Proof of Heaven
Three days. It's been three days since the return of Benjamin Barker as Sweeney Todd. It's also the number of times today that Eleanor has trudged upstairs during a lull in customers to check on the man, as per Lucy's instructions. "Just keep an eye on him throughout the day, make sure he eats. He should be fine. Thank you so much for doing this, Mrs. Lovett." Like the woman is talking about a defenseless puppy rather than a grown man. Though, Eleanor relents as she pinches her skirts between thumb and forefinger to climb the steps again, a puppy might be a tad easier to care for.
He makes her nervous, this new man. With Benjamin, she'd merely felt giddy in his presence, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Sweeney Todd makes her heart feel as though it's going to careen out of her chest at any moment when he so much as glances at her through those hooded eyes.
Not bothering to knock because he never responds anyway, Eleanor pushes the door open and peers inside the small upstairs apartment. The sitting room is tidy and brightly-lit, the curtains pushed aside to let in what little sunlight London has to offer. It's also empty, but Nellie expects this by now, slipping into the room and shutting the door firmly behind her. "Mr. Todd?" She calls, not counting on an answer.
The flat is quiet, almost unnaturally still. Johanna never liked spending time up here before her father's return, but now she practically lives downstairs. She hasn't quite gotten used to this strange, quiet man who isn't at all like the father she'd imagined.
When she isn't working, Lucy spends nearly all of her time upstairs with her husband, though what the two of them do or talk about is beyond Nellie - she never hears a sound from the newly reunited pair. It's disconcerting, considering how often she used to hear the Barkers all those years ago - talking in low voices, Johanna's hungry cries, or the sudden sound of light, rhythmic footsteps when Benjamin got it into his head that he wanted to dance with his wife. When Lucy does sneak downstairs, either while Mr. Todd is asleep or to fetch food for them both, she lingers in the kitchen longer than necessary. She'll toy with Johanna's hair and look at Eleanor with this desperate, frightened gleam in her blue eyes, as though begging the pie maker to save her, but whether it's from the ghost of Benjamin Barker, or from herself, Nellie can never tell.
Walking quietly down the short hallway, she sees the bedroom door cracked open, like she had known it would be. Mr. Todd spends most of his time in that room, sitting on the edge of the bed, unmoving and staring out the little window with blank eyes. The floorboards creak noisily with her every footstep, and Eleanor swallows nervously, pausing outside the door to steady her breath and calm her racing heart. It never helps, but she does it anyway.
Pushing the door open, ignoring its protesting groan, she spots a lone figure standing near the window, motionless and stiff. His body looks tense, his back ramrod straight, as though he's preparing himself for an attack no one else sees coming. Brown eyes lingering on his disheveled curls, Eleanor braces herself against the doorframe. Pursing her lips, she wonders if he has even noticed her presence.
Sweeney Todd has a habit of ignoring her. She isn't sure if he does it deliberately, or if he is simply too lost in his head to hear her. Either way, she doesn't fancy being overlooked. Not once in her whole life has she ever let anyone ignore her - not when she was a scrawny little girl growing up with five brothers, not when she'd had to scream to get her point across when Albert was alive, and certainly not now, with the newly christened Mr. Todd. So after several moments of deafening silence, she clears her throat and says loudly, "Mr. Todd!"
He doesn't jump the way she'd thought he would, doesn't turn to her with wide, startled eyes. Instead, he merely shifts his weight from one foot to the other and continues staring out the window. She doesn't expect him to speak because he so rarely does, and only when spoken to. When he does, his voice is low and gravely, and he sounds as though it saps all of his strength just to string together a few words. It comes as a surprise when he says suddenly, "I heard you."
Eleanor fights the urge to blush; the man is obviously more observant than she gives him credit for. It's the loudest she's ever heard his voice and she fights the chill that threatens to overwhelm her whole body. Honestly, it's downright ridiculous the way she reacts to the sound of his voice. Instead, she takes another step into the room, not trusting herself to let go of the doorframe just yet. "Sorry, Mr. Todd. Sometimes I just can't tell with you," she says. "Just wanted to pop in and see if you needed anythin'." He doesn't acknowledge her words, his back still turned to her, and she's fairly certain he's lost again to whatever haunts him. "Gin, per'aps? Got a few extra pies downstairs, if you're 'ungry."
Mr. Todd shakes his head and Nellie frowns - he never takes anything she offers. He only eats when Lucy brings him food, never ventures past the upper floor. It almost as though there isn't an extra person living here at all, and if it wasn't for the number of times she stomps upstairs to look after him, she'd think she'd imagined him ever coming home to begin with. If not for Johanna, she might have been content to let Lucy bring her husband out of his shell in her own time. Johanna sits downstairs day after day, pestering Eleanor with her persistent questions about her father, why he doesn't speak to her, why he doesn't come downstairs. In fact, Eleanor is certain she'll be waiting at the bottom of the stairs when she returns, to ask what her father is doing. It isn't right, that he should come home only to shatter the poor girl's expectations.
Hands planted firmly on her hips, Eleanor says, "Y'know, Mr. Todd...it might do you some good to come downstairs for a spell. Must get awful lonely up 'ere while Lucy's gone, and I'm sure Johanna would love to speak with you." He doesn't respond, but she watches his reflection in the window frown deeply, sees the muscles in his back tense beneath his white shirt. "In fact, I know she'd love to 'ave your company, at least for a lit'le while."
While he continues to ignore her, Nellie can't help but wonder how it must feel to come home to a daughter you didn't raise, a wife you don't know anymore. He doesn't know anything about the family he's come home to, and what's worse, they know nothing about him or the man he's become. She wonders if it would mean anything to him that she wants to understand him, that Johanna would give anything to just talk to him.
