20Chapter 17: One Cannot Ignore the Heart's Pull
The room could very well be hers. Turpin, after all, funded it.
It was the room of every young woman's dreams. Though her and Johanna were close to age, their rooms very much differed. For one, Johanna's room was filled with the nicest things pennies could buy—from the shiny trinkets on her bedside to the opulent dresses in her wardrobe. Where Johanna's room was filled purely with ornamental knickknacks, hers was filled with books she saved her tips for. Johanna's bed was covered in silk while hers was always spread with a quilt her mother lovingly sewed for her. At the moment, Johanna's room was lit only by candles where the early morning sunlight was blocked by the heavy drapes. Hers would never be as dark in the morning; for her mother would made sure to open the windows to let the light in. She would say, with the light comes hope and a brighter day.
Would she be willing to swap her good old room for this?
Lia looked at the young woman still asleep on the canopied bed; waiting for her to wake to serve breakfast. Would she swap lives with her? There were things she envied of Johanna, of course. She would not mind living in comfort like she was—not having to observe her mother's daily worry whether they would have enough customers to keep their shop open. But most of all, it pained her to know that the people she cherished most, loved Johanna more.
Father—no, he was just Mr. Todd to her—would no doubt choose Johanna over her for she was his only real daughter. As to her own mother, it wounded her more to second guess where she stood. All her life, she was secured with the thought that she was her mother's heart. Now that she knew the truth of her birth, she was not as sure. Her mother only had her because she so wanted to have Johanna back. She could not fathom the depth of her mother's love for Johanna to sacrifice that much for her, and the pain not to have her back only to have been laden with her—Lia—in return.
Her searing stare must have willed Johanna awake. She promptly stood beside the bed as she observed Johanna taking in her surrounding following her wakefulness. She stayed silent until the girl acknowledged her.
"Good morning, Lia," Johanna greeted with her perpetually sad smile. "Such a shame I can't see how beautiful the morning really is."
"But maybe you will." The twinge of pity she felt for her prompted her to try cheering her up a bit. "Maybe the judge would permit you to go out for air soon—if only in the garden? For now, though, come on and get up. I've brought your breakfast."
Just as she was the very first time she served her meal, Johanna only pushed her food around the silver plate. She only sipped her tea. Johanna looked even more wearied since her reappearance. From the bits and pieces she gathered from her ramblings, she gleaned that with Anthony's unfortunate tragedy, Johanna suffered in an asylum turning almost insane herself.
In these moments when they were alone as lady and companion, Johanna would sip her tea quietly while looking through her window taking in the world outside. Much like her father, she could not help but mused. This time, however, Johanna's eyes were trained on her. It made her feel uneasy.
"Do you know, Lia, how much I envy you so?"
Lia's eyes squinted—a quirk her mother passed down to her. So, it all came down to this: two young women envious of each other.
Turning to her surrounding, Johanna looked wistful. "You have your freedom." Johanna was biting her lips, probably to keep herself from crying. "But most importantly, you have your family who loves you. Anthony, the only person who could have loved me, I drove to his death." Then her eyes were focused on the painting of a mother and daughter above the dresser—that, Lia guessed, was Johanna's favorite decor. "I can't even remember my mother's face. While you, Lia, you grew up surrounded by your mother's love."
"My mother loves you," Lia countered, without sparing a thought. Probably more than she loved me—she wanted to add but it hurt to utter it out loud.
"Your mother? Your mother loves me? She knows me?"
Lia decided there was no use to still keep part of her story from Johanna. At least some of it. "Yes, my mother. She was friends with your parents. She looked after you…and even wanted to get you out of the judge's care." That was how she got burdened with me, but that last thought she kept only to herself.
Johanna daintily jumped out of her seat in earnest, clasping her by the arms. "She did? Oh, Lia, why didn't you say anything before?"
