Chapter Text
But how could he marry her? She was practically his daughter and he was practically her father. It was disgusting, selfish, immoral for him to think of this. And yet…Who else would make a perfect bride for him and husband for her. She was too naïve, innocent, young, perfectly innocent to be made the bride of someone else. He thought of his acquaintances that she could marry. They were almost all as old as him; those that were not were ladder-climbing law officials. He couldn’t have her marrying a slimy barrister or a pompous bore, as many of the men he knew were. The idea of another man marrying her and touching her upset him; of her belonging to some other man…No, that would never do. Besides his own personal revulsions, he had to remember what men were like. These men had never known Johanna. They would take advantage of her sweetness and naivety. They would turn her into something normal: a housewife who organized their household finances and dinner parties and gossiped with the other housewives in her class and gave them children…The thought of that stopped his heart. These men were not for her. They would dismiss her little hopes and dreams and interests and tell her they were infantile or made her dull and stupid. They would degrade her. No, no, no, no.
Johanna had been the only spark of light in his dark life. After a day of hearing testimonies from liars, cheats, and murderers, he would return home to see her looking out the window or playing with her toys or reading a book and he would be reminded that there was some goodness in this city and world and that, moreover, it belonged to him. While he had long ago recovered from any moral quandary about sentencing people to the gallows, he sometimes found himself questioning his impunity when he took bribes from men or found himself in line with the Beadle. These thoughts merely prickled underneath his contained exterior, his normally self-secured idea that he was above the vermin that freely walked and crowded the streets of London. However, when he returned home and Johanna was waiting for him, he was able to settle these nagging thoughts. Her idealization of him and trust in him, combined with the fact that he knew he had done a charitable act by adopting her as his ward, assuaged any of his moral dilemmas. While passing judgment on those before him in court gave him a natural elation, he knew it was a slightly tainted and perverted one. The one he experienced when he was with Johanna was pure. She gave him further confidence in his righteousness and, in turn, made his sentencing of men to the gallows or to a lifetime rotting in jail seem like saintly act since it would keep them away from ever harming her. Yes, her presence had brought him peace, until this past year.
The Judge wanted her to himself; wanted her to belong to him in every sense of the word; wanted her to not know the horrors of the world; wanted her to live for him alone; wanted her to quake underneath his power and know he was her master…but also worship him and kiss him sweetly and sleep lightly next to him every night in the knowledge that she was safe with him. He imagined himself sitting in his study late at night working on papers and her coming in to see how he was, bringing him a cognac or brandy, leaning over his shoulder and asking if he was alright, almost begging him to come to bed because she loved him so, but refusing to nag him. He sometimes imagined he would raise his eyebrow to her and she would leave, bestowing a lingering kiss upon his cheek. Other times he imagined that he would carefully push his chair back from the desk and open his legs for her to sit upon his lap; she would be so grateful that he was paying attention to her. He would kiss her and begin circling his hands on her bosom and lead her lithe fingers to the buttons on his trousers. Were both possible, he wondered. Fear and love? He laughed to himself as he remembered conversations very much like this occurring in his dormitory at Eaton in concern to Machiavelli’s Prince.
He returned to his previous thoughts. No, she wasn’t simple and stupid. That was clear from her ability to mostly teach herself how to read and draw and play games. She wasn’t some dullard woman who only took interest in clothes and gossip and embroidery. She had been a curious and smart child with spirit and though he could tell that being confined to the house with no playmates and being taught proper female etiquette by that huegonot may have dimmed some of that light, he liked to believe that not being exposed to the material and vulgar concerns of the world had also fostered a more brilliant, pure, sincere light. If he gave her to some other man, he would try to make her like all the others or he would…He would beat her. And he’d be within his rights to, as the Judge fully knew and fully supported. But, no, she couldn’t have that life. He may have wanted to have her to himself and have her fear him, but he did not want to hit or kick her even a little bit; he would use the disciplining methods that had generally worked on her: stern voice, firm rules, a raised eyebrow, standing up so that he towered over her, threats when necessary. He had only ever had to give her the switch once: that incident with the boy when she was seven. What other man would understand that she did not need to be beaten to understand when she had stepped out of line? Those that did would use more manipulative methods, he thought. Eventually, crush her spirit.