Softly, as though speaking to a frightened animal, Eleanor says, "I know this must be difficult, Mr. Todd. I can't imagine bein' in your position. But you 'ave a daughter downstairs who waited 'er whole life to get to know you." She sighs, eyeing the lean frame on the other side of the room, eyes following the masculine curve of broad shoulders. "Does nothin' but talk about you all day - about to drive me bonkers, she is. At least consider it for my sanity, eh?"
After a moment in which he seems to be thinking very hard about something, Mr. Todd nods once. Eleanor beams happily at his back, relieved that he'd listened to her. She'd at least tried to get him to leave the lair he's made for himself up here. It's something to tell Johanna, in any case.
"Good," she says, still smiling. "Now 'ow about that gin?"
She watches his reflection in the window as he swallows and sighs. "Alright."
Feeling rather like she's accomplished some marvelous magic trick, Eleanor smiles and says cheerfully, "Back in a tick, then." Turning on her heel, knowing he won't acknowledge her exit, she scampers off to find a bottle of gin, her footsteps light on the stairs as she descends.
Johanna looks up from wiping down a particularly filthy table, eyes eager. "What did he say?"
"Not much. I yelled at 'im, actually."
Eyes wide, Johanna says, "What? Auntie Nell!"
"It was an accident," Eleanor says defensively. "I didn't think 'e 'eard me!"
Tossing her limp rag onto a table and sighing, Johanna drops down into a seat. "Well he's certainly not going to want to come down here now. He's probably frightened of you and your sharp tongue!"
Eleanor frowns. "You exaggerate, my love. And besides, 'e nodded at me. That 'as to mean somethin'...I just don't know what."
Looking unimpressed, Johanna fiddles with the rag on the table. "What else happened? Did he say anything at all?"
"Agreed to some gin," Nellie says, ducking behind the counter and wandering into the kitchen. The last time she'd seen a bottle of gin had been last night, when she'd fallen asleep on the settee, but when she'd woken up, it had disappeared. She wonders if Lucy had found it, or if Johanna had disposed of it before her mother had the chance.
Johanna wanders into the kitchen after her, looking amused to find her aunt standing on her tip toes, trying desperately to reach an unopened bottle of gin in one of the upper cabinets. "What are you doing?" She asks, laughing. "I put the bottle from last night behind the books in the parlor, so mother wouldn't find it. Use that one before you open a new one."
Waving her away, Eleanor drags a rickety wooden stool with her to the cabinet and stands on it, finally reaching the bottle. "I 'ave a feelin' your father could use a full bottle, love." Grasping the gin in one hand and carefully hopping from the stool, Nellie huffs a stray curl from her face and eyes Johanna knowingly. "You want to take it up to 'im?"
Johanna's eyes light up for a moment, and then she frowns, staring down at the floor. "I don't think I should. Maybe he doesn't want to be disturbed." She bites her lip, sparing a nervous glance at Nellie. "Besides...what would I say?"
It pains Eleanor that the girl is so unsure around her own father - no matter how quiet, how different he seems. If only Johanna could see the man he used to be. If she could see herself lifted onto her father's shoulders to walk through the park, see the two of them lying on the floor in the parlor, Johanna fast asleep on Benjamin's chest as they waited for Nellie's cookies to finish baking, then Johanna would never be so hesitant.
She musters a smile and says, "You say, 'ere's your gin father, and would you mind comin' downstairs next time so my poor Auntie Nell doesn't 'ave to march all the way up 'ere ten times a day just to look after you? She's not as sprightly as she used to be."
Johanna giggles, watching Nellie wave the bottle of gin at her enticingly. "I'll take it up, but you'll have to forgive me if I decide not to deliver your message."
Eleanor sighs, tossing her the bottle. "You want somethin' done, you 'ave to do it yourself, I s'pose."
Smiling anxiously, Johanna clutches the bottle tightly in her hand and starts for the kitchen door, only to be startled into backing away when the door opens and Lucy walks in, home from the little dress shop where she works.
Lucy smiles at her daughter as she removes the shawl from around her arms but her blue eyes eventually land on the bottle of gin in Johanna's hand and her smile disappears. Lucy turns to Eleanor, eyes accusing. "What have I told you about giving my daughter gin, Eleanor? Honestly, it isn't a difficult rule to follow. I ask so little of you when it comes to looking after her - "
"Mother," Johanna interrupts, frowning and Nellie watches her eyes darken and her cheeks turn pink. "Auntie Nell didn't give me any gin - it's not for me. You always assume the worst when it comes to her."
Lucy busies herself with smoothing blonde hair from her eyes, looking harried. "Well what was I suppose to think, Johanna, seeing you standing in the middle of the room with a bottle? It's a perfectly understandable conclusion." She sighs tiredly. "Must you be so confrontational?"
Realizing where this is going, having been witness to it many times before, Nellie squashes the urge to groan aloud. The two of them are always bickering these days, small arguments turning into full scale battles as time goes on. Things would be so much easier if Lucy would just let Johanna grow up and make her own choices instead of trying to make them for her. Sensing Johanna is about to begin a heated debate with her mother over a misunderstanding, Eleanor interrupts quickly with a glance at Lucy, "No need to get in a tiff, now. The gin is for your 'usband. 'e asked for it."
Lucy looks surprised that Mr. Todd asked for anything but she throws Nellie a grateful look for breaking up what was sure to have been another disagreement between mother and teenage daughter. "Oh, I'm sorry, Eleanor." Lucy smiles apologetically and reaches for the bottle Johanna clutches tightly. When Eleanor nods encouragingly, Johanna relinquishes her hold, jaw tight as she watches her mother set the bottle firmly on the counter. "But I won't have him drinking either. Alcohol never did anyone a bit of good."
Eleanor stares, wondering not for the first time at the naiveté of her tenant. She imagines a bottle of gin would do Mr. Todd quite a bit of good, what with all those ghosts she can see swimming in his eyes. It might even help him get a decent night's sleep - she isn't deaf to the sound of his pacing at all hours of the night. Instead of saying any of this, she merely offers the blonde a tight smile and keeps quiet.