"I…I didn't have the chance," she said lamely, followed by the shrug of her shoulders. It would not do good to tell Johanna that the plan was to only tell her when she already made her escape with Anthony.
Johanna, however, did not even listen to her response. "I must see her."
"But you're not even allowed to go out," Lia protested, but it was more of a reminder to Johanna that she was still in prison.
"Lia, you must help me. Judge Turpin likes you. Maybe if you…we…asked him kindly he could permit us to visit your mother." Johanna need not be on her knees to beg her, and the envy in her heart was swiftly being replaced by pity.
She was actually contemplating pleading her father—no, the judge—on Johanna's behalf when the door opened without a warning of a knock and in came the man himself.
Her actions were immediate. She straightened out and did a small curtsey. Johanna, despite being the lady of the house, did the same.
The way the judge took in Johanna's appearance made her skin crawl. She did not wonder why Johanna stuttered in his presence.
"Good…good morning, your honor…father. It's a wonderful world outside, isn't it?" Lia could see how Johanna was acting up to be cheerful. "I've been in the manor for long…that is, it would've been nice to see the sun."
"Unfortunately, my dear, the whole of London is in gloom," was the judge's smooth thwarting of Johanna's plans.
But Johanna was not giving up easily. She had a ready second plan. "Lia's been telling me her mother is sick and how worried she is about her."
She was caught off-guard with how smoothly the lie roll out of Johanna. Fortunately, she was able to gather her wits quickly when the judge addressed her.
"Is that true, Ms. Lovett?"
"Yes, your honor. My mother is unwell and alone, I'm afraid," she was able to hold the judge's stare for her response was in part true. A small voice in her head told her that the judge's hardened glare was softening as he took in every feature of her face. She was every bit disconcerted that she was ever so much grateful for the diversion of Johanna's gentle pleading.
"Maybe we can allow Lia for a quick visit to her sick mother in…"
"Fleet Street", she supplied.
"Yes, in Fleet Street and I can accompany her? This way, we won't need to look for another companion for me for such a very short time?" Johanna was grasping at straws and Lia could plainly see that the judge was not convinced.
"Oh, please, your honor…father…" When the judge spoke, it was Lia whom he addressed, "If you can be so kindly as to leave us, Ms. Lovett."
She chanced a look at Johanna. Her eyes were pleading her not to be left alone. But what could she do? She mouthed a meager "sorry" before she closed the door.
The expansive kitchen was not in its usual flurry of activities with the cooks swapping gossips while stirring pots and chopping veggies. It was eerily silent; not even the kettle she boiled water on dared to whistle aloud.
She was alone in the kitchen; with the cook due to arrive in a few hours still to prepare the meals and leave again with only her and the butler serving. There was no one to distract her from her very morbid thoughts.
As she brewed the judge's tea, she was consciously reminded of the bottle of arsenic she had just unearthed from the lower cupboard. The tale of Johanna's mother taking arsenic to end her life stayed on her mind. The putrid taste of the fatal dosage could not be masked by the tea, but perhaps little constant servings could do the trick?
Her hands quivered as she uncorked the small bottle. Was she ready to be a murderess? The judge cruelly destroyed lives—Anthony's, Johanna's, father's, no, Mr. Todd's. Above all, he hurt her mother—the one person she loved more than anyone else. For this alone, he deserved death.
He abused her mother's vulnerability. That was why her mother was beset with her. By fathering her, he had inflicted her mother with her life's greatest misery.
Yes, he fathered her. She was his daughter. Should that not weigh on her plan to kill him? Had she not longed for a father to love?
The bell rang, signaling it was time to serve the judge's tea. She was told the judge would be waiting in his study. He was there, yes, when she opened the door. But he was not alone. While the judge was sat relaxed in his armchair, there sat looming above him was Mr. Todd poised with a silver razor.
Only the sound of the porcelain smashing to the floor stirred her from her shocked reaction.
"Cordelia!"