Yes, He would keep her here and she would take care of him. She had expected to do this all her life, hadn’t she? Except now it would be as his wife because he could no longer escape her womanly allure. She could be happy in the fact that she would be bringing him happiness and was marrying someone who knew her every story. Who knew how sad she could become when she read or heard a tragic tale or how happy when…Well, lately, her moments of happiness had not had the same intensity as her moments of sadness, he recalled. Of course, this could be the influence of the etiquette lessons: a lady shouldn’t be overly ecstatic about things as it appears childish. And didn’t that happen to everyone as they got older? More moments of sadness than joy? But she had had a few moments of pure happiness in the recent past, like when he had taken her to the theatre to see that production of Hamlet last year. It was the only play she had ever seen and she had been mesmerized by it. He remembered how at the end of it she had gripped his hand tightly because she was worried about what would happen with the glass of wine, even though she had read the play.
That had been the beginning of his unhappiness. It had been the beginning of his realization that she no longer was a little girl, but a woman. The way her body was silhouetted against the light, the way her now fuller lips parted, the way her corset formed to her budding curves. It had startled him. He was further alarmed when he came back to retrieve her from their box (he of course had rented a box as to prevent her from being exposed to the crowd and to show what an important man he was) after getting their coats, and found her talking animatedly to a young man in the box next to theirs. He watched how unreserved she was with him; she was smiling at him and laughing at something he had said. The Judge was pleased to note that she was neither smiling nor laughing in a coquettish manner, but in the manner of a young girl. He was not pleased to see the ease with which she conversed with this young man nor the astonishment and awe that was apparent upon the young man’s face. He stood there for a minute watching, his mind recovering from the shock that Johanna was acting so unreserved and turning to hatred for this young boy staring at her and for himself for leaving her alone. He finally announced himself by clearing his throat. Johanna turned to face him and he saw the smile disappear and her face take on an embarrassed and guilty look. She looked down at the floor, while the boy, oblivious to her shame, asked the Judge if she was his daughter and introduced himself, stupidly holding out his hand to the Judge. The Judge meanly glared at him and the boy realized that he was unwelcome. He turned his face toward Johanna and said, “It was very nice to meet you. I hope you don’t find The Tempest too bizarre. I hope I haven’t….goodnight.” He tipped his hat and went back to his own box, presumably to collect his things and depart. Johanna hadn’t lifted her face yet, though the Judge had espied her looking up at him to see his face. She was biting her lip, waiting, he thought, for me to yell at her. He told her that they were going home, giving her no clue to the anger which festered inside of him. She remained quiet as they exited the theatre and got into the cab. After a few minutes of silence, Johanna finally spoke. This had been what he wanted; her to speak first and admit her guilt. She softly said, “Thank you for taking me to the play, father.” He only murmured, “mmm.” Another moment of silence went by. Finally, she said, “I heard him asking a friend if he had an extra program and –“ “And he leaned over the box and asked you?” “No, I leaned over and handed him mine.” Her face was filled with guilt and the Judge was pleased that he didn’t have to tell her why she had behaved inappropriately. “I was only trying to be charitable. I didn’t mean to start a conversation with him,” she continued. “It’s just that we started…we started to talk about the play and Shakespeare and what works of his were our favorites! He said how he thought Hamlet was the most important play Shakespeare had ever written and I said that I thought Macbeth was and he said that he was surprised to hear me say that because he thought since I was a girl I would be in love with Romeo and Juliet or King Lear! Can you imagine, father?!?” As she had related the story her face had mirrored the sincere and excited look that she had had when talking to the boy; gone was her shame until she remembered who she was talking to. She repeated her question hesitantly, “Can you imagine, father?” The Judge only stared at her, lifting an eyebrow to show her his displeasure. With a crestfallen look she apologized, “I am sorry, father, if I behaved inappropriately tonight. I…I…I was so excited by the play and crowds and…and to see another young person, that I forgot my…sense of decorum and your…rules. I promise that the next time we go I won’t act like this. Everything was just so new and wonderful.” She looked at his face to see a response, but the Judge, of course, knew how to hide his feelings and thoughts and she could not unearth them. The carriage moved along and filled with silence as the Judge chose his words carefully. He had been taken off guard by two things tonight: first, how much of a woman Johanna had become, and second, by how unreserved she was. As she had animatedly talked to the boy and just now in the carriage, as she excitedly explained her conversation with the boy, he had caught a glance of how her chest rose and fell in her excitement. He was perturbed by this and was trying to push these pervaded images out of his mind. “Johanna,” he finally began, “I do not pretend to be the kindest guardian in the world –“
“But you are very kind to me!”
