Proof of Heaven
She'd been dreaming of razors - the way they shone in strong, capable hands - when a knock on the door jerked her violently from a deep sleep. When Johanna was a small child, a knock at Nellie's bedroom door in the early morning hours usually meant a bad dream or hunger. But now, Johanna is old enough that bad dreams do not upset her the way they used to, and she's perfectly capable of making herself something to eat should she wake up hungry.
Groaning sleepily, Eleanor shifts under the covers and tries desperately to find the dream again, hoping to slip back into it. His eyes. She vaguely recalls his eyes reflected in the blade and focuses on the image, willing the dream to come back and take her away once again. Her breathing is just beginning to even out with the sleep overtaking her once more when a knock comes again, more persistent this time.
A gentle voice whispers her name through the wood and Eleanor nearly growls. Lucy Barker is not who she wants to see at this ungodly hour - she finds it best for everyone if she doesn't speak to Lucy until she's had her morning cup of tea. Closing her eyes tightly, the baker curls into a ball beneath the blankets and hopes Lucy will go away.
The door creaks open, and Lucy peers inside, pretty face illuminated by the light of the candle she holds. "Eleanor?" She asks timidly. "Are you awake?"
Nellie has never been more amazed by her own lack of good fortune and Lucy's persistence. Not bothering to sit up, she mumbles into her pillow, "Certainly am now, dear."
Lucy ventures further into the room until she's standing at Nellie's bedside, and then she sets the candle on the table. "I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I woke up suddenly with an idea and I just couldn't wait to share it with you."
Blinking up at her with sleepy eyes, Eleanor notices that Lucy is still in her dressing gown, the white robe wrapped tightly around her slender form. Her blonde hair is falling around her shoulders with an angelic sort of glow that makes Eleanor sick to her stomach. Lucy may be naive and hopelessly faint-hearted, she may long to control every aspect of the lives of her family, but what does that matter when she wakes up looking like a bloody fairy princess? Shrinking further into her pillow, Eleanor struggles to focus on Lucy's words.
"You see, on my way home yesterday, I saw a sign posted near the market about a carnival. Don't you remember taking Johanna once, years ago? She didn't want to leave the carousel." Eleanor does remember that. Johanna had clung to the wooden horse's neck, blubbering that she wanted to take it home with her. Johanna rarely threw fits but something about that carousel had sparked her inner temper. "I was thinking that it might be a wonderful idea to go again, and take Benjamin with us. He would like it, don't you think? He was always so fond of pantomimes and the circus - it's exactly the sort of thing he needs to cheer him up."
Eleanor tries to picture Sweeney Todd at a carnival, sitting on the carousel with that grim look of his and can barely contain a hysterical giggle. She turns her head into her pillow to hide her grin, hoping the candlelight isn't bright enough for Lucy to see her amusement. "Sure, dearie. Take 'im if you want." She expects Lucy to let her sleep now, but instead she settles on the edge of the bed and Eleanor opens one eye to regard her suspiciously. "Anythin' else?"
Lucy nods, pursing her lips. "Well, you see...it would appear quite scandalous for a widow and her daughter to be cavorting about London with an unmarried man." She shakes her head, face pale. "The gossip would be vicious."
Raising an eyebrow, Nellie sighs. "I'm a bit tuckered out, Lucy. You're goin' to 'ave to spell it out for me. What exactly is it that you want?"
"I want to spend time with my family," Lucy says, her voice oddly strained. "I want Benjamin to be the way he used to be. I think he needs some time alone with Johanna and I in order to be himself again." She squares her shoulders determinedly, looking down at Eleanor huddled beneath the covers. "I would like for you to come with us, just for appearances sake. It will look less conspicuous if we all go out together, and I thought perhaps you could just keep your distance so we can spend time together."
Eleanor stares. It's hard for her tired mind to comprehend - Lucy wants her to go with them to a carnival only to stand behind them while they watch a street magician pull a rabbit from his hat or while they walk arm in arm through all the vendor's booths and displays. She will be nothing more than a way to fight off the gossip mongers so the Barkers can continue with their fantasy of playing happy family. Eleanor shuts her eyes briefly, feeling the last remnants of sleep ebbing away.
"Please, Eleanor?" Lucy asks quietly. "It would mean so much to me. And to Johanna."
Of all the nerve. How dare Lucy pull the Johanna card when she very well knows Nellie would do anything for that girl. She wants to say no anyway. She wants to tell Lucy to sod off and then pull the covers over her head and refuse to ever come out again.
But she won't.
