Proof of Heaven

Eight days after Eleanor and Johanna's darling little chat about Turpin, the cozy little parlor on Fleet Street is rife with tension. It's nothing outright, of course – Eleanor is curled up in her favorite armchair with a pair of socks she's been half-heartedly knitting for months, and Johanna sits on the settee with her nose buried in a dusty volume of Shakespeare but the silence between them is evidence enough. And it's been lasting for more than a bloody week.

Ever since that evening a little over a week ago, things have been…odd around the pie shop. Johanna spends most of her time working at the Foster's mansion or wandering about town with Anthony but has gone out of her way to avoid Eleanor even when she is at home. Whenever Eleanor asks her a question or tries to engage her in a discussion, Johanna gives one-word answers that make it impossible to carry on a conversation or sometimes just gets up and leaves the room in a huff. She reminds Eleanor of her father in that way – both of them are complete children when they're angry. Either way, she's never in the same room with Eleanor for more than a minute. So, when Eleanor had come into the parlor and found her sitting with a book, she hadn't been able to resist the opportunity. She has missed the girl this past week and she does not like this new attitude one bit.

Now, Eleanor has trapped Johanna in this room with her for the foreseeable future. Johanna is far too stubborn to leave the room since she arrived first. She sits stiffly on the settee with her book and maintains her frosty silence, ignoring Eleanor's secretive peeks in her direction, and looking so much like Lucy Barker that Eleanor almost wants to sit up straight and stop slouching for fear of reprimand.

Come to think of it, the bloody queen of Frosty Silences herself has also stopped speaking to both Eleanor and Mr. Todd. She barely acknowledges Johanna, except to kiss her hello or chide her for not combing her hair. Whatever Lucy and Mr. Todd had argued about, neither of them appear willing to speak of it and so Eleanor is left in the dark with only her pet theories. Her personal favorite is that Mr. Todd obtained a liking for cross-dressing while away and having caught him in one of her gowns, Lucy is upset that he looks better in it than she does.

Hardly likely, but picturing Mr. Todd in Lucy's dainty pink bonnet is enough to send Eleanor into fits of giggles.

They never speak of the kiss they shared in the pie shop – it seems like an eternity ago but Eleanor remembers it in vivid detail. Being so close to the man and forbidden from reaching out and touching him is the sweetest torture, but Eleanor would gladly endure it for the rest of her life. There was a time when she didn't think she'd ever lay eyes on that man again, and she hoards every precious second like a miser.

Fiddling absently with her knitting needles, Eleanor chances another look in Johanna's direction, peeking through her red curls. Across the room, Johanna sighs heavily – most unladylike – and looks up from her book, exasperation written all over her face. She narrows her eyes.

"Did your mother never teach you that it's rude to stare?"

Eleanor beams. This is practically the first sentence Johanna has voluntarily uttered in her direction for days. "Nope, never."

For a moment, Johanna only stares while Eleanor continues to grin at her. Finally, she shakes her head and says, "You are mad as a hatter."

"You know," Eleanor says contemplatively, snatching up any scrap of conversation Johanna is willing to throw at her. "I've never understood that expression. Why is a 'atter mad? A man may very well be mad but I don't think 'is choice of 'eadwear 'as anythin' to do with it."

"It's just an expression," Johanna says, frowning. "Don't you remember Alice in Wonderland?"

"Of course I do. But why did he 'ave to be a hatter? That just gives the poor blokes a bad reputation. 'fore you know it, everyone's going to think all 'atters are mad and where's that leave us, hmm?"

Johanna frowns. "That's completely ridiculous, you can't -" She stops, scowling at Eleanor, realizes that she's being tricked into talking. After all, arguing with Johanna is better than total silence. With a pointed sighs, Johanna turns back to her book without another word.

Still smiling, Eleanor goes back to her knitting, satisfied for the time being.

For a few moments, they continue in uninterrupted, but slightly friendlier silence until Johanna frowns at her book and murmurs to herself, "Why don't I remember this?"

Curious, Eleanor glances at the book title and then winces. Perhaps she should have mentioned something before now – but Johanna had been so small and Shakespeare was so difficult…

XxX

It was nearing midnight in the pie shop and Eleanor Lovett, exhausted from a day's work, was lying bonelessly on the settee in her parlor, the stays of her corset undone to allow her a little more breathing room and her red curls falling into her eyes. Too tired to push them off her forehead, she leaves them where they are, even though they tickle her eyelashes.

