Proof of Heaven
In the long years between his arrest and his return, Sweeney had forgotten. But now, feeling a bit out of place with the dainty china in his calloused hands, he remembers Mrs. Lovett's perfect blend of tea. Staring down at the steaming cup, the taste of the honey Mrs. Lovett always adds still lingering in his mouth, Sweeney almost feels like he never left. As though he has never missed a single morning of tea with Mrs. Lovett, and that any moment now, they're going to begin gossiping and laughing like schoolchildren, only to be interrupted by the faint sound of Johanna's cries as she wakes from her slumber in the parlor.
But he isn't Benjamin Barker and Johanna isn't going to wake up on the settee and burst into tears when she discovers her father is not holding her. In fact, standing just across the room, drying plates and putting them away as Anthony Hope scrubs at them, Johanna doesn't seem to need him at all.
It's because of Anthony that Sweeney is even here, able to sit in Mrs. Lovett's kitchen and drink tea, the reason he isn't a corpse drifting in the ocean. That fact alone is the only reason Todd hasn't shot at him yet.
"Mr. T?"
He realizes too late that Mrs. Lovett has said his name at least twice and is now towering over him with a frown. He tears his gaze away from the back of Anthony's head and looks at her.
She sighs, turning her eyes from him to Anthony and Johanna. "Want to take your tea in the parlor, love?" She hints. "It's warmer by the fire."
Jaw tight and jutted forward, he crosses his arms.
Mrs. Lovett huffs, resting a hand on her hip. "Mr. T," she says in a low voice, so the younger two can't overhear. "Give 'em some time alone, eh? Can't very well talk with you sittin' there, watchin' over 'em like a hawk."
"Exactly," he mutters through gritted teeth.
Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Lovett picks up her own cup of tea and throws Johanna an apologetic look before stomping from the room, muttering about the pigheadedness of the Barkers under her breath. Sweeney blinks in surprise. For just a moment, the situation had felt almost too familiar. Mrs. Lovett was always scolding Benjamin, swatting at his hand with her rolling pin when he tried to swipe his finger in a bowl of batter, laughing at his clumsiness, and more often than not, rolling her eyes at his stubbornness. In that instant, listening to her still mumbling irritably to herself in the parlor, Sweeney feels so much at home that it makes him feel light-headed. But he knows the feeling is a lie. No matter how it seems in that moment, nothing is the same. Despite how truly at home he is beginning to feel, Turpin had ruined the life Sweeney once had here and there is no gaining it back. Mrs. Lovett may be the same as he remembers, but nothing else is. Johanna is grown, and Lucy can barely bring herself to look at him.
Perhaps inviting (he refuses to think of it as begging) Mrs. Lovett to stay with him last night had not been such a good idea. He'd been so desperate for company, and Mrs. Lovett had been all too willing to share her gin and her time, but now, he thinks maybe he should be spending more time with his wife, not their landlady. It makes him feel guilty, knowing he'd been alone for hours with another woman while his wife slept soundly above their heads. However, Mrs. Lovett's company had been as comforting as he hoped it would be. For that, he cannot feel remorse.
Usually, he spends the night drinking and staring into the darkness, despairing over his crumbling marriage, the gaping, ever-widening chasm between himself and Lucy. Last night, instead of going through three bottles, he had barely consumed more than three glasses. In place of his excessive drinking, he had listened to Mrs. Lovett's stories of Johanna's childhood. He'd almost been able to imagine he had been there himself. For those few, precious hours, he had almost forgotten the clenching, ever-present knot in his chest.
Anthony's laugh and the splash of water draws Sweeney's attention back to his daughter and the sailor just in time to hear the boy ask, "I don't understand how you can know so much about Africa when you've never been there. Surely books don't provide that much information."
"Oh, I think you'd be shocked by how much you can learn about anyplace from literature, if you really try," Johanna says. "Once I took an interest in Africa, Auntie Nell decided I needed every book on the subject she could find. She would come home from the market with her arms laden with books on Africa - what sort of plants they had, the animals, indigenous tribes, the culture of the people, the sort of food they eat." She laughs. "And then at night, before I was old enough to read on my own, she would sit for hours, reading to me about lions and zebras until I fell asleep. I imagine she must have been bored to tears. Africa never did fascinate her like it does me."
Anthony hands her a plate and Johanna begins to dry it with her damp towel. "I know of one you'd really enjoy. Did Mrs. Lovett ever happen to bring home The Interesting Narrative Life of - "
"Olaudah Equiano," Johanna finishes with a smile. "I've had it memorized by heart since I was eight. Don't mention it to Auntie Nell. I made her read it so often she grows positively white at the merest mention of it."
Anthony laughs, fumbling with an ale mug in his slippery grip. "Has she always been so...indulgent?"
"Always," Johanna says, and even with his eyes on his half-empty cup of tea, Sweeney knows Johanna is looking at Anthony with the proud grin she always wears when she speaks of Mrs. Lovett.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Anthony says, "And she isn't even your mother. Mrs. Barker must spoil you senseless." He laughs. "Between the two of them, you must be impossible. So how is it I find you so agreeable?" Anthony turns to look at her, squinting. "Can it be you are hiding your true nature from me, Johanna?"
Sweeney nearly chokes on his tea, coughing into his cup. No one seems to notice, and straightening in his chair, he resumes glaring at the back of Anthony's head.
Swatting at Anthony with her towel, Johanna bites back a giggle. "Auntie Nell doesn't always spoil me. She can be terribly honest, you know. Ever since I was a child, she's never lied to me."
Anthony frowns. "That's impossible."
Raising a challenging eyebrow, Johanna says, "Should I bring Auntie Nell in here and tell her you think her a liar?"
Anthony's eyes widen marginally, and he blushes, turning back to the pile of dirty dishes in front of him. "I just mean it doesn't seem quite feasible to never lie to a child. Sometimes they require that sort of coddling."
