"Yes, of course! I could not imagine a more suited opponent than you, Georgiana Reaping," He beamed, amber eyes sparkling.
"WHAT?" Mrs. Lovett exploded, yanking on his tailored suit, "You're related to her?"
Thomas placed a cautious hand on her shoulder, he whispered with emphasis, "That's his wife."
Mrs. Nellie Lovett was brought up as a woman of principle. Aunt Nettie, by her seaside abode, taught her the qualities of a lady. Never raise your voice above an airy whisper. Do not speak unless spoken to first. Place the soup spoon here. Place the salad fork there. Do not slurp your tea, dear. You are not a piglet at a trough. A lady does not hike her skirt; it is an offensive gesture. It is an invitation for immoral behavior; behavior that is only acceptable between a gentleman and his wife. And behavior that is only necessary for increasing a family. And furthermore, behavior that only a gentleman initiates.
But a one-time lecture barely scratched a mark on her unconscious. And soon her rich aunt was deafened by waves and ca-cawing seagulls.
"His wife!" Mrs. Lovett hissed, pulling George Reaping down to a squat.
"Is there a problem, Mrs. Lovett?" Reaping questioned, still fixated on his wife.
"A problem! Mr. Reaping, sayin' I'm havin' a problem is an understatement," She roughly grabbed his face with both hands. She twisted his neck; an echoing crackle was produced. Her next words were snarled, "Keep your dick where it belongs, an' don't fuck this up."
That haphazard lesson amidst salty breezes was but a mere, insignificant flutter.
George Reaping stiffened. His features were stoic; his gaze could have split diamonds.
Thomas Bertram Stone impatiently tapped on her shoulder. Oh, what an annoyance he was becoming, quite the little interrupter!
"Mrs. Lovett," The flustered assistant began, "Rise for the judge."
Mrs. Lovett blinked once, then twice. Her heightened rage and irritation was the central focus; she had eliminated any external stimuli. And in that fury she failed to acknowledge a most looming presence.
Her reaction was not quick enough; Thomas hoisted her, trembling hands still firmly placed on her waist. Perhaps, the judge was truly so dominant that poor Thomas was paralyzed with fear. Or perhaps, he was restraining her from tenderizing Reaping. He certainly would make a rather nice(1) pie!
The judge had no name. Or rather he did not announce one. Nor did anyone else announce him. The man had a traditional black gown, with similar hair. But his face was cherubic, dusted a light rose. And his eyes were a brilliant azure; his pupils drifted like clouds across the room.
"You may be seated," He announced, claiming the front table and sitting down.
George Reaping, however, leaned against his table. But the judge made no protest.
"Opening statements, Georgiana Reaping proceed," The judge briskly stated.
"Thank you, your honor," She tersely replied and stood, "I have plentiful evidence and witness testimony that Mrs. Nellie Lovett deserves nothing less than an afterlife below Fortune City."
George Reaping shifted his stance, a mocking laughter pressed against his teeth, "And I, of course, believe Mrs. Nellie Lovett deserves nothing more than an afterlife above Fortune City. I too have plentiful evidence and witness testimony to support this case."
The judge ignored his outburst, and turned focus once more to Georgiana Reaping, "You may continue, Mrs. Reaping."
"I would like to call my first witness to the stand, a woman more commonly known as 'Aunt Nettie.'" Georgiana Reaping declared; but her eyes were transfixed on the empty bench.
And little by little, gelatinous molecule by gelatinous molecule, a plump woman with curly red hair materialized. She was perfectly poised, back straight, knees bent, and feet together. She quietly cleared her throat, raising a spotless handkerchief to her tiny mouth.
Mrs. Lovett uttered a startled gasp; her mind was vacant. She was shocked.
Georgiana addressed her witness, "State your position in relation to Fortune City, please."
"Above Fortune City, of course. And may I add that it is so dreadful that little Nellie even has to be here, in such an awful predicament no less!" Aunt Nettie replied in a very haughty, bellowing tone.
"Yes, dreadful certainly," Georgiana quickly dismissed the response. She rebounded with a question, "Do you remember when Nellie visited you?"
"Yes, it was August Bank Holiday. She was parading around, hiking up her skirt to let the water lap those bare legs!" Here Aunt Nettie raised the handkerchief to cover her gapping mouth, "Well, I never saw such inappropriate behavior!" She exclaimed.
"Did you reinforce appropriate behavior?"
"Yes, of course! It was my duty, as her family. I had to teach her something valuable."