She dropped to her knees gathering round the broken bits and pieces of china, numb on the scorching tea. "My apologies, your honor. I tripped and I didn't mean to. I will get your tea right away."
The judge was looming over her; roused by the breaking. "Never mind the tea now. Just go clean that up."
She kept her head bowed as she collected the shards to the tray; used her apron to wipe the tea and the spattering of her blood off the floor. When she dared took a peek before fleeing, her eyes locked with Mr. Todd. She hoped then she had her mother's knack of reading his eyes because she had fled the study without understanding what he was trying to convey.
The butler was hot on her heels, reprimanding, telling her that another mistake like that and her wages will be docked off. She accepted the scolding meekly, knowing it was entirely her fault. But more so, she wanted him gone; back to his napping so she could be left alone.
She wanted to rush back to the study, but the little voice in her head was telling that she would only be an obstruction in Mr. T's plan, whatever it was. And should he plan to murder the judge—her real father—would she want to witness it? A resounding no echoed in her head. The thought made her running to the back door. Slumped in the steps, she wrung her hands while waiting for Mr. T's exit. Kill or no kill, her intuition told her it would be where he would be coming out.
The door opened and she jumped away from it. When Mr. T showed up, her eyes immediately scanned him for taints of blood.
"I did not kill him," he said simply, putting an end to her scrutiny. "But I will kill him. Whatever it was in your head, don't do it." He held her face gently, belying the hardened set of his jaw. He wanted to look at her to drill the importance of his message. "You are no murderer, Lia. You're not part of this revenge and I don't want you ruining your life for it."
She wanted to protest that even if she was not his real daughter, her birth alone was part of it all. But he did not give her a chance to say a word. "
Don't break your mother's heart…and mine."
He was gone out of reach before she had the chance to hug him.
He almost had him. He was almost certain that when he walked out of that beastly manor, Turpin was a dead man. Only he failed to take Lia's presence into account. It was, perhaps, one of his greatest faults: to only think of himself; his wants and his pain and forgetting everyone else's.
But above his selfishness and greed for revenge, he simply could not slit Turpin's throat in front of Lia. He refused to give Lia that scar.
He simply must concoct another plan to lure Turpin to his death. But how? Wait for the next chance he required his services for another shave? What if he had trapped Johanna in a marriage before then? Should he sneaked into the night and be done with it? Still, there was a chance that the carnage would scar both his girls. Should he just break them out? Would it matter then if he did not kill the judge?
He wanted a practical mind to device him a plan; he needed a loving heart to guide him to the best path.
He needed Eleanor.
Without much time spared, he was across the street to the pie shop, spying. He wished he could still freely walk in there straight to her arms.
Could he? He was the one who walked out on her, after all.
Alone yet again in her closed shop, her thoughts were blurry—complimenting the queasiness that seemed to never left her stomach. She almost had no strength to open her shop in the morning; only the thought of being lonely again had made her pulled herself out of the bathroom floor she was slumped on.
So here she was—exhausted and lonesome again—as soon as she closed the door to her last customer. The only thing she wanted was to get Lia back and if heaven would grant, Johanna and Sweeney too, and escaped the lies and deceit of Fleet Street.
The ring of the bell failed to immediately make her lift her head from her crossed arms on the counter. Her hopes that it would be Lia or Sweeney have almost vanished with the hurt of being disappointed every time they failed to appear before her. But with the littlest of her hopes, she did take a peek.
Her heart pounded on her ears. With no regard to her queasiness, she shot up to the ground, one hand gripping the counter to keep her balance.
"It was true then. You really are unwell."
Turpin.
The hand on the counter went to cradle her stomach as she backed out; putting a few steps to distance herself from him.
By the way he was soaking in her appearance, she could feel his eyes slowly undressing her. With the memory of him from long ago violating her body very prominent in her mind, she swallowed the bile in her throat to speak out, "What are you doing here?"