She thinks of Mr. Todd and how difficult he finds it to be home again, among family that feels like strangers. Perhaps Lucy knows him better than Nellie thinks. What right does Nellie have to think she knows this man after a week? She understands him no more than she does Latin. For all she knows, this might actually work. Mr. Todd might go to the carnival with his family, rediscover the lost and scattered fragments of Benjamin Barker and never have to spend another night pacing ever again.
"I'll go if you want, dear," she breathes, though it almost pains her to agree to such a thing.
Lucy beams, her hand reaching out to squeeze Nellie's arm gently. "Thank you so much for doing this for me, Eleanor," she says giddily. "I'm so grateful."
Burrowing further into her cocoon of blankets, Eleanor doesn't bother telling Lucy that she hadn't done it for her, hadn't done it to see her smile so brilliantly or to watch her skip happily back off to bed with her husband. If it will make Sweeney Todd happy, she'll do nearly anything.
--
"Hello there! Would the pretty lady like a balloon?"
Painted grin firmly in place, the clown offers a bright red balloon to Eleanor with a gloved hand. She has always loathed clowns - overly painted faces, exaggerated facial expressions, ridiculous costumes. None of it sounds particularly menacing on its own, but all of that coupled with the melancholy look in their eyes when they aren't trying to be funny, is more than enough to unsettle Eleanor. She shakes her head quickly, backing away from the clown, tripping on her skirts and stumbling into Sweeney Todd. She catches herself by clutching at his coat and his hand automatically shoots out to steady her.
It only takes her a second to realize she's never been this close to him before. He smells like leather and the woods after a heavy rain. It's mesmerizing, and for a moment, she doesn't move. Then, she becomes horrifyingly aware of his steadying hand resting awkwardly on her waist. Shocked, Eleanor slowly glances up at him to find dark eyes staring down at her placidly, and she jerks away from him, cheeks burning. "My apologies, Mr. Todd," she mumbles, averting her eyes.
Mortified, Eleanor resists the urge to look at Lucy or Johanna, hoping they'd been too preoccupied with their surrounding to notice her embarrassing bout of clumsiness. She glances around herself, taking in the festive atmosphere. The last time she'd been to a carnival, Johanna had been four years old, and not much has changed since then. At every turn there are vendors selling food or urging passersby to play their games for "only a penny". Clowns and jugglers weave their way through the crowds, scaring children and delighting those old enough to appreciate their antics.
Just ahead of them, to the beat of a gypsy's tambourine, a bare-chested man covered with tattoos sips from a tiny vial before bringing a torch close to his mouth and exhaling in a silent scream. Flames shoot out from his mouth in a fantastic eruption, climbing several feet into the air and lighting up the delighted faces of the small crowd of young men and women gathered around, applauding.
Even Johanna seems impressed by the fire-breather, laughing and pulling her arm from her mother's to clap along with the rest of the crowd. "Did you see that, Auntie Nell?" Johanna asks, eyes sparkling.
Eleanor smiles, wanting nothing more than to join in on the merrymaking, to walk up to Johanna, take her by the arm and begin chattering away. But not tonight. This evening, she is only here for appearances sake. This is Lucy's evening with her family, and Eleanor is not to interfere. Besides, Mr. Todd deserves some time with his family without her always around, gawking at him or stealing Johanna's attention. So instead, she stays put, clenched hands behind her back, and nods.
Johanna frowns at her aunt before her eyes land on another man several yards away, head tilted back as he slowly eases a bayonet down his throat. Pointing to him frantically, eyes alight in a child-like wonder that Eleanor hopes the girl never loses, Johanna latches onto her father's arm and says, "How do they do that, fa-Mr. Todd?" She winces, knowing she'd almost called him father. In public, even Lucy is forced to call him Mr. Todd - going around calling him Benjamin Barker wouldn't bode well for anyone. Johanna looks up at him, fully ready to accept whatever explanation he offers her. "Is it a trick? Or are they really swallowing a sword? It looks rather painful, doesn't it?"
Not waiting to hear his answer, Eleanor stops in her tracks to watch until the man pulls the sword from his mouth with a flourish, giving Lucy and her family enough space to continue their little bonding excursion. It's been absolute torture trying to be a quiet spectator to their evening, considering how long it's been since they last attended a carnival. She'll have to wait until tomorrow to recount the things they've seen with Johanna and to say all the things she's bursting to say.
Deciding six feet is plenty of space between her and the Barkers, Eleanor begins a slow, lonely stroll behind them, feeling very much like an outcast child trailing after playmates. Mr. Todd looks as uncomfortable as she'd imagined he would, watching everything with a passive eye and speaking only when spoken to. His posture is tense, as though he wants to run away but knows he wouldn't get very far. She doubts he would anyway - he'd do anything for the pair of pretty blondes hanging on either of his arms.