"And did she listen to you?" Georgiana continued.
"Well, I thought she did. But of course she is sitting right there," Nettie pointed a parchment-colored, gloved finger at Mrs. Lovett.
"Objection!" George Reaping chimed, "How can my client expect to retain valuable information in one day? It is impossible, improbable."
"She would have if she listened," Georgiana snapped.
"Repetition, Mrs. Reaping! Repetition is the crucial component to memory retention."
"Perhaps you would have been better suited for psychology, Mr. Reaping."
It was a bickering match. Georgiana barked, and George smoothly challenged. The judge did not shout for order; he made absolutely no motion toward stopping the quarreling.
Mrs. Lovett thought the whole ordeal absurd, positively ridiculous. The corners of her mouth twitched. Her veins pulsated; they made a terrible scratching sensation against her waxen flesh. They were beyond acting immature—they were children.
Her resolve snapped like a ricocheting whip.
"Excuse me!" She loudly interjected, "Thought this was me trial, not a bloody shoutin' tourney. Now, get to the matter—"
Her conclusion was muffled; it sounded like 'ampf hawnd.' Thomas slapped his palm over her mouth. She seriously contemplated cannibalism.
Georgiana ceased her yammering. A quirky smile pulled her lips. George Reaping burned into Thomas.
"Mrs. Lovett, were you not familiarized with our court system?" The judge quizzed.
Thomas indented her cheek with his fingers. She shook her head 'no.'
"That was to be your responsibility," George Reaping silently hissed at Thomas.
"Miss Emma Balm reassured me—" He whimpered but was quickly silenced.
"I will rectify this so we can precede," The judge announced, "Mrs. Lovett, do not speak unless I address you. Is that understood?"
Mrs. Lovett nodded 'yes.' Thomas slowly unhooked his shaking fingers; she subdued a wicked snarl. How was she expected to defend her actions? Why was her voice suddenly so insignificant? This was her trail, wasn't it? The crimes. The blood. The desire. Was it all misplaced, omitted?
Georgiana cleared her throat, "Please excuse the interruption, Nettie. I would like to resume, if that is permissible."
"Most certainly. It always was like Nellie to make a commotion," She puffed.
"Do you remember her childhood? What was Nellie like as a child?"
"She certainly was a scrawny thing. A twig had more appeal. Although, she does look presentable now. Hmm, must be that barber fellow. I suppose he can even make a sewer rat sparkle. But she was about eleven, twelve maybe. An extremely unbridled child, goodness knows what or who put that streak into her. It was not from any divine being that is for certain."
"Are you implying Nellie Lovett was pre-determined for an afterlife below Fortune City?" Georgiana Reaping prodded.
"I did entertain the idea, such terrible circumstances—you know with those boys, her husband, and that barber fellow—" She whispered before adding, "do not happen to virtuous women. Even if sin and degradation knock, a lady will never lower her standards and answer."
That pompous pincushion! Those circumstances never happen to a virtuous woman? Oh, but who else was virtuous? Of course! Lucy Barker. And my, my look what happened to that virtuous woman. A violated, vacant vagabond.
"And a mere passing curiosity would have been acceptable?" Georgiana insisted.
"Well, we are all flawed, imperfect. But recognition of unacceptable behavior is foremost. Then, the urge is eliminated."
"Do you believe Nellie Lovett wanted to vanquish unacceptable behavior?" Georgiana pushed.
"No," Aunt Nettie quietly replied and continued, "I believe she wanted to pursue that behavior. And furthermore, act on it."
"The witness has claimed my assumption," Georgiana triumphantly began, "Since childhood Nellie Lovett had no indication of adhering to authority, rules, polite behavior and the like. She had a fascination with culpable conduct. And the manifestation of intruding sin was one Benjamin Barker alias Sweeney Todd. Nellie Lovett could have refused his entrance. The pie shop was closed. But her curiosity and need for wickedness was insurmountable. And how could it be sated? Innocent blood."
"Mrs. Lovett, do you agree with these statements?" The judge asked.
"NO," She bellowed, stifling the urge to include 'I agree all this is verbal shit, it is.'
"You do not agree Benjamin Barker alias Sweeney Todd aided your wickedness?"
"No!" Mrs. Lovett exclaimed, thoroughly shocked, "I dunno what all this rubbish is 'bout. I married me dear Albert 'cause it was arranged. We was a proper match—an' me fondness for him grew. I think on him from time to time. But to accuse me of wickedness? What happened to—to me children," Her voice was catching on sobs, but she struggled through the words, "To me precious Peter and Thomas, was not 'cause of me. Providence had other plans for them. And Mr. Todd is not a wicked man, never was."