Eyes shut, lost somewhere between waking and sleeping, Eleanor doesn't hear the polite cough at first. The second cough, a little louder, brings her jolting into the present. She jumps, nearly falling off the settee. Hand to her chest to calm her thundering heart, Eleanor forces her tired eyes to focus.

In the doorway, in a prim white nightgown with her blonde hair curling around her shoulders, four year old Johanna stands in the doorway, clasping a book to her chest that likely weighs more than she does. She blinks at Eleanor with wide brown eyes.

Heaving a sigh and collapsing against the back of the sofa, Eleanor rubs at her eyes. "What are you doin' up at this hour, lit'le miss? S'past your bedtime!"

Johanna shifts on small feet, nearly dropping the heavy book. "Mummy wouldn't read to me," she says, as if that explains everything.

Eleanor frowns – Lucy has been in one of her moods again, lying in bed all day and refusing to even take tea, much less spend time with her child. The piemaker had forced the woman out of bed to at least tuck Johanna in – Eleanor has been looking after her all day and it isn't easy serving her customers with a small child underfoot. If Lucy had done as ordered, Johanna should have been in bed hours ago.

"Didn't mummy tuck you in?" Eleanor asks.

Johanna nods.

"Then why aren't you sleepin'?"

Johanna sniffs and says patiently, "Can't sleep without a bedtime story."

Her tone suggests infinite patience, as though explaining such a thing to an adult is a waste of her time, but Johanna is willing to try. Eleanor bites her lip to keep from smiling.

"And you want mad ol' Mrs. Lovett to read to you instead, is that it?"

Johanna nods again, and when Eleanor pats tiredly at her lap, the child scurries forward and climbs into her arms. Eleanor holds Johanna close and kisses the top of her head, unable to help herself. Johanna is the sweetest child she's ever had the fortune of knowing, and with Lucy unwilling to look after her, Eleanor has spent the day pretending to herself that she has a child of her own. That Johanna is hers. It's silly, but it's all she has.

Taking the book from Johanna's small hands, she says, "Alright, what 'ave we 'ere, eh?" The cover reads 'The Complete Works of William Shakespeare' and Eleanor balks. "Uh, lovey, wouldn't you rather read about Three Blind Mice or Sleepin' Beauty, hmm?"

"No," Johanna frowns. "Those are silly."

Flipping to the sonnets, Eleanor says, "Nothin' wrong with bein' silly every now and then. Now, let's see…" She skims through the sonnets and finds something that looks fairly simple. "My mistress eyes look nothin' like the sun -" She breaks off with a frown. "Well that's not very romantic."

Johanna shifts impatiently on her lap. "I want to hear about Juliet!"

Eleanor flips to Romeo and Juliet, and groans. This is not her type of literature. The story of Romeo and Juliet is not unfamiliar to her, however, so she puts on her best reading voice and pretends to follow along with the words.

Ten minutes later, Eleanor is still pretending to read while secretly making it up as she goes along – little Johanna has yet to notice. "And then 'e said, 'Juliet, I think you're right pretty' and she said, "My, aren't you a 'andsome lad. Wot say we elope and run away from our 'orrible families?'"

Just as she is about to turn the page, Johanna's blonde head drops against her shoulder and Eleanor looks down to see the child breathing deeply in slumber. Smiling to herself, Eleanor closes the book and gathers Johanna into her arms to carry upstairs. Lucy Barker isn't the only one who can tell bedtime stories.

XxX

Now, thirteen years later, Eleanor has years of bedtime story-telling behind her. Her yarn-spinning skills improved over time, thankfully, and eventually, she read to Johanna every night instead of Lucy. Even when Johanna got old enough to read for herself, she still had Eleanor read Shakespeare to her because she said Eleanor made it more interesting.

Since Johanna is trying to convey that she isn't speaking to her without actually speaking to her, she has chosen to read William Shakespeare all on her own, and Eleanor cringes to think what Johanna is discovering for herself. Eleanor had been rather too lazy to follow along with the lines, even when she advanced to the point where she could understand most of what was happening without much problem.

Johanna looks up from her book with a puzzled frown and Eleanor looks away quickly. "Auntie Nell…" she begins, and despite knowing what's coming, Eleanor's heart thrills to hear the name again. "Didn't you read Twelfth Night to me when I was younger?"

