Partners in crime

You must leave.

"Where the hell is he!" Turpin growled slamming his fist hard into his wooden work desk. The clatter of glasses from his desk had the beadle backing away being cautious of the Judges clear rage.

Mr Bradshaw had clearly stated he would return to the Judges home an inform him of what he managed to get out of the baker. Yet it seemed Mr Bradshaw had been there long enough due to the fact it was now nightfall and there was still no sign of him. The judge was not one to be kept waiting....

The beadle opened his mouth as if to speak yet was cut off as Turpin interjected.

"If you want a job done you have to do it yourself" His dark grovelled voice was even more sinister as he grabbed his pistol from his top draw and rose abruptly from behind his desk.

"Wait your lord" the beadle hurried towards him in urgency. "You don't want the barber seeing you yet do you? It's late, I'll go and see what the hold up is" Beadle banford seemed to get the Judge to pause for a moment before acting out so Hastily.

"I won't be long" the beadle added with his sly grin
convincing the judge into settling back down. He was reluctant in doing so, but the beadle was right he couldn't just go storming in there without any kind of plan.

"Find Bradshaw and you best tell him I expect a full report" the judge warned before flickering back down to the mountain of paper work he had been doing. The beadle was quick to nod towards him smiling his greasy grin towards the judge.

"Rest assured, I'll find him"

Without glancing the beadle's way Turpin brushed him off with his hand dismissively continuing to write with his quill in the other. "Go"

Without another word between them the beadle left on his way to Mrs Lovett meat pie emporium.

—————-

Sounds of laughter and drunken slurred speech filled the London streets on this cold foggy night. The cracking of fire pits and the smell of vermin was stronger then ever as the beadle headed down the dirty streets of London. London city was more alive at night then it was in the day. Public houses and brothels being the most loudest of places to be at this time of night.

The beadles shoes squelched in the muddy puddles along the cobbled streets, his cane clopping along beside him as he walked. The sight of a sewer rat running across the street hadn't unsettled him just made him sneer, god London could be an awful dirty place to live.

Finally in sight of the establishment the beadle looked around, glad to see the street practically empty allowing him to peak through the dirty widows of Mrs Lovett meat pie emporium.

Squinting and looking closer the beadle couldn't make out much. The light in the shop was very dim and the widows not clear enough to see through properly. Yet he was committed to finding out what happened to Mr Bradshaw's whereabouts and so made his way towards the shop door. With a twist of the door knob, to his surprise it opened with ease, the bell above chiming making him wince.

Yet still there was no one or no sound. Odd.

With careful steps the beadle walked slowly across the shop towards what must of been the bakers living quarters. The small room was clearly very old, with the wallpaper peeling off at the corners and thick dust covering most surfaces. Filthy

And that's when he heard something below. With a deep frown the beadle then noticed the hatch doors were open to what he would assume to be the way to the bakehouse.

As he edged closer he could make out some voices. They were muffled, being too far away to hear and so he made his way down the slimy steps.