Georgiana Reaping choked on her laughter, "But he is a murderer! And you defiled the sanctity of a human body—making them into meat pies."
"Do you deny your actions, Mrs. Lovett?" The judge questioned.
"How can I?" She counter-questioned, beginning to pick imaginary lint off her dress. "I know what I did, you know what I did."
"Why did you do it?" The judge continued.
"Had to hide the bodies somehow, didn't want the poor bugger, Mr. Todd, goin' to prison. An' business needed a certain somethin'. The price of a decent slab of meat, oh it was monstrous. An' if I had the supplies right there—why waste it?" Her fingers drummed underneath the table, pulling away absent filth.
"But you did not want to mutilate the bodies did you, Mrs. Lovett?" The judge prodded.
"Well, it ain't natural if that's what you mean. Searin' flesh from bone, carvin' with me dear Albert's knives. But it had to be done."
"And why is that? Were you afraid Sweeney Todd would give you the same fate if you refused?"
Mrs. Lovett stared, mouth slightly agape. The thought had crossed her mind, surely. But it was nothing more than a scattering flutter. In Fortune City, however, she thought he would continue to murder her. But the judge hadn't asked that question.
She gave a smug smirk before speaking, "Why should I care, when it was me idea in the first place?"
"And more importantly, your idea to keep the man you loved from leaving. You may claim Sweeney Todd was never wicked. But I think you confuse him too often, Mrs. Lovett. Benjamin Barker was never wicked; Sweeney Todd would have left you with the bloody pulp that once was Davy alias Signor Adolfo Pirelli—and consequently would have left you, a rotting corpse of a woman in Bedlam." Georgiana Reaping deduced, pupils constricted to treacherous little points.
"That ain't true!" Mrs. Lovett shouted.
"Mrs. Lovett, please!" The judge ordered, "Remember your place here. Now, what is the cause of this sudden outburst?"
"She's lyin'. Mr. Todd promised, wherever we was intended we would go together." She silently blubbered.
"And what if that was not possible, Mrs. Lovett?" The judge inquired.
"You mean, if I were to go above and he would go below?" She implored.
"Yes, an example to that extent." He agreed.
"I wouldn't go. I would go with Mr. T, I would never break his promise. An' if that couldn't happen I would go below so he could be above." She stated, unfaltering.
Thomas elicited a tiny gasp. But the judge continued.
"Are you saying, you would deserve a fate below Fortune City even if you were destined above? You would risk everything for Sweeney Todd?" The judge questioned, sitting at the very edge of his seat.
"Yes. I would do anythin' for Mr. Todd," She responded.
Georgiana Reaping tightly clamped her lips; but a tiny snarl escaped. George Reaping let out a defiant laugh.
"Well, well! Quite an unselfish and charitable woman, wouldn't you agree Mrs. Reaping?" George beamed in her direction. But Georgiana grumbled an affirmative and sat down, a little defeated.
Thomas produced a reassuring smile for Mrs. Lovett. But all she wanted was to take her late husband's cleaver and—
"Now, I thank you for your time Aunt Nettie but I would like to call upon my own witness. Mr. Albert Lovett," George Reaping replied with an appropriate mix of empathy and appreciation.
The silhouette of a handkerchief adieu-ing woman vanished; but it was soon replaced. A bald, obese man with a curled black mustache materialized. He cleared his throat several times, glancing around the room. His eyes momentarily studied his wife.
She was accustomed to such weirdness and obscurity by now. But her husband was there. He was not sitting in that leather chair. She was not nursing him. Cooking meals. Washing his face. Bringing a large brass pan for piss and shit—maybe it would have been less trouble if he just soiled his pants. But she remained dutiful and faithful. She was a good wife. But he did not thank her. He made no mention of love or respect. His last words were, "Don't let the shop fall, Nell." He was married to the butcher trade. She was but the momentary mistress when business was rough. That was Albert alright. She always remembered him as such. But to see him again, watch him breath with pink, healthy cheeks … She blinked away stray tears.
"State your relation to Fortune City, please," George Reaping smoothly addressed his witness.
"Above Fortune City," Albert succinctly replied with a gruff.
"Tell me about your wife Nellie." George Reaping skillfully began, noting his wife drumming her nails against the table.