"Thank you for looking after him, Eleanor," Lucy pauses in the doorway. "I'll take over from here. I'm upstairs should you need anything." She smiles tentatively at her daughter but Johanna stares at the floor. "Goodnight, darling."
Johanna nods, her voice tight, "Goodnight, mother."
When the door closes behind Lucy, Nellie turns to Johanna and sighs. "That wasn't necessary, love."
Chin jutted out stubbornly, Johanna says, "Yes it was. She's always blaming you for things I do, as if I'm a child and can't think for myself. If she wants to be angry with someone, she should be angry with me. Just because you offer gin doesn't mean I have to take it." She scowls. "And she just made a decision for my father as well. What business is it of hers if he wants gin? He's a grown man, for heaven's sake."
Deciding the girl has a point, Eleanor approaches Johanna and places an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into an embrace. "Well the next time you feel like fightin' with your mother, don't argue about me," she laughs, bringing one hand up to fiddle with Johanna's blonde hair. "Makes a lady bloody uncomfortable."
Johanna hides a smile in Nellie's shoulder, cheeks pink with her chagrin. "Sorry, Auntie Nell."
Pulling back to scrutinize her expression, Eleanor shakes her head. "I'm sorry too, dear. I know you wanted a chance to speak with your father."
Shrugging, Johanna pulls away. "It probably would have been awkward, anyway."
"You underestimate your charm, love," Eleanor winks. " 'e would 'ave been wrapped around your finger in two shakes."
Johanna laughs, looping her arm through Nellie's as they walk together back into the pie shop to finishing cleaning up. "You have a biased opinion. You can't be trusted when it comes to me."
"Of course I'm biased," Nellie picks up a damp rag and tosses it at the blonde, grinning when Johanna fumbles to catch it before it hits the floor. "If anyone 'as a right to be biased about your perfection, it's me."
Johanna only smiles, and together, they wipe down tables and dim the lights, each trying her best not to think of the couple upstairs.
--
With only enough money to afford meat for a small portion of every month, the pie shop is closed the following morning and Nellie plans on doing nothing more strenuous with her day than turning a page in a book. When Lucy leaves for the dressmaker's shop after a small breakfast, the air between the three of them still tense with the disagreement of the evening before, Nellie retires with Johanna to the parlor.
The sight of Sweeney Todd sitting in her armchair, staring into the fire, is a sight astonishing enough to send her jumping back with a quiet gasp. He doesn't seem to notice their presence and they halt in the doorway, wide-eyed. Johanna clutches at Eleanor's arm, unmoving, while Eleanor stares at him breathlessly. It's one thing to see the man upstairs in a darkened room, or enveloped in shadow in her doorway, but another thing entirely to observe him in the middle of the day, before a roaring fire with his guard down. If he'd been beautiful before, he's exquisite now - a grim statue carved from cold marble.
Johanna looks to Nellie, eyes beseeching. Tearing her gaze from the man in front of them, Eleanor nudges Johanna's arm, jerking her head in Mr. Todd's direction. It's her father after all, she should make the first move. Shaking her head frantically, Johanna waves her arms in front of her and begins to back away hastily, refusing to confront Mr. Todd alone. Eleanor nearly stamps her foot in petulance, outraged that Johanna would leave her to enter the room by herself.
However, Johanna isn't looking where she's going and in her haste to get out of the room, she trips backwards into the wall and smacks her head against a portrait, sending it crashing noisily to the floor. The women wince at the great clamor and Mr. Todd turns his head to look at them, his stoic expression giving away none of his surprise.
Sending Johanna a withering look, Eleanor turns to Mr. Todd with a smile. "Mr. Todd, what a nice surprise, dear." She hears Johanna behind her fumbling with the portrait, but she can't bring herself to look away from Mr. Todd as he furrows his brow. Eleanor remembers asking him to think about coming downstairs, remembers him nodding but she hadn't actually thought he'd been listening to her.
He doesn't shy away from her gaze, only returns it blankly and she calls to Johanna without turning her head. "Johanna, don't worry about the picture. Let's sit, love."
She can practically hear the smile in Johanna voice as she says, "Of course."
Nellie shakes her head. Only Johanna would be amused by this rather than mortified. Under Mr. Todd's gaze, they retreat to the settee and arrange themselves on the cushions. The only sound is the crackling of the fire in the hearth, and unaccustomed to the silence, Eleanor suddenly feels at a loss, palms sweaty and lungs incapable of drawing in quite enough air. Glancing around the parlor and absently fiddling with her skirts, Nellie cannot think of a thing to say.
Mr. Todd has returned his attention to the fire, and for a moment, she watches the flames reflected in his dark eyes, her mouth dry. When the silence becomes too unbearable for her, she finds Johanna's eyes, and the girl gives her a desperate look, begging her to speak. Nellie frowns at her and fumbles for something to say.
"I'm terribly sorry about last night, dear," she says airily. "Lucy came in just as I was 'eadin' upstairs with your gin and she's not particularly keen on using alcohol for anything other than cuts and scrapes." She watches in fascination as the corner of his mouth twitches, as though he wants to smile but can't quite remember how it's done.
Johanna stands abruptly, leaving the two adults to stare at her. "Why don't I fetch us some now?"
"Smashing idea, love," Eleanor beams at her. Such quick thinking - alcohol will liven up the dullest of parties. She turns to Mr. Todd in hopes of his agreement and finds herself transfixed by the pained way his eyes follow Johanna's every move until he can't see her anymore, as though trying to absorb everything about her - the way the light hits her yellow hair and turns it brilliant gold, the way her delicate hands absently brush her skirts, the perfect posture Lucy had instilled in the girl at a very young age. Mr. Todd is drinking in his daughter as though he'll never see her again. When Johanna disappears into the next room, Nellie tilts her head to scrutinize him silently.
