed his promise, but his own wife had not. Granted, Mrs. Lovett had always been terribly optimistic, if he remembers her correctly. Always a smiling, cheery creature whenever he encountered her.
Lucy reaches out to grasp his hands in her own and the feel of her soft skin only reminds him of how calloused his own have become. "That was Johanna downstairs, you know. She's grown so much..." She trails off, sighing. "She works in the pie shop now, with Eleanor. She's much better at it than I was."
Sweeney frowns at her, puzzled. Most of his memories are vague and fuzzy, but he does remember that every time Lucy tried to cook him dinner, it was blackened and burnt - or even worse, not cooked enough. More often than not, he would sneak downstairs to Mrs. Lovett's pie shop after Lucy went to bed to get something well-cooked to eat. While he loved his wife, she'd never been much of a homemaker.
At his puzzled expression, Lucy smiles guiltily. "It didn't work out. I can't bake anything, as you know. Eleanor tried to be patient, but more often than not I ended up burning the pies and she'd shoo me out of the kitchen with a broom. Or a rolling pin, if she was angry enough."
At one time, he might have smiled at the image of the woman downstairs chasing his wife out of the kitchen with her rolling pin, but now the only sign of his amusement is a faint lightening in his eyes, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Lucy lets go of his hands, shifting ever nearer. "I know this must be overwhelming," she says. "But I promise you'll feel like you never left in no time at all."
Suddenly, almost shyly, she leans toward him, one soft hand cradling his cheek, fingers gently smoothing over his jaw. Frozen, he watches as her eyes flutter shut, and suddenly his heart constricts as he realizes her intention. Her lips brush hesitantly against his and the feeling of warmth and familiarity and home that surges through him is enough to nearly send him to his knees at her feet. He draws her closer to him, wrapping one arm around her slender waist as he deepens the kiss, moving his mouth more eagerly against hers.
It's been too long, and she still tastes of vanilla. It feels like a dream, one he's had too many times before that only turned to dust when he opened his eyes to the harsh sunlight of Australia. As if to prove to himself that he is indeed home again, Sweeney tightens his grip on his wife, one hand reaching to weave its way into her golden tresses. He moves his mouth violently against her more timid one, his teeth biting roughly at her lip; he thinks he might taste blood, but he's too distracted to pay it any mind.
Lost in his euphoria, he doesn't notice she's tensed in his arms until he feels her struggle against him, eager to break away. Lucy places her hands on his chest, pushing him back. He releases her, shocked when she jerks away from him, scrambling to the other side of the settee with her fingers against her bloodied lip and eyes wide with shock.
Breathing heavily, Sweeney stares, wide-eyed as Lucy inches further away, back pressed against the arm of the sofa, expression leery. "I-I'm sorry," he says softly. "I don't know what came over me."
Still too stunned to speak, she nods slowly, bringing her hand away from her mouth and staring fixedly at the blood there. Casting her eyes to him after a moment, she offers him a weak smile. "It's alright, Benjamin."
Not trusting himself to be near her, Sweeney stands, moving away from the settee to gaze out the small window overlooking Fleet Street. It's unsettling, that even the view outside the window has changed while he was gone - the shop across the street used to sell old, dusty books, but now the storefront is boarded up and deserted. Next door there was a small pub where locals would flock in the evenings, gathering outside to converse on the sidewalks. He would often amuse himself with watching drunken men stumble out in the wee hours of the morning, singing loudly and tripping over their own feet. Now, the little pub has become a butcher's shop with slabs of meat hanging in the window.
Watching a beggar totter down the street with her ragged shawl wrapped around her shoulders, he frowns and says, "It's Todd now. Sweeney Todd."
Rising from the settee to slowly make her way to him, Lucy furrows her brow. "You changed your name? What's wrong with Benjamin?"
Benjamin Barker is dead. He doesn't say it, but he wants to. His Lucy would never understand how someone could be gone, yet still breathing. She wouldn't understand that he'd left Benjamin Barker behind the moment he realized being courteous and selfless would never get him anywhere in a place like Botany Bay. Sweeney had abandoned Barker's dead weight on the desolate shore, starved and beaten, and he'd never looked back.
He doesn't say any of this, preferring instead to continue staring out the window, watching the same beggar woman peer inside the window of the butcher's shop across the street, as if hoping someone will throw her a scrap of meat.
Behind him, he hears Lucy sigh and begin to walk toward him cautiously. Laying a gentle hand on his arm, she peers over his shoulder, as if searching for whatever he finds more interesting than their conversation. Following his gaze to the butcher's shop, she frowns and says, "Little pubs like Mr. Bates' couldn't afford to stay open in such hard times. He had to close about three years after you...left."
It's an interesting way to word his imprisonment- leaving. It makes the whole affair sound quite mild, tame in comparison to what had really happened, as though he'd merely stepped onto the ship and waved goodbye to his wife and child from the deck. As though he hadn't boarded the boat chained and beaten, hopeless before London was even out of sight.
