Warnings at the bottom of the chapter.


Chapter Eleven:

Window


"Are you sure?"

Johanna nodded and tightened her grip on his hand. Anthony swung the door open, leading them into Turpin's manor.

Ever since Anthony discovered it was abandoned, there was a small desire in Johanna to go. Her desire to see her old prison grew, but to see it from another perspective. This time she would see the manor as an outsider, not a prisoner.

The servants left the house after their master didn't return. There was talk of an auction to rid of the items in the house.

Something told Johanna to go. To see her prison once again. This time, she wouldn't be trapped inside.

The gardens were overgrown. Vines crept along the walls. The manor leaned above them, resembling the outside of a house from a gothic novel. The interior matched the outside. They traveled through the library. Cruel books were stacked on the shelf, collecting dust. She felt impure looking at them. Anthony brought her around to the stairs.

The upstairs remained in the past.

Someone was angry.

Things scattered on the floor. Chairs, books, a tray. Johanna nearly tripped over a picture frame. And they were standing in front of her room. She paused and her insides stopped.

There was a small hole where the painting was that looked into her room. All those years Turpin had been watching her. In her private quarters. Where she dressed and undressed every day. He'd seen her in her most intimate hours. He took pleasure in seeing her in barely anything.

"Johanna?" Anthony whispered.

She shook her head, wishing she could shake away her discomfort. "Let's go in. I'm excited to see my birds again."

He smiled at her before opening the door.

All was still.

Three years. Three years she spent trapped inside this room.

With a hesitant step, she turned to her birdcage.

Her birds never sang. She wasn't concerned when she didn't hear them. Peering between the bars of the cage, she could see their wings. Johanna hummed their song as she opened the door.

"Good morning," she whispered to them.

No wings fluttered.

Her heart raced.

Johanna reached out for a feather. The bird did not stir. She rubbed its belly. Its beak. The bird did not move.

"Anthony!" Her voice was tight. "She's not moving."

Anthony felt the bird. An icicle ripped through her as his shoulder dropped.

No.

"Johanna . . ."

"No," she whispered, "No." Her throat was dry. "It can't."

With one hand on her shoulder, Anthony reached for the other bird. He waited. Johanna bit back her hope. He sighed.

"No one's fed them for ages," Anthony said in a low tone, "This one's still alive, but . . ."

Johanna held the lark close to her chest as it died.

She never got to hear them sing.


There was peace right before a storm.

Johanna never paid attention to the natural phenomenon until now. The streets were almost still and the lanterns flickered. It was almost cozy. The shop was warm and customers enjoyed their treats.

Thunder rolled and lightning cracked.

Rain poured down like crumbs from pie crust. Some customers hid themselves behind their coats. Others grumbled and ordered another pie.

The rain continued. One man stood up and unpacked his violin from his case. Everyone cheered. Johanna with them. He played. A few began pushing tables back, so the center of the room was open. Couples began a folk dance, clapping along to the music. Anthony took her hand.

"Come on," he said with a chuckle.

"But, Anthony, I can't dance!"

His eyes twinkled. "I'll show you how."

The motions were simple and jolly. Clapping and twirling. Johanna gripped the corners of her skirt and allowed Anthony to spin her around. She teased. He laughed.

They began another dance. They traded partners. Johanna was hesitant to leave Anthony, but she took the hand of another man. The dance became a blur of colors and shapes. By the end, Johanna was clasping Mr. Todd's hand.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, stepping back, "I didn't know you had joined in, sir."

Johanna didn't realize it until late that night. That dance was their father-daughter dance. Usually performed at a wedding, but since their circumstances were different, that must count as the dance. She wondered if Mr. Todd realized that. Or if he joined the dance on purpose, so it could serve as one. Even if it was the latter, she wasn't mad. She didn't mind at all.

She tried to imagine Mr. Todd's parents. He had to have had them once. But she couldn't imagine two humans parenting a demon. They could still be alive. Unaware of what their son turned into. It was quite possible they didn't know she existed. If they were alive, did they know Benjamin Barker was sent to prison? Did they know he was still alive? Or did they assume the harsh conditions of an Australian prison tore him apart? Mr. Todd could very well be an orphan. His parents could look down and shake their heads at his actions. They could watch Johanna.

Wherever they were, she hoped they'd met her mother. Whether it was in death or in life. They would've liked her, Johana thought. For who could hate the mirthful spirit she'd read and heard about?


Anthony knew she wasn't asleep. She asked him to stay with her until she fell asleep and her grip on his shirt let him know she didn't want him to leave yet. He would fullfil his promise. He would fullfil his promise, no matter what. Johanna squeezed her eyes shut, but her breathing did not match hers when she was asleep. He moved a lock of hair out of her face and her expression relaxed. Who knew how long that had been bothering her? Anthony adjusted his hold on her. He kissed her cheeks. Johanna was the most heavenly thing he had ever seen. He didn't understand how she became even more angelic as she slept.

Her face twisted. He covered his mouth with his hand to keep him from chuckling out loud. The same could not be said for Johanna. She let out a raucous yawn. He sinkered. A laugh tore through his throat, leaving his mouth dry. Johanna shushed him and hit his chest, then paused as she realized she gave herself away.

"Jo," Anthony whispered, getting ahold of himself.

Johanna covered her mouth to hide another, smaller yawn. "Yeah?"

"How long were you locked in your room?"

Anthony hated taking advantage of people. Nothing made him feel more guilty. Every time he lied to his brother or manipulated his younger sister, he spent the rest of the day with sinking guilt in his gut. Sometimes, the guilt wouldn't go away until Sunday, where at church, he could repent of his sins. He hated it now, knowing Johanna was exhausted enough to spill any information. But how else was he supposed to learn? They talked often and wrote to each other when he was away, yet her days with Turpin was a sore subject.