"S'not, easy, is it?" She asks with quiet pity. "Bein' 'ome again?"
He shifts dark eyes to her, regarding her strangely. He looks almost startled, and she doubts he can even recall the last time anyone felt sympathy for him. Just as she is about to apologize for being her nosy self, he surprises her by shaking his head once. "Everything is...different."
"I imagine," she murmurs, studying the pained look in his black eyes. "You'll get the 'ang of it, love. It'll just take time."
Their conversation sounds oddly familiar to her ears, and the sense of deja vu is unsettling until she remembers the reason behind it. It nearly sends her tumbling backward sixteen years, smiling at Benjamin Barker from across the counter in the pie shop as he'd lamented on how different marriage was than what he'd thought. Will she never stop comforting this man, ever stop consoling him about that hopelessly naive wife of his?
At the moment Eleanor realizes she's staring at him, Johanna returns with a bottle of gin tucked neatly under her arm and balancing three full glasses. Her eyes slide shyly over to her father as she hands him his drink. "Is that enough?"
Mr. Todd nods, clearing his throat and shifting uneasily. "Yes, thank you."
Taking her spot on the settee beside Nellie, Johanna hands her a glass and Nellie takes a sip. Swallowing, she glances at Mr. Todd. "This is a bit of a secret of ours, Mr. Todd. Won't tell Lucy about our li'tle foray into the good swill, I 'ope?"
Johanna watches her father with hopeful eyes, not daring to touch her drink until she knows whether her father will inform Lucy of her occasional glass of gin. "It's not all the time," she reasons quietly. "But really I'm quite old enough to decide whether I want a drink."
Eleanor hides a smile behind her glass at the defiant tilt to Johanna's head. Mr. Todd stares at his daughter a moment, his expression giving away nothing but Eleanor can see the pride in his gaze, blatantly obvious beneath the sorrow always lurking just under the surface. She places a hand on Johanna's arm and says softly, "Go on, love. 'e won't tell."
While Mr. Todd's stay downstairs had not lasted long, he'd lingered over the shared bottle of gin with them, though he didn't say much. Eleanor had never seen Johanna quite so awkward, as though every confidence she has tried so hard to instill in the girl had suddenly been washed away, leaving nothing but an unsure, frightened child. Even now, as they labor together in the kitchen to prepare dinner in time for Lucy's arrival home, Eleanor can sense Johanna's deep disappointment that this afternoon hadn't gone the way she'd hoped it would.
Ever since Johanna was a child, Eleanor has always made it known to the girl that life is not fair, that sometimes things will not go the way she wants them to but it certainly doesn't mean that she should give up, or stop trying. Life - real life - is all about trying; an earnest quest for love, acceptance, and answers. It seems as though Eleanor hasn't yet learned her own lesson, because the only thing she can think about as Johanna slices up onions for the soubise sauce, is that she must get the girl to connect with the father she's so longed for.
Nellie is in middle of examining the mutton they'd purchased at the market, eyeing the scrawny bit of flesh on the bones and wondering if it had been such a good deal after all when Lucy sails through the door tugging at her bonnet. "Hello darling," she smiles at Johanna, who looks up from stirring the sauce.
Giving her mother the brightest smile she can muster, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes, Johanna says, "How was work, mother? Is Mrs. Crichlow feeling better?"
Lucy's smile falters at Johanna's tone, a polite voice reserved for brief acquaintances at parties - the voice Johanna uses when she doesn't quite feel up to arguing with her mother. Walking over to her daughter and tucking a piece of Johanna's blonde hair behind her ear, Lucy places a kiss on her forehead. "She's much better and I'm sure she would be delighted to know that you asked about her."
"Johanna, love," Nellie says, still frowning at the mutton balefully. "Would you fetch that tray from the bakehouse?"
Johanna nods. "You'll have to stir the sauce, it's - "
"Too thick," Nellie sighs. "Yes, of course it is. It always ends up that way; I don't know what the bloody 'ell I'm doin' wrong."
"We'll get it right one day," Johanna laughs, hurrying toward the door.
When she's gone, Lucy sighs quietly, watching Eleanor stir the soubise and it says quite a lot that she doesn't bother scolding Eleanor for cursing. "I just don't know what to do with her, Eleanor. She's growing up."
"Of course she is, dear," Eleanor murmurs, bringing the spoon from the pot and sliding her finger along the edge of it to taste the sauce. "You just need to grow up with 'er, is all. Tryin' to keep 'er your li'tle girl forever isn't makin' 'er too fond of you at the moment."
"I just want her to stay young as long as she possibly can," Lucy reasons, fiddling with her bonnet. "Life can be so cruel - I want to protect her from it as long as I can."
Deciding the sauce definitely needs a bit more spice, Nellie turns to rummage through the cupboards. "You can't protect 'er from life without keepin' 'er from livin' it." Eleanor nearly sighs; she can't begin to count the number of times they've had this discussion about Johanna, and it always ends with Lucy thinking she's doing what's best for the girl. "As much as I'd love to continue this, dear, I've got somethin' else to speak with you about."
Laying her pretty white bonnet aside, Lucy smooths her hair and glances quickly up at the ceiling. "Can this wait, Eleanor? Benjamin is - "
"Actually, I want to talk about Mr. Todd," Eleanor interrupts, watching Lucy's blue eyes narrow at the use of his new name. She hasn't taken to it the way Eleanor has, refusing to call him anything other than Benjamin and Nellie wonders when she'll realize that man isn't the same one lurking upstairs. "Johanna 'asn't really 'ad the chance to speak with 'im much since 'e's returned and you know 'ow much she's always talked about 'er father."
Lucy nods, glancing away. "She was always asking me for stories about him. I could hardly ever bring myself to tell her."
