Raise your hand if you think Beadle's a creeper. Okay, raise your hand if you've ever wondered why he basically plays the part of Judge Turpin's puppet.

(Did everyone raise their hands? Good.)

I tried my hand at making Beadle a more endearing character. I explored his role in Lucy's 'dreadful plight,' his relationship with Judge Turpin, his relationship with Johanna, and his feelings towards Lucy even after she poisons herself and gets locked up in Bedlam. I hope I did everyone justice... Yell at me if I didn't.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!!

He had always had a soft spot for her.

He had been nursing it ever since he had first laid eyes on her. Her yellow hair had been glinting in the sunlight, the golden lights twinkling at him. It swung behind her jauntily, as if it possessed a life of its own. How he longed to run his fingers through it, to feel the soft locks between his fingertips…

But every time this thought crossed his mind, his eyes would drop guiltily to his hands. He would inspect the dirty and cracked fingernails, the abnormally shaped joints, and feel as if the monstrous creations were not worthy to touch something so pure.

Then he would reason with himself. She would never belong to him after all. She was taken by a man much more respectable, much more likeable than him. As much as he hated watching the two of them walking together, he was nevertheless entranced by them. The two of them always seemed so happy, so perfect, so… everything he could never be.

Unbeknownst to him, another man held similar feelings, only much more hostile and barbaric in nature. This man, to his dismay, was his employer.

Everyone knew that Judge Turpin had lusted after Lucy for years, and her marriage to Benjamin Barker had done nothing to change that. The only two ignorant to this were Lucy herself and her foolish husband Ben.

He felt sorry for the two of them, he truly did. All they had done was fall in love, and, as a result, married and had a child.

But the Judge couldn't have that, oh no. He had sent Ben away, exiling him from London. Lucy had been inconsolable, but not from a lack of people trying. Mr. and Mrs. Lovett had visited the poor girl and her tiny daughter, trying to coax her to emerge from her room. Even the Judge had tried his hand, though standing by her window for hours with flowers did not seem a very considerate way of cheering someone up.

So he confronted the Judge, pleading with him to apologize to Lucy.

"Why should I apologize to her?" was the Judge's reaction.

"My Lord, do not forget that it was at your order that Barker was taken away, sir," he reasoned, trying to make the Judge see sense. "It was this that caused Lucy to be so unhappy. Please, sir, you have to see this!"

"Very well, Beadle, go along and fetch her. Tell her she must come to my house immediately, for I must speak with her. Tell her… that I blame myself for her dreadful plight."

Yes, it was the Beadle that had been harboring certain affections for one Lucy Barker. As hard as he tried to rid himself of these feelings – for it is strictly forbidden to covet your neighbor's wife – he found that with every passing day he found her more beautiful. He found himself longing to sit with her, to put an arm around her shoulders, to whisper words of comfort into her ear.

So when the Judge ordered him to call upon Lucy, to bring her with him, Beadle threw caution to the wind. He allowed himself to be fooled by Judge Turpin's poker face, to believe that the man really was sorry for what he had done. An unnatural jauntiness in his step, he rushed down Fleet Street to find Lucy and persuade her to come with him.

At his arrival, he was accosted by Mrs. Lovett and her rolling pin.

"Turn around and leave poor Lucy be!" she ordered, waving he rolling pin dangerously close to his face. "'Aven't you buggers caused the poor girl enough trouble?"

Beadle felt his stomach turn over at her words. How dare she accuse him of anything! It had been all Judge Turpin's doing; he had had nothing to do with sending Ben away. Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to turn his face up into a crooked smile, showing off yellow teeth.

"Please, ma'am, I come on behalf of Judge Turpin." He realized he had made a mistake by beginning his explanation here, for her grip on the rolling pin tightened. He licked his lips and took his top hat off his balding and sweaty head before continuing. "The Judge is all contrite, you see. He realizes now what a horrible mistake it was to send Benjamin away. He wishes to speak with Lucy, to apologize for her dreadful plight."