“Let me finish. I am not the sort of guardian who buys you whatever you want when you want it or lets you do whatever you wish. I am not kind in the sense that this world defines kindness as I have seen too much of the black, sinful soul of its people to be that sort of hapless, nice fool. No, I administer my kindness and love towards you in a different way, a better way that will keep you from being crushed and used by this unforgiving world.” “I know, father.” “If you knew this then why did you disobey one of me and talk to that young man? If you remembered what I told you about boys, then why did you speak to him? Hmmm?” Johanna hung her head in shame and he could tell that she was trying not to cry. He was beginning to feel himself become master over her again and his anger was subsiding. “Johanna, I do not wish to see you travel down the road of ruin and so we will not be going to the theatre again until you have proved to me and yourself that you can behave in a dignified manner. I enjoyed tonight’s play until you created a spectacle yourself.”
Johanna let out a sob, “Please, father, do not let my stupidity ruin the day for you. I acted selfishly, I am sorry. Please forgive me. You never…you never have to take me to another play again if you don’t want to. I’m sorry.” And with that she grabbed his hand and cried into it while she kissed it. If this were any other girl, he would think her being theatrical, but he knew that that was not Johanna’s way. She meant the words she had uttered and took his hand as a sign of how sincere her feelings of shame were.
The Judge felt her face with the hand she had been crying on and said, “There, there. You are smart enough to realize your mistake and I am thankful that some of my teachings have gone through to you. I know you are a good girl, but I was wrong in taking you out to a place with so many people. I will judge more wisely next time. Hmmm?”
She gave a laugh of relief and unexpectedly moved next to the judge to rest her head against him and hold his hand, letting her tears stop gradually, as if she were still a little girl. It was hard for the Judge to know just what he was feeling as she sat next to him. He was surely feeling comforted that he still had control over his ward and that she was still as innocent and trusting of him as she had been when she was a little girl, but was equally distressed by the ebbing, tiny feelings of lust he had for her as she sat next to him, squeezing his hand, resting her corseted figure next to his. He was glad when they arrived home and he was allowed to wish her a goodnight. He hadn’t dared to watch her as she ascended the stairs.
Yes, that had been the beginning of his distress. He started visiting with her less. He no longer held conversations with her at her bedside. He left earlier in the morning to avoid seeing her at breakfast and miss her ritual kiss on his cheek as he left for work. A few months later, he even made himself stop having tea with her when he returned from work. He brought the Beadle home with him more and more to share his tea and supper with him, knowing that if he was at tea, Johanna would not come down to join them, and if he was at dinner, Johanna would not sit directly across from him and the Judge would not have to converse with her. A part of him was glad to note that she did not like this new attitude of his towards her. She would sometimes come down after he and the Beadle had finished smoking cigars and departed ways; she would knock on the door softly and peer her head in. Sometimes she would just stand there and say how she hoped the Beadle was well and then wish him goodnight, and other times she would come into the room and sit down and ask him how his day was and what he was doing the next day. He would do all he could not to look over her form and only concentrate on her face; sometimes, though, he knew this was impossible and would just talk to her while he moved away from her to look at his books. At times, she would linger in the room waiting for him to converse, until she realized it was hopeless, and at other time she would leave after he had said basic answers to her questions. He would say goodnight from where he was, on the couch looking at her or with his back turned towards her, and she would say goodnight again and leave. But then there were those times that she walked over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek like she had been doing before bed every night since she was four. His cool demeanor had clearly given her the impression that he did not wish for her company, but habits were hard to break and he could not lie that he was happy that his put-on aloofness had not completely diminished this tradition. Of course after she left, he would agonize over the kiss for an hour or so; he knew she could not mean it in a teasing way (surely not) and so he did not shrink from her kisses, but dear God, the confusing heap it left him in. He had made sure that she no longer rested against him by moving around the room if she tried to sit beside him (leaving her with a confused and hurt face he noted with pleasure), but he did not have the will power to abolish the kissing ritual.