Eleanor nods cautiously. "Course, love - all the time. It was your favorite; read it so many times I used to recite it in my sleep."

"Well, why don't I remember this bit?" Johanna clears her throat and begins to read. "This is the air; that is the glorious sun; this pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't; and though tis wonder - "

Eleanor sticks out her tongue, remembering the passage. "Oh, that – I shortened it. Sebastian was a tad winded, love."

Johanna looks outraged. "You shortened Shakespeare? You can't do that, Auntie Nell."

"You didn't seem to mind."

"Well of course I didn't, I was a child and I had no idea you were skipping anything!" She looks down at the book, frustrated.

"Oh love, I 'ad to or I'd go mad!" Eleanor blows out a huff of breath and begins reciting another passage from memory, "Look wot an unthrift in th' world doth spend, shifts but 'is place, for still the world enjoys it; but beauty's waste 'ath in th' world an end...Wot the bleedin' 'ell does that mean?"

Johanna gapes.

She shakes her head. "And 'Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo.' Why don't she just say, 'Romeo, where'd you run off to?'"

"Because it sounds more romantic the other way."

"Romance." Eleanor scoffs. "Closest thing I ever been to romance in real life is a man payin' for my drinks!" She snorts. "And what about 'To be or not to be, that is the question!' Make up your bloody mind!"

Johanna looks so offended that Eleanor thinks she might pop a vessel. "It's poetry!"

"'S'a bloody mouthful! So I decided you were too young to understand anyway, and I made 'em up the best I could." She smiles brightly at Johanna, as though expecting praise for her brilliant interpretation of classic literature.

Johanna is not impressed. "Marvelous. Now I'll have to read the plays all over again. Who knows what else you skipped. Did you make other things up as well? Perhaps Hamlet and Ophelia don't actually put aside their differences and move to the seaside."

Nellie bites her lip, looking away guiltily. Johanna's mouth falls open in shock.

"Auntie Nell!"

Nellie crosses her arms over her chest and grumbles, "My endin's better than ol' Billy Shakespeare's, anyway."

XxX

Silence in the little pie shop on Fleet Street would usually be a welcome relief to Sweeney Todd's ears, but in the last week, the quiet has been less of a blessing and more of a point of tension. It feels as though everyone in the house has been stretched to their breaking point, and it's only a matter of time before someone or something snaps.

Sweeney has a feeling that it's going to be him.

The barbershop is closed for the day, but Sweeney sits in his shop anyway, perched on his barber's chair and flicking his razor open and closed mindlessly rather than facing the melodrama downstairs.

There are many things to be thinking of. Judge Turpin needs to be taken care of before he harms Johanna or frames Anthony the way he framed Benjamin. He needs to pay for what he did to Sweeney's family, and Sweeney will be only too happy to exact his revenge.

Johanna is smitten with Anthony and Sweeney would not be surprised if she marries the boy before the year is out. He has just gotten his daughter back and it won't be long before he loses her again.

His marriage is utterly shattered beyond repair, and both he and Lucy have been avoiding each other. Sweeney has even taken to sleeping in his shop rather than lying in bed beside someone who can barely tolerate his presence. He doesn't particularly want to be around Lucy either. It hurts too much to be near her.

They could have been so happy together. Perhaps they still could be, if either of them were willing to change. They have both grown and altered so much in fifteen years, but they have done so separately and it isn't easy to come together again. They are two different people trying to be who they once were, and Sweeney won't let them tear each other apart anymore for the sake of ghosts of the past.

There are many things to think about, but Sweeney finds his mind constantly spinning back to Mrs. Lovett. It's getting harder to stay away from her, especially when he can barely look at Lucy, and the baker is always so near. Her hand touches his when they reach for the same thing at the dinner table, her skirts brush his ankle when she passes him in the hall, her scent lingers when she leaves a room. Sweeney's eyes follow her every move without his consent, and his resolve is crumbling spectacularly.

In all honesty, the only thing besides Lucy that is still keeping him from Mrs. Lovett is his own uncertainty. He's finding it difficult to discern whether his attraction to Mrs. Lovett is real and has everything to do with the woman herself and how she makes him feel – like he's burning from the inside – or if he's clinging to the idea of her because she represents everything he had wanted from his wife before things went sour.

Flicking his razor open against his thigh once more, Sweeney frowns at the dusty floor. He won't hurt the people he loves because he's confused and unsure of what he wants. If he doesn't make a decision soon, he's sure he'll go mad.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Sweeney looks up, his breath catching in his throat when he sees Mrs. Lovett through the window. He stiffens in his chair, immediately on the defense. When the redhead is around, he can't afford to be careless. Caution is the only way to survive.