Lucy looks as if someone had mistaken her for one of the clowns and painted that frozen smile on her face. Her smile is brilliant and never falters, but Eleanor can sense the despair underneath it as surely as she can tell when Johanna isn't being truthful. She must be quite certain by now that a trip to the carnival has not miraculously returned Benjamin Barker to her, and Eleanor wonders if she'll try something else now, or simply accept him for the way he is.
Ahead of her, the Barkers stop when a man in a dark blue cape and a top hat claiming to be a magician grabs their attention. Johanna looks enthralled when he pulls a colorful scarf from her dress sleeve, blushing like a child even as her mother pulls her away from the man and they continue on their way once again. Eleanor watches Johanna wrap the scarf around her neck, admiring the vivid colors.
They bypass the large, sideshow tent gathering a crowd far more vast than it can possible contain, advertising the Amazing Three-Legged Woman and move on to the next one just a few paces away - red, impossibly gigantic and brimming with people. Just outside the tent flap, a man in ragged clothes with a dented top hat and a battered walking stick stands, calling to onlookers. "Step right up, step right in," he calls, bowing to the crowd and somehow managing not to lose his hat. "Come inside and see the incredible, the brave Fitzwilliam Lefroy tame the fierce, man-eating lion, Cleander! All the way from Africa, ladies and gents! Only a penny's charge!"
Even from several feet behind them, Eleanor hears the enthusiasm in Johanna's voice as she turns to her mother, "Oh, can we go in? I've always wanted to see a lion!"
Lucy glances at the dirty man standing outside the tent, letting people drop their pennies into his faded top hat. "I don't know, darling. It doesn't seem - "
"Please?" Johanna asks, and she turns to her father when she sees that Lucy isn't wavering in her reluctance. "Mr. Todd will take me in if you'd rather stay out here."
Mr. Todd glances from his frowning wife to his hopeful daughter, who looks up at him through eyes too similar to his own. He stares at them both, mouth slightly agape and the poor man looks so trapped that Eleanor casts aside Lucy's rule for the time being, hurrying up to where they stand. "Oh, go on now, Lucy," she says with a smile. "The lion is in a cage, it's perfectly safe. At least 'er pop in and 'ave a look. What's a carnival for but wild animals, eh?"
Lucy's mouth tightens as though she doesn't approve of Eleanor's interruption and she turns to look at Mr. Todd once more. "Wouldn't you rather play all those games at the booths? You used to be so good at them - remember when you won Johanna that doll the last time you played?"
"We can do that after," Johanna says urgently. "Please, mother? You heard Auntie Nell - it isn't dangerous."
Sighing quietly, Lucy nods. "Alright, if you wish."
Johanna grins at Nellie, looping her arm through her father's and waits for him to escort them inside. Lucy tentatively takes Mr. Todd's other arm and they begin to amble toward the open flap of the tent, but Eleanor flounders behind them to watch. If not for Mr. Todd's perpetual frown, they might have looked like a normal family having a lovely time at the carnival and it suddenly makes her feel like such an intruder on their picture of domestic bliss that she can't stand to be near them anymore.
As they begin to walk inside the tent, Johanna stops suddenly, turning around and searching the crowd until she spots Nellie. Brow furrowed, she calls, "Auntie Nell, aren't you coming?"
Eleanor shakes her head. Appearances have been made and she can safely go home now without Lucy having to fret over gossip. She has no desire to see a lion, man-eating or not. A large bottle of gin sounds rather more enticing at the moment. "Can't take any more of this excitement, love," she smiles. "I'm off."
"Are you sure?" Johanna asks, frowning. She takes a step forward but her mother's grip on her hand prevents her from going any further. Nodding, Eleanor gives them a little wave, offering Mr. Todd her most sympathetic smile when he stares at her with something akin to envy. Johanna looks crushed. "It won't be the same without you."
The girl looks so disappointed that Eleanor almost stays. The only thing stopping her is the fact that it won't matter whether she goes in with them or not, only Mr. Todd and Lucy will have Johanna's attention through the entire show. Lucy might even suggest that Nellie sit behind them. Smiling at Johanna, Nellie begins to back away, calling, "You'll 'ave a smashing time without me, I'm sure. See you at home, love."
--
Cleander the Lion turned out to be more of a mice-eater than a man-eater, but Johanna seems satisfied enough with her first glimpse of a real lion, so Sweeney can't really lament the loss of three pennies of admission. The evening had been an uncomfortable one, but successful nonetheless. He would have preferred his first real venture into London to be somewhere less populated, but going to the carnival had delighted Johanna and satisfied Lucy's curious need to get him away from Fleet Street.