"Auntie Nell simply tells me how things are, though she may have sugar-coated things when I was very young. But it's always the truth." Anthony still looks skeptical, and Johanna laughs at him. "Alright, would you like an example?"
"I think that would be most helpful," Anthony smiles.
Gesturing for him to continue washing plates, Johanna picks up a clean one and walks to the cupboard to put it away. She glances at Sweeney and he averts his gaze, pretending to be fascinated with the scratched and fading design etched into Mrs. Lovett's china. Johanna, determining that he isn't listening to them, begins quietly, "When I was old enough to realize I didn't have a father like most girls, I asked my mother where mine was. She told me that my father was the man in the moon, always watching over me." Johanna smiles. "Auntie Nell's story was quite different. She told me a corrupt man had taken my father away for his own selfish purposes, but that he would be back for me one day."
Suddenly the extra honey Mrs. Lovett added is no longer comforting. The taste sticks in his mouth, sickly sweet and making his stomach roil. Sweeney grimaces and takes another sip anyway. If he finishes with his tea, he will have no reason to stay and he refuses to leave the sailor alone with Johanna.
Johanna continues, returning to Anthony's side. "I knew then, that while mother would always try to protect me, Auntie Nell would tell me the truth." She flashes a quick smile. "I learned very quickly which I preferred."
Anthony nods, handing her a soapy plate. "You know," he says lightly, "the Chinese don't see a man in the moon. They see a rabbit."
Johanna laughs incredulously. "A rabbit on the moon? How absurd."
"No more absurd than the idea of a man on the moon," Anthony counters. "To them, seeing a man on the moon is just as silly."
"I suppose so," Johanna says, frowning in thought.
Anthony smiles fondly. "My mother used to say she saw a woman. Apparently there was an old legend about a woman who stole an immortality potion from her husband and has been living on the moon for four thousand years."
"I think I prefer the thought of a rabbit up there," Johanna confesses with a laugh. "The moon is so far away. People would get very lonely, don't you think?"
"Perhaps they're all up there. The man, the woman and the rabbit - keeping each other company." Anthony shrugs thoughtfully, scrubbing at the last plate while Johanna waits by his side to dry it. "Having a companion makes most anything tolerable. " He glances at her. "Even washing dishes."
Johanna beams.
--
Eleanor feels as though she might explode.
They've been sitting outside for nearly a full hour and Johanna hasn't said a word. Instead, she has had her nose buried in some book she'd borrowed from Anthony, and none of Nellie's rather dramatic sighs of boredom have been able to rouse her from her reverie.
The day is unusually warm for the middle of February. Ever since she'd woken with the thin material of her nightgown sticking to her skin and her blankets kicked to the foot of the bed, Eleanor has been unable to keep a cheery grin from her face. She'd thrown open every window in the house and left open the door of the pie shop just to feel the breeze wafting in from the dingy streets. The sky is just as bleak as it's ever been, but the air is so humid it reminds Eleanor of the seaside, sitting on her Aunt Nettie's porch, fanning herself and waiting for a breeze to lift damp, red tendrils from the back of her neck.
As soon as they'd dressed, Nellie had dragged Johanna outside with her, and they've been sitting in the garden, at one of the tables usually reserved for customers. Her book lying open before her, Johanna sits with her elbows on the table, her eyes glued to the page.
Nellie sighs again, loudly.
Johanna does not look up.
Frowning at her, chin resting in her palm as she sits across from Johanna and blatantly staring, Eleanor wonders what that bloody book contains that is so much more fascinating than she is. Pirates, perhaps? They do have a rather colorful vocabulary; but then again, so does she. Their clothes are in tatters; but her dresses aren't exactly in mint condition either. Pirates love the sea; Nellie has always been particularly fond of the ocean and the salt air.
Finally, as if feeling Nellie's puzzled gaze on her, Johanna lifts her eyes from her book, lips twisting into an exasperated smile. "Something on your mind, Auntie Nell?"
Pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows, Eleanor shakes her head. "Course not."
"Then why are you staring at me like that?" Johanna laughs.
"Because you've obviously outgrown my charmin' company an' I'm tryin' to figure out when books became so much more interestin' than I am," Nellie sighs again, woefully, and Johanna giggles at her.
"I assure you, you're just as endlessly fascinating as you've always been," Johanna reaches across the worn wooden table to pat Nellie's hand. "I'm sorry for neglecting you. What would you like to talk about?"
Eleanor laughs. "It's 'ardly the same when I 'ave to make you 'ave a conversation with me. Might as well be talkin' to your father."
Johanna shakes her head, but there is no mistaking the light in her eyes whenever Mr. Todd is mentioned. "Don't be so hard on him," she says, glancing back down at her book, as if it truly pains her to be parted from whatever it contains. "He's trying. And he's doing much better - just yesterday, he looked right at you and asked if you had any tea. I thought I was imagining things!"
"Believe me, love," Nellie says. "No one was more surprised than me. "Thought I might faint from the shock."
Johanna laughs, closing her book, but holding one finger inside the pages to mark her spot. "It's the first time I'm ever heard him speak directly to you. What on earth do you think made him do such a thing?"
Feeling heat creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks, like a flame licking at a piece of wood, Eleanor fixes her gaze on the table. After searching through Johanna's portraits and sharing a bottle of gin two nights ago, she has struggled against dwelling on the time they spent together. Mr. Todd had only asked her to stay because he was lonely, and who could blame the man? His wife is too disappointed and terrified to spend time with him, and while his daughter loves him, Johanna is hardly in a position to comfort Mr. Todd. Nellie had simply been his only option.