Eleanor doesn't bother to mention that even if Lucy hadn't wanted to speak of him, Johanna had learned enough about her father from her aunt - when the girl wasn't making her read Shakespeare, the handsome young Mr. Barker had featured in nearly all of Johanna's childhood bedtime stories. "I think it might be a nice idea to get them alone, eh? What do you think 'e'd say to a walk with Johanna after dinner?"
Pursing her lips, somehow managing to look just as lovely with her brow furrowed like that, Lucy says, "I don't know. I suppose I could ask him." She smiles. "That's a wonderful idea, Eleanor. It might be just the thing he needs to bring him out of this...mood."
Turning from Lucy before the blonde sees her raised eyebrow, Eleanor ponders whether or not unjust exile and fifteen years away from one's family qualifies as a mood. When Lucy disappears through the doorway, Nellie listens with satisfaction to her light footsteps on the stairs. She suddenly thinks of Lucy's soft nature against the much more stubborn will of the former Mr. Barker and doubts whether gentle suggestion will be enough to get him on a walk around London after dark.
Johanna wanders back into the kitchen, breathless from sprinting up the bakehouse steps. "Got the pan, Auntie Nell."
"Lovely," Eleanor turns to face her with a smile. "Now, stir this sauce. I'll be back in a tick."
Curiosity will surely get her in a world of trouble someday, but Eleanor can't keep herself from mounting the steps to the upper floor. While she doesn't try to mask the sound of her footsteps, her steps are considerably lighter in hopes of catching a snatch of conversation before she interrupts. The muffled sound of their voices becomes clearer the further she climbs, and by the time she reaches the landing at the top of the stairs, Lucy's voice is unmistakable through the open door of their apartment. She hears Mr. Todd's soft, sullen murmur and creeps closer to the door, her stomach turning over on itself.
The mere sound of his voice makes her breath catch, and she's never been so frustrated with herself. Hasn't fifteen years been long enough to drain her of her love for Benjamin Barker? Will the feeling sickness when he smiles at Lucy ever truly go away or will the jealousy always be there, a scar serving as a constant reminder of the love that was never hers? It seems that no matter how he looks, dresses or acts - whether he's the sweet barber of the past or the brooding man just on the other side of the door - her heart will always flutter at the slightest thought of him.
The harsh sound of Mr. Todd's voice snaps Eleanor back to the present, and she listens intently to his whispered, "I don't know anything about her."
"But you could learn Benjamin," comes Lucy quiet voice. "That's all Johanna really wants - to know you and for you to know her."
Mr. Todd doesn't seem to be listening to his wife because as Nellie peers around the doorframe, she finds him sitting on the sofa, eyes fixated on the floor even as Lucy stands in front of him. The words he says next almost seem to be directed solely at himself, because Eleanor has to strain her ears and lean into the doorway to catch them. "Her favorite color, what she reads, her first word, her laugh...I don't know any of it."
He sounds guilty, as though it had been his fault he'd been taken away. Eleanor looks to Lucy, watching the blonde stare at her husband, mouth slightly agape. She doesn't look as if she's going to be speaking any time soon, and while Eleanor prides herself on being a patient woman, she doesn't have the stamina to wait for the conversation to gain momentum again. Stepping inside the doorway and clearing her throat to garner the attention of the couple in the room, she directs her gaze to Sweeney Todd and says plainly, "Blue."
He stares at her, looking lost.
"Eleanor," Lucy says with a strained, gentle smile as she takes a step forward. "Could you give us a moment?"
Ignoring her, Eleanor continues to eye Mr. Todd. "Johanna's favorite color. It's blue." She gives him a thin smile. "She'll read anythin' you put in front of 'er but right now she's rather fond of the penny dreadful The Mysteries of the Court of London. And she's read Wuthering Heights so often the poor, battered thing is nearly in tatters."
By this time, Mr. Todd has straightened in his seat, unfathomable eyes pinning Nellie in place with their wide-eyed gaze. It's enough to make her breath hitch but she refuses to lose concentration or look away, knowing Johanna's happiness depends upon his answer. Next to him, Lucy bites down on her bottom lip, hopeful.
Certain she has his attention, Eleanor continues thoughtfully, "I believe 'er first word was 'stop'. I was pickin' up 'er dolly to put away and apparently it didn't sit too well with her." She raises an eyebrow. "An' if you want to know what 'er laugh sounds like, I suggest you take your daughter out for a walk, Mr. Todd, and brush up on your jokes. Aren't exactly a comedian, love."
Mr. Todd blinks, regarding her as though he's only just noticed her presence as something other than the landlady and the woman who peers in at him while his wife is at work. Swallowing thickly, he nods once and says hoarsely, "Alright."
--
London at twilight isn't much different than it is during the day - every building and street corner covered in a thin film of soot and misery. The only difference is the types of people lurking about. The men and women hocking their wares on the pavement have all given up for the day, packing up their things to begin again with the light of day. Normal, decent people have all scurried off to their homes to sit before their fires with a glass of brandy. London, Sweeney Todd knows, is not exactly brimming with decent people. The streets are still bustling with carriages rattling across cobbled lanes, a group of harlots are gathered at the end of the street under a gas light, cooing at a drunken man from the tavern across the lane stumbling his way home.
It's completely absurd to be walking about in the evening, suicidal almost. Sweeney Todd can't help but wonder why he'd agree to take his daughter for a walk that very night instead of insisting that they take a stroll in the early morning when the dangers to Johanna were much less apparent. Then he remembers the look in Mrs. Lovett's eyes - eyes that seemed all at once harsher than the most depraved of convicts, and yet as understanding as a mother's. Eyes that looked as if they were silently daring him to refuse. And staring into them, he'd found that he couldn't.