Unaware of his scorn, Lucy smiles fondly. "I used to sit for hours, watching people go in and out all day and night. Mr. Bates always managed to bring in the most varied ilk, didn't he?" When Sweeney does nothing but tilt his head slightly in acknowledgment, Lucy continues, "Everyone from the poorest merchant to the most well-to-do judge in the same pub. Quite rare nowadays."
As if she's spoken some sort of magical incantation, Sweeney spins around, eyes wild. Startled, Lucy stumbles backward, catching herself on the edge of a table. "Judge Turpin," he snarls, spitting the word out like something foul. The venerable, nefarious Judge Turpin. The reason Sweeney wasted fifteen years of his life sweating in a living hell, the reason he knows nothing about his only daughter, is something foul indeed.
Lucy stares, bewildered. "Judge Turpin? What about him?"
"Where he is?" Sweeney asks, taking a step toward his wife.
Lucy pales at the desperate look on his face, the most animated he's been since he walked through the door. "In London, of course; where he's always been." That manic look in his eyes hasn't abated and Lucy swallows, taking a timid step toward him. "At least, as far as I know. I haven't seen him in years."
"He's left you alone?" Sweeney says, narrowing his eyes.
"Of course he has." Brow furrowed, Lucy reaches Sweeney's side and places slender hands on his chest. "Why don't you rest for a while? All this excitement must be taxing." She smiles understandingly, taking him gently by the arm and leading him toward the settee. "And then when you're ready, you can come downstairs and meet Johanna properly. I'm sure Eleanor wouldn't mind making a couple of pies for us."
Sweeney nods once, almost numbly. Looking relieved, Lucy pushes him gently onto the settee and leans down as if to kiss him, but thinking better of it, hesitates before touching his hair briefly. Straightening, she says softly, "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
Leaving him staring vacantly at the floor, Lucy closes the door behind her.
--
Silence is often something desired by respectable people, solitude in which to read their books or study, quiet when they lie down at night to rest and quiet when they take their morning tea. Most appreciate the calm and tranquility that comes with the hush of nothing but a summer's breeze or a gently ticking clock. However, silence is not something to be tolerated between Eleanor and Johanna.
Between the two of them, there is always much to say and never enough time in the day to say it. They make it a general rule to never let silence linger long between them, their personalities far better suited to constant chatter, impromptu waltzes with brooms and singing English nursery rhymes at the top of their lungs while they clean up after a long day.
When they serve customers, topping off ale and delivering pies to tables, there is a constant flow of chatter between them even from across the room, which only stops to take orders or ask after a customer's health. When they wash dishes, they complain about the amount of food a single person can shovel into their mouths. When they're in the parlor on quiet evenings, they have lively debates over which sort of penny dreadful is more entertaining to read - lurid romances or lively adventures.
And when they're playing cards, they murmur amongst themselves about what a wonderful hand they have, taunt one another regarding their superior skills, spill gin all over their cards and giggle as quietly as they can as they mop up the mess, not wanting to alert Lucy. Which is exactly why the two women do not often play whisk - the famously quiet card game just isn't suited to their rambunctious natures.
At a table in the pie shop, well past nine o'clock, the two women sit across from each other in utter silence, both wearing bored expressions. "Why are we playing this?" Johanna asks, exasperation evident in her features as she stares forlornly at her cards.
Chin in palm, Nellie sighs. "Cause it's not noisy. An' your parents need as lit'le noise as possible so they can talk."
Johanna gives her a skeptical look. "You just want to hear what they're saying."
"They're so bloody quiet," Nellie complains, scowling at her cards. "We been sittin' 'ere bein' silent as the grave for over an hour and not a peep from up there!"
"Yes, well, it might take some time before they can properly discuss the mechanics of the weather, Auntie Nell," Johanna says dryly and Eleanor glares in return.
Before she can come up with a proper retort, footsteps in the doorway cause both women to look at each other, eyes wide. Turning breathlessly to the entryway, Eleanor wonders if it's wrong for her heart to speed up at the thought of Mr. Barker lurking behind the doorframe. However, it isn't Mr. Barker making his way into the shop, it's Lucy.
Blonde hair slightly mussed and eyes vacant, Lucy slowly makes her way to their table and pulls back a chair, sinking into it. Sighing, she stares mournfully at the cards meticulously laid out on the table. Studying her carefully, Eleanor can't help but wonder what they'd done up there. While disheveled, Lucy doesn't look sufficiently rumpled enough for the Barkers to have become too reacquainted, but her eyes are dry, which tells Eleanor that most of her hysterics had taken place in the pie shop. What had happened? The suspense is nearly enough to send Nellie jumping out of her chair.
After several moments of agonizing silence, Lucy finally shakes her head and murmurs, "Sweeney Todd."
Nellie exchanges a furtive glance with Johanna. "What's that, dear?"