Any human being, no matter what they've been through, craves companionship and Mr. Todd is no different. His eyes, cold and black, whisper of torments beyond imagination; the white streak in his dark hair speaks of burdens and trials too much for one to bear; but Sweeney Todd is still a man, a man who needs the company of another. Eleanor has never had to be alone - she has always had her parents, or Albert, or the Barkers. She can't imagine what state her mind would be in if she'd been forced to spend the last fifteen years in isolation.
Even still, thinking of his face that night in the candlelight as he gazed down at Johanna's pictures with eyes so full of pain and adoration, she can't help but feel her heart begin to pound, its frantic beat pulsing at her ears. She'd babbled on nervously at him, about Johanna, about Mrs. Mooney's cat pies, about Albert's passing, and while he hadn't said much, she could tell he'd been listening, his head tilted and his eyes on their shared bottle of gin. Mr. Todd always looks so tense. It's as if he expects to be struck and can't help but steel himself against the inevitable pain. But that night, in the pie shop with her, he had seemed almost...at ease.
"I don't know, my love," Eleanor finally answers with a sad smile. "I showed 'im your birthday portraits two nights ago. Maybe that finally made 'im decide I won't bite."
"Not anymore," Johanna interjects teasingly, ignoring Nellie's glare as she opens her book again. She stops, hesitating, and the pages flutter in the breeze as she stares uncertainly at Nellie. "Auntie Nell...I have something to tell you."
The look on Johanna's face is one of anxiety, and Eleanor can't remember the last time the girl was afraid to tell her something. She looks the way she used to when she pleaded with Lucy to let her climb a tree, knowing the answer but afraid of it anyway. It makes her stomach lurch, and she wraps her arms protectively around herself, heart pounding. Glancing out at the street as a group of children run across the lane, dirty and giggling, she tilts her head to the side and tries to smile. "I knew you were bein' quiet for a reason."
"You see, I've been thinking - "
"Well there's your trouble, right there, love," Eleanor grins crookedly. "What 'ave I told you about thinkin'? Get you in a world of trouble, it will."
"Auntie Nell!" Johanna offers an exasperated look and Nellie holds up her hands.
"Alright, sorry. Go a'ead, love."
"I've been thinking," Johanna stops when her voice begins to tremble, reaching up to rub at the back of her neck awkwardly, swallowing. She takes a deep breath and begins again, her voice steady. "I was thinking that I might look for employment elsewhere." She spares a glance at Nellie, taking in her blank expression and continues quickly, "It isn't that I don't love helping you and spending time with you, you know that. But...we can only afford meat so often, and having me here isn't really helping you at all with business as slow as it is."
Employment elsewhere? Nellie tries to herself making the pies without Johanna to throw batter at, serving customers without calling orders to Johanna, or without meeting in the kitchen during the dinner rush to trade gossip about their customers. The thought of running the pie shop without Johanna drains the remaining color from her cheeks, but Nellie doesn't so much as flinch. Staring into anxious brown eyes, Nellie feels mute and helpless. She opens and closes her mouth for a moment like a fish, until she finds the words, "You don't 'ave to do this, love. I don't want you worryin' about money - I've always taken care of you, an' I always will." She smiles bravely. "We're not doin' so bad."
"No, that's not it at all," Johanna says, reaching out for Nellie's hand. "You've always watched over me, Auntie Nell. I've always had a warm bed to sleep in, and food to eat because of you. But now that I'm old enough, I want to repay you for that. It's time for me to start contributing to this family."
Bloody hell. Her little Johanna, her darling, frustrating, willful little Johanna, sounds like a responsible adult - the young woman Nellie has always tried to raise her to be. Wasn't she just a little girl only yesterday, sobbing on the floor because of a spot of flour on her dress? Tears well up in Nellie's eyes and she doesn't bother to hide them, glancing up from her lap to see Johanna's brown eyes bright with tears of her own. "You're gettin' to be so bloody grown up," she breathes.
"Are you angry with me?" Johanna asks, blinking hard and sending tears spilling down her cheeks.
Choking on a laugh, Nellie reaches up to wipe at her eyes, pulling her other hand from Johanna's to take the girl's chin in her fingers. "Of course not, you silly thing." She offers a watery smile, pride welling in her chest. "I think it's a smashing idea, love."
"Really?"
Nellie grins at Johanna's hopeful expression. "Absolutely. 'Sides, I think it'll be good for you, makin' money and bein' dependent on no one but yourself. I'm so ruddy proud of you, my love."
Johanna blushes, her cheeks flushing scarlet, and Nellie realizes with startling clarity that she is growing up. She has come to expect it, has pushed Lucy time and again to let her, but now that it's happening, Eleanor wants nothing more than to scramble to pick up the remaining pieces of Johanna's childhood, to clutch them to her protectively, to slip them into her dress pocket and keep them tucked away safely.
She sighs into the warm afternoon air, knowing Lucy would be just giddy to know how sentimental she's feeling - Lucy, who has never been shy about expressing her desire to keep Johanna a little girl until the end of bloody time. Then, without warning, Nellie begins to laugh.
Johanna stares. "What on - "
Giggling so hard she can barely breathe, Nellie manages, "I just realized, you're goin' to 'ave to tell your mother. Oh, she'll be ecstatic that you want to leave me, to be sure. But to get a job! Oh, she'll 'ave a fit!" Johanna doesn't look amused, so Nellie tries to muffle her chuckling in the palm of her hand, and her shoulders begin to shake with the effort of holding in her amusement.
Glowering, Johanna crosses her arms over her chest and sniffs, "I'm glad you find it so amusing. I've decided to tell her at dinner, so you can be there to support me."
It isn't nearly so funny now that she has to witness Lucy's wide-eyed reaction to her precious daughter finding a job, and Eleanor cringes at the confrontation to come. Laughter stopping as quickly as it started, she frowns at Johanna's satisfied face. "Well that's just not fair at all, love."