As the three of them walk home that evening, the night sky full of smog rather than stars, Sweeney can't help but notice how quiet it seems without Mrs. Lovett and Johanna talking and giggling together. In fact, it has been relatively peaceful for most of the evening and Sweeney can only blame it on the strange vow of silence Mrs. Lovett seemed to have taken. He'd barely heard a word from her as they'd walked through the carnival; he'd been fully prepared to see her holding Johanna's hand and tugging her along excitedly as though they were two children in a toy store. Instead, she'd lingered behind them the entire night, always a few paces off and pretending to be completely enamored with whatever she happened to be standing near at the time - whether it be a monkey on a man's shoulder, or a drunk retching into the bushes.
Despite her unusual demeanor, Sweeney had been a little disappointed to see Mrs. Lovett take leave of their evening earlier than expected - watching her eyes widen in alarm whenever a clown approached her had been his amusement for most of the night. It certainly didn't seem fair that she should be permitted to leave that horribly overcrowded celebration and he had to remain there, dodging fire-breathers' flames and avoiding the gypsies begging for money.
He remembers that he loved carnivals as Benjamin - the convivial atmosphere had delighted him. He used to take Lucy when they were courting, riding the carousel with her and laughing at her pretty blush. But now, he finds such crowds cloying. The only reason he'd agreed to come is because Lucy had been so insistent on them doing something as a family. Her eyes had been so innocently blue as she'd pleaded with him. His desire to spend time with his family is immeasurable, but he doesn't understand why they cannot simply go for a quiet walk in the park or dine somewhere that doesn't serve meat pies.
It doesn't occur to him until halfway home that Lucy had been hoping for something particular tonight. She'd brought him to a place he used to love, when he'd been someone else, anticipating results that she had not gotten.
He glances at her out of the corner of his eye as she walks along beside him, her arm threaded through his and her blank gaze straight ahead of them. As if Mrs. Lovett's disease is catching, Lucy has been oddly quiet tonight as well. His wife has never been one for ceaseless conversation, opting to reflect quietly rather than express her every thought aloud like their landlady. But tonight, her smile has been strained, and her voice carrying a hint of dismay whenever she speaks. While Johanna seems entirely satisfied with the way the night has turned out, Sweeney knows without question that Lucy is disappointed.
He has disappointed her.
The thought pains him because he has always strived to make sure Lucy is never unhappy, but he knows that what she wants is impossible for him to give. He'd gotten a sense tonight that she hadn't been content with his replies to her questions or half-hearted attempts at conversation, and he'd tried to speak up more, if only for her sake. He'd even attempted a laugh, but Lucy had looked at him through such startled eyes that he has no desire to try it again. Sweeney doesn't know how to be Benjamin anymore, and somewhere deep down - in a place so dark he doesn't want to admit it's even there - he knows that Lucy won't be satisfied until he is.
She will continue to drag him to their old haunts and call him by the name of a dead man until she sees a spark of what once was. She loves a dream. A corpse. Sweeney Todd is only the harsh man who has taken her real husband away.
The lights in the pie shop are on, and Johanna breaks free of Sweeney's arm with a smile, hurrying ahead of them to rush indoors. Lucy pauses just outside, gripping Sweeney's arm, and the shop door closes on them, cutting off Johanna's eager description of the lion tamer to Mrs. Lovett.
In the glow of the gas lights, Lucy steps away from him and wraps her shawl more snugly around herself. Tilting her head slightly, she looks up at him, blue eyes searching his face. "Tonight was lovely, Benjamin," she says with that same strained smile. "I think we should do things like this all the time, don't you?"
Sweeney briefly considers telling her that his name isn't Benjamin, but he only nods, "Of course."
Lucy's smile falters, and fingers gripping her shawl tightly, she leans up on her tiptoes and places a timid kiss to his cheek, her lips wonderfully warm against his skin Pulling back to find his expression unchanged but his eyes somewhat softer, Lucy reaches for his hand. "Things will get better," she insists quietly. "I know you'll come back to me."
The words are like a punch in the stomach and they echo in his head long after Lucy turns to go inside, heading upstairs to prepare for bed. I know you'll come back to me. He already is back - he has returned to her after fifteen years of wrongful imprisonment, but she's still waiting.
Having the odd sensation of walking in a fog, Sweeney steps inside the pie shop to find Mrs. Lovett alone behind the counter, muttering to herself as she shuffles things around and rearranges the pewter ale mugs. She looks up when he closes the door behind him, her expression softening when she sees his hollow eyes. "Clowns give you a fright too, Mr. Todd?" She asks with a wry smile.
