My Cutthroat Romance

Chapter 11

Meanwhile, in another corner of London, Judge Turpin was in court, trying a young red-haired boy.

“This is the [i]second[/i] time, sir you have been brought before this bench. Though it is my earnest wish ever to temper justice with mercy, your [i]persistent[/i] dedication to a life of crime is an abomination before God and man. I therefore sentence you to hang by the neck until you’re dead, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Court is adjourned.” He announced before slamming his gavel down noisily.

The boy wept quietly as the other men in the room rose and began to leave, save for the ones who were collecting him. As the Judge walked down the stairs of the building, the Beadle caught up with him.

“Thank you, Your Honor. Just the sentence we wanted.” He said graciously.

“Was he guilty?” The Judge inquired out of curiosity.

“Well if he didn’t do it he’s surely done something to warrant a hanging.” The Beadle replied, sounding amused.

“What man has not?” Turpin murmured.

“Sorry?”

“No matter. Come,” Judge Turpin patted his shoulder. “Walk home with me.”

Beadle Bamford shook out his cane and strode along to catch up.

“I have news for you my friend. In order to shield her from the evils of this world…I have decided to marry my dear Johanna.” The Judge told him proudly.

“Ah, sir, happy news indeed!” Bamford congratulated.

“Strange though, when I offered myself to her she showed a certain…reluctance.” Turpin sounded confused as he expressed this.

“Excuse me my lord; may I request permission to speak?”

The Judge nodded slightly once to say yes.

“Forgive me if I suggest my lord, you’re looking less than your best. My lord there’s powder upon your vest and stubble upon your cheek. And ladies, my lord are weak.” Beadle told him hurriedly, not wanting to offend him by pointing out obvious flaws.

“[i]Stubble[/i], you say?” He checked his reflection in the window. “Well perhaps I am a little…overhasty, in the mornings.” He frowned a little.

“Fret not though my lord. I know a place, a barber, my lord, of skill. Thus armed with a shaven face, some eau de cologne to brace and musk to enhance the chase my lord, you’ll dazzle the girl until…”

“Until?” The Judge urged.

“She bows to your every will.” Beadle grinned.

“A barber? Take me to him.” Turpin said immediately.

“His name is Todd, my lord and he is the very last [i]word[/i] in barbering.” Beadle explained.