Chapter Text
Richard had never been so patient. He waited. Waited. Waited. He would win her. Sybil. She would be his. Not by force but because he would prove to her that he was worthy of her.
He kept a discreet eye on her, especially now that she arrived before the sun had risen and left after nightfall. It was so dangerous for a woman as pretty as she to be alone in the streets of London in the November darkness.
That night, however, he had been held longer than expected in court. The Beadle, his faithful secretary, had the job of keeping watch over her without being seen.
"My lord, my lord !" cried The Beadle, out of breath when he saw Richard.
"What is going on ?" he growled.
He had just come out of an interminable trial and pronounced yet another death sentence. He was exhausted.
"Your friend seems to be wandering down the wrong streets of Whitechapel."
Sybil, that little fool. Richard rushed to his cab, shouting at his driver to get going.
The streets were alive with miscreants and undercover salesmen and there were no streets more dangerous than Whitechapel where men of all ranks were looking for a good night's sleep without being too particular. A face like Sybil would not go unnoticed and what did it matter if she was not a whore ?
"What is she doing here," Richard grumbled to himself.
She was simply here on a delivery. A client to whom she had to return a basket of mended clothes. A high-class prostitute who had a generous patron to send her the best dresses.
As she walked along the uneven pavement of the dark alleys, trying to breathe as little as possible of the stench that seemed to be embedded in her clothes, she heard voices a few steps away from her.
She should have moved on, ignored what she was hearing, but she couldn't. A few meters away from her was a little boy dressed in rags, being manhandled by a drunken man. A little boy she knew from having already offered her something to eat. It was Rufus, the son of a prostitute who often hung around the streets looking for food. He was begging, his pure voice often bringing him precious coins that allowed him to eat one day out of three. The little boy, afraid of being beaten or the small purse he was holding in his hand stolen, backed away before stumbling over a paving stone that stuck out and collapsing to the ground.
The man raised his hand to strike him when Sybil, listening only to her courage, intervened.
"Leave him alone!" she cried, "he hasn't done anything to you, he's just a little boy."
"Mind your own business, my pretty," the man replied without turning around.
Rufus had taken the opportunity to straighten up, but as he tried to slip away, the man caught him by the collar of his torn shirt.
Sybil, without thinking, picked up a stone and threw it at the man's head. Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to stir up his anger a little more.
"You little bitch ! You're going to get what you want ! You're going to be the most sorry little ass in all of London before dawn breaks !" he shouted.
As he advanced towards her with a threatening step under Rufus's frightened gaze, the sound of hooves was heard. A hackney carriage stopped and time seemed to stand still as the door opened to let in Lord Richard Turpin, the High Judge of London, dressed in his long black coat. His imposing stature, his stern features and his hooked nose seemed even more intimidating under the flickering lights of the street lamps.
"Lord Harshford, if you do not want to know the humiliation of an exile in the Australian colonies, and if you do not want all of London's good society to learn that you are cheating on your wife, a woman of much higher rank than you since she is a marquise, with common whores from the slums, I advise you to return home immediately."
The man hesitated only a fraction of a second before turning around, muttering inaudible insults under Richard’s cold, unreadable gaze.
Sybil, still shivering of fear, approached Rufus to make sure he was okay, offering him a coin and promising that if he came to her shop tomorrow, she would fix his shirt. She then turned back to Richard, her eyes filled with gratitude.
“Thank you, Lord Turpin.”
“You must be more careful, Sybil ! You have courage, but little discernment. You know what he was going to do, don’t you ?”
She shivered more violently. Of course she knew, she wasn’t as naive as she seemed, but she could never forgive herself for letting Rufus get beaten up by a man who thought he was superior to them because of a title and the weight of his safe.
“I’ll take you home," he said in a voice that allowed no contradiction.
"I have to deliver this basket," she said.
Secretly, she hoped he would offer to accompany her to her client's house. Her legs were shaking after the confrontation.
"I can do that, Miss Sybil. Mrs. Rose is working with my mother tonight."
She hesitated, but Richard, without asking, took the basket from her and handed it to Rufus, who faltered slightly under the weight of his load.
"That's settled. Come, I'll take you back."
"I don't know if that's very respectable," she said, wondering what the neighbourhood would say if they saw her getting out of Richard Turpin's cab.
"Miss, my job is to ensure the safety of all the citizens of this city. Yours included. Get in."
She gave in, relieved in spite of herself. She relaxed slightly as she leaned back against the leather seats, the warmth of the carriage making her realize how cold she was.
"That man could have hurt you," he said softly.
"I know, but he was picking on Rufus. He's a good little boy. He's just been unlucky since he was born."
"You're a good person, but this kind of action could get you killed."
"But if we always close our eyes and think only of ourselves, then we can't change the world."
Richard said nothing, but he sketched an imperceptible smile at this idealistic way of thinking. She wasn't wrong, but a woman alone, without resources, couldn't change the world alone, and those who had the power to change it didn't care. Changing the order of things would mean questioning all the values of today's society, values that he himself believed in through his upbringing.
They stopped in front of Sybil's father's small shop. She didn't even ask him how he knew it was her father's shop or that he and she lived upstairs, too tired after the shock of the violent emotions she had felt a little earlier.
As the carriage stopped, Richard reached into his inside pocket before handing Sybil a small purse.
"What is this ?" she asked, taking it.
Her eyes widened as she opened it. There was enough food for a whole month.
"I can't accept this," she said, handing it to Richard.
He gently pushed her hand away.
"This isn't for you, it's for the little boy. You know where to find him."
She thanked him sincerely and accepted his hand as he helped her downstairs.
That night, the two of them lay awake for a long time. Sybil didn't know what to make of Richard, this feared judge who had made advances towards her but had the decency to wait without rushing her. Perhaps behind all his complexity and terrible reputation there was a kind soul. She was beginning to see through the armour and she even found herself imagining what her life could be like if she became Lady Turpin. And unconsciously, she felt a truthful longing.
For his part, Richard, sitting in his worn leather chair in his library, watched the fire slowly die. Sybil haunted his thoughts. She was both gentle and strong, determined and fragile. And the feelings he felt for her resonated like a storm. His truthful longing made him patient, caring and deep down, he even felt the desire to change, to become better, to be part of those who changed things. For her, because he had this truthful longing to make her his, he could become the best version of himself.