She waves through the glass, a little flicking of her fingers, with an impish smile and Sweeney feels his stomach turn over. He grits his teeth and tightens his grip around his razor. Mrs. Lovett pokes her head through the door and says, "Mr. T, 'ave you seen Johanna? I could 'ave sworn I saw 'er not five minutes ago but the lit'le imp 'as disappeared on me."

Staring at her, mouth dry, Sweeney cannot immediately form a response. The woman looks no different than she usually does – red curls tousled carelessly, a spot of flour on her cheek, dress dark and showing rather too much of her pale skin – but today is different. For whatever reason, she looks rather more tempting than usual.

He swallows. "Anthony came to fetch her." Sweeney wants to do his fatherly duty and think the worst of the boy, but he knows the two of them are probably doing nothing more than cloud-watching or feeding birds. It's difficult to hate a suitor so bloody guileless.

Mrs. Lovett puts a hand on her hip and smiles. "Glad he's gettin' 'er out of the house, at least. That girl spends too much time with 'er nose buried in a book, if you ask me."

She runs a careless hand over the bodice of her dress and suddenly, Sweeney is near breaking point. He stands so suddenly that the baker jumps, startled. He strides toward the door and Mrs. Lovett stands aside with wide eyes, but his arms brushes against her as he leaves. He almost shudders, biting down on the urge to turn around.

"Mr. T," she calls after him, sounding exasperated. "Where're you goin'?"

"Out," he rumbles, thundering down the stairs.

And with sudden clarity, he knows exactly where he's headed.

XxX

Two hours later, Sweeney sits slumped at the bar in a brothel, defeat prominent in his every movement. He'd tried and failed, but at least he has his answer. The only problem is that he doesn't like the answer he has received.

He takes another gulp of whiskey – not his drink of choice, but gin reminds him too much of Mrs. Lovett. That damned baker. This whole thing is entirely her fault. If only she would just stop tempting him with those doe eyes, stop burning his skin with a mere touch, stop catching his eye with wild red curls, stop having such faith in this new man he has become. It would be so easy to turn her away, if only she wasn't who she was.

And it seems that he wants her for exactly that.

Sweeney had come here to prove that he didn't need Mrs. Lovett's affections, that he was so starved for physical contact that any warm female body would do – that love didn't factor into his feelings at all.

The minute he'd walked through the door, a garish brunette had taken him by the arm with a simpering smile and led him upstairs. He'd tried, he really had. But this woman's painted mouth was too harsh, her perfume was sickly sweet and cloying – he missed a soft, open mouth and the scent of lavender and baking flour. Her dress was too stiff and frilly, her hair wasn't the right shade, her voice was too high-pitched, her hands too grasping and somehow not enough. He had been unable to think of anything but how wrong she felt in his arms. She didn't fit, the way someone else did so perfectly.

And in the middle of it all, Sweeney could feel dark eyes burning into his back, the disapproval so strong he could almost taste it in this other woman's kiss. Those damned eyes of hers, following him wherever he goes, even when his own eyes are tightly shut. Like she has any say in what he does. If he should be thinking about anyone's eyes, it should be Lucy's. His wife would be devastated if she knew he had come here.

But it isn't Lucy he had been worried about disappointing.

Everything was wrong and Sweeney could concentrate on nothing but how guilty he felt about a woman who has no claim on him.

So Sweeney had pushed the stranger away and fled downstairs to the bar, where he sits now, utterly lost but knowing in his heart what – or rather who – he truly wants.

XxX

Today is just not Eleanor Lovett's day.

First that whole business with Johanna and bloody Shakespeare, then Mr. Todd storming out of his shop earlier with that look on his face. It seemed obvious to her that he was off to brood somewhere about Lord knows what.

When Eleanor walks into the kitchen to start dinner and finds Lucy sitting at the counter, chin in hand and staring at nothing, she sighs gustily. Even in her own domain, she can find no peace.

Her fate today seems to be watching more of the tragic saga that is the Barker family unfold before her eyes – like a bad play that she's too polite to get up and leave in the middle of. She hasn't spoken to Lucy in a week and has barely even seen her, and right now, Eleanor isn't feeling sympathetic enough to deal with her nicely.