Sweeney shakes his head wordlessly, not quite sure what to do. He isn't ready to trudge upstairs and face Lucy, not with her disheartening words still rattling around in his skull, but Johanna has gone off to bed and the only person for company is Mrs. Lovett.
"I know what you need," she says, waving at him to take a seat. "Sit yourself down, love. I'll fix you right up." Sweeney stares as she fiddles around behind the counter before bringing out a full bottle of gin and a small glass. She makes her way to his table in a quick flurry that would be impossible for anyone else in such heavy skirts, and places the items down with a careless rattle. "That should take care of it. Already 'ad a shot or two myself."
Gin seems to be Mrs. Lovett's answer to every problem but at the moment, he can't find fault with her logic. Sweeney looks up at her, watching as she huffs at a red tendril hanging in front of her eyes. "Thank you," he says softly, glancing away.
"Least I could do, Mr. Todd," she says with a shrug and a sly wink. "I wasn't the one who 'ad to watch Fitzwilliam Lefroy 'ide from a pussy cat."
She leaves him then and he listens to her retreating footsteps as she wanders into the parlor and down the hallway to her own bedroom. Sweeney remains in the pie shop long after the last candle has flickered out, not climbing into bed beside Lucy until the first rays of the morning sun begin to peek out from the gloomy London skyline.
--
The kitchen floor is filthy. Nellie genuinely can't remember the last time she gave it a good scrubbing. Spots of dirt, flour and Lord only knows what else coats the floor, and she stands in the middle of the room, surveying the damage. She always makes sure the dining area is spic and span for her customers because cleanliness is good for business, but when it comes to her own kitchen, she's become rather negligent.
It isn't that she doesn't like to keep her kitchen area clean, but every time she actually goes to do something about the mess, she always gets distracted. There is always something else to be doing - either more pressing matters to attend to, or merely something more entertaining than being on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. In any case, she finds that she works better when things are scattered about haphazardly, she can find things more easily than if they were all arranged to perfection and placed neatly in cupboards.
However, the kitchen has reached a point of clutter that even Nellie Lovett cannot ignore, and so with a bucket of soapy water and a brush for scrubbing, she sets to work. She's in the middle of scratching at a stubborn patch of hardened flour when she hears dainty footsteps on the stairs and Lucy calls her name.
Eleanor sighs as the kitchen door opens and she raises her head just enough to see the hem of Lucy's gown and blue slippers peeking out from underneath. Now she remembers why the kitchen is so filthy - every time she goes to do anything, someone needs her for something. It's a bloody wonder she gets time to dress every morning - she should look at it as a blessing that she isn't forced to make pies and serve customers in her bloomers. Averting her eyes from the hem of Lucy's dress and shifting her position on the floor, muttering about her knees and old age, Eleanor dips her brush in the bucket again and begins anew.
For a moment, Lucy doesn't say anything at all, standing next to Nellie and watching her clean the floor. She clears her throat softly and says, "Eleanor, do you recall the moment I decided to sell Benjamin's razors? When I just couldn't bear looking at them any longer, couldn't sleep at night knowing they were in his shop and he would never touch them again?"
Not quite sure what sort of response Lucy is looking for but knowing she must have found out about Mr. Todd's razor, Nellie stops with a huff and squints up at Lucy. "I do recall somethin' of the sort, dear."
Lucy purses her lips, glancing away. "So I haven't lost my mind? It did happen?"
Rolling her eyes but used to Lucy's flair for the dramatic, Nellie says, "No quite sure of the state of your mind, but yes, it 'appened." She hopes this will be a quick scolding. Nellie isn't in the mood to argue with Lucy while on her hands and knees, her skirts damp and her fingers beginning to prune.
Lucy crosses her arms over her chest and says quietly, "Imagine my surprise when I walked upstairs to find Benjamin sitting by the window, holding a razor identical to the ones I thought I had gotten rid of several years ago."
"Well, ain't that somethin'," Nellie mutters absently, continuing to scrub a spot on the floor with more vengeance than is probably necessary.
Lucy taps her foot impatiently, and Eleanor pauses to glance at the delicate, silk slipper in front of her. "Are you honestly trying to imply that you had nothing to do with that razor finding its way to him again?"
Blowing a stray curl from her face in annoyance, Nellie straightens and drops her brush into the bucket. "I may 'ave 'ad somethin' to do with it."
Mouth in a tight line, Lucy shakes her head. "You told me you'd lost it."