--
The rattle of cutlery punctuates the otherwise stiff atmosphere at the dinner table. Mrs. Lovett and Johanna had spent two hours in the kitchen, cooking and talking too quickly for Sweeney to even attempt to keep up, but he'd listened to their happy chatter from the parlor and the silence that now reigns is a harsh contrast.
Lucy sits next to him, back straight and napkin in her lap as she brings a spoonful of soup to her lips. Except for this morning, when she'd murmured a goodbye as she left for work, she hasn't spoken to him at all. He is beginning to wonder if he'd truly upset her by snapping at her, or if he'd merely given her a good reason to avoid him even further.
He misses his wife.
He misses her companionship, her tinkling laugh, the gentle touch of her hand against his cheek. He had waited fifteen years to experience the warmth of Lucy Barker again - a warmth so inviting Benjamin used to say she was his own personal ray of sunshine - and now that he is near enough to bask in her radiant glow, she is too frightened of him to offer him so much as a smile. It used to come to easily; all he had to do was walk into a room and she would grin. He remembers waking up to her smile, brighter than the sun shining in through their bedroom window, and falling asleep to the feel of her beaming into his chest. It is Lucy's smile that he misses most.
Ignoring his own food, unsettled by Johanna and Mrs. Lovett's odd silence and his own memories of the past, Sweeney sneaks a glance at his wife. She looks tired. Her skin is as radiant as ever, her golden waves arranged to perfection down her back and her elegant blue dress is pressed and spotless, but her eyes give her away. He can't detect even a hint of the teasing sparkle they once held.
Sensing his gaze, Lucy turns to look at him, and from the moment their eyes lock, she looks lost. Like a frightened lamb wandering in a wood filled with wolves. Her fear might as well have been a razor to his throat. Turning her wide-eyed gaze hurriedly away from him and back to her soup, Lucy clears her throat softly. Pointedly avoiding his eyes, she looks briefly at Johanna and Mrs. Lovett, asking quietly, "What did you all do today?"
Mrs. Lovett glances up from listlessly stirring her untouched soup, her brown eyes wide and startled. "Oh," she breathes with a fixed smile. "A li'tle of this, li'tle of that. Not much, dear." She turns her gaze on Johanna and raises her eyebrows, inclining her head toward Lucy. Johanna frowns and turns back to studying her own bowl, obviously intent on ignoring Mrs. Lovett. The baker scowls and looks at Lucy again, swallowing. "Actually, Lucy...Johanna 'as somethin' she wants to tell you."
Sweeney watches with mild interest as Johanna glares balefully at her aunt and Mrs. Lovett only winks good-naturedly. Lucy doesn't look up, blue eyes focused on her own porridge. "Oh?" She asks distractedly, and it sounds as though she is speaking without attending to her words at all. "What's that?"
"I was thinking," Johanna begins, fiddling nervously with her napkin. Her eyes dart up apprehensively to meet Sweeney's. "I was thinking that it's time for me to find a job, mother."
Lucy blinks, slowly raising her head to look at Johanna. "You have a job, darling," she says. "You work with Eleanor in the pie shop."
"But we can only afford meat for a few days a month," Johanna protests, looking to Mrs. Lovett for support, and the baker nods encouragingly, reaching for her gin. "If I found a job, we could make the whole rent and stop living on Auntie Nell's charity. Then she could afford more meat and open the pie shop more often. Don't you see, mother? It's the perfect solution."
Johanna has obviously thought this through quite thoroughly, and Sweeney knows that if he could do so without feeling self-conscious, he might be smiling proudly at her. It comes as a surprise when he sees Lucy shift out of the corner of his eyes, and he glances at her to see her shaking her head.
"You're too young to find work, Johanna," Lucy says calmly. "I think you should remain here with Eleanor until you're old enough."
Johanna scowls at her mother from across the table. "I'm already working!"
"Yes, with Eleanor," Lucy sighs. "Here, where she can keep an eye on you."
"I hardly need to be looked after," Johanna snaps, and Lucy flinches at her tone.
Mrs. Lovett, with her uncanny ability for sensing when things are about to get out of hand, puts down her half-empty glass of gin and Sweeney eyes it enviously. "Oh, really now," she says with a cheery sigh. "There's no need to get so worked up. Let's talk about this calmly, all nice and quiet - "
"There is nothing to discuss," Lucy interrupts with a pointed glance at Mrs. Lovett. "Johanna is too young. It's perfectly alright for her to work here, where you can look after her but I don't want her venturing out into the city every day." She looks pityingly on Johanna's scowling face. "I do it every morning and I know the kind of people lurking out there. Lunatics, pickpockets and depraved men of all sorts. All of them out there, waiting for some pretty, innocent young woman to wander off down the wrong street."
Scoffing into her drink, Mrs. Lovett reasons, "Johanna 'as lived in London all 'er life, she isn't about to get lost. And she deals with my rowdy bunch of customers, I think she's perfectly capable of takin' care of 'erself."
"And what makes you so confident, Eleanor?"
"Because I live with 'er," Mrs. Lovett laughs humorlessly. "She's ruddy smart, she is. An' I pity the man who meets 'er in a dark alley." She winks at Johanna, who cracks a reluctant smile. "London is 'ardly safe, but neither is anywhere else, dear. She's got to leave Fleet Street on 'er own sometime." She rolls her eyes at Lucy's skeptical frown. "Bloody 'ell, I'll even walk with her the first few times, if you want!"
"What will she do when you're no longer there?" Lucy asks, shaking her head and looking at her daughter. "I'm sorry Johanna, I know you want to help, but I don't think it's a good idea. Perhaps, when you're older, we'll see about finding you a position at the dress shop. We'll walk there together."
