Thank you, thank you, thank you heaps you four! Ahhh, you make me happy.

In a major hurry. Am getting major crap from the oldies to get off the computer, so I'm just quickly posting this. But thanks muchly for the reviews.

I think I'm going to take a few days off before I write the next chapter - don't worry, I'll be back soon. I've just never written twelve long chapters before in such quick succession. It was odd, I just needed to get it all out, but now I think I need to take a break for a day or two just so I'm sure I'm not writing crap for the sake of it.

But thank you muchly, I appreciate it very much.

Ahhh, getting yelled at. Must go.


Chapter Twelve.

Sanders walked down the street vaguely aware that the boy was trailing behind morosely. He had not taken his discovery well. It would have been a bit of a shock, to be sure, Sanders could concede that, but at the end of the day, he should accept it and move on. Sanders had no time for any sort of dark moods – there was far too much to be done. One could compare it to if one was stuck in the bleedin' cold, the more one focused on the savage air, the colder one became. If one kept walking, head forward, focused on a purpose, one would be fine.

He stopped outside of a shop and in a moment Anthony bumped into the back of him.

"Easy lad," he pointed at the doorway, "This looks as good as any place to buy a frock, don't it?"

Anthony turned and stared absentmindedly, his voice weak as he said, "What?"

Sanders clapped his shoulder to try and pull him from whatever dark place he was, "A dress. For Miss Barker. The reason why we're out here."

"Oh…Oh yes, of course," Anthony moved to the shop window looking in, but took hold of Sander's arm as he moved to walk in, "Wait."

Sanders stopped and looked oddly at the boy as he examined the gowns shown on display before him. A dress was a dress to Sanders – of course he knew what he liked on a woman and what he thought looked atrocious – but sometimes his taste seemed to be contrary to London's high fashion. Anthony seemed to be staring at the fabric, the colour, the cut for a few moments before he nodded, "Yes, it is suitable."

Sanders was the first to enter, and his nose twitched the moment he stepped in. Perfume. The first warning for a man that women were on the prowl. The flowery, illusory scent that lulled all men into a false sense of security. Oh yes, it was the first warning. Then there was their smile, their lips painted meticulously crimson – the colour of passion they say – but when it comes to a woman it really means danger. They were a trap, all of them. Like a poor insect that finds itself ensnared in the clutches of a carnivorous flower. It was all the same, ever since Eve, ever since Delilah. The downfall of man. Primped curls created after hours of effort, slender waists due to being laced up tight, soft hands due to idleness – it was all lies to mislead poor sods into chaining themselves to them. One would think men would have realised their tricks by now, but nothing seemed to change. Women turned into their mothers and the cycle continued and would until the sun set at the end of time because men were no better than children who became besotted by a desired toy. Only his Jo was uncorrupted, untainted, innocent, good…Only his Jo who he would protect.

He did not think in such a manner due to being spurned in the past by a woman – sentimental women were the ones who clung to that theory. He wasn't so pathetic as the fools they swooned over in the brain decaying novels they read, who only needed the right woman to unlock their heart and heal the pain. He shuddered at that concept, he had heard whispers from women with ideas of that sort of rot far too many times concerning him. No, it was not bitterness that made him think this way, but basic logic. Physical attraction and enjoying the pleasures that came with it was natural and basic biology and integral for the continuance of the human race. Love, love was suicide and just a petty game for manipulators. He never wanted to own Johanna's soul or whatever it was the minstrels sang in their sonnets and he didn't want to burden Johanna with the weight of giving her his. He wanted to care for her, keep her close, help her grow into a free spirit that she had always been denied the chance to be. Wasn't that deeper than pitiful selfish love?

He looked over at Anthony Hope who was examining a gown as if he were judging a piece of art. There was no competition really. She obviously felt fondness for the idiot, but doesn't a bird always feel something for the one that unlocked their cage? But that fondness would soon wane when she realised there was nothing more to it than that. The boy stole her; it was as simple as that. He hadn't even had the nerve to stand up to the old man. Sanders had to smile at the thought of that – he would have been like an untrained pup pissing on the carpet in fright standing up to the great Judge Turpin.

Sanders looked around at the gowns on display – they were of every hue. From midnight blue to a deep mauve to coral pink. He moved over to one and called out after touching the burnt apricot muslin material with a purple sash – "Lad, what about this one?"

Anthony moved towards him curiously, but then when he saw what Sanders was looking at, the curiosity turned to disdain, "No…No, no, no, do you have any idea of taste?"

Anthony had seemed to find his element in this shop which was disturbing enough, but for Sanders to be told so plainly that his choice inspired revulsion made Sanders look at him dangerously. The boy didn't seem to be aware of this as he patted his back pityingly, "Why don't you wait outside? I'll pick the gown. I was raised with mostly women and girls, I know a little about what is suitable."

"We're going to the bleedin' coppers, not a bleedin' ball!" Sanders snapped.

But the boy had moved on to another dress, his finger tapping his lower lip as he looked at it thoughtfully. Sanders turned and saw two women walking towards him with beaming smiles about to ask if they could assist him. He could just envision the torturous questions and remarks – who was the gown for?

What was the occasion?

Was the woman in mind for the gown special?

Oh, she's not your fiancé?

Do you have a fiancé?

Why do you wear that eyepatch? Oh you poor thing…

Hmmm.

Perhaps he should wait outside…


Laura looked up as the two walked back into the tavern while she was mixing ingrediants in a bowl to make a cake, Sanders looking quite frazzled for some reason and Anthony looked much better than he had before, with a large rectangular box underneath his arm.

Sanders moved over to her and said tiredly, "Gin."

"Gin? So early in the day?" Laura asked but poured him one as he sat at the bar, "What is troubling you? Has there been more news?"