Nellie offers a cheeky grin. "Found it again, dear. Quite a coincidence, ain't it?"
"This is not funny, Eleanor," Lucy says, the apples of her cheeks turning pink in her anger. "You lied to me. Those razors belonged to my husband, I had every right to decide what to do with them."
Head tilted to the side, Nellie stares at her incredulously and with some effort, gets to her feet without tripping on her own skirts. Brushing her water-logged hands against her corset carelessly, she says, "Those are 'is razors, love. Not yours. And 'e's 'ome now, so I s'pose it's a good thing I did keep one, eh?"
"Oh yes, Eleanor," Lucy scoffs. "It's wonderful that he hadn't even noticed me leaving the room because he was too busy looking at it. It's wonderful that he's been reminded of what he lost."
Quirking an eyebrow, Nellie puts a hand on her hip and drawls, "Think 'e forgot, dear?"
Lucy frowns. "I'm only saying that he shouldn't dwell on it." She sighs, glancing down at the soapy floor and then eyeing Eleanor's crinkled and wet skirts. "But that isn't the point I'm trying to make. You lied to me about what happened to that razor, Eleanor."
Nellie huffs irritably. "What are you gettin' so worked up for? It was only one bloody razor out of seven!"
"No," Lucy finally snaps, her voice raised in her exasperation. "It isn't only a razor, Eleanor! I could have gotten several more pounds if I'd had the complete set. To deliberately deprive us of money - I thought you loved Johanna and wanted the best for her. You have an awfully strange way of showing it."
If Eleanor's jaw had been physically capable of dropping off, she's certain she'd be scrambling to pick it up off the floor. Eyes wide with fury and finger jabbing angrily at Lucy, she takes a step closer and the blonde backs away warily. "I didn't deprive you of anythin', you silly nit! Johanna always 'ad somethin' to eat and a place to lay 'er pretty lit'le 'ead down every night. 'ow dare you tell me I don't love that girl - I adore 'er like she was my very own daughter."
"What you did for her isn't the issue here, Eleanor," Lucy retorts. "I know all about how saintly you are; Johanna does nothing but speak of you and your brilliance even when you're not around. But you took something from us! That was money we could have used to make rent or - "
"Don't you start 'arpin' on rent money," Eleanor slams a fist on the counter, rattling the various jars littering the surface and making Lucy spring away with a start. "I let you stay 'ere even when you didn't 'ave enough to make rent! Cheapest bloody rent in all of London and you still barely manage to pay it! I even watched your lit'le girl for you while you worked without expectin' one soddin' penny in return."
She stops abruptly, breathing heavily and eyes narrowed. With Lucy's meek nature, they rarely ever get into arguments unless they're speaking of Johanna, but to argue about a hidden razor from fifteen years ago seems preposterous. Lucy is glaring at her so hatefully that it seems almost comically out of place on one usually so quiet and sweet.
Lip curled and voice lowered, Eleanor takes another step toward Lucy and whispers liltingly, "Saved your sorry excuse for a life once upon a time as well, if I remember." She moves so close to the other woman that it's impossible not to smell her vanilla perfume or see the flicker of defiance in her eyes. "I think the least you can do is allow me one bleedin' razor for all the charity I've bestowed on you over the years, love."
The animosity in Nellie's gaze sends Lucy stumbling backward into the wall, blue eyes bright with tears. "That was a long time ago, Eleanor."
Nodding in agreement, Nellie counters snippily, "So was this. Let it go, dear."
Lucy straightens, pushing herself away from the wall and brushing off her gown, avoiding Eleanor's hard stare. "Very well," she says stiffly. "We won't speak of it again."
Eleanor watches, hands on her hips, as Lucy flees the room, nothing but a blur of white lace and yellow hair.
--
Silver. At first glance, it doesn't seem like the most comforting of companions. It cannot offer embraces, conversation or affection. It cannot make him laugh, or ponder the complexities of the universe and its workings. However, it does lend an ear, listening whenever Sweeney has something to say and is merely content to sit in silence when he doesn't. His old friend does not judge the man he has come home as, does not look at him through disappointed eyes, as though he'll never measure up to what he once was. It is only happy to be held in his hand again, smiling contentedly in the light of a candle.
The razor is his only friend now.
Lucy has not spoken to him much since he came to bed in the early hours of the morning reeking of gin. Usually, she tries to include him in her conversations with Johanna, no matter how brief those conversations may be. This morning, she had only given him a half-hearted smile when he opened his eyes to find her tying on her bonnet. When she'd come back from her morning errands, she'd walked in to find him by the window, toying with his razor and the look on her face had been indescribable. It aches in his chest to know that he has disappointed her yet again. He doesn't know how to stop. The last thing he wants is to make Lucy unhappy in any way, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that unless he finds a way to become more gentle, more talkative, she will never be truly appeased.