As they pass a beggar lingering in the doorway of a dinner house, Johanna's hold on his arm tightens and Sweeney glances down at his daughter. She's completely perfect, not one flaw in her lovely features. She's the very picture of her mother, all delicate grace and charming smiles. Johanna exudes that inner glow that he's only ever seen radiate from Lucy. And yet, there's something else in his daughter, some fierce trait that belongs neither to Lucy or himself. The same trait that makes her defy her mother's wishes, the same trait that gave her that defiant tilt of the head whenever she thinks someone might be challenging her.
Lucy has never been so confrontational, so willing to be opposed. When he'd been sent away, Lucy had been the most gentle of creatures and she remains so even now. No matter how exhausting her day has been, she always returns home in the evenings with a tired smile, one he tries his best to reciprocate, no matter how difficult it is.
But now, Lucy is more timid than he remembers. She'd never been shy about her affections, taking his hand for no reason other than to feel his fingers laced in hers, fiddling with his hair as they lay in bed together. Now, she can only be described as skittish when in his company, rattled and tense just sitting next to him. She hasn't touched him since the day of his return, except for the occasional brush of her hand against his arm. Sweeney scowls, fists clenching as he remembers his lack of control when her lips touched his. He'll never forgive himself for being so careless with her. Lucy is entirely too delicate, too pure to be treated with such abandon.
He feels as though he's walking on eggshells around his own wife, never sure what the right thing is to say, when he should speak up or when the proper time is to be silent. When she comes home from another tedious day of dressmaking, he feels as though he should do something - wrap his arms around her, take her hand, anything. But he never does. Benjamin used to wrap an arm around his wife's slender waist, cup her radiant face in his hands just to stare into her eyes. Now, he finds that he just...can't anymore. He doesn't remember how, and he isn't entirely sure he wants to. That had been Benjamin Barker, and that man is dead.
How foolish he'd been, thinking he could just come home and pick up his life where he'd left off. Things are turning out to be much more complicated, more complex, than he'd ever imagined. Lucy has become more independent; she's made a life for herself and their daughter. He doesn't know the first thing about his daughter, his little girl who has grown up entirely without his presence in her life.
At the thought of his daughter, he chances another look at her out of the corner of his eye and sees her distrustfully eyeing a chimneysweep across the lane, leaning against a fence post with his cap lowered. They haven't spoken much and he wonders briefly if she feels as nervous as he does. After everything he has lived through, to be so anxious in the company of a young woman, his daughter, seems ridiculous.
He feels as though they should discuss something before they return to Fleet Street and have to face Mrs. Lovett's strangely compelling eyes, but he hasn't had to engage in small talk in a very long time and he's quite at a loss for how to go about it. Thinking again of the reason he's strolling pleasantly along the streets of London as the sun sets, Sweeney frowns. Johanna seems to be very close to their landlady - the two hardly ever stop talking when they're together and he often hears them whispering and giggling together long after Lucy has gone to bed. If he didn't know any better he might have thought Mrs. Lovett had raised Johanna rather than Lucy.
Turning his head to look down at his daughter, Sweeney finds Johanna biting her lip, eyes darting nervously about them. She seems just as pained by the prolonged silence, but she doesn't look as if she's about to do anything to correct it. Swallowing uncomfortably, he rasps, "You seem quite fond of Mrs. Lovett."
It isn't the most eloquent or profound way to start a conversation, but the mention of the pie maker brings a brilliant smile to Johanna's delicate face as she turns to look at him. "Oh, yes," she says, sounding relieved to be speaking. "Auntie Nell is my only friend, she has been for almost as long as I can remember."
They pause at a street corner to wait for a passing carriage before crossing the lane to walk on the other side. "You have others to talk with, surely," he says. "Girls your age."
Johanna shakes her head, pushing back blonde hair when a chilly wind blows it around her face. "Not really. I don't go to school, Auntie Nell tutors me. So I don't get to meet a lot of girls and the ones I do know, I find rather tedious." She frowns. "I never did get along well with people my own age."
Sweeney can understand not getting along with people - he doubts he'll ever find someone he's completely comfortable with. As Benjamin he'd been too shy and gentlemanly, and now he finds that his mind no longer understands common things like conversation or pleasantries. He clears his throat. "You have your mother, then."
He watches as Johanna's face changes in an instant, that animated glow when she talked of the pie maker hardening into something more defensive and cautious. "Mother and I disagree quite often," she says simply. Sweeney furrows his brow at his daughter, and she smiles gently at his confusion. "I'm more of Auntie Nell's mind, that one shouldn't smother their children, but let them discover the truth, explore, question things." Johanna shakes her head, looking mildly amused. "Mother and Auntie Nell have clashed over the years when it comes to my upbringing. They have very different ideas concerning me."
Lucy may not be as open-minded as Mrs. Lovett but Sweeney is certain she only wants the best for their daughter and that's all that matters to him. He isn't sure he's entirely comfortable with Mrs. Lovett's way of handling Johanna, though it does seem to explain the independent streak he can see so prominently in her.
When they reach Hyde Park, both of them peering inside to gaze at the darkened trees swaying just behind the gate, they turn in a circle to make their way back to Fleet Street. Johanna's arm feels almost comfortable in his now and he doesn't feel quite so despairingly awkward in her presence. Lucy had been right, as always. Johanna had only wanted to speak with her father, whether he had much to offer to their conversation or not.
As they walk meanderingly toward home, the air between them not so stifling now, Johanna sighs softly into the night. "I wasn't always so opposed to the way mother did things." She smiles. "Up until I was seven years old, I wanted nothing more than to be just like her."
Sweeney almost smiles. He can see his darling little Johanna trying to imitate her mother - emulating everything about her from the way Lucy took her tea to the way she practically floated wherever she went. It isn't difficult to see why Johanna would want to be everything her mother is. "What happened?"
Johanna's lips quirk. "Auntie Nell."