Johanna looks crestfallen. "But mother - "
"Oh, pish tosh," Mrs. Lovett huffs, and then addresses Sweeney directly. "I think it would be right good for 'er, don't you, Mr. T?"
Sweeney suddenly finds three sets of eyes on him, all expectant. He stares blankly back at them, fighting down the heat he feels flushing the back of his neck and his cheeks. It has been almost two weeks since his return but he still doesn't feel quite so integrated into the family they've made of themselves as to actually give his opinion - especially on something so crucial to Johanna's happiness.
He hesitates.
Mrs. Lovett is watching him closely, brown eyes narrowed and mouth forming a patient smile, as though pleased to leave the decision up to him. If he didn't find being the center of attention so cloying, he might have scowled at her for looking so amused.
Lucy looks at him imploringly, her expression desperate and pleading. She needs him to agree with her, and he thinks of how they'd promised to always be united when it came to Johanna's upbringing. He thinks of her smile and wonders if she would gaze upon him the way she used to, if he agrees with her now and forbids Johanna from finding employment.
Johanna regards him with a similar look of helplessness, peering out at him through dark eyes so much like his own. Her lips form silent words, her brow puckered. Please, father. Please.
His daughter. His darling, responsible, loving, independent child.
She wants to assist her mother in making rent, she wants to help Mrs. Lovett afford to keep the pie shop open for more than one week out of the month. She wants to help her family, and Sweeney can't find fault with that. He's proud of her, for realizing that life is full of luxury for few and hardship for most, that as much as her parents would like to keep her a little girl forever, there comes a time when they all must grow up and face the cold world.
She is everything he could want in a child and more than he deserves.
Knowing Lucy will be upset with him and nearly trembling with the shame of it, Sweeney nods once, swallowing painfully. "It would be good for her," he repeats Mrs. Lovett's words dully, and Johanna squeals with delight, beaming gratefully at him.
Her smile is almost enough to make up for the way Lucy's face falls, and she glances away from him, pushing her chair back and rising to her feet. "Thank you for your support, Benjamin," she murmurs stiffly, turning from the dinner table and quickly fleeing the room. After several moments of tense silence, the door upstairs slams. Mrs. Lovett visibly flinches and Sweeney blinks as if Lucy had reached out and struck him.
Mrs. Lovett nearly growls, tossing her napkin onto the table. "Bugger," she huffs, standing and calmly pushing in her chair. She forces a cheery smile. "I'll 'andle this, my loves, not to worry."
She disappears from the kitchen in a rustle of heavy skirts, and for a moment, Mrs. Lovett's agitated grumbling and the dainty thump of her booted shoes on the stairs echo from the staircase. Finally, things settle into silence and Sweeney glances up from his plate to look at Johanna, who smiles sheepishly at him.
"Thank you for agreeing with me, father."
He nods once, warmth and affection flooding through him the way they always do whenever he hears Johanna speak the word.
Father.
Overhead, the beginnings of a heated argument brew and voices begin to raise, but Sweeney and his daughter continue with their meal in companionable silence.
--
Opening the door Lucy had slammed only moments ago, Eleanor stands silently in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms folded and her expression one of mild annoyance. "Be'avin' like a bloody child, you are," she says crossly. "Runnin' away and slammin' doors. What's gotten into you, dearie?"
Lucy doesn't turn from the window, her hand pressed against the glass pane as she watches night settle over London. "He agreed with you," she says softly. "I'm his wife, and yet he agreed with you."
Scoffing, Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Well, of course 'e did! You're bein' ridiculous!"
"I'm not being ridiculous!" Lucy whirls around to face the baker, eyes bright. "She's far too young to have a job, Eleanor!"
"She's not," Eleanor snaps. "She's never been too young - Johanna 'as been actin' like a bleedin' thirty-year old since she was six!"
Lucy shakes her head in frustration, wrenching herself away from the window to pace the length of the parlor. "I don't care how mature she is, she shouldn't be worrying about rent or your pie business!"
"In a perfect world, love," Nellie sighs. "Johanna should never 'ave to worry about money. Not once. She should 'ave pretty dress and a bloomin' tiara. But this world is far from bein' bloody 'eaven on earth, and there are some things you just can't 'ide from 'er!"
"She's only a child!"
Stamping her foot in protest, Eleanor pushes away from the doorframe and plants her hands on her hips. "She's sixteen, Lucy! She's hardly a child! An' I think it's bloody well admirable of 'er, wantin' to 'elp her family. You should be proud of 'er, not makin' her feel like she's rippin' your bleedin' 'eart out!"
"She might as well be," Lucy cries, and Eleanor stares incredulously. Lucy stops pacing, wiping hurriedly at her cheeks with shaking hands, staring unblinkingly at the worn floorboards. "Both of them...they're so different. It wasn't suppose to be this way."
Pity clouding her eyes for the tired, careworn woman in front of her, Eleanor lets her arms drop to her sides and sighs quietly. "Well, as you can imagine, dearie, this ain't exactly 'ow I picture my life turnin' out either." She laughs. "You think I planned on livin' in some stinkin' pie shop, a childless widow, pleadin' with some silly nit to let 'er sixteen year old daughter 'ave a job?"
Lucy smiles softly, her rosy cheeks streaked with tears. "No, I suppose not."
"Thought I'd be livin' by the sea, really. Always wanted to go back there, since I was a wee scrap of a girl," Nellie drifts closer to Lucy, her brown eyes sorrowful. "But things don't always go the way we plan, dear. Got to make the best of what we've been given, eh?"
The light in Lucy's eyes dims considerably, and she turns her face away, covering her mouth with a slim hand. "I don't know how," she breathes. "Johanna is growing so quickly, and....Benjamin isn't acting like himself. He snapped at me the other day, you know. He never had a temper before..."