Now, sitting in the living room in their small apartment, staring blankly down at the gleaming blade lying on the table in front of him, Sweeney is at a loss for what to do. There isn't much he can do but try to be the man Lucy wants him to be - no matter how painful it may be for him. It seems impossible to just forget everything he has been through and go back to being the carefree young man he once was, the man who is no more than a stranger to him now. It seems ludicrous to pretend that the thought of Judge Turpin does not turn his vision red, that in the dead of night, when he cannot sleep, he doesn't long to see the blood of his tormentor spilled and staining his hands a gruesome crimson.
But if it will make Lucy happy, he will try.
And maybe, just maybe, there is a small chance that if he tries, he will become Benjamin Barker again. He wonders idly how long it would take for his nightmares of wrathful demons and sobs in the dark to turn into Barker's dreams of shaving monarchs or living by the sea with his wife and child. If he lives a hundred years, he doubts he'll ever be rid of the malignant hellions raging inside his head.
"It isn't only a razor, Eleanor!"
The sound of Lucy's voice, raised far above the gentle tone it usually carries, rouses Sweeney from his musings. Not once during their entire marriage has Sweeney ever heard Lucy raise her voice and wondering what their landlady could possibly have said to provoke her, he snatches up his razor from the table and strides out the door.
Sweeney hovers on the third step from the landing, cocks his head to the side and listens intently. They're arguing about him, or rather, the razor he holds so snugly in his palm. From the sound of it, Lucy is not happy with its reappearance. He can understand her initial irritation that Mrs. Lovett had lied to her, but hadn't she done it so he would have something to come home to? And then he remembers that Lucy had given up hope of that ever happening - she'd sold them because she had told herself he would never use them again and Mrs. Lovett had stolen one because she believed he would.
Their voices suddenly stop, though Sweeney strains to listen. He hears nothing, not even a murmur of voices. For a moment, he wonders if Mrs. Lovett had been angry enough to take a swipe at Lucy with her rolling pin and considers going to investigate when he hears Lucy's voice once more, calmer and more subdued.
Leaning against the wall in the stairwell, silver warm in his hand, Sweeney frowns deeply. Lucy's anger - so rarely seen - had taken him aback, but thinking now of the moment she walked into the room, he can recall vividly recall the look of astonishment on her face when her eyes had landed on the razor in his fist. He had thought at the time that she was regarding him that way, for staring out the window again like she so disapproves of - she'd mentioned just the other night how she wished he'd find something else to occupy his time.
The sound of the pie shop door slamming closed and the frenzied rattling of the bell above it snaps Sweeney back to the present and he blinks, peering around the corner with a scowl. Had Lucy gone out? Or had that been Johanna hurrying off to the market for Mrs. Lovett? He descends the last three steps and walks into the pie shop, finding it empty.
In the kitchen, he can hear Mrs. Lovett muttering sourly to herself and slipping his razor into jacket, Sweeney pushes open the door and glances inside. She stands in the middle of the room, one hand massaging her temple as she glares at the floor, which looks suspiciously wet. As if catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eyes, Mrs. Lovett turns her glare on him. "If you're lookin' for Lucy, she just stepped out. And Johanna's down in the bake'ouse."
He watches with little interest as Mrs. Lovett reverts her attention from him, tilting her head to the side and staring at the floor again, as if it has done something she finds detestable and she cannot figure out how to punish it. Shifting uneasily in the quiet of the kitchen, he says, "I heard yelling."
Mrs. Lovett whips her head around so quickly that red curls bounce erratically around her pale face, her brown eyes wide enough to remind him of a porcelain doll. "Oh," she says finally, her voice catching. " 'eard that, did you? Well, no matter, love. Nothin' to be concerned about." She gives him an impish smile. "Got caught in a bit of a lie, is all."
For a moment, he thinks of turning around and leaving, going back upstairs to stand by the window and watch silver reflect sunlight, but Mrs. Lovett's odd reply keeps his feet rooted to the floor. "The razor?" He asks, suddenly feeling the heavy weight of it in his pocket.
Frowning, Mrs. Lovett shrugs. "Started off that way, but it got out of 'and pretty quickly. We'll be fine, though - always are."
Silence settles between them as Mrs. Lovett prods at a bucket on the floor with her boot, and Sweeney is contemplating how he should extricate himself from the situation when the bell above the pie shop door jingles merrily and a familiar, posh young voice calls out, "Hello? Mr. Todd?"