Without acknowledging Lucy's presence at all, she goes about all the necessary preparations for dinner. Humming to herself, she pulls out pots and pans, finds her favorite knife for chopping onions and starts a hunt for the onions themselves.

Throughout her impromptu scavenger hunt, Lucy does not turn from staring morosely at the counter. She doesn't even flinch when Eleanor drops a potato on her foot and swears rather colorfully.

The baker is just beginning to hope that Lucy will leave her be when the blonde suddenly turns in her seat and clears her throat softly – Lucy-speak for 'pay attention to me'. With her back turned, Eleanor rolls her eyes and makes a face.

Today is definitely not her day.

Resigning herself and her immediate future to listening to Lucy Barker, Eleanor decides to at least make it as difficult as possible for her. So instead of turning around and paying rapt attention just because the nit cleared her throat, Eleanor checks one last cabinet for the onions and murmurs a pleased, "Ah, there you are."

Lucy takes Eleanor's avoidance in stride, tucking a piece of blonde hair back into place and saying, "Would you like some help with dinner?"

Uh oh. Lucy is stalling – it doesn't bode well for the coming conversation.

Shaking her head, Eleanor says, "Speakin' to me now, are you?" Lucy shifts in her seat, obviously not willing to respond to Eleanor's sniping. "Well I don't need your 'elp, dearie. Been doin' just fine on my own all these years, and I'd rather not 'ave to put out another fire."

Lucy flushes, tightening her jaw against a response.

Beginning to slice an onion, Eleanor says, "Any idea if Johanna and your 'usband are goin' to be 'ome for dinner, or is it just the two of us and Toby?"

Looking away and fiddling with an oversized spoon on the counter, Lucy says stiffly, "Johanna and Benjamin haven't been speaking to me of late, if you hadn't noticed."

Eleanor snorts and scoops the onions into a pot. "Looks to me like you ain't be doin' much speakin' either, love."

"I don't know what to say anymore," Lucy says. "You're very good, you know."

Pausing in the middle of stirring the pot of stew, Eleanor says without turning around, "Excuse me?"

"I know what you're doing, Eleanor." Lucy sounds perfectly calm, but the ice in her voice puts Eleanor on her guard.

Swiveling on the spot to face Lucy, Eleanor says, "I don't know what you're talkin' about, love, but it's obvious you're tryin' to say something, so why don't you just come out and say it, mm?"

Lucy stares, like she cannot believe Eleanor's ignorance. "You poison their minds against me – it's very subtle but you're practically an expert. You've been doing it ever since Johanna was a child. You've made her hate me and now you're doing the same thing with Benjamin."

For a moment, Eleanor can do nothing but gape at her, eyes wide and mouth open in silent protest. "Why you little soddin' wench, 'ow dare you pin your problems on me!"

Lucy is on her feet in a flash, looking prim and put together despite the anger in her eyes. Eleanor can't help but wonder what it must be like to look and act like a lady every second of the day. She can't help but think it must be exhausting. "Don't you dare try to deny it. I know you, Eleanor. I know exactly what you're capable of. Just because I don't confront you about it doesn't mean I don't notice."

Cold rage fills Eleanor to her very core and she wants nothing more than to slap Lucy Barker until her hands are red and stinging. Instead, she curls her hands into fists at her sides and takes a deep breath.

"You think I've been tryin' to get Johanna to hate you?" She shakes her head, feeling pity for Lucy in that moment. "You're 'er mother, she's never goin' to hate you. But she knows you've never been there for 'er, and believe me, dearie, I didn't need to say a word against you. Who made sure she 'ad somethin' to eat every day? Who read to 'er every night and dried 'er eyes when she fell in the park and scraped 'er knee, mm? I certainly don't recall you bein' there." She pauses, tapping her fingers against her mouth. "Where were you? Broodin' over pictures of a man who might as well be dead while your daughter grows up without both 'er parents. Oh, you were there to tell 'er she wasn't good enough, scoldin' 'er about keepin 'er dresses clean and sittin' up straight. You've never been a mother to that girl, Lucy Barker, but I'll be damned if I ever told 'er so. She's a smart girl, love, she figured it out all on 'er own."

Lucy holds herself very still, her eyes full of tears. "Johanna knows I would do anything for her."