--
As a small child, when being a proper young lady is important and Lucy Barker is her world, Johanna is puzzled by the strange landlady downstairs. She has always been friendly, always smiles at Johanna and gives her cookies. She is a constant in Johanna's life, always accompanying mother to the market when they venture out, and always in the pie shop when they stay in.
Mrs. Lovett is unlike any other lady Johanna knows. She does the things most women do, like wearing tightly bound corsets and playing bridge. But she doesn't seem concerned in the least with being proper, wiping her hands on her skirts, always a spot of flour on her nose.
Once, during a particularly rowdy night in the pie shop, Johanna had watched while Mrs. Lovett outdrank a young sailor who'd challenged her - she'd stared in disbelief from behind the counter as the sailor stumbled around, slurring and Mrs. Lovett had only patted down her hair and smirked. Proper ladies didn't have drinking contests with sailors, Johanna knew. She had asked her mother once, why Mrs. Lovett behaved the way she did, and her mother had simply replied that they owed Mrs. Lovett a lot, and what she did was her own business. Even at such a young age, Johanna could hear the disapproval in her mother's tone. For a long time, this made Johanna want to stay away from such uncouth behavior, as though it might be contracted like the plague. But as she grew, Mrs. Lovett began to fascinate her.
While her mother works, Johanna remains at home with their landlady for most of the day. If the pie shop is open, Johanna prefers to play with her dolly in the parlor, a pretty porcelain thing that her mother said was a gift from father. On one particularly rainy day, at the age of seven, the pie shop is closed and Johanna cannot find the entertainment in books and dolls that she usually does. Faintly, she can hear Mrs. Lovett bustling about in the kitchen - the loud clatter of bowls and pans making the young girl frown in curiosity.
When she wanders into the kitchen, Mrs. Lovett looks surprised to see her, floundering for a moment before offering Johanna a little smile and sweeping a stray red curl from her forehead with a flour-covered hand. "Fancy seein' you 'ere, love."
Johanna peers at the flour and dough splattered on the counter, wrinkling her nose. "What are you doing?"
"Makin' gingerbread men, of course," Mrs. Lovett says, gesturing to the mess as if it explains everything. "Would you like to give me a 'and? You'd like it, I think."
Mother had explicitly told Johanna not to dirty her pretty new dress and judging by the flour coating Mrs. Lovett's corset and the dough sticking to her hands, helping would be disobeying. Johanna looks down at her pale pink skirts, mouth twisting in thought.
As if understanding the reason for her reluctance, Mrs. Lovett turns abruptly and whips a floral patterned apron from a hook by the kitchen door. "That should help, dear," she says, pushing it into Johanna's hands.
Staring at the apron, Johanna determines that it's mostly clean and begins to tie it around her waist. "Why don't you use it?" She asks quietly, blatantly staring at the white-spotted corset of the baker.
Mrs. Lovett laughs, startling Johanna when she lifts her to stand on a low, rickety wooden stool so she can reach the counter. "I don't 'ave pretty dresses to keep spic and span," she says dryly.
While they go about laying cutouts of little men on a battered pan, Mrs. Lovett shows Johanna several useful techniques and does most of the talking, flitting from one topic to the next while Johanna struggles to keep up. Her stories are amusing, and her colorful expressions leave Johanna giggling so much that she drops a doughy gingerbread man onto the floor. At first, she'd thought Mrs. Lovett might be angry at her contribution to the mess, but the redhead had only laughed and stepped over the dough, teasing Johanna about her clumsiness.
When the cookies are done and the sweet smell of the golden brown little men fills the room with a homey warmth, Johanna sits on her little stool, feet on the floor as she nibbles on the last bite of a crumbly leg. She's almost glad that she'd come in to see Mrs. Lovett, no matter how unladylike she might be. It feels different to eat a cookie she'd helped make, far more rewarding than merely snatching one up when they come out of the oven.
Swallowing her last mouthful, Johanna begins to dust the crumbs from her fingers when she spies something that makes her heart stop. There, on the sleeve of her pink frock, is a spot of flour. It isn't large, but mother's keen eye will definitely notice it. Johanna's eyes begin to fill up and she curses her own carelessness. How could she have been so silly as to come into the kitchen in her new dress? Mother will be so disappointed in her.
Mrs. Lovett turns when she hears a stifled sob, looking startled to see Johanna staring at her arm and crying. "What the bloody - " She stops, as if catching herself about to say one of those words mother doesn't approve of. "What's the matter, love?"
Johanna points wordlessly to her sleeve, tears slipping down her red cheeks. Frowning, Mrs. Lovett stoops down to have a closer look and Johanna avoids her eyes, ashamed and staring at the black lace of Mrs. Lovett's skirts. Making a noise of disgust, Mrs. Lovett sighs, "Is that all? Just a bit of flour, you silly thing. Gave me a fright, you did!"
Unable to imagine how Mrs. Lovett doesn't understand the seriousness of the situation, Johanna cries, "Mother's going to be upset with me!"
Tutting disapprovingly, Mrs. Lovett wipes at Johanna's tear-streaked cheek with a gentle hand. "Oh now, love," she soothes. "Your mummy's not as bad as all that. 'sides, look 'ere." She reaches over their heads to the counter and grabs a damp rag, swiping it quickly over Johanna's sleeve.
Johanna only has time to blink away tears before the flour is gone, leaving only spotless pink in its wake. She stares, stranded between relief and bewilderment. "T-thank you, Mrs. Lovett," she sniffles.
Mrs. Lovett only shakes her head, rising to her feet. "You and your mother," she grumbles. "So bloody dramatic." Wiping hastily at her eyes, Johanna looks up at her, watching as she picks up another cookie from the baking sheet. " 'ave another one for your trouble, love."
Johanna frowns at her dubiously. "Mother says I shouldn't have more than one cookie. She says it isn't ladylike."
Mrs. Lovett raises an eyebrow, hand on her hip. "Well mummy ain't 'ere, is she? An' I certainly won't tell."