One day, sitting alone in his study, he decided that he would tell her that she was becoming a woman and things could not exist as they had before. She could not kiss him goodnight anymore or rest her head against him. He silently climbed up the stairs but just before he was about to knock on her door, her heard singing coming from her room. He could hear her sweet, simple, untrained voice coming through the door. Suddenly, as if out of a long forgotten dream, he remembered the eyehole that looked into her room. He hadn’t used it in a long time. He had put it in when she was a little girl to see if she was up to mischief before he opened the door. He hadn’t used it since she was 13 and she would come down when he got home and seek his company or keep her door open for him to seek hers. He had noticed a few weeks ago that she had begun closing it again. Why? He suddenly thought, filled with dread. He quickly and quietly opened the peephole and gazed in. There she was sitting by that damned window. She had often done that as a little girl and he suspected that she still did that, looking out onto the world from which she was banned, though, until these last few months, he thought that she looked out at it less now that he and she could have more equal conversations.
He stared at her, silhouetted at the window. It was a rainy day and she was following the rain drops down the window with a finger while a book rested in her lap. She was carelessly humming and singing, sighing between bars. The Judge could not help but peek at her chest which looked so…so tempting beneath her white…No! he said to himself, averting his eyes from the hole only to return them quickly. He saw her pickup her embroidery which was resting against the window pane and put her book there. She continued to sew the pattern, her face betraying that she found the activity boring and frustrating. The judge watched her as she did this for about 10 minutes, he watched as her bosom rose and fell, he noted as it did this more quickly until it disappeared from his sight when she curled her legs up to her chest, threw her embroidery to the floor and began crying. The Judge now felt worse than before as if he were stumbling upon a highly private moment, however, he did not stop watching as she let herself sob for a few minutes, then got up, picked up the embroidery, placed it gently on the windowsill and went over to the basin sink to wash her face. He saw her face the window again and lean against the basin, as if deciding what to do next. The Judge knew that he couldn’t tell her what he had come up here to tell her and so he closed the peep hole and quietly escaped down the stairs, back into his study where he did the uncharacteristic thing of drinking himself into a stupor.
That had all been months ago. How many times had he looked through that peep hole to see her in her private moments? He shuttered to think. She was so lovely and fair. As he fell asleep at night, he would often imagine her getting ready for bed; how the light would penetrate that simple, sheer nightgown, how she would wash her face, neck, chest with a washcloth, how she would comb her hair and then braid it, and finally blowout the candle. No, he had not spied on her as she got ready for bed. He had enough dignity to not do that, but it was becoming harder and harder for him to forbid himself from what was sure to be a pleasurable sight. He tried to stop himself from fantasizing about this and about anything at all concerning Johanna, but it was impossible. He found his hand nearing his stiffened member as he lay in bed waiting for sleep to come. He would pass his hand up and down it and then would immediately stop and berate himself for such a disgusting thought. Eventually, his thoughts would return to think about her parting lips, her soft skin (her everything!) until he fell asleep.
He had even gone to brothels in order to quench his need. He went to the opium dens, despite not taking opium, to have the lovely little Chinese girls fix his problem; their hands running over him and saying foreign words mixed with poorly spoken pigeon English. He went to the best, most expensive brothels where only girls who were knowledgeable about how to please a man fully and were free of disease resided. He even went to the street girls to get a quick suck in hopes of curing his lust. But nothing worked. Initially, it allayed his feelings toward Johanna for a few days, but then they would return with tremendous force. Those whores were so unlike her. So unlike her.
And so he would have to marry her. It was amazing how fast one’s mind could rationalize an issue when pressed. She would not reject him, he thought, because she loved and obeyed him. He had set more rules about her staying confined to her room over the past few months, rules given without reason and accepted with her saddened reply “Yes, of course, father. If it is what you wish.” He would ask her tomorrow, tell her how he loved her. And she would give that answer to him, wouldn’t she? He would be released from this slave of lust and love finally. He would have a piece of heaven completely to himself.