Eleanor shrugs. "It takes more than that to be a mother and you're all talk, Lucy Barker. Always 'ave been." Turning back to her stew, Eleanor begins to stir once more, adding a dash of pepper. "As for your 'usband - "

Lucy stiffens, regaining a little bit of the fire she had lost only a minute ago. "I know you're in love with him, Eleanor. I would have to be blind not to see it. So don't stand there and tell me you don't want him for yourself and that you won't do anything to make it happen."

Slamming her spoon down on the counter, Eleanor whirls around to face Lucy. She can't even imagine what she must look like, but Lucy takes a step back, her eyes wide. "Alright," she says, her voice deadly quiet and shaking just a little. "I've been in love with 'im since I first laid eyes on 'im, is that what you want to hear? I loved 'im then and I love 'im now – far more than your shriveled up li'ttle 'eart will ever understand. All better?"

Lucy swallows heavily, her eyes huge and tear-filled in her pale face. "Stay away from Benjamin or I'll - "

"For God's sake, that's not 'is bloody name anymore!" Eleanor shouts, and Lucy jumps, startled. "Start callin' 'im what 'e wants to be called and maybe 'e'd want to be in the same room with you!"

"Yes, you're so good at sympathizing with him, aren't you, Eleanor?" Lucy asks. "Perhaps if you weren't so busy trying to win over my family, you would have one of your own by now."

For a moment, there is nothing but shocked silence. In her mind, Eleanor can see nothing but losing Albert, putting her own life aside to practically raise Johanna while Lucy fell apart and distanced herself from the world. Everything she has ever done has been for the Barkers.

And then Eleanor begins to laugh, a high, humorless chuckle that makes Lucy take another step back. "You know what's funny?" She asks, still giggling. "I've been stayin' out of the way and tryin' not to let my feelings interfere with you and your 'usband, but if this is the thanks I get, maybe I'll just stop tryin' so 'ard, eh?" She stops laughing but she can't keep the grin off her face. She feels a little hysterical, and just a bit dangerous. "Mr. Todd will certainly prefer the company of someone who understands 'im than a silly nit what's afraid to even give 'im a kiss!"

As the full gravity of what she has just said hits Lucy, the blonde pales and begins to shake her head but it's too late for her pathetic attempt at apologies.

Eleanor laughs softly to herself, her eyes full of cold mirth. "Oh love, you think you know what I'm capable of? Let me tell you somethin' Mrs. Barker. You 'ave no idea." She smiles. "But you're goin' to find out."

Leaving dinner cooking and not giving a damn if it burns, Eleanor strides past a white-faced Lucy Barker and out of the kitchen with new resolve.

XxX

The day isn't exactly sunny, but the air is warm and as a gentle wind lifts her hair from her shoulders and ruffles the hem of her skirts, Johanna decides the afternoon couldn't be any more beautiful. Glancing over her right shoulder, she can't help but smile to find Anthony already looking back at her, grinning.

For some reason, Johanna finds it difficult not to smile when Anthony is around. She has never been much of a child, even when she was one, but he makes her feel full of childish glee for even the mundane. Anthony makes her look up at the stars with wonder, he makes a daisy more beautiful than the reddest of roses, he makes her feel like the whole world is just waiting for her to take its hand and lead her onto adventures unknown.

Today has been an adventure in itself. Anthony had taken her for a stroll through the park and they'd chased pigeons with a group of children, laughing until they could hardly breathe. They'd had an impromptu lunch with a family Anthony had befriended merely because he saw their picnic basket. They'd been a lovely group and all too willing to share their sandwiches and dessert cakes. And then, when they'd said goodbye to the little family, Anthony and Johanna had climbed a tree. When they'd gone as high as Johanna was able with her skirts getting in the way, Johanna had turned and looked out over the land with her heart in the throat.

Johanna hadn't climbed a tree since she was a child, but it had made her feel just as free as she remembered. The whole of the park was laid out before her, like a life-sized map of her very own kingdom. Johanna had gazed upon her realm with a delighted smile that only widened when Anthony reached across their shared branch and took her hand in his.

Locking eyes with her, Anthony had slowly lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her open palm. Johanna had blushed but her smile never wavered.

It has been the best day of her life, and strolling home arm in arm with Anthony, clutching a leaf from the beloved tree in one hand, Johanna knows that it is the beginning of many best days.

"Well what did you think of today?" Anthony asks, nudging her playfully. "Have I impressed you yet, Johanna?"

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, Johanna fights to keep her grin from taking over her face completely. "It was quite lovely, Mr. Hope."

