Author's Note:
This story involves the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. The story is set in the 1830s, 40+ years after the French Revolution. Anthony Dewhurst (who actually had a book in Orczy's series) is older now, but much more experienced.
In the 15 years that Sweeney was away in Australia, London's population practically doubled, the Industrial Revolution is well underway, and the London Metropolitan Police Force has been formed. Gaslight is now becoming more common, and the first railway is being built in London.
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Upstairs, Downstairs
"Miss? Your breakfast is ready." A redheaded girl in a crisp maidservant's outfit was standing with a tray in her arms at Johanna Turpin's bedroom door.
"Come in," a quiet voice answered.
Turpin's newest maid let herself into Johanna's room and announced to the world in a voice with an Irish lilt, "Your tea is nice and hot, and the toast is fresh. How are ye doin' this mornin', Miss?" She placed the tray on the ormolu bedside table, spread out a napkin beside it, and cast an appraising look at the young girl she was serving.
Johanna was bearing up well, considering that the poor girl was imprisoned in her own house. Considering what she'd recently learned about her father and the man who'd made himself her guardian. Usually her eyes were sad and distant—but now they were determined and concentrated.
"I've been better." Johanna glanced at the door and whispered, "Are we free to speak?"
"Yes, fresh from this morning's baking," Meg said loudly, then pushed the door shut with her foot. Dropping the lilt that falsely declared her Irish origins, she said with a grin, "For a little while. The Judge has hidden himself in his study again. As for me, I'm afraid I'm not allowed in the pantry today. There was a little mix-up yesterday with the jam."
Then she quickly became serious. "Have you seen Anthony out there?"
"No, I haven't. The windows are all shuttered so I cannot even look outside." Johanna reached out to pour herself a cup of tea. There was only one cup, or she would have poured another for Meg.
Meg sat down on the edge of Johanna's bed to keep her company. "The doors are usually locked and all of our deliveries are watched. We servants have been ordered to keep you to your rooms and we're not allowed to leave the house. However, I peeked out the window when I was washing the dishes and I saw your Anthony standing in the street. He may not be able to approach you, but he hasn't given up."
"So neither of us can leave. Has He said anything about where he means to send me?" Johanna's hands hardly shook as she replaced the cup on its saucer.
"No, but we can make some guesses. The Judge isn't Catholic, so it won't be a convent. And at least England has no oubliettes! It will probably be some strict boarding school. Our best chance for escape will be when they take you out of the house to go there. Be ready."
"But what about your message, Meg? Did you see any of your friends out there?"
Meg sighed. "No, it was a forlorn hope at best. It wasn't likely that they'd notice Anthony and get my note from him, but I had to try."
Johanna laid her hand on Meg's arm in sympathy. "We both have to keep trying. I'm so glad you're here—before you came I felt so alone and isolated."
"Just the way the Judge wanted it, I'm sure. It is a common approach for..."
"For controlling prisoners without chains? Don't look so surprised—I knew in my heart what He was doing to me long before you told me the truth. I just didn't know why." Johanna shuddered. "Can you tell me about my family again? It feels like a fairy tale."
"It doesn't sound like a fairy tale to me. It's so sad," Meg protested.
Johanna shook her head. "My father was falsely imprisoned and sent to Australia—but he wasn't Judge Turpin! You don't know what it means to me, to know that He isn't my father. A father would never do the things that He wants to do to me."
And that, Meg knew, was all that Johanna would say about her worst nightmare—her fear that Judge Turpin would force her to marry him. It was worse than the French Revolution—at least there they only chopped your head off!
"Well, your father was a barber named Benjamin Barker. He had a beautiful wife named Lucy Barker and they had a little daughter that they doted on. Your family didn't have much money, but your father was a fine barber and his fortune was apparently on the rise."
"And then Judge Turpin had my father transported on false charges, my mother died soon after, and the Judge took me in as his ward. But why? It can't have been guilt—he never feels guilty about the men he condemns." The last of Johanna's smile faded. "You're right. It's not a fairy tale after all—there can't be a happy ending. I'll never find out what happened to my father. It's been too long and he's too far away."
"Your father may never be able to come back to you, but I'm sure that he thinks of you every day. And I'm sure that he wants you to be free and happy, because every true father wants that," Meg said. "And we can make that happen for him."