"The girls told me you are unwell. They asked for my permission to visit you. I only wish to confirm myself whether their claims are true." He took steps towards her, cancelling the distance she created. "But I must say, I cannot remember to be this happier to see someone in a long time."
Nellie had been struck still in her pose while he was closing the gap between them. They were so close; they were almost touching. Not that she would voluntarily touch any part of him.
"I must say you look as every bit as tempting the last time I had you. I would have not believed you a mother if Cordelia had not so much as resembled you."
The mentioned of her daughter spurned Nellie into action but Turpin has anticipated her reaction; effortlessly catching the hand that would have slapped him.
He tried to pacify her, but ended up doing the opposite. "There was nothing for you to worry about. I have no intention of ever hurting my child."
His child.
She felt her knees buckled. She would have collapsed on the floor had he not caught her.
"This isn't exactly the place we should be discussing the delicate matters our little family," he explained as he half-carried her to the parlor. Weakened, she could barely struggle in his grasp; his hands feasting in her bosom. He gingerly dropped her to the couch only to be able to study the photos proudly displayed on her mantel. She watched with bated breath as he took on her favorite photo of her and a young Lia, taken at the girl's third birthday.
"Lia…Cordelia…," he said aloud without addressing her. It was as if he was only testing the sound of the name as it rolled off his tongue. "Cordelia," he tried the name again, "I like the sound of it. Daughter of sea, isn't it?" He turned to her, still gripping the photo. "Tell me, Eleanor, would you like to go to the sea?" Instead of the happy, contented feeling of the sea of her girlhood, she felt like a woman drowning. "Would Cordelia want to go too?"
Despite her wobbly legs, she shot up the couch to grab the photograph from him. "Keep my daughter away from this," she threatened as she tried again to snatch the frame but failed. The glass shards of the frame scattered on the floor between them.
"But she's my daughter too." His eyes grazed at the photograph which landed by their feet— an elaborate act she knew he was putting up for her, even though she would not buy it.
"She isn't. She's mine. Only mine." Fear and rage boiled within her.
He, however, was unfazed and only shrugged. "Why don't you calm down a bit so we can talk about it?" He directed her back to the couch as she recoiled to his touch.
She backed out to the edge of the couch as he attempted to sit beside her. She tried to reign in both her temper and terror knowing that any hysteria from her part would come to nothing.
In a measured tone masking her inner turmoil, she asked, "Why have you come here?"
He stood up and paced around the room, bitterly reminding her of Sweeney who abandoned her but she missed so very much. When Turpin addressed her, she knew he meant to distract her with perfumed words. He was not looking at her when he first spoke—probably not being able to summon a believable expression to his face.
"I wanted to apologize, Eleanor. Leaving you was a mistake. I should have not fled to the country that day after. I humble myself to you now and wished for you to accept my sincerest apologies." His eyes met hers then and for all she was worth, she could detect a trace of sincerity in them. Or was it just wistful thinking on her part—borne out of her desperate loneliness? No, she would not be deceived again by this serpent.
"You fooled me once but I'm sorry you won't fool me again, your honor," she spat the last of her words with venom.
He stopped his pacing only to kneel in front of her where she flinched at his closeness. "I know it was hard to accept my apology after what I did. But believe me, Eleanor, I would have not left…I would have come back sooner if I'd known you were with child…"
"My child has nothing to do with you! How many times do I need to tell you that?" She had almost clawed his eyes out had it not for his quick reflexes to grab her arms.
"But my dear Eleanor, there's no use to deny the truth, is there? We both know the truth even for some unholy reason, you won't admit it. Cordelia is my daughter. She might have had your face—which if I may say is a welcome blessing—but she has my gait, my posture and I could clearly see a lot of me in her."
Vehemently, she shook her head in resistance to his words.
"And who could have fathered her if not me? Do you think I will believe you if you said your weak old husband sired a girl as perfect as Cordelia?"