Anthony nearly guffaws. "Quite lovely? Mr. Hope?" He leans in close, his eyes dancing merrily. "Is that all I'm going to get from you? Must you be so hard on me?"

Johanna laughs, forgetting herself in that adoring gaze. "It was magical, Anthony." She squeezes his arm. "Thank you."

Anthony looks pleased and they continue to gaze at each other, unmindful of the people walking around them. It takes Johanna a moment to hear the ruckus going on nearby, so caught up is she in the butterflies in her stomach, but when she turns to look, her eyes widen.

Three police officers, clubs in hand, are striding purposefully toward them pushing people out of the way in their haste. Behind them, almost lost in the crowd, Judge Turpin watches with a grinning Beadle Bamford at his side.

Just like that, the butterflies are gone and the only feeling in Johanna's stomach is cold dread. "No," she breathes, clutching at Anthony's arm.

Anthony turns to look at her, confused. "Johanna, what -"

"I'm sorry, Anthony," she says hurriedly. "But I'll fix this. I promise I will. I - "

"Anthony Hope?"

Offering the policeman a polite smile, Anthony nods his assent. "Is there a problem, officer?"

"You're under arrest - "

Johanna shrieks as an officer pulls her from Anthony's arm and restrains her as they begin to drag Anthony away. "What for? What has he done?"

"That's confidential for the time being, Miss," says the officer holding her struggling form.

She kicks at his shins as tears fill her eyes. "Let me go! You have no right!"

The officer winces but his grip on her doesn't lessen in the slightest.

Johanna has never felt so helpless and weak in her whole life. "You can't do this! Let him go, please!"

Anthony looks shocked but he doesn't resist as the other two officers tug him forcefully down the street. "It's alright, Johanna," he calls. "I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding. Don't cry, darling. It's going to be fine, you'll see!"

Johanna stares after him with tear-filled eyes, the horror of what has just happened settling over her. Anthony, her sweet and lovely Anthony, has been taken from her on no doubt false charges. Darling Anthony, who would never harm a soul, or utter an unkind word about anyone, who has done nothing wrong but court the girl a powerful Judge wants for himself. She knows what will happen now. It has already happened once before, fifteen years ago.

And then the words Auntie Nell spoke only a week ago come back to her as though the woman is standing right behind her, whispering in her ear.

"I'm sorry, but it's 'im or Anthony."

If she doesn't do something, she will never see her Anthony again. It isn't even a choice anymore. To Johanna, there is only one option left. She wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand, mouth settling into a grim line.

Johanna walks away with all the grace and purpose her mother taught her, head held high and back straight. When she turns the corner and is out of sight, she takes her skirts in hand and begins to run. She doesn't stop until she reaches the pie shop.

XxX

To escape Lucy, Eleanor had gone to her bedroom until she heard the telltale sounds of the blonde leaving the pie shop in an emotional huff. Then, she'd gone back to the kitchen to find Toby stirring dinner.

"Oh, I'm sorry, love," she says, going to him and kissing the top of his head affectionately. "Didn't mean to leave you with this."

Toby shrugs. "I came in and Mrs. Barker was leavin' but I smelled dinner burnin'. I just figured you was busy."

Eleanor nods, grateful Toby hadn't been home during her row with Lucy. "Thank you, darlin'. I'll take over from here."

Toby offers her the spoon and Eleanor begins poking at the potatoes in the stew while he retrieves two bowls. "Is it just us, ma'am?"

Sighing, Eleanor says, "Just us, love."

When Toby has had enough to eat and runs outside to play with his friends again, Eleanor sits in the parlor with a bottle of gin and plans to get very drunk. Unfortunately, she only gets halfway through one glass before she hears the door to the pie shop open and shut. She sighs and closes her eyes, praying to whoever will listen that it isn't Lucy. She doesn't have the strength for another round with her.

Instead, she hears the sound of heavy boots headed in her direction and she smiles to herself, downing the rest of her drink. When Mr. Todd appears in the doorway, looking a little paler than usual and rather nauseous, Eleanor arches an eyebrow. "You look like somethin' the cat dragged in, Mr. Todd."

He says nothing, staring at her instead. When she pushes the bottle of gin in his direction, he shakes his head. Eleanor begins to feel a little sick herself – he never refuses gin. What has gotten into him?

She pats the seat beside her on the settee. "Well, a've a seat then, love. You look a fright." When Mr. Todd doesn't move, Eleanor sighs. "Somethin' you want to say, Mr. T?"

