Author's Note: Hello and welcome to yet another installment of "Asylum". I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those that reviewed, Aya SL, niki-chan2, Little Lemon, smashing, Dragonpinata354, The Nightingale's Song (thanks for reviewing twice!) midday, Stelmaria of the Tigers, 92 Monkeys and PearlSparrow13. Wow, so many reviews. Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Sweeney Todd or it's characters.
Part Five
Lucy Barker was too ill to visit her husband before his trial at the Old Bailey. Running home all in the rain after his arrest had almost done her in and she was down in bed with a cold when Mr. Barker was brought before Judge Turpin's bench. So instead, Mrs. Lovett graciously offered to take her place.
It had been hard enough getting the pale Lucy to stay at home. She fair followed Mrs. Lovett about, tugging on her skirts and whining whenever the wind howled. As it was, Mrs. Lovett's patience was more frayed than her threadbare curtains. She had not only the nagging Lucy to look after and the constantly crying Johanna, but also the black spot on her heart. It was a new pestilence, a pain that nibbled at her during the day and made her muffle her moans against her musty pillow at night.
And all the while, she felt like the villain, the slippery, slick as oil villain who had damned innocence for a heartless laugh. Mrs. Lovett didn't think she'd ever be whole again, even if Mr. Barker came home and all was put to rights.
She had sinned once and what was one sin? And what were two or three or four sins? The guilty were guilty in the end.
But still she managed to keep Lucy Barker home, keep her in bed when the trial came and sleet made the grimy streets grey.
'You'll catch your death next!" Mrs. Lovett hollered up the stairs to her charge as she headed out. With nimble, nefarious fingers she tied the black ribbon of her bonnet under her chin. "And then where will little Johanna be? Can't care for her myself now, can in?"
The last warning was enough to keep Lucy quiet and Mrs. Lovett shut the door behind her with a satisfied sigh. It was better this way, she told herself. Mr. Barker needn't be tormented by the sight of his wife's tear-stained face. It wasn't proper for a man going to a ghastly end to be haunted. Mrs. Lovett knew that for a fact. She was haunted enough.
Fortune smiled on her a that afternoon, keeping the streets empty with the chilly autumn weather and an early snowfall that froze her very bones. Mrs. Lovett's boots were coated with slush by the time she got to the Old Bailey and she puffed a little, stopping just under the outreaching shadow of the imposing building. It sent wicked shivers up her spine, it did and she imagined all manner of criminals going to and fro within. Highwaymen, robbers, murderers. And Mr. Barker, guiltless as a newborn babe.
It took all her courage, it did, to pass through the gates. She half-fancied they looked like finger bones stretching up from some grave beneath the street.
The guards didn't help either, menacing as they were, with ill-fitting jackets and drawn, pock-marked faces. In a voice much mousier than her own, Mrs. Lovett asked if she might be permitted to see Mr. Barker.
What followed was a rather harrowing search through the ever-darkening halls of the court, down a set of stairs and through a locked gate, which was only opened after she promised the bailiff all the coins in her purse.
"Prisoner 072088?" the bailiff said with a grotesque wink of his yellow-tinged eye. "He's not long for this place."
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Lovett had the nerve to ask, her heart drumming along with the crisp sound of hail hitting the narrow windowpanes. "They're going to hang him?"
But the bailiff only laughed and the sound was more chilling than the rusty organ that played at the church where Albert had his funeral.
"Don't stay too long now," he told her, wrenching open the last gate and showing her a corridor which spilt two rows of cells. All of them were empty except for one far in the back.
Mrs. Lovett squinted, jumping as the bailiff slammed the gate closed behind her with another chuckle.
"Mr. Barker?" she called and heard her cries echo back, assaulting her with her own sense of urgency.
And the poor thing, that poor barber, was on his feet in a flash, pressing his face against the soot-stained cell bars.
"Lucy!"
Mrs. Lovett's heart sank into her stomach and nervously, she adjusted her lacey gloves, taking a quick step down the corridor. "It's Mrs. Lovett, Mr. Barker. Your landlady. I've…I've come to see you, Mr. Barker, before the trial that is."
His disappointment was palpable and Mrs. Lovett swallowed her own, regret burning her throat like bile.
She forced herself closer to his cell.
"I was thinking, I mean, I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you," she said lamely.