Mrs. Lovett raised an eyebrow, looking rather skeptical. Beadle began spinning his top hat in his hands, trying to hold her gaze.

"I'll tell her for you," Mrs. Lovett ushered him inside. He walked in quickly, before she could change her mind. He noticed Mr. Lovett sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, his legs covered with a thick blanket.

"Hello there, Albert," Beadle greeted him as Mrs. Lovett dropped her rolling pin rather noisily down on the counter before heading upstairs to where Lucy was no doubt still in her room.

"Beadle," Alfred inclined his head slightly. The two men remained silent, listening to Mrs. Lovett's footsteps up the stairs, then the sharp rapping noise that no doubt came from her knocking on a door.

"Lucy, dear?" they heard her saying. "May I come in, love? You have a visitor." The door above opened, creaking on rusty hinges; Lucy had obviously obliged. The door creaked again, and the banging noise that came next told them the door had closed. Beadle could no longer hear Mrs. Lovett's voice.

"How've you been, Albert?" Beadle asked, licking his lips and spinning his hat again.

Albert grunted in acknowledgement of Beadle's words and shifted heavily in his seat. When he spoke, his voice was gruff, but soft.

"Ah, Beadle, 'ow am I indeed?" He let out a strange bark of laughter that made Beadle jump. "I'd be doin' a lot better if it weren't for these damn legs. I'll tell you, gout's no picnic. Pray to God you never get anything of the like."

Beadle nodded stupidly, not knowing what to say. His eyes darted around the room, looking for something to start a conversation, a new topic to distract Albert from his legs.

"Wot's Mrs. Lovett making?" Beadle asked, gesturing with his head towards the counter. The rolling pin that she had dropped was lying in a pile of white flour, flanked to its left by a hunk of uncooked dough and to the right by a bowl full of an unrecognizable red… something.

"She's tryin' 'er 'and at meat pies," Albert's mouth started to water the instant he spoke. Beadle rolled his eyes; Albert would eat anything, and just the mention of food was enough to make his stomach rumble and drool run down his chin. "Couldn't pass me the ale, could ya?" Albert held out an expectant arm.

Beadle picked up the bottle closest, a large brown one at the edge of the counter, but at Albert's yell he jumped.

"No, not that one!"

Feeling rather annoyed with Albert, Beadle slammed the bottle down with a little too much force. He let his hand wander over the bottles on the counter, taking Alfred's grunts as clues to find the correct one. After locating the one half-full of ale – the light brown one with a rather moldy cork – and passing it to Albert, Beadle continued the spinning of his top hat. There were no sounds from upstairs; the only noise to be heard was Albert's greedy slurping.

Then, quite suddenly, thundering footfalls were heard coming down the stairs, causing the beadle to turn his hat with a little too much enthusiasm. It flew across the counter, picking up a layer of flour as it went.

Mrs. Lovett had returned, and this time Lucy accompanied her. Mrs. Lovett had a hand on Lucy's arm, fingers gently restraining the poor girl. Lucy's eyes were bloodshot and she had dark red circles under her eyes. Her face look raw, from all the times she had wiped her tears away, Beadle surmised.

Yet even through all the imperfections, even though her once silky yellow hair was tangled and tucked up in a hasty knot, Beadle still found her beautiful. He still found himself longing to touch her yellow hair, to wipe away the tears now trailing slowly down her cheeks.

"He wants to apologize, you say, Mr. Beadle?" Lucy asked, her voice hoarse and strained.

"Yes ma'am," Beadle said, quickly retrieving his hat from the counter. "He begs you to come straight to his house tonight, where the two of you may finally right the wrong done to you."

"Take me to him, then," Lucy tried to sound brave, tried to hold her head high, tried to bite back the sob thrashing in her throat, longing for escape. But try as she might, her voice still shook and a strangled noise came from her throat.