Johanna eyes the cookie, then Mrs. Lovett. The little golden man does look rather tempting..."Promise?"
"Course," Mrs. Lovett shrugs. "Would only get myself in trouble if I did." She winks, holding out the cookie to Johanna.
Johanna takes it, holding it in her hand for a long moment, weighing her options. With some hesitation, she bites off the head the gingerbread man and begins to chew. It's surprising, but she doesn't feel the guilt she thought she would.
Mrs. Lovett beams as though Johanna has just performed some extraordinary feat. "Ah, love," she sighs. "I 'ave so much to teach you."
--
When they return to 186 Fleet Street, it looks like every candle has been doused but one on the upper floors and Sweeney knows that Lucy is up waiting for them. However, once inside, a merry fire crackling in the parlor assures him that Lucy isn't the only one awake.
Johanna smiles and leads him through the shop to the small room, and they find Mrs. Lovett curled up in an armchair, fingers wrapped around a mug of tea. "Auntie Nell, you didn't need to wait up," Johanna says. "Father wouldn't have let anything happen to me." She glances back at Sweeney and the confidence in her words is so powerful that he finds himself breathless.
Mrs. Lovett sets her tea aside and stands, taking Johanna by the shoulders. "Don't be silly, love. You and I both know you can take care of yourself." She winks. "I was more worried about your poor father - thought you might talk 'im to death." Eyeing Sweeney, she says, "Looks a little worse for wear, but 'e'll live."
"Very funny," Johanna laughs, leaning in to kiss her aunt's cheek. "Goodnight. Try to get some rest."
Waving her away, Mrs. Lovett smiles, "Goodnight, my love. Sleep well."
Johanna turns to hurry off to bed, pausing only once to smile shyly at Sweeney and it isn't long before they hear her footsteps on the stairs. Mrs. Lovett turns her eyes on Sweeney now, studying him with a scrutiny that makes him uncomfortable. There is something in her gaze that never ceases to make him uneasy - as though she's trying to speak to him merely by looking, and he can never quite comprehend what it is she wants to say.
"Got somethin' for you," she says lightly, but the tremble in her voice betrays her nonchalance. She begins reaching into a hidden pocket in her dress. "I took one out before Lucy took 'em to the market to hock, tryin' to make rent. Said she couldn't bear to look at 'em anymore. I-I thought you might want one, if you ever came back." She sighs, pulling her hand back out to reveal something slim and shining in her palm. "I know it's a bit soon, but I figured you might want to use it eventually. Might be good for you."
His mouth has gone dry as he stares at the object in her open hand and he knows he should say something but he can't seem to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Wordlessly, Sweeney holds out his hand and Mrs. Lovett steps forward, placing the razor in his palm, watching as he curls his fingers around it. Gripping cool silver in his hand once again, he nearly closes his eyes. It feels familiar, like an extension of himself.
Home. It feels like home.
Mrs. Lovett lays a hand on his arm, squeezing gently as she whispers, "Goodnight, Mr. Todd." She leaves quickly, her exit punctuated by the rustle and flurry of her skirts. Part of him is grateful that she hadn't waited for him to speak because he isn't quite sure how he would have voiced such immeasurable gratitude.
As he climbs the steps to the upper rooms, Sweeney is fully conscious of the razor growing warm in his closed fist. Slipping into the bedroom he shares with Lucy, he finds her fast asleep upon their bed, a quickly dying candle on the bedside table. He looks at her fondly, knowing she must have fallen asleep waiting for them. Her golden hair nearly glows in the dim light and she looks so angelic that it's painful to think of waking her.
Quietly making his way to his side of the bed, Sweeney settles onto the edge of the mattress and opens his hand to look down at the glimmering razor, overwhelmed once again. While he understands Lucy's need to get rid of them, he feels nothing but appreciation toward Mrs. Lovett for rescuing one of his old friends from such a melancholy fate.
He'd spent months saving up enough money to purchase them after he married Lucy, scrimping what little he could in order to afford the shimmering, resplendent objects of his desire. Lucy had never approved of spending so much money on simple tools for his trade, especially when there were much less expensive razors he could just as easily have bought. She didn't understand the way he'd fallen in love with them - the intricately carved design, the way they glimmered even when there was no light to reflect. Only Mrs. Lovett herself seemed to share his enthusiasm when he'd finally bought them, fawning over them with him in her pie shop over glasses of ale.
Running his fingers over the carefully carved grooves in the silver, Sweeney feels some measure of peace. To be reunited with them again is truly heartening. They make him feel as though he really has come home, in a way that not even his heavenly reunion with Lucy had felt. For a moment, as he examines its perfection in the candlelight, he's certain that gleaming silver winks up at him.
A/N - I owe my life, sanity and half my vocabulary to Robynne, my super fantastic friend and beta, my other half, my Gandhi, if you will. BIG thanks to her for this chapter and for listening to me complain through the whole thing, and for reading long emails about how much I suck:D And thanks to you all for your incredible reviews, you're all so amazing and I'm so glad there has been such a positive response to this story. I don't know what I'd do without you all3
Penelope - Haha, Don't worry about not reviewing the other stories, you're here now and that's all I'm worried about. But all the same, I'm glad you enjoyed them:) And yeah, I was never a huge Johanna fan, but I've grown really fond of her since I started The Shadow Proves The Sunshine, and now she's like my little creation because we don't really see a lot of her in the movie. I make her up as I go along. Haha Your English seems perfect to me, I never would have guessed that you were foreign! Thanks so much for your review!
Mrs. Todd Barker - Thanks so much! I'm glad you like Mrs. Lovett and Johanna here, I have a lot of fun with their interactions. And I have to agree with you, I'm not particularly fond of Lucy either. But I'm trying not to be biased when I write her. Haha Thanks for reviewing!
N - I'm glad you like the story, thanks for reviewing!