"She was a good woman—never had me fill of them sweets tho'. Made such delicious blueberry an' raspberry pies. Always managed to make two for me birthday. Even when business was shit, dunno how she managed that—but no matter. She did what any sensible wife would I suppose." He answered, smacking his lips to the thought of her culinary creations.
"Do you recall the birth of your children, Thomas and Peter?" He questioned.
Albert Lovett was fidgeting. He remained silent.
"Take your time," George Reaping encouraged, and added with a warm smile, "we have plenty."
Albert coughed once, then twice. He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. He spoke slowly, solemnly, "I remember Nellie cryin' an' screamin'. I heard it all from the kitchen. I was pacin' around. Waitin' an' waitin'. Then the midwife comes out. Tells me all polite, but almost with no pity at all that I had two boys but—" He cut off there with an exaggerated sigh. He spoke to Mrs. Lovett now, "I wouldn't want you to think I didn't care, Nell. I just didn't know what to do. It made me so ill, so angry what the priest said. I had to bribe the old man up Fleet Street, you know the coroner, with what little pounds we had left. I left them to him. I trusted him with our boys."
"I forgive you, Albert," She whispered, tears streaming freely from her open eyes.
The judge made no protest to her murmur; he only gave a warning glance.
"So, you do not blame Mrs. Lovett for what happened to your children?" George Reaping continued.
"No, of course not," Albert scruffily disagreed.
"You do not consider this to be the cause of her wickedness?" He emphasized, watching Georgiana uncomfortably squirm.
"No. That sounds like a load of rubbish, it does. Somethin' a pompous person might say. But Nell had nothin' to do with it, she ain't wicked." Albert plainly stated; Mrs. Lovett tried to conceal a bold giggle.
"The witness has claimed my assumption," George Reaping proudly stated, "Mrs. Nellie Lovett was in no manner wicked. She was imperfect and flawed, as her Aunt Nettie stated. And no person, nor I, has a spotless record. She may have committed a crime or two, but not because of her wickedness! She was providing a favor to humanity. She was providing a service. She was riding the world of wickedness. And although the means were a touch severe—she provided a bakery service to London. And may I add, made our job just a bit easier—those scythe slices do make your rotator cuff ache something awful!"
"Objection!" Georgiana exclaimed, quite baffled. "Mr. Reaping is normalizing and generalizing murder!"
"Ah, but a good defense attorney would do nothing but the same." He answered.
"Over-ruled, Mrs. Reaping," The judge asserted, "You may proceed, Mr. Reaping."
It went back and forth like this for some time. A few more witnesses materialized and vanished. Her mother—Anna Sullivan—wept, howled like a banshee. She blamed her father, Edward Sullivan, that awful drunkard. Smelt like cat piss every night. That damned gin did him in quick. And she was forced to raise Nellie alone. It was all that bastard's fault. Then, the young butcher up a ways on Fleet Street, Charlie Dalton. He was so curious, so very inquisitive how Mrs. Lovett came upon such fine meat. She never once visited his shop. He was the only butcher around for miles. He thought it very peculiar, very strange indeed. The Reaping squabbling continued; objections swarmed like wasps.
And Mrs. Lovett felt an increasing anger, like an annoying twitch, curling her spine. The banter was ridiculous. Thomas tossed a few superficial grins. Each one made a queasy splatter against her stomach—the boy was so nauseating now.
"Sorry, for being so late, trouble at the office. It is harvesting season, you know!" A soprano voice chirped behind Mrs. Lovett.
"Oh bloody hell," She mumbled, pressing two fingers deep into her forehead.
Miss Emma Balm sauntered into the room, sashaying her hips around like some dog in heat. Her face was far too painted, with candy apple lips and charcoal eyelids. Her business suit was fuchsia and white pinstripe; her black stilettos clacked mercilessly against the floorboards. Her hair was a gelled mess of tangles and horns. And just a bit too much cleavage was protruding from the 'missed' button on her jacket.
But Thomas Bertram Stone smiled wide, with glazed, distant eyes. It would not have been the least surprising to notice funny cartoon hearts springing from his skull.
"Have a seat, Miss Balm. That way I can begin questioning immediately," Georgiana Reaping instructed, brushing away her fleeting annoyance.
Emma sat on the bench, languidly crossing her legs. She quickly winked at Thomas; his excitement was poorly contained.
"Do you recall your first impressions of Mrs. Nellie Lovett?" Georgiana Reaping began.