"You don' have to, love," Mrs. Lovett reminded her, fingers tightening on Lucy's arm. "Nobody will force you if you don' want to go."

"But I have to go," Lucy's voice was bordering on hysteric. "It's the only way I'll get Ben back. Don't you see? If he's truly sorry, he'll begin Ben home! We'll be a family again!"

It was obvious that Mrs. Lovett had a very different thought process. She knew the Judge's feelings when it came to Lucy, and she was frightened for her. Mrs. Lovett's face was white and her still grasping fingers clutched at Lucy's sleeve.

"Let 'er go, dear," Albert's voice was rough and slurred; the ale was affecting him. He held out the now near empty bottle and shook it, the alcohol swishing around the bottom. "Take a swig, love, and commere and gimme a kiss."

Sighing exasperatingly, Mrs. Lovett released Lucy's sleeve, the imprints of her fingers folded into the cloth. She walked briskly, heels clacking on the wooden floor, over to Albert's chair, where she skillfully pried the bottle from his pudgy hands.

"'Ey! I wosn't done with tha'!" Albert protested, hiccoughing.

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Lovett's voice was dismissive, and she kissed Albert's bald head before setting the ale down on the counter out of her husband's reach.

"Shall we?" Beadle addressed Lucy, offering her his arm and putting the top hat back on his head.

"Yes, Mr. Beadle," Lucy took the arm he offered, not noticing the way his eyes briefly closed at her touch. He escorted her to the door and the two exited to Mrs. Lovett's call of, "Do be careful, Lucy dear!"

The two began walking at a fast pace, Beadle soon advancing farther than Lucy.

"Do keep up, Lucy dear," he said kindly, smiling in what he hoped was a friendly and comforting way. "I fear what kind of folk may be wandering the streets at night."

Lucy obediently began walking faster, the grip on his arm tightening. The place on his arm where her hand rested was beginning to prickle, as if someone had started tickling him. Beadle took and released a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the sensation.

Lucy is still married to Benjamin Barker, even though he is not here, he reminded himself, and God strictly forbids coveting your neighbor's wife. I'll have to confess to Father tomorrow, again.

"Lucy?" his voice was laced with kindness, and he was pleased with the way she smiled at him before uttering a soft, "Hm?" to show that she was listening.

"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for the way things have been going for you," he was speaking quickly now; they had almost reached the Judge's house. "I want you to know that I had absolutely nothing to do with Benjamin being sent away. I just want the two of us, and maybe three of us, once Ben comes home, to get along. If not as friends, we could maybe be acquaintances?"

"Mr. Beadle, you always were the kind one of the two," Lucy squeezed his arm for a brief second. This caused the tickling sensation to stop; now it felt as if his arm were on fire. He had no need to ask who the other 'one of the two' was, for he had an inkling he knew exactly who she was speaking of.

"Here we are, dear," he said kindly, helping her up the steps to Judge Turpin's front door. She tightened her grip on his arm again, no doubt in need of support as she entered the house. Beadle wished he could put an arm around her shoulders, but he could not see the Judge smiling on this.

He was taken aback when he led Lucy into the Judge's entrance hall. Music was playing from somewhere, and there were people everywhere. They all wore formal attire and the strangest looking masks one could hope to find. The way their eyes were hidden in shadows sent a shiver down Beadle's spine, and he felt Lucy take a step closer to him.

"Here you go, Lucy," he picked up a wine goblet from the table and handed it to her. "No doubt the Judge's finest."

"Thank you, Mr. Beadle," she accepted the goblet from him and took a small sip. "Where is the Judge?"

"I can't recognize him," Beadle peered at each passing face in turn, trying to recognize some feature that belonged to Judge Turpin. The crowd around them pressed in on the two of them, dancing rather haphazardly. Beadle spied an empty space on the floor and tried to maneuver towards it, but it was hopeless. There was no way the two of them would be able to squeeze through.

You mean there's no way you can squeeze through, said a voice in his head. You stupid pudgy thing, Lucy would slide right past them!