"It won't be just us doing it, though—your own father will help us too, won't he?" Johanna asked a bit anxiously.
"Of course he will!" Meg said in a tone of total conviction. "My father has fought all his life for the cause of justice and honor. He and his friends—they're practically my uncles, really—have rescued hundreds of people from situations far worse than this!"
"Hundreds?" Johanna's voice was just a trifle skeptical.
Meg grinned. "It's practically the family business! Of course Father will be furious when he finally comes to get me—but I wanted to be a part of it too! I'm terrible at embroidery and I don't like to paint, but I'm decent at swordplay and I'm very, very good at noticing things. So when I just happened to overhear Father asking my brother Daniel to worm his way into this household, I decided that it was time for me to take part. Daniel couldn't have done it, anyway—but I could."
Meg gave her heavy red curls a shake. "Father is even now planning to get us out—I know he is. But he isn't here, and we are, so we must contrive for ourselves. I'll try to come up with a plan, but in the meantime delay the transfer as long as possible and confuse the Judge if you can. And remember, if you see anything with that flower on it, let me know immediately." At the sound of footsteps outside, Meg turned herself back into an Irish serving girl. "Are you finished with your meal, Miss?"
Johanna's eyes hooded. "Yes, you can go now." The noise from the hallway moved away and her fingers brushed Meg's arm in a silent farewell.
"We will get you out, and you will marry Anthony, if that is what you decide," Meg promised her. She gathered the tray and turned to leave. "Be brave and true."
"I will—but I couldn't do it without you."
When Meg closed the door she locked it behind her, as she'd been ordered. She would have to hand the key back to Turpin's housekeeper, a forbidding woman who kept an eagle eye on everything in the household. Not that she'd need a key to open Johanna's door. Meg was certain that her lockpicking skills would be up to the task.
Meg was carrying the tray downstairs with care—she couldn't afford to be let go over a broken teacup—and returning to the kitchen when the door to the Judge's study opened. Turpin, his face unusually stern and grim, escorted a stranger out of the study into the hall.
Now who could that be? Meg ducked into the shadows of the kitchen doorway to listen.
Turpin was tapping one hand with the letter that he held in the other. "So it's the usual arrangement, Doyle?"
"I deliver the letters—I don't poke my nose into them." The stranger had the bearing of a soldier. He was completely bald, with black eyebrows and dark blue eyes, and Meg thought she recognized the hint of a County Clare accent.
Doyle nodded at the letter in Turpin's hand. "Don't forget—destroy that after you read it." His dark eyes hardened into a predatory glare when he saw Meg's form in the shadows.
Turpin noticed what the man was staring at and demanded, "Girl! What are you doing there?"
Meg didn't have to fake the trembling of her voice. "Miss Johanna's breakfast, sir. Is there anything you need, sir?" She allowed her Irish lilt to come to the fore. Half of her childhood had been spent in Ireland—it wasn't likely the stranger would twig she was a fake.
"Leave us," Turpin ordered harshly. Meg had no choice—she darted into the kitchen and put Johanna's dishes away as fast as she could. Then she peered out, hoping to catch another glimpse of the strange man. It looked like he was wearing an old army jacket—but she hadn't seen any regimental flashes.
The stranger had gone, but Turpin was still there.
"That was Johanna's tray, was it not?" Turpin asked. At Meg's cautious nod, he stated, "From now on, serve her only half of what she's been getting—for all meals. That should help her to make up her mind." He turned and entered his study.
A genteel torturer was Judge Turpin. Meg shook her head. She'd have to find a way to sneak some of her own food to Johanna. To thwart Turpin, Johanna would gladly live off brown bread and oatmeal.
But what interested Meg most was the letter that Turpin had just received. What was in it? No matter what Doyle had told him, she'd seen enough in the past few weeks to be sure that Turpin was keeping his correspondence—burned letters did leave a residue in the fireplace. He must be hiding them somewhere in his locked study.
As Meg went back to washing dishes, she was consumed with ideas for breaking into the study and with curiosity about the incriminating evidence she'd find there. Wouldn't her father would be thrilled if she found something to help bring down Knight's Ghosts!