"I'm sure 'e's got a lot of new 'abits 'e never 'ad before," Nellie says, glancing idly about the room. In the past two weeks, Lucy has let the apartment fall into the chaotic disarray it was that first month after Benjamin was taken. There are throw pillows on the floor instead of arranged meticulously on the settee, Lucy's knitting supplies are strewn about in a tangled mess of needles and knotted yarn, Mr. Todd's jacket is draped over an armchair instead of hanging up in a wardrobe, and Johanna's books are scattered haphazardly over the floor. Nellie wonders how Mr. Todd doesn't trip on them, stumbling through the dark as he does to get to the gin downstairs. It also makes her wonder what Lucy does up here, since she obviously isn't tidying up. "It's been a long time for 'im too, Lucy. Give the poor man some time - "
"I don't want to give him more time," Lucy nearly wails, and as if her knees are simply too weak to hold her up anymore, she collapses onto the settee, boneless. "I've waited fifteen years to have my husband back, I don't want to wait anymore!"
Tilting her head heavenward, silently asking for the patience she needs to deal with Lucy Barker, Eleanor stares blankly at the ceiling and says, "I don't believe I've ever 'eard anything so bloody selfish. You an' I...we can't even begin to imagine what that man 'as gone through. The fact that 'e 'asn't shut 'imself away and refused to do anythin' other than growl like a crazed dog at anyone who comes close enough to touch 'im is a ruddy lot more than I ever expected. Stop bein' so impatient and be there for your 'usband."
Tears streaming down her pretty face, Lucy sniffles and raises her head to meet Nellie's eyes. "I can't, Eleanor. I-I can't. When I look at him...he doesn't even - it's like he's not even Benjamin anymore."
It takes all of Eleanor's self control to remind Lucy that Benjamin Barker had never returned from Australia, that he'd probably died a long time ago. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd died before his boat touched the shores of that godforsaken land.
Lucy shakes her head sadly. "I can't bear it."
"Oh, love," Eleanor sighs, moving to sit next to Lucy on the settee, settling in against the cushions and raising her legs to wrap her arms around them. Lucy frowns disapprovingly, but Eleanor ignores her. " 'e may not be what you remember, but 'e's a good man. 'e's always been a good man. If you would just try, you would see that."
Lucy doesn't seem to be attending to her, staring off into space, her eyes fixed unseeingly on a pile of precariously stacked books on the coffee table. "He's been coming to bed every morning, reeking of gin." She sniffles. "I'll wake up in the middle of the night and find him gone. He won't come back until sunrise, and the scent of alcohol on him is almost overpowering. He's been drinking when he knows how I feel about it."
"You don't give 'im any choice but to sneak around behind your back," Eleanor reminds her, and for a brief moment, she thinks she hears the sound of Johanna's voice downstairs. How is it that she can hear voices from down there up here, but she can never hear any voices from up here when she's down there? It's maddening.
Lucy squares her shoulders, straightening and looking Nellie directly in the eye with exasperating poise. "I would appreciate it if you would lock away your alcohol every night, so Benjamin can't get to it. I understand that you prefer drinking it, and that your customers demand it, but I won't have your fondness for the drink turning my husband into a drunken layabout. You've already lured Johanna into drinking the vile stuff."
For one moment, Eleanor is too flabbergasted to think of a thing to say. Here she is, trying to comfort the vapid, poised little twit out of the goodness of her heart, though the very thought of Lucy finally understanding her husband, of having to watch the reunited couple embrace and steal kisses, makes her want to jump off the London Bridge. And Lucy has the nerve to scold her for drinking in her own home? The irritation threatens to well up and consume her, and before she can think to stop them, the words spill from her mouth in a fit of defensive annoyance, "Mr. Todd is 'ardly a drunken layabout - didn't 'ave more than three drinks the other night! Do you 'ave to be so - " Nellie stops, mentally wincing because she knows she has just said the wrong thing.
"How do know how many drinks my husband had?" Lucy asks, a barely concealed tremor in her soft voice.
Nellie can only stare, caught.
Lucy seems to understand quite well without Nellie's input, a look of carefully controlled rage distorting her angelic features, her brow furrowing and her mouth tightening. "So that's where he's been every night - drinking with you."
Stumbling to regain her voice, Eleanor waves her hands frantically. "Now that's not right at all, dear. I 'eard a noise and saw 'im down there, that's all. It was just once."
Lucy draws in a ragged breath, her lower lip trembling. "He can come to you, talk to you, but not to me? I'm his wife, why can't he - "
"Talk to you?" Nellie asks, eyebrow raised. "Kind of 'ard to 'ave a conversation with someone what doesn't want to be in the same room with you, dear. An' we weren't talkin' about anythin'. I just showed 'im Johanna's pictures, since 'e was up, an' all. I thought 'e might like to see - "
"What?" Lucy cries incredulously, leaping to her feet and nearly tripping on a pile of books on the West Indies. "You showed him Johanna's portraits? Eleanor - "
"It ain't like you saw fit to do it yourself," Nellie snaps, letting her feet touch the floor and standing, roughly straightening her mussed skirts. " 'e 'ad a right to see 'em, and you shouldn't 'ave kept them from 'im. Johanna's 'is daughter and - "
"You had no right!" Lucy protests, tears filling her eyes and she quickly turns away to hide them. "I should have been the one to do that."
"And when were you plannin' on doin' it, dearie? Mr. Todd's been home for almost two weeks and you can't even bring yourself to look at 'im."
Hands clenching the skirts of her dress and wrinkling the silk, Lucy sighs shakily, and Nellie watches the light hit her yellow hair, turning it nearly luminescent, and she forces down the quelling pangs of jealousy, reaching up to self-consciously fiddle her own, less radiant, curls. "I wanted to show him when he was acting more like himself. I-I didn't want something that should have been special between us to be tainted by his attitude at the moment."