But Lucy was clutching his arm even tighter, her breath coming in faint gasps. Afraid that the crowd was affecting her, Beadle frantically gave her a push, sending her tottering through the crowd and into the empty spot.

He hated leaving her there, in the middle of the hall with nobody she knows, but he knew the Judge's house as if it were his own. He retreated back into another room, where he knew he would be able to find another way through.

Unfortunately for both Beadle and Lucy, this was just what the Judge had been waiting for. He had purposely stationed a certain glass of wine at the end of the table closest to the door, knowing that Beadle would offer it to Lucy. He had slipped a drug into it, one that would make Lucy weak and unable to fend for herself.

While Beadle made his way down a dark hallway, the Judge spotted Lucy, faint and barely breathing, on a chair. As Beadle squeezed past a couple passionately kissing in the narrow hallway, the Judge advanced on Lucy. And as soon as Beadle entered the entrance hall from the other end, the Judge had taken her.

But poor Beadle was oblivious to all this. He had been unable to hear Lucy's screams of protest over the music and the noise the crowd was making. He had not squeezed through the throng to see what it was everyone was so entranced by. Instead, he had been hailed by a frequent customer at Mrs. Mooney's Pie Shop. This customer had been asked by Mrs. Mooney to remind the Beadle that she would be waiting for his inspection the following day.

"She knew you were coming here tonight, then?" Beadle had asked, wondering why he himself had not been told of the Judge's evening plans beforehand.

"Well, sir, I may have been boasting about my invite at her shop earlier today," the customer shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously embarrassed at his bragging.

"Wouldn't we all?" Beadle clapped him on the back, assuring him that an invitation to Judge Turpin's house is indeed something to boast about.

And while Beadle socialized and was distracted by various guests, Lucy was helpless in the Judge's control. By the time Beadle found himself unoccupied and remembered Lucy, she was long gone. He had asked the Judge about her when they had crossed paths, and had gotten no answer except a cocky sneer and a twenty pound note slapped into his unsuspecting hand.

It wasn't until the next morning that he found out what exactly had happened the night before.

He had been troubled the previous night by the judge's sneer, so he decided to check up on Lucy, to make sure that all the problems had been resolved, and that Benjamin would indeed be returning.

Once again, he was accosted by Mrs. Lovett and her rolling pin.

"You've got a lot of nerve, showin' your face round 'ere!" she screamed at him, her hair frizzy and wild, dark circles under her eyes. "After wot 'ee did to poor Lucy." She began whacking every inch of him she could reach with her rolling pin.

"Wait! Mrs. Lovett, wot're you talking about?" Beadle covered his face with his arms, trying to protect himself from the painful blows while trying to find out what had made her so upset at the same time. He got no answer except a couple bruises on his arms, so he left it as a bad job and hurried away.

"Yeah, and you tell your honorable Judge Turpin tha' the same treatment awaits 'im!" Mrs. Lovett called after him, putting a sarcastic emphasis on 'honorable Judge Turpin.'

"Wot's got her all upset?" he wondered aloud, taking off his top hat to scratch his head. After placing the hat back on his head, he decided his best bet for an answer was with one of Mrs. Lovett's neighbors. He bustled into the building next door, a tailoring business. A small bell rang to announce his entrance, and a young girl who looked no older than eighteen came bustling up front to greet him.

"'Ello sir, wot can we do fer you tuh-day?" she began, not looking him in the face.

"I was hoping someone could–"

He was cut off as the girl finally looked at his face and let out a bloodcurdling shriek. She made a beeline for the back of the shop and he heard a door slam; she had no doubt retreated to the back room.

Utterly bewildered, Beadle was relieved when a man emerged from the back of the store. A tape measure was resting around his neck like a neck tie, and his crisp white sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Unlike the girl, he did not lose his head at the sight of Beadle.