Mr. Barker emitted a noise faintly akin to a snarl, but closer to a sob. Mrs. Lovett saw him bury his head in his hands.
From somewhere in the jail, she heard a steady stream of dripping water sounding like tears.
"Lucy stayed at home with your Johanna," Mrs. Lovett continued. "She's ill."
Mr. Barker's head jerked up, his neck muscles tensing. "Is she all right?"
Mrs. Lovett nodded, the gauzy veil of her bonnet tickling her cheeks. "As well as can be expected." She couldn't help but gawk at Mr. Barker now, some morbid fascination and hidden lust pulling her closer, driving her to reach into the cell and for his hand.
He looked much the same, paler and his eyes were slits, tarnished with red and unshed tears. His fingers were cold against hers.
"It's all right dearie," she told him, shocked by the sudden emotion that strangled her voice. "I'm sure you'll be let off, once they realize it's all been a mistake. I can testify, if you like, not that they'd give a pin for a pauper like me. But it's worth a try."
Liar, reason told her. Mr. Barker didn't know she had sold him for a dream and a hope that had never been hers to claim in the first place. She wanted to tell him, really, but couldn't leave him questioning, couldn't leave him wondering why before she had time to explain. Some things were best left unsaid and most things were better left unthought-of. Mrs. Lovett could contend with nightmares. Mr. Barker, she knew, couldn't.
They'd all face judgment in the end, though some unlucky fools faced it sooner than others. Mr. Barker happened to be one such unfortunate soul. But ever as Mrs. Lovett tried to put it right in her mind, she found she couldn't.
He was right, him and his wife.
She was wrong. She was wicked. She was a wretch.
And she hadn't the strength to confess it.
Nellie Lovett could only lie to him.
"It'll all end up well," she told Mr. Barker cheerfully. "You'll be home tonight and by the fire. And…and I'll send up a couple of fresh-baked pies for you to feast on. Silly little mishap this has been, strange little adventure-"
"Nellie." He had never used her given name before, had always been proper-like and called her "Mrs." or "Ma'am" or once, laughingly, "my lady."
Mrs. Lovett succumbed to silence.
"I know you've had your share of troubles," he began, tongue flicking along his dry and parchment-white lips. "But if I could only ask one favor of you, just one."
Mrs. Lovett rolled her numb tongue about in her mouth. "Whatever you want, dearie." In the end, she could deny him nothing.
"You're a strong woman," Mr. Barker said and something glinted in his already dead eyes, some flicker of appreciation that sent spirals of warmth throughout Mrs. Lovett's aching body. "Lucy isn't, though," he continued. "She needs help, looking after. Will you, Mrs. Lovett? Will you protect her?"
Mrs. Lovett sniffed and was surprised to find tears chasing after her words. "I wouldn't think of doing anything else," she managed.
Mr. Barker nodded gratefully and released her hand, leaving her ashamed and tormented and more mad than any patient at Bedlam.
He had said all that was needed, had gotten to the heart of matters while she stood there and babbled. He had no reason to disguise his guilt.
Mrs. Lovett's mind raced, her thoughts singed and burning as she watched him turn away, watched him look into the shadows and beyond.
She had to tell him.
"Mr. Barker!" His name leapt from her throat just as the bailiff threw open the gate.
"Out!" he ordered, but Mrs. Lovett was rooted to the spot like a lighting-struck tree. It took the bailiff and another guard to finally tear her away and she fought all the while, clawing, screaming, biting and cursing them for the hell-sent fiends that they were.
In the end, she was thrown back out into the street, where she belonged, with a torn petticoat and a heelless boot.
Her bonnet was long gone.
It was a cold night on Fleet Street when Mrs. Lovett finally found her way home and the snow lay in drifts against the dirty doors, gathering dust even as it fell. Mrs. Lovett near collapsed as she stumbled into her hall, her feet blistered and bloody after hours of waiting, of standing outside the Old Bailey in hopes that she would see Mr. Barker home.
He never came.
And what was worse was finding little Lucy, her hair all undone and about her shoulders, standing at the bottom of the stairs with Johanna in her arms.
"Benjamin?" she asked hopefully through bleary, blank eyes. "Is he on his way?"
Mrs. Lovett sobbed as she replied. ""No, I don't think so."
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review. I would love to hear from you. Have a wonderful week!