Nellie gapes, her hand dropping from her scarlet curls and staring at Lucy's back. "It's not an attitude, love. It's your 'usband."
Lucy doesn't respond but Nellie watches silently as the other women reaches up to wipe at her cheeks, her back still turned. Shaking her head in disgust, Nellie turns from the blonde and begins marching for the door, stopping only once to purposely kick over a large stack of Johanna's books, sending them tumbling into the floor with a thunk and subsequently knocking over a coat rack, which makes a great crash as it lands against a table of Lucy's knick-knacks, sending them scattering every which way on the floor.
A domino effect.
Satisfied, Eleanor strides out the door with a small smile, shutting it firmly behind her.
--
Market morning is something akin to the deepest circle of hell. The streets are filthy, covered in mud, booze and all manner of feculent matter. The natural stench of the city with its smoking chimneys and unwashed beggars mingles with the scent of sweating horses, and the smell rises upward to hang overhead with the thick fog, in a heavy blanket of putrid stink.
People crowd in from everywhere - farmers, orphans, hawkers, pick-pockets, beggars and the rich, all grouped together in one dense, squalid mass. The roar of mingled voices rises above the rattle of carriages and the clanging of the cathedral bells, voices of the hawkers and the people haggling with them for a better price. There are shouts, curses, arguing, and occasionally, an actual tussle in the mud and grime of the streets. In order to get anywhere, one has to shove, crowd, push, yell and generally make an ill-mannered nuisance of oneself. Every market day is an event in itself, and one feels quite exhausted when it's time to head home.
While Eleanor loves going to the market, haggling with sellers over their wares in order to get a better deal than anyone else and walking arm in arm with Johanna through the different stalls, she usually loathes all the noise. However, today, it is the only thing keeping her awake. Usually, she falls into bed around eleven. Midnight, if the pie shop had been open that day. Last night, she hadn't felt exhaustion at all, too wrapped up in her own contentedness, but now, she is sorely feeling the lack of sleep.
Before retiring to bed last night, she'd gone through the house, turning off lamps and tidying up as she went. She'd found Mr. Todd sitting at a table in the pie shop, open bottle of gin in front of him. Still upset, Lucy had gone to bed early, and he hadn't needed to sneak out after his wife had fallen asleep. He'd looked so lonely, sitting there by himself in the dark. Nellie couldn't help but feel that it was partly her fault.
"Sorry for puttin' you in the middle of all that, Mr. Todd." Standing on the other side of the table, she had watched him with sorrow and a hint of fascination. To her utter surprise, he'd only nodded, and slowly, as if hesitating, he'd taken hold of the gin bottle and slid it purposefully in her direction, never once looking up from his intense study of the table's woodwork. For once, Nellie couldn't think of a thing to say, but she pushed back her chair, and sat.
They'd kept each other company once more, sharing a bottle of gin until sunrise, when she'd fallen into bed for a few precious hours and dreamt of his eyes. He hadn't spoken much, and shockingly, neither had she. It had been the second time she has ever had alone with him - not popping in to see if he needs anything, or waiting with him for Johanna to bring in a bottle of gin, but actually spending time with him. Without Johanna's pictures to fawn over, or her own shock to get over this time, she had been able to study Sweeney Todd up close. He is entirely different, yet somehow the same. He doesn't smile anymore, not really. His mouth will twitch, like he desperately wants to. Either, he will not let himself, or he just doesn't remember how to do it. She can't imagine he had many reasons to smile while he was gone.
He isn't Benjamin, but sometimes, she still catches a glimpse of Mr. Barker in the way he holds his head, or when the light hits his eyes just right and she can see a glimpse of the warm brown in his eyes. The white streak in his hair is simply remarkable, and she had caught herself shamelessly admiring it several times. Bless him - the oblivious thing he has always been - he didn't notice. The streak marks him, somehow, as someone special, someone different. It makes him even more beautiful than he ever was before.
And she'd had realized something else last night.
She prefers this new man, Todd, to Barker. She'd loved Benjamin, she knows she had. She'd loved the way his mouth worked so quickly he sometimes stumbled over his words, she'd loved the way his hair was always ruffled and falling into his eyes at the end of every day, she'd loved his ironic way of speaking; she'd cried the day she found out about Lucy's pregnancy. But there is something more about Sweeney Todd, something altogether different that strikes her deep in her bones, something she can't even begin to explain with any words yet in existence. He doesn't stumble excitedly over his words; in fact, he doesn't speak much at all, but his silent company is enough to send her heart racing. He's darker, more dangerous, and the new gruffness in his voice makes her shiver, makes her want to close her eyes and let his words wash over her the same way waves lap at the shore.
"Auntie Nell?"
Eleanor blinks, suddenly realizing she has been daydreaming in the middle of the market. She turns from a display of hideous looking feather hats to see Johanna holding up a pair of gloves. "Any holes in 'em, love?"
Johanna shakes her head, turning them over in her hands. "I don't see any. They're pretty, don't you think?"
"Depends," Eleanor says dryly, reaching out for them. " 'ow much are they?"
The gloves are a pretty, white satin and elbow length - they'll look lovely when paired with Johanna's blue gown. Nellie had surprised her with it for Christmas, but the dress was so beyond what Nellie could afford that Johanna refused to leave the house wearing it, afraid she would get it dirty. Now, with an appointment to be interviewed by a couple in Kensington for a position as a maid in their household, Johanna needs the more opulent dress to make a good impression.
They'd scoured the newspaper this morning, and Johanna had come across the perfect job opening. The couple just moved to London from Shropshire and are in want of a maid. Nellie is doing her best to ignore the fact that if Johanna gets this job, she will be living in Kensington - the richer district of London, full of businessmen and politicians. She will get to come home on Sundays, and the thought of seeing her so little forms a lump in Nellie's throat and builds stinging tears behind her eyes.