Even in her dizzied state, she could not admit that Cordelia was his daughter. "Believe what you want, but my daughter is not yours."
"Why, my dear Eleanor, do you fight the truth so much when you've already sent her to me?"
"I didn't send her to you! If it was me, she'll only be a servant in your house over my cold corpse! She went there in her own—" she bit her tongue hard, lest she gave away the plot of their revenge; accidentally putting everyone she loved in danger.
Ignoring the gist of what she said, he continued his argument. "It saddened me to have my own daughter serving at my house when she can very well be the young lady. I can give her everything that Johanna has and more."
"Johanna whom you treat as a prisoner and whom you lust after!" Despite her trembling hands, her nails were digging at his arms but he was showing no sign of pain. "It disgusts me that you would trap a girl young enough to be your daughter to marry you!" She spat at his face instantly generating the response she wanted. He let go of her arms to draw out a handkerchief in his breast pocket he used to wipe off her spit from his face. To her surprise, he, however, did not retaliate. He remained firmly kneeled across her, almost begging if only to satisfy his lust.
"There is no truth in that! I have no plans to marry that girl. How can I have any interest in her? She is all looks but is as dull as her mother." He took her hands despite her protest. If he had not trapped her legs, she would have kicked him. His soft hands which have not known a day's work, however, moved to cradle the inside of her palms. "Why would I want her when you are here?"
Quite suddenly, he yanked her off the couch to lay on the floor, successfully trapping her in a tight embrace with him landing on top. "I have been a good lover, haven't I? If I was not, you would have not borne our child." She would have spat at him again but she needed to avert her face so he would not be able to capture her mouth. It did not prevent him however to kiss the length of her neck. "I promise to remain a good lover, you won't regret it. I will also be a good father to Cordelia. And to the son, my heir, that I wish for you to borne me. Perhaps, we can begin now the process of making one?"
If possible, his clutch on her even tightened. One hand was grasping the mound of her breast as the other was hiking her skirts up; all the while he was grinding his hips on her like an animal in heat.
"What do you say, Eleanor, will you give me another child?"
She could not utter her revulsion for he had successfully assaulted her mouth with lustful kisses. In her peripheral vision, she spotted the shards of glass from the broken frame. If she could only get hold of the bigger piece near her, she could use it to slice open Turpin's neck as Sweeney would have surely done.
As he continued to lust after her body, she was trying to maneuver her arms, twisting her hands as if she was also partaking in his pleasure. Her hands were mock caressing his body as her eyes were trained to her chosen murder instrument. While her left hand rubbed his arousal, she had her right hand freed.
The moment she grabbed the shard of glass, blood spilled.
Her palm bleed with the cut of the shard. But above her, Turpin's blood splattered all over her; his throat was slit open before she even had the chance to stab the glass through his neck.
"Sweeney…you came back…"
In an instant, Turpin's lifeless corpse was thrown off her. She was pulled up from the floor straight to Sweeney's arms. He was palming her face, looking at her with worry. "Are you alright?"
Her response, however, was to slap him hard. "You abandoned me! I was frightened to my wit's end…alone…And you asked me if I am alright?"
"Eleanor…I-"
There was loud clanking of boots outside. Both their eyes shifted to the bloodied judge.
Sweeney was quick to act. In no time, he had Nellie pinned again to the floor, his silver friend was back to her unflawed throat—only hovering, however, distanced enough to not draw a drop of her precious rubies.
As his thumb caressed her cheeks, he insisted, "Look as if I'm trying to kill you. It's the only one way you can be spared."
Hello, All!
How's life?
Mine's pretty much confused right now so here's one balm to my soul. I will miss our little family though as we are already at the end. The next one's the last and I hope you see through it. I am much grateful to everyone who messaged me in ffnet and ao3 for all the support and all those who read!
PS. Shoutout to AngelfireAlly, Moonlightshadoww, Ratty Darling and Beneath the Skin—you are all the best. x