"Yes. I thought 'what a very sad, tiny person.' And what a horrendous stench! I cannot even begin to explain what exactly she smelt like—that would be terribly impolite. But I had to restrain myself from gagging. And her hair! Oh, well it looked so filthy. If you were to touch it, your hand would have stuck!" She gossiped, effortlessly chatting away.
"What was the diagnosis Dr. Richard Mortis reached regarding her mental health?" Georgiana quizzed.
"Obsessive-compulsive disorder with poor insight, which means Mrs. Lovett doesn't know how detrimental her symptoms really are. And dependent personality disorder as well." She mechanically replied.
"Do you believe the diagnoses are accurate?"
"Well, Dr. Mortis is a very busy man," Emma smirked.
"Answer the question," Georgiana gruffly stated.
"What I mean is, Dr. Mortis gets hundreds of clients everyday. He doesn't have the time for accuracy."
"So, there is a possibility the diagnoses are inaccurate?" She pushed.
"It is possible," Emma Balm agreed before including, "He does tend to give out diagnoses like toffee you know. Free for anybody."
"Objection!" George Reaping exploded, "Dr. Richard Mortis is a respectable criminal psychopathologist. His accuracy and validity rate are near perfect. That is something you should be very familiar with Miss Balm."
"Ah, ah. Watch you wording, Mr. Reaping you are slipping. He is near perfect. That would indicate, however small or seemingly insignificant, the doctor is not immune to error." Georgiana scolded, waving her index finger.
"Over-ruled, Mr. Reaping. You may precede Mrs. Reaping," The judge stated.
"Thank you, your honor. Now, Miss Balm what was interaction like with Mrs. Lovett?"
"Mrs. Lovett is a malicious woman. She was very hurtful and cruel toward me. I wanted nothing but the best intentions for her. She made such awful accusations. That I was a tramp or a whore! Could you imagine? I'm not like-like that," Emma sniveled, producing a pink tissue from her bosom and loudly blowing her nose, "She even threatened me!"
"What did she say?" She inquired.
"That if I said anything bad, I would regret it. So I had better shut my mouth." Emma sniffed, wiping her wet lashes.
"You are such a foul liar!" Mrs. Lovett shouted, the precipice of her rage completely shattered.
"Order, I call order to this court!" The judge demanded.
"You threatened me! You called me a slut, a dried up old widow, a brainless fish, an' everything else your pretty little head saw fit to think up!"
"Mrs. Lovett! Show some self-control!" The judge commanded, quite irritated.
"You bloody liar. How can you sit there all hussied-up an' expect any of us to listen let alone believe this rubbish!" Mrs. Lovett continued, positively inflamed.
"Mr. Reaping, Mr. Stone control your client. Or she will be removed from court, and her trail will end prematurely," The judge addressed them, trying to remain calm.
"Mrs. Lovett! Mrs. Lovett! Stop this!" Thomas shushed her, "Do you want to ruin your chance for eternal happiness?"
"It don't much matter, do it? I think we all know how this sham will play out," She hissed, her blood boiling to explosion.
"Calm down, Mrs. Lovett," George Reaping directed, stooping down to her, "Have some hope yet, your situation is far from hopeless. I've been dominating this courtroom. What qualms do you have against Miss Emma Balm?"
"Her bribery for one thing, she promised Mr. T 'a key to salvation' or some such nonsense if she could only have knowledge of him." Mrs. Lovett huffed, fixated on that sneering temptress.
"She didn't!" Thomas whispered, failing to recover from the shock.
"She bribed Mr. Sweeney Todd?" George Reaping confirmed.
"Yes, yes. But I'm sure he could attest better than me," She answered.
George Reaping could hardly contain his grin. He stood, pivoted, and faced the judge.
"Your honor," He smiled, "I would like to question the witness."
1) Lawyer's rather nice.—If it's for a price.—Order something else though to follow since no one should follow it twice. Haha, nice little pun there.
Author's Note: Ooh, aren't I just horrible? To cut this off at such a crucial spot! I hope you enjoyed this longer chapter. I thought since you all have waited so patiently, you deserved it. :D
As a side, side note I hope you all had a more eventful Valentine's Day than I did. What did mine consist of you ask? A box of chocolate, some vodka (no worries I am 21 about two months) and a box of tissues. Yeah, fun times. :/
Oh, and if there are any spelling or grammatical errors, sorry sorry. I just wanted to get this up as fast as possible for you guys. :)
Until next time, faithful ones.