"Three pence?" Nellie tsks disapprovingly, but tucks the gloves under her arm anyway. Johanna needs a pair of gloves; she might as well splurge and get a nice pair. "Are you sure you want to live with these people, love? What if they're 'orrible blighters what never let you come 'ome?"
Johanna sighs and Nellie frowns at her exasperation. "Stop worrying, Auntie Nell. If I even get the job, and I might not, I'll be home every Sunday - they can just try and stop me. Besides, they're from the country. From what I can tell, they're just nice people who want to keep their house clean."
"Yes, from what you can tell," Nellie scolds gently. "The man's a lawyer - 'e ain't exactly a saint. You're far too trustin', love. Lit'le bit of your mother in you I'll never be able to get rid of, though I've certainly tried my damnedest."
Any other time, Johanna would have laughed at that, but now, a trouble look crosses her face, her delicate nose wrinkling as she passes by a cart of crudely made jewelry. "Auntie Nell...is mother terribly upset with me? She didn't eat breakfast with us, and she didn't say goodbye when she left for work."
Lucy and her ruddy dramatics.
She had been rather frigid this morning, coming downstairs while the rest of them sat at the kitchen table, picking at their breakfasts. She hadn't taken a seat with them, standing at the counter instead, sipping half-heartedly at her tea. She'd left for work with an empty stomach and without saying a word to anyone, including her husband, who had been sitting at the kitchen table, looking at Lucy with such longing it made Nellie ache.
It's all very well if she wants to ignore Eleanor. In fact, she'd be perfectly content if Lucy vowed to never open her mouth in her presence again. It would almost be a blessing to rid herself of Lucy's sighs, complaints and overbearing parenting. But Lucy isn't just ignoring Eleanor - she's ignoring Johanna, her only daughter. It's understandable for Lucy to be upset with her, considering how she'd yelled - not that the bloody loon hadn't deserved it - and had smashed quite a few porcelain figures on her way out the door, but Johanna had done nothing but want to take care of her family.
Lucy is punishing Johanna for something between herself and Nellie, and for that, Nellie wants to take the daft nit's entire wardrobe to the market to hawk. Lucy has several pretty little frocks that would fetch quite the profit - certainly enough to afford new dresses and books for Johanna, and meat for the pie shop...
Eleanor smiles at Johanna, and the grin broadens when she thinks of how distraught Lucy would be to come home and find all her lacy pink and white gowns gone, her dainty slippers missing, and even her stockings vanished from their drawer. Taking Johanna's arm, Nellie begins to walk to the vendor to pay for the gloves. She pats Johanna's hand. "Oh, she'll be fine, love. Just a touch miffed, is all; you know 'ow your mother is."
"She just makes me so angry," Johanna scowls, jaw clenched. Despite being so frail and petite, she looks to fierce that the man selling them the expensive gloves refuses to look her in the eye. Nellie smothers a laugh at his nervous expression, emptying three pence into his open palm and guiding Johanna away. "Why does she insist on treating me like I'm a little girl?"
A tart reply on the tip of her tongue, Nellie stops, remembering the way tears had sprung to her eyes when Johanna told her the news, the way she'd instantly thought of the golden-haired child who would toddle into Nellie's bedroom, dragging a book entirely too heavy for one so small and look up at her with Benjamin's eyes, begging for a story.
"It ain't easy, watchin' your lit'le girl grow up." Tightening her hold on Johanna's arm, Eleanor smiles gently. "And that's what you'll always be to us, love. Our lit'le girl."
Johanna laughs, somehow delighted by the notion. "Even when I'm ninety, all wrinkled and blind?"
"Especially then." Nellie frowns. "Love?"
"Hmm?"
She hesitates. "You'll...you'll always need your ol' auntie, won't you?"
Johanna stops, looking at Nellie through startled eyes. Then, she smiles, slowly and mischievously. "Oh, Auntie Nell. Of course I'll always need you."
Nellie's eyes narrow skeptically. "Really?"
"Who else will care for me when I'm ninety and blind?"
Gasping, Nellie wrenches her arm from Johanna's as the girl begins to laugh. "The warden at Fogg's will be takin' care of your wrinkled arse, cause that's where I'm tossin' you. Insolent child."
Johanna just grins.
Hey guys! I'm sorry this chapter took a while. My classes got pretty crazy for a while, one in particular, and I just couldn't put my main focus on writing for a few weeks. Things are starting to settle down again, so hopefully I can get back to updating regularly. No promises though. Haha
BIG, HUGE, MAMMOTH thanks to Robynne, for helping me out with this chapter. I hadn't written anything in about two or three weeks, and felt completely rusty. She helped straighten me out:D She is tré awesome and she makes me feel horribly incompetent. And thanks to Dojo, who helps me out when I'm not historically accurate and has an immense amount of patience for my ignorance:D
Mariana - Haha, I'm still so ridiculously awed that someone in Brazil is reading my story. Technology is pretty amazing. And I'm glad that you like the story, and I'm glad you're becoming addicted. That's definitely a good thing:) Thank you for the review!
Scarecrow - Thanks so much! I'm glad you're okay with the pacing, I'm trying to take my time with this and build things up. It takes a lot of my patience, but I'm hoping it'll be worth it in the end. Thanks for the review!
Mrs. Todd Barker - As you know Proof of Heaven is a line from Pretty Women, and I was still struggling with what to call this story, though I had several names to pick from, none of them felt right. When I heard that line in Pretty Women, I suddenly just knew that it was the one. I ran it past my beta Robynne and she thought so too. So here we are. Haha And I have an outline written out for Proof of Heaven, and as far as I know, there will be around twenty or so chapters, probably a little more than that. Hopefully you all will stick with me for that long. Haha Thanks for the review!