"Three years, maybe," Johanna mumbled, snugging into his chest. Anthony rubbed his hand up and down her back. "Before Mr. Todd got me."

"And what happened then?"

He learned bits and pieces through previous conversations. Secret conversations. It wasn't enough to grasp the whole story.

"The beadle was taking me somewhere," Johanna said with another yawn. She curled her legs up to her chest - to the best of her ability. "I don't know."

"You escaped him though? Before he could?"

She nodded. She sighed. Anthony couldn't lose this chance.

"Johanna?"

"Hmm? Yeah."

"How did you?"

He hated this. He hated this. He hated this.

"I ran."

Anthony looked over her shoulder. "You did?"

"Mr. Todd . . . found me."

He knew that much. Mr. Todd found her in the streets. Somehow he recognized her. Johanna spent the next few days in and out of confusion. The information Mr. Todd provided was limited. He was her father. He didn't speak about her mother. Mrs. Lovett was their neighbor. Toby was Mrs. Lovett's help. And Johanna was there to stay. Forever.

Johanna made a few escape attempts. Anthony helped with a new. He told her every he could. He was the polar opposite of of Mr. Todd.

"Mr. Todd . . " Johanna turned over. "He came sometimes."

"What?"

Came?

She nodded. "I saw 'im at my window."

Mr. Todd came to her window, too. Well, Anthony would think he would do the same. Any moment he got to see his child, he would take in a heartbeat. He looked down at Johanna's frame. Her hand rested on her bump. Anthony would already die for their baby.

Johanna fell asleep soon after. Anthony's head spun as he kissed her cheek and climbed out of the bed. Guilt swirled in his stomach as he left the room. It was unbearable.


It was quiet.

As Sweeney watched Johanna's chest rise and fall, it was quiet. Save for her tiny breaths. One hand laid atop of her belly. The other was sprawled across the bed. Her hair was tossed over one shoulder. Her lips were slightly parted as she slept. She was at peace. For what seemed like in forever.

There had been endless nights, filled with whimpers and Johanna's soft face twisted into something pained. Nightmares fueled most nights. Johanna never mentioned them. Either she forgot by morning or she didn't tell anyone. As much as Sweeney wished it was the former, he knew she was keeping secrets. She wouldn't talk to him. Johanna didn't even call him anything besides Mr. Todd and Sir.

She mumbled Turpin's name once through sweat-coated lips. The next morning, Sweeney confronted her about it.

"Were you dreaming about Turpin last night?"

Johanna looked up at him. Her eyes blazed with alarm, but she swallowed and set aside her sewing, folding her hands in her lap.

"I've never dreamed about Turpin, sir."

She was hesitant. Even the name didn't drift off her tongue naturally. She was lying, but it would've been easier to say the name than that. Johanna closed her eyes, then reopened them.

"Tell me," Sweeney demanded, stepping toward her.

Johanna flinched. Flinched as he neared her.

"The only dream I had last night was of me falling from something high. I've never dreamed of Turpin and I don't suspect I'll start dreaming about him in the future."

"I heard you."

She lifted her eyebrows. "Oh? You can hear people dreaming now, sir? How remarkable. You could have an act at the circus."

Sweeney reached out and caught her by the shoulders. Forcing Johnna to make eye contact with him. She glared, but didn't fight the touch.

"What did Turpin do to you?" Sweeney asked, voice like venom.

Johanna averted her gaze. She made no sound, yet spoke thousands.

"Even if I was dreaming of Turpin, what makes you think he did anything to me to make his way into my dreams?"

Because when Sweeney was in prison, he had countless dreams of the judge. Seeing Turpin stare at his wife, his desire for her dripping like blood. Turpin was there again. Attending their wedding brunch. Gazing at Lucy with lust. Turpin was in all of his dreams. So Sweeney stopped sleeping.

"People dream about what they most desire or what they most fear," Sweeney said.

"Well," Johanna said, slowly, "I can't explain dreams."

Ever since Sweeney stayed near the door. Waiting for her to make a noise that might show she was having a night terror. There were too many. Until tonight. When there were none. Sweeney opened the door to check she was fine.

But all was quiet now.


This pattern was infuriating.

Anthony bought it for her, knowing she enjoyed sewing. It didn't look difficult. A stitch there and one here out transform a few layers of fabric into a baby blanket.

Johanna hadn't gotten the chance to try her hand at such craft. She threw her hands around Anthony. Already imagining a tiny baby wrapped up. She was doing something good for her child and this was it. Her chance to prove herself.

But this stupid pattern wasn't clear at all.

With a sigh, Johanna began putting the supplies away.

Sewing was like poetry. Each stitch was careful, like words. The patterns were compared to the flowery language of a sonnet. Johanna still remembered her governess teaching her the lesson. As she made Johanna recite poetry as they made samplers. She remembered many lessons. From Turpin and maids and governesses. Somehow, they traveled with her. From one life to the next.

Turpin gave her a limited grasp on the world. He was wary not to teach her too much. Enough that she would want to leave. Some history, some literature. And of course, the proper things every lady needed to know. Turpin had been preparing her to be a wife ever since she could remember. His wife.

He'd been spying on her for all that time. For how long? Had Turpin made the hole when she was thirteen? Older? Younger? Since she was taken there?

She wasn't his bride, at least. She was Anthony's wife. Mrs. Hope.


Warnings: Animal death, referenced forced marriage, mentions of nightmares/night terrors.

I just want to thank everyone who has interacted with this story! I'm a little tied up right now with real life, so I'm unable to respond individually, but thank you so much for your support! It's helped me keep going.