Mr. Todd meets her eyes with his own troubled ones. "I don't - " He stops, swallowing.

Eleanor watches him pityingly. "You know, love," she begins softly. "You can tell me if somethin's botherin' you. We used to talk all the time, you and me, remember?"

Mr. Todd nods warily, eyeing her.

For a long moment, Eleanor doesn't speak, glancing down at her own lap and tracing random patterns on the settee cushion with her index finger. Before her confrontation with Lucy today and the accusations that the woman had hurled at her, Eleanor would never think of speaking the words she so badly wants to say now. However, Lucy has ruined whatever respect Eleanor still had for her.

"Perhaps if you weren't so busy trying to win over my family, you would have one of your own by now."

Lucy had overestimated her. The only thing Eleanor has tried to do is take care of the Barkers and ensure their happiness. Winning them over hadn't been in the plans. Now, however, things are different. The only thing holding her back is her own lack of courage. Eleanor swallows hard and wipes sweating palms on the skirts of her dress. She can't look at him – feeling those dark eyes on her is almost enough to make the words stutter in her throat. Looking at him would make speech impossible.

"You know 'ow you waited fifteen years to see your Lucy again?" She finally asks, her voice quiet. "The longin'? The pain? Tryin' every day to remember what 'er smile looked like? Clingin' to the good times and tryin' to forget the bad? Well, I went through that too, Mr. T." She raises her eyes slowly to meet his again, combating his frown with a soft smile. "I spent fifteen years waitin' for you to come home."

Mr. Todd stares at her like she's just told him the answer to all his life's problems, but he still doesn't speak. Eleanor begins to feel self-conscious, almost ready to apologize for her forwardness and try a different tack when it suddenly hits her. She sniffs the air, brow furrowed.

"What on earth…" The air smells of ale and cheap perfume. She wrinkles her nose. "Good lord, Mr. T. Is that you? Smells like you spent the day in a brothel!"

"I did," Mr. Todd says woodenly.

Eleanor almost chokes. "You did what?"

Before she can even begin a long tirade and tell Mr. Todd exactly what she thinks of where he's been, the man is halfway across the room. In the blink of an eye, he yanks her from the settee and into his arms, his dark eyes intent and the color returned to his cheeks.

Feeling lightheaded, Eleanor stares up into his face and stutters out, "M-Mr. Todd?"

"Shut up," he growls, and before she can protest, his mouth covers hers.

Eyes fluttering closed, Eleanor melts into his embrace, sighing a little as she grips his shirt in her hands. Mr. Todd wraps a strong arm around her waist, pulling her close against him. Whimpering a little, Eleanor wonders what has gotten into him but she isn't about to question it. She has spent too long lying awake at night wondering if he would ever touch her again to waste time thinking about anything but kissing him now.

She opens her mouth against Mr. Todd's, not caring in the slightest that he tastes like whiskey, and very slowly, she releases her grip on his shirt to slide her hand up his chest. Her fingers skate up his neck – she feels his pulse jumping in his throat – and cup his jaw in her hand. The feel of stubble beneath her fingers makes her smile against his mouth, and Mr. Todd nips at her bottom lip for her trouble.

Just as her other hand is tangling in his wild hair, gripping a little too tightly, the sound of the pie shop door slamming open and shut sends them staggering apart, breathing heavily. Stumbling away from him, mouth still tingling and her heart pounding, Eleanor drops back onto the settee before her knees give out.

"Auntie Nell!"

It's Johanna, sounding frantic.

Mr. Todd moves to the fireplace and leans over it, his face flushed and his hair tousled from Eleanor's fingers. Despite herself, Eleanor smiles at the picture he makes.

"Auntie Nell!"

Clearing her throat, Eleanor manages to call out hoarsely, "In 'ere, love!"

From the sound of her footsteps, Johanna is running.

A/N – So. Hello. –waves – I hope you all haven't forgotten about me. Haha I wrote this chapter a few months ago during summer break but my beta Robynne has a life and then subsequently forgot my chapter was in her inbox until I nagged her about my mysteriously missing, shiny and edited word document. So she wants me to convey her sincere apologies. And I have no idea when I will get a new chapter up. I start classes again next week and while I do want to finish this fic, I don't have a definite timeline at the moment. Thank you all so much for your patience and for the lovely reviews – I appreciate you guys and your feedback so much!