Sanders downed the tumbler and answered simply, "Women."

"It seems Mr. Sanders is quite popular with the ladies," Anthony elaborated, "He tried to step out of a dress shop but bumped into one and all of a sudden he was surrounded after he stumbled and fell –"

"Enough, lad," Sanders snarled and did not think too kindly of the nosy tavern girl either when she smirked, "Yeh need to ask the woman a favour, so bleedin' well ask…Bloody vultures all o' them…"

Anthony placed the box on the bar, "Laura – if you could spare a moment or two I would be most obliged if you could help…That is…Since you knew about Johanna all along – if you could help her change into this dress…"

Laura curiously moved forward, "Well, let me see what it looks like then."

He lifted the lid and from soft tissue paper he brought out a delicate gown. Laura's hand flew to her mouth, "Oh, you really are besotted with the girl, aren't you Mr. Hope? Why, it's beautiful."

He seemed quite pleased with it himself as she surveyed the soft green morning dress made of cotton with delicate pink flowers embroidered around the waist and on the tight fitting sleeves that would fit low on the shoulder. Small silver beads accentuated the centre of the pink flowers and Laura touched them lightly with her fingers. Her eyes then fell upon the straw bonnet still lying nestled in the tissue paper with a matching pink rayon ribbon that would tie in a bow at the nape of the neck when it was worn.

"Well, I must say Mr. Hope, I am impressed," Laura commented, "You thought of everything, you did, and matching green slippers too! My!"

Anthony smiled at her praise while Sanders grunted, "A dress is a dress," until Laura bit her lip pensively.

"Where's the crinoline?" she asked suddenly.

"The…The what?" Anthony asked while Sanders looked up confused.

"The hoop that goes under the dress that a girl needs to wear – " her voice faded, "You didn't get one? Well what about petticoats?"

Anthony looked at her completely perplexed, then mumbled, "I…I…I didn't know –"

"Yeh, didn't know?" Sander's voice suddenly thundered and he looked at Anthony aghast, "Yeh said yeh knew it all! Bleedin' hell, yeh told me off for trying to help yeh pick the fabric! I have sisters, I don't need help! Yet yeh forget what yeh need to buy for UNDER THE DRESS!"

"Well – but – " Anthony tried to splutter.

But Sanders would not stop now he had started his tirade, "I helped Evelyn buy her dress for the town dance! I know it all he says! Well now look, now we're in a bleedin' mess aren't we! She can't even wear the dress yeh bought her! Oh, look everybody, we're so stylish we pick a matching bonnet! Don't tell me about fashion –"

Laura had picked up the wooden spoon she had been using moments before and struck the side of Sanders' head, "Quit that! You're worse than a child!"

Sanders' face darkened and he viciously grabbed the spoon from Laura snarling, "Don't. Ever. Hit me again woman –"

That would have been quite a menacing threat to any other woman but Laura was not perturbed as she pinched his ear hard, "Now go! Both of you! Completely ridiculous! I'll take this gown and I'll go to my own things and see what I can find –"

"But –" Anthony tried to say.

"GO!"

Both men stood and did as they were told. Laura shook her head to herself as she took the box and moved over to where she slept, in a small room in the back of the kitchens, hearing Sanders still rant and rave as they moved upstairs, "Oh I know fashion! You bleeding know fashion, my foot! Have you never even been with a woman you great big imbecile…"

Half an hour later Sanders and Anthony were waiting outside the room, leaning against the wall as Laura was helping Johanna to dress inside. Sanders took from his pocket a packet of cigarettes and offered Anthony one. He declined with just a shake of his head, and Sanders lit himself one, then puffed in the smoke, breathing out and seeing the strands of silver dance around him, then fade into nothingness. The boy's dark mood had returned now that the frock dilemma was taken care of and he had nothing to entertain his mind but the terrible realisation of Johanna's parentage.

"Bleedin' know fashion, indeed," Sanders muttered, with no real intent to insult, but just to alleviate some of the boy's concern.

The door opened and Laura smiled at the two of them and with a flourish of her hand, she said, "The lady is ready to have you gentlemen call upon her."

Sanders let the boy in first and followed him after. But he himself stopped midway at the vision that met him. It hit him at that moment as he looked upon the golden haired angel all done up so beautifully, oh lord almighty, she ain't no Jo anymore…

"Johanna," he said softly in awe.

But it was not he she was paying attention to. The young lady giggled, obviously happy to be dolled up as she was used to, twirling around to show off her gown. Laura had combed out her golden hair which tumbled down her bare shoulders, with small intricate braids here and there. Her pale cheeks were flushed slightly with a touch of rouge, and there was a faint hint of perfume lingering in the air.

"What do you think Anthony? Do I look pretty?" she asked, "Thank you so much for buying this for me!"

Sanders turned to the boy who for some reason was finding it difficult to look at her. His whole figure was trembling – was that a tear falling down the sod's cheek?

"Anthony…Why do you not even look at me?"

Johanna looked at him confused. In her hands she held the matching bonnet and she held it up for him to take and place over her hair. The boy seemed to regain some of his senses as he stumbled forward, mumbling, "You look like a dream, Miss Barker."

She laughed uneasily at the formal title he gave her, but said nothing more as he placed the bonnet over her head, then tied the ribbon neatly at the nape of her neck.

"I – I need to tell you something about Mr…Mr Todd…" the boy's voice was broken, and his face twitched as if he wanted to cry, but he pulled back and with no more word from him he turned and fled from the room in such a rush he did not close the door behind him.

Silence filled the room, as the three remaining people stood there in shock.

"Anthony!" Johanna's voice cried out and she looked surprised at the tremor in her own voice, then she turned to Sanders, "Why did he barely even look at me? What has changed?"