Author's Note: This is the second installment of "Little Miss Queen of Darkness," in which Lucy pays a visit to Mrs. Lovett after having Johanna. It gets pretty nasty.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd. Or an ice cube tray, which is a far more serious matter. I also didn't own either of those things last chapter, although I forgot to say so.
Warnings: Mentions of abortion and sex. There is also some crude language, violent thoughts, and the depiction of a somewhat sickly woman who's just had a baby. She also drinks ale while nursing, which I think might be frowned upon today, but we're talking about the "Hey, Let's Just Get All the Orphans Drunk, That's an Effective Way to Run the Workhouse" Era, so I'm pretty sure it was cool back then.
Chapter Two: Her Majesty
In times of stress, Nellie Lovett finds it useful to take a big lump of dough and knead the hell out of it. Of course, it's nearly always useful for a baker to knead large amounts of dough vigorously, but today she actually wants to perform the task. Today Lady Lucy has deigned to visit the pie shop for the first time since the baby arrived last week. If that doesn't qualify as a time of stress, Nellie doesn't know what does. She pushes her fist into the dough with perhaps more force than necessary, pretending it's Her Ladyship's exquisite visage. The image is easier to conjure up than usual, because Lady Lucy's face is somewhat swollen and her complexion has gone from porcelain to a sickly grayish-white. Nellie may envy her for many things—her leisure, her baby, and, most of all, her husband—but she's glad to have escaped that particular effect of having children.
"Jo is the sweetest of babies," Lady Lucy says, sipping from the water-downed glass of ale Nellie gave her, "but I am so tired, I hardly know where I am. Do they ever sleep?"
"I wouldn't know about that, Mrs. Barker," Nellie replies, a bit stiffly. She glances from the dough to Lucy, who has milk stains all down the front of her dress and is obviously not wearing a corset. Her waist is as big as a cow's, and Nellie takes some pleasure in the observation. "I never had any of my own, you see."
"Oh! I'm sorry," Lucy says, blushing. She sounds sincere enough. She doesn't ask whether Nellie can still have children—they're the same age, twenty-three, and there's a good bit of time left for that—but the question is written on her face. Nellie refuses to satisfy her curiosity. It's none of Her Ladyship's affair and, besides, she's not sure of the answer. She found herself in trouble once, before she met Albert, but she brought it off with pennyroyal tea as soon as she realized her courses had stopped. The pennyroyal might have made it so she couldn't conceive, but she thinks it more likely that Albert is sterile; after all, she's never known him to father a child. Or perhaps they just didn't try often enough before he got too sick to fulfill his marital obligations. There's no use wondering why, though. Guessing at the reason doesn't change the way things turn out.
"I only asked because we're new to London," Lucy continues, bringing her out of her thoughts, "and I don't have many friends here. Really, you're the only one."
"Well, isn't that a pity," Nellie says. She hardly bothers to conceal the bile in her voice. If Her Majesty is stupid enough to consider her a friend, she won't notice a little hostility. "Shouldn't you be upstairs with the sweetest of babies?"
In a second, Lady Lucy's expression changes completely. Her smile, which she has maintained throughout the conversation despite her pallor and the shadows under her eyes, drops right off her face. She presses her lips into a thin white line and glares at Nellie through her drooping eyelids.
"Benjamin is looking after her," she says crisply, "but I think I'll follow your suggestion, Mrs. Lovett. I think the company will be better upstairs."
With that, she takes one more sip of ale, sets down the glass, and rises gingerly. Nellie just stares at her. She's had far worse things said to her than what she just heard, but this is the first time that Lucy has spoken to her with anything less than politeness. For a few seconds, she's too shocked to speak, but she recovers in good time."
"Thank you for your kind condescension in visiting, my lady," she says, giving a mock curtsey. "Better get back to the manor before all the milk leaks out of your noble bubbies."
Lucy flushes dark red and, for a moment, Nellie thinks she's won. Then Her Majesty laughs. It's the laughter of a very tired woman who's equally close to tears, but it's laughter all the same. Nellie resists the urge to throw the dough at her.
"Sometimes, I think I could like you very much," Lucy says. "Perhaps you could like me, too, if you realized that I didn't marry Benjamin or have Johanna to spite you. Have a good evening, Mrs. Lovett."
Then she hobbles out of the shop, leaving Nellie to punish the dough. Times of stress, indeed.