Esteemed Malevolence

XXXVIII: Cream Horns and Constables

Swaying meadows of lilac, smog-less skies that were painted a beautifully soft grey, ripples across deep green pond water, gleaming webs that were still coated in white from the frost that morning...

It was hard to believe that such an ethereal place was situated in London...

... given that there was neither a smoking chimney stack or meat pie in sight.

Mrs Lovett had wanted to take Mr Todd to Hampstead Heath for quite sometime. And after a rather hefty amount of persuasion, he had begrudgingly accepted that he would join her that Sunday afternoon.

For a Londoner, a trip on the Heath was the closest thing to a countryside outing - it was clear that many went there just so that they didn't have to inhale all that dreadful smoke all of the time, the air was so much purer there.

It was no wonder that Eleanor Lovett felt so giddy - she was finally able to breathe real air.

The two of them had set down a picnic blanket (which looked like an old rug that Eleanor had salvaged from some rubble) beneath a tree which was located quite far from the popular areas of the grounds. Eleanor had been adamant that they had to sit beneath a tree, in hopes it would create some shade. Mr Todd was a little confused why she'd insisted on venturing out on a fairly pleasant day in late winter, only to block the sun out altogether.

Apparently, he was completely unaware of her profound motives. He hadn't even considered that her persistence was perhaps because she was acting out one of the daydreams she'd had about the two of them.

He perched down next to her none-the-less, crossing his legs over like a small child who had been left in anticipation during story-time. He looked completely out of place sat next to the cheery baker, who was going on about something or other as she beamed an enormous smile at him.

His gloomy demeanour had returned because he felt ridiculous. He daren't move - he was surrounded by a mine-field of plates. There were tea-cakes, scones, all sorts of sugar-based tarts and countless plates of other sweet foods that had some sort of dark gooey jams on the side... in fact, he eventually closed his eyes because he couldn't bring himself to see what else she'd made for the two of them.

There were so many damned plates that he hadn't even been able to see the pattern of the rug anymore. He didn't know why she fussed over him so much. He certainly wasn't much of an eater... after a few months of watching half of London devour the other half through Eleanor's meat pies - it was more than enough to shrink his stomach.

"Did we really need this much bloody food?" he grumbled shortly, sat up stiffly like his muscles didn't know the meaning of the word relax. She appeared to be silently taken aback by his abrupt interruption and sighed anxiously when he picked up a cream-filled pastry which was on the nearest plate beside him. He brought it up, right before his eyes so that he could inspect it like it was some sort of heinous crime-scene.

"Better to 'ave lots, than none at all. An' wot ya complainin' for? You's already got yer 'ands on that cream 'orn I made, so stop bein' a hypocrite." she shot back with a knowing smirk, studying the blue and white stripes that decorated the pale fabric of her skirts.

He was raring to argue his point, but he bit back his urge to scold her. The two of them were still attempting to keep a low profile, after all - they were still overly careful about appearing like every-day Victorian friends...

And that was going ever so successfully.

He narrowed his eyes towards her, and like she knew he was doing so, she lifted her shimmering gaze to face him. She bit into a smile as he brought the sweet pastry up to his lips, not delaying in taking a competitive bite out of it - that would show her. Cream oozed out through the cracks in the golden crust and coated his lips as he reluctantly took the food from his mouth to set it back down onto the plate. Secretly, he'd rather enjoyed the taste of what she'd made.