Fingers reaching up too massage her temple, Lucy says more clearly, "He's calling himself Sweeney Todd now."
Sweeney Todd. She almost shivers, repressing the urge to repeat it out loud and test if it feels as velvet on her tongue as it sounds. It's a dark name, poetic almost. A name Eleanor might have read in one of those gothic novels Johanna is so fond of, a dark and brooding man standing on the wild moors beneath the stars. It suits him, this new man with Benjamin Barker's eyes. Frowning, Eleanor lifts her glass of gin, staring into it scornfully. "Well of course 'e 'ad to change 'is name. Can't expect to go around callin' 'im Benjamin Barker - 'e'd be shipped right back to where 'e came from!"
"I suppose so," Lucy agrees, still looking troubled.
Fiddling anxiously with her cards, Johanna clears her throat. "Where is he now, mother?"
Lucy casts sullen blue eyes overhead. "Resting, I imagine." Glancing at Nellie and then back to her daughter, she says, "Darling, would you mind giving me a moment with Eleanor, please?"
Lips pursed in annoyance at being excluded like a child, Johanna nods and stands stiffly. "Of course. I'll be in the kitchen."
Nellie manages to catch the girl's eye as she exits, winking. It doesn't matter whether Lucy sends her out of the room or not, Nellie will convene with the girl after Lucy has turned in for the night, recounting the incident down to the last detail. Eleanor has never approved of Lucy's habit of shielding Johanna from the world, as though by simply making her oblivious to its evils, she is somehow protecting her from them.
Turning to Lucy with an expectant smile, Nellie waits for her to speak. Lucy isn't looking at her, drawing invisible patterns on the tabletop with her finger, a thoughtful frown on her fair countenance. Nellie isn't in the mood to play the waiting game, so she says, "What seems to be the trouble, dearie?"
"I don't know," Lucy says, finally glancing up into Nellie's eyes. "Something just isn't right. He's so different, he doesn't even look like himself."
"It's been fifteen years," Eleanor reminds her, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. " 'e's been imprisoned on an island notorious for 'oldin' the scum of the earth captive. I'd be unsettled if 'e 'adn't changed."
Lucy shakes her head, sighing into her palm. "He hardly spoke at all - he was always such a talker before. He used to rival you in that department, if I remember."
This time, Eleanor can't stop her eyes from rolling heavenward. "Love, 'e's been livin' in squalor amongst thieves and murders for nearly twenty years. You'll 'ave to forgive 'im if 'is conversational skills ain't what they used to be."
Frustration evident in her glower of exasperation, Lucy straightens in her seat, suddenly more animated. "It isn't just that, Eleanor. I could excuse him being disoriented at being home again, among civilized people. I could even excuse how rough he was when he kissed me."
Visibly flinching as Lucy's blushes at the admission and ducks her head, Eleanor brings her drink to her lips again, expertly throwing back the alcohol remaining at the bottom of the glass.
Raising her head, cheeks still pink, Lucy continues, "It's a feeling; a strange feeling that I can't seem to get rid of it." She reaches across the table, taking Nellie's hand, which causes the redhead to raise an eyebrow in surprise. Lucy doesn't seem to notice, staring out the window behind them, into the night. "I can't help but think...more than his name has changed."
Shifting uncomfortably and eyeing Lucy's hand still gripping hers, Nellie says, " 'e's in shock, is all. Give it time, dear. I'm sure the man you married is in there somewhere."
Lucy turns to Nellie, looking hopeful. "Do you really think he just needs time?"
The desperation in Lucy's eyes is so strong that Eleanor feels obligated to nod, giving Lucy the most motherly smile she can muster - the one she uses when Johanna is sick. "Of course, dear. Just you wait and see."
Rewarding Nellie with a grateful smile, Lucy squeezes the baker's hand before releasing it, placing her own in her lap. She returns to staring out the pie shop windows, a wistful expression on her face.
Eleanor drops her smile, raising her eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. While it's the last thing that Lucy would want to hear, Nellie hasn't been able to shake her own feelings of unease since Sweeney Todd walked through their door. A gnawing deep in the pit of her stomach says a certain darkness lurks within this man masquerading in Barker's skin - as though all morality, decency and gentleness has been sapped away and left nothing but a hollow shell named Todd.
Something tells her that Benjamin Barker is gone, and he isn't coming back.
A/N - Thank you SO much for all the wonderful reviews, I'm so glad you all like this new story. I feel the need to restate it here since some of you have been a bit skeptical, but YES, this will be Sweenett. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but you're going to have to trust the fact that I could never write a Todd/Lucy story. Ever. Haha Just be patient with me:) And I'm sorry about the kiss, I know it must have been painful to read but it had to be done. LOL Also, just a warning, these flashbacks will probably end up being all out of order. Some of them might be right after Benjamin was shipped off, and others might be years afterward. They are in no particular order, but hopefully you'll be able to figure out where in time they take place:)