Mrs. Lovett looks at him in surprise. "I believe you 'ave a visitor, love."
--
Half an hour later, Mrs. Lovett has given Anthony Hope a pie, a mug of ale and has charmed him with a sweet smile and pretty words into scrubbing her kitchen floor. At the moment, Sweeney stands on the opposite side of the kitchen from Mrs. Lovett and his daughter, watching them watch Anthony, whispering amongst themselves.
Mrs. Lovett's grin is so devious that he wants to pull Johanna away from her, lest she catch on to the diabolical inner schemes of the baker. Sweeney's memories of the past are few and far between, but he does remember that a smile like that on Mrs. Lovett never boded well for anyone involved.
Johanna is no less cause for concern, continuously stealing bashful glances at the young man currently up to his elbows in soapy water, eyeing his locks of sandy hair as though she's never quite seen a shade to match its brilliant hue. Whenever Anthony looks up to find her staring, his ears turn red and he smiles widely, hurriedly returning his attention to the floor once again.
The entire exchange leaves Sweeney's mouth twitching with disdain.
Fists clenched at his sides and teeth tightly set, he decides that if Anthony so much as breathes in Johanna's direction once more, the boy will find himself tossed out on his head before he can blink. A sailor. A sailor, for God's sake. His Johanna is too beautiful, too perfect, for a sailor. She deserves a sensible young man - a banker, perhaps. A man who can recite poetry to her, but not a man who writes it. His daughter deserves far better than a starving poet. She deserves fine dresses and a library full of books, toffees and solid gold hairbrushes. Whatever her loving heart desires.
But not a sailor.
Mrs. Lovett clears her throat, as if she has sensed his rapidly waning patience, and Sweeney lifts his gaze to look at her. She's staring at him, smirking. "So Anthony," she says lightly, turning her eyes to the sailor. "You rescued Mr. Todd, you say?"
Anthony dunks the scrubbing brush in the bucket and leans back on his heels. "Yes, ma'am. It was early one morning, before most everyone else was awake. I was standing at the bow of the ship and spotted a dark shape floating upon the water, clinging to a crude raft." He looks between Mrs. Lovett and Johanna. "Quite starved and delirious when we pulled him aboard - he's very lucky to be alive."
A recount of his harrowing adventure upon the sea is not what Sweeney wants to hear and he stops listening as Johanna and Mrs. Lovett ply Anthony with questions, scowling at the cupboards instead. When he'd informed Anthony of where he would be staying, he hadn't actually thought the sailor would come looking for him. He will always be eternally grateful to Anthony for spotting him adrift at sea and even giving up his cabin on the ship so that Sweeney might rest and regain his health. But seeing the man kneeling on the kitchen floor, grinning so openly at Johanna, is enough to render that gratitude meaningless.
Only the sound of Johanna's sweet laugh pulls Sweeney from his contemptuous thoughts, and he turns from glaring at the cabinets to see Anthony standing up to brush off his pants with wet hands, his hair falling messily into his eyes.
At Mrs. Lovett's nod of encouragement, Johanna steps forward to smile shyly at Anthony. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
Anthony's answering smile says volumes - Johanna has him bewitched.
A/N - So, Anthony's here now. Haha See, Johanna doesn't need to be locked away for him to notice her! Firstly, mucho thanks to my amazing, oh so wise and charitable beta Robynne. She's so helpful with editing, reading my frustration-filled emails, and talking to me even when I'm sleep deprived. Go read her stuff, she's stupidly talented:D Thank you all so much for your amazing comments and encouragement, I'm so glad you're all willing to be patient while I set up this complicated plot:D Also, the title of this chapter came from a Francis Kazincy poem, 'ever absent, ever near; Still I see thee, still I hear; Yet I cannot reach thee, dear!'
Lilia-Rose - Haha, Sweeney doesn't love Nellie yet. Yet being the key word, of course. And I'm glad you like my Johanna, her character has been pretty fun to develop. Thanks for the review!
Penelope - Johanna doesn't get along well with people her own age anyway. I prefer to think that she's far too intelligent for them. They're intimidated by her brilliance, obviously. Haha I have to agree as well, Wuthering Heights is one of my favorite books. It actually might come into play later, if I include a certain plot point. I haven't decided yet:D Thanks for the review!
Mrs. Todd Barker - Well, I try to respond to every review that I can. I think if someone can take time out of their day to tell me what they think of my story, then I can find the time to say thank you:) I'm glad you like Johanna in this, I always thought she deserved a chance to be likeable. Haha And don't worry about Mr. Todd, he just needs time. Thanks so much for reviewing!