"Sorry 'bout tha'," the man's arms were tight at his sides and his fingers were clenching and unclenching rapidly. He tried to smile at Beadle, but he looked instead like he was being force-fed cow manure. "Wot can I 'elp you with tuh-day, then?"

"I was hoping someone could tell me wot's got Mrs. Lovett – and that girl–" he nodded towards the back of the store, "all upset." He licked his lips and took off his top hat.

The man scoffed at his question and, rather sarcastically, said, "As if you didn't know."

"I don't!" Beadle insisted, spinning his hat in his hands.

"But you were there!" the man protested. "You were at Judge Turpin's 'ouse las' night! 'Ow could you not know?" At Beadle's still clueless face, he beckoned him closer, speaking in a whisper. "It's been the talk o' the town all mornin'. I 'eard tha' sumthin' 'appened to Lucy Barker at the Judge's las' night."

"Wot?" Beadle asked urgently. "Tell me!" The man bent his head so he was speaking directly in Beadle's ear.

"I 'eard tha' he… tha' he… defiled 'er."

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on him and slapped him on the chest at the same time. Beadle staggered backwards, his spinning top hat falling to the floor. He began shaking his head, backing out of the store. He turned, pulled the door open viciously, and ran out onto Fleet Street. He kept running, barely noticing the stitch in his chest, until he reached the Judge's house.

He threw the door open and stormed through the entrance hall, not bothering to close the front door. He stomped right past the site of the Judge's crime without knowing, and did not stop until he reached the study.

The Judge was sitting in a large chair by the window, paging through a thick black book. It was embossed with silver decorations and looked like the Bible Beadle had at his own home. However, judging by the looks on Judge Turpin's face, this book was definitely not the Bible. This one had to be from his 'special library,' the ones he never let anyone touch. (Beadle had learned this the hard way, having unwittingly picked one up before.)

"Ah, Beadle," the Judge looked up from his reading, quickly closing the book as if worried someone would look over his shoulder. Then, obviously interpreting the look on Beadle's face, he asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"Wot happened last night?" Beadle demanded, scaring himself by the animosity in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" Judge Turpin's mouth turned up into a half-smile.

"Tell me," Beadle ordered. "What did you do to Lucy?"

"You tell me, Beadle," the Judge's eyes narrowed. "What have you heard?"

But after his outburst, Beadle seemed incapable of words. He was shocked, horrified, by how lightly Judge Turpin was taking this matter. Did he not know what people were saying? Surely he had… Then why was he not searching out the scoundrel that had started this rumor? Unless…

"You did, didn't you?" Beadle took a step away from him, disgusted. He felt his legs wobbling and he grabbed hold of a wooden chair to his right and sank down onto it. His breath was coming in gasps, his heart running a marathon in his chest. "Wh-why? Why did you do that to her?"

The Judge's eyes closed, an expression of ecstasy on his face. He tilted his head back, sighing deeply. His fingers flexed and gripped the arms of the chair.

"Ah, Beadle," when he spoke, Beadle could hear the lust dripping from each letter, spilling down his chin and onto his vest, "just try to tell me that I acted differently than any man in my position would have."

Beadle was shaking, feeling beads of sweat forming on his brow. His armpits were damp and had no doubt stained his shirt yellow. He was wheezing, feeling his stomach gurgle uncomfortably. He put a trembling hand over it as if to calm it.

The next thing he knew, he was on all fours, vomiting all over the Judge's polished wood floors. Even long after he had emptied his stomach he still crouched there, heaving up nothing but air, saliva dripping from his chin. He felt dizzy. His eyes were unable to focus on anything, and the floorboards were hazing together into one fuzzy brown mass.

The room was spinning around him – or maybe his brain had come loose and was bounding around inside his head – and he could hear Judge Turpin's disgusted shouts. Footsteps were pounding all around him, echoing painfully inside his still spinning head. And there was Lucy, screaming, lying on the floor in front of him, her dress torn below the waist, covered in her own blood…