It was a long, hard, difficult process waiting for little Johanna to grow up. Turpin couldn't very well have any sort of relations with a girl of four or seven years old, and he had to wait until she was older still than ten or eleven. He was sure of it though, that when the time came, precious Johanna would be as beautiful and elegant as her mother had been and all the glory of the world would be his and his alone locked in his house, in his upstairs. All he had to do was wait.
As time sifted by, it became harder and harder to resist the young girl as she went from a toddler, then nymphlike for a few years before she delved into pre-adolescence. A stick-like figure developed curves, slight and soft with tender, blooming breasts - what Turpin greedily, hungrily watched over the years as she transformed into a woman.
For her fourteenth birthday he bought her a magnificent dress, royal blue with black trims and black buttons. It was a two-piece outfit and the first of many that would show off Johanna's growing cleavage. The neckline dropped down in an elegant squared V pointing down into the valley between her breasts, the edge lined with delicate, black lace. The sleeves stopped at her elbows but had puffs of fabric draped around them. The top piece buttoned tight beneath her bosom and was bustled at the back to enhance her curves and ended roughly where her buttocks did. The skirt was puffy and shuffled at the floor.
"Oh, it's lovely," she forced enthusiasm as he presented the box to her in her bedroom.
"Put it on and show it to me downstairs," he requested as an order before leaving. He snuck to the painting in the hall and pulled it aside, setting the artwork at his feet. Pressing his eye to the hole in the wall, Turpin found himself salivating as he watched her change. Just the sight of her in her underthings - corset and petticoats - made him want to rush in there that very moment and rob Johanna of her virginity. But for all intents and purposes, the judge considered himself a gentleman and he would not yet put anything inside of her until the right day came.
Turpin put the painting back as Johanna shrugged on the coat and began pushing the buttons through the holes. He made his way to the foyer and turned into his study full of his personal collection of books - none of which Johanna knew the contents. He pretended to browse them idly as he heard the hollow footfalls, the girl walking through the townhouse to show him the dress.
She made it down the stairs and slowly entered through the doorway, head slightly bowed in modesty, eyes darting around unsure of where they should settle. Her small hands were clasped at her front, fingers fiddling nervously. Turpin clutched his hands behind his back as he stepped towards the young girl, eyes scaling her with admiration and want.
There was a rapping at the front door and Johanna noticeably jumped at the sound and gasped quietly.
"Enter," Turpin bellowed, expecting the Beadle and sure enough it was.
"Wonderful day, my lord," Beadle smiled as he sauntered into the house. His face and words seemed to falter slightly as his eyes fell in Johanna, who looked to him anxiously.
Turpin saw his companion looking at Johanna with a lustful twinkle in his beady eyes.
"Johanna, be a dear and go up to your room," he addressed the girl, but he didn't stop looking to Beadle, a flat expression on his face. Johanna did as she was told and headed back to her room where later Turpin would arrive to further admire her and then lock her inside.
"She's turning into a pretty little darling, isn't she?" Beadle commented as he stared, Johanna disappearing around the corner at the top of the stairs, visible from the small library's doorway.
In a flash, Turpin found himself grasping the cane from his sidekick, pulling it out from under the large man, and setting his back against the bookshelf full of pornography.
"I better not find you looking at Johanna in such a manner again," he said, voice low and dangerous as a hissing whisper. "Am I clear?" each word pronounced.
"Y-yes," Beadle choked, looking to Turpin for once in fear. The judge shoved the cane back into Beadle's pudgy little hands and allowed the man to show himself out.
Johanna's curves became more like indents at her waist from natural shaping and the molding of the corsets she wore with her dresses, packing her breasts down so they'd press up and look larger. She was more often than not kept in her room and Turpin utilized the peep hole to observe her, his most prized possession.
There were times he felt twinges of guilt, for a young girl should not be locked up. But he wanted to save her from the wicked ways of the world - occurrences he witnessed daily due to his job - and it was for her own good even though it was obvious she could not see it.
Gazing upon her, focusing with one eye as she sat at the window sill, morosely observing citizens go about their daily business, Turpin was struck with an unshakable fear. He had always thought that Johanna, when the time came, would be more than happy to be his wife, lover, take care of him, and be by his side until his death. But observing her, the way her eyes shone with want of the outside world, want of something more than four walls and a cage of birds for company, Turpin began to worry.
He managed to brush it out of his mind as silly, for how could Johanna not desire him? He'd raised her, loved her, never hurt her, lavished her with the finest dresses, linens, shoes, drapes, hair pieces. He was the reason she had a cozy roof over her head and lovely meals; he hated to think how humble, how sad, her life would have been had he not saved her from that wretched barber and his uncooperative wife.
No, Johanna was his. Johanna loved him. He and Johanna would live happily ever after. Turpin hung the painting and softly stepped down the hall, feeling that all was truly well in London.