I stroll down the bustling streets of London, pensively, lost in a world of my own thoughts. The weather reflects my mood: Humid with dark, foreboding clouds subduing the sun, quite in contradiction to what occurred just yesterday.
I had a beautiful home in Newcastle, England with my husband and baby girl. I had gone to the market to restock, but when I returned merely an hour later, greedy flames were devouring my home. I look at the pandemonium around me. I searched the faces with haste to find, much to my dismay that my husband, Gregory and one-year-old daughter, Cassandra were not among the crowd.
I enter my neighbor's house to see if he had taken Cassandra there. They were not present.
"Did you see anything?" I had asked her.
"No, Lillianna," she replied. "Although, just as you left, Charles passed by your yard with a lighted cigar. Nonchalantly, he threw it into the yard. Before anybody knew it, your house was swallowed whole by the hungry fire."
"Whom do you mean by 'Charles'?" I asked warily, dreading the answer I had already guessed.
"Hunnington," she replied with regret.
Charles Hunnington had been betrothed to me three years ago. He did not treat me well. He would drink all the time. Ale, gin, rum, anything with alcohol, he drank. He was a dreadful brute and would beat whenever he wished. I, of course, would have none of it. I was gone faster than he could say, "no".
Although, just before I walked away, he said, "Damn it, Lillianna! You can leave, but know this, my dear: If I can't have you, no man can."
Those words haunted me from that day forward. I had hoped he hadn't meant it, but after the fire, I was not so sure. He had always eyed me lustfully every time we saw each other.
I know that I am beautiful, but I am not vain. From experience, I have found that most men are entranced by my appearance. Everything intrigues them; my chocolate-colored hair, my deep, sensitive, hazel eyes, my caring, yet strong nature, my full lips, and my tanned, thin, curvy, petite figure are the things that attract them like bees to honey.
Earlier today, the firemen didn't want me near the rubble, the remnants of my house, of my life. The reason was, among the burnt timber, they found two charred skeletons entangling with one another: my husband and child.
Apparently, halfway out of the house, Gregory remembered one-year-old Cassandra. He went back into the nursery to get her. As soon as he picked her up, flames blocked the exit. They were trapped and, later, burned.
I had hopped on the first train to the other end of England, never to return to my old world. I come back to the present to escape the horrors.
I turn the corner to Fleet Street. No sign of life is present. I walk more apprehensively, looking for the shoppe for which I'm heading, yet still watching out for anyone who might try and harm me.
I arrive at my destination: "Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies."
I enter to find it absent of customers. The premise is coated with a blanket of dust. A single woman in a dark dress is kneading dough on the counter. Her messy, dark brown hair, which is pulled up, occasionally falls into her path of sight.
Only when my shadow cloaks her, does she look up with a start. Upon seeing my sudden wariness, she pounces, making me even more worried. I try to turn to exit, thinking, I must be in the wrong shoppe, but she stops me short.
"Wait! What's your rush? What's your hurry? You gave me such a – fright, I thought you was a ghost half a minute. Can't you sit? Sit you down. Sit! All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer in weeks." Somehow, that doesn't surprise me, considering the looks of the place. "Did you come in for a pie, ma'am?"
I cut her off with a hasty, "No!" She looks a tad crestfallen. "I came to see you, Nellie," I explain.
She becomes suspicious and confused. "How do you know my name?" she challenges.
"Nellie, we're cousins."
It takes a moment, but realization finally crosses her face. "Oh, do forgive me. My head's a little vague. Lillianna Nola, how good to see you! What have you been up to all these past five years? What's happened to you?"
"Well…" The moment my mind wanders to yesterday's happenings, my heart rips and tears. "I'd-I would rather not talk about it at the moment."
"What's wrong, love?" she asks considerately.
"My heart has yet to recover. I will tell you the story when my heart is whole again," I answer solemnly.
"Oh, did someone break your little heart?"
"In a way, Nellie. I have run away to find refuge here with you. Please? I hate to intrude, but I must stay away from Newcastle, if at all possible. Might I stay here, lest the shadows of the past few days follow me? I'll work for you in the shoppe, make it more hospitable, help you pretty it up," I offer.
"Lillianna, Lillianna, please, you're always welcome here, dearie. You don't mind staying upstairs, do you?"
"Of course not. Why?" I ask a bit suspicious of Nellie's tone.
She is about to say something, but decides against it. "I'll tell you another time, dearie. It's probably too soon for you. In the mean time," she says, perking up immensely, "You look as if you haven't eaten in a week. How about one of your cousin Nellie's meat pies?"
"No!" I shout hastily. She looks at me, disgruntled and I shoot her an apologetic expression. "I need to go to town. As you can see," I hold my hands out to show her the absence of a suitcase, "I haven't any gowns. I'll even pick up some supplies for you."
"Thank you, love."
I make a trip to the square and return, my arms laden with bags. Nellie makes haste to help me with my burden. After the groceries are in their places, I offer to help clean the shoppe.
"No, no, no," Nellie objects, "You need to eat and put your things away. By the time you're done with that, it will be late and you'll be plum-tuckered out. Here. I'll get you some biscuits and tea. When you're finished with those, I'll show you to your room."
I eat the biscuits and drink the tea and attempt to put away the tray and cup, but Nellie protests, saying, "No, no, love. Leave it to me. You've done enough work already."
She then shows me to my new room and I question as to the door opposite mine. "To what room, may I ask, does that lead to, Nellie?"
She turns to see what I am referring to and her eyes widen in shock. "You shan't worry about that door. I don't want you going in there. It was a dear friend's room."
Assuming that the said friend passed away and that she merely does not want me to disturb the memory, I heed her word for the time being.
After I put my things away, I follow my nightly routine and clamber into bed. I lay awake for a moment, awaiting the time when sleep will overtake me. It does not engulf me swiftly. I stare out my window to seethe black velvet sky, sprinkled with diamonds.
A foreboding feeling comes over me, swallowing me whole as my mind wanders back to the forbidden door. My instincts tell me that something is coming. There are secrets behind that door, and I intend to find out what those secrets are.