“It is at Millbank station that we have lodged our complaint,” he continued smoothly. “We have told them that we hope to have you attend an interview this very afternoon. They have indicated that is the only circumstance in which they will be able to clap him in irons.” Mr. Mountford’s tone was faintly apologetic. “Our every hope depends on you, Miss – , that is, Mrs. Toomes,” he corrected himself.
“I see.” Lizzie’s mind raced. She had promised Benedict not half an hour ago that she would ‘stay put’ for the rest of the day. “You must understand that I cannot leave with you without first consulting my husband.”
“You will bear witness, Lizzie?” her aunt asked, half disbelieving.
“Of course, I will,” Lizzie replied. “After all, you showed me twenty-one years of kindness in your home, Aunt Hester.”
“Before one act of very grave unkindness,” her aunt gasped and then burst into tears. Lizzie patted her shoulder, but otherwise left Betsy to comfort her as she spoke hurriedly with Mr. Mountford.
“I need to make for the boxing saloon where my husband works,” she explained. “Will you await me here?”
“I will accompany you,” he responded quickly, and she saw that Frederick Mountford had no intention of letting her out of his sight. As it had not been her intention to give him the slip, Lizzie did not allow this to trouble her.
“I won’t be long,” she said getting to her feet. “Shall we meet you at the exit in fifteen minutes? I may have to wait for my husband to reach the end of his current bout.” Betsy gave her a grateful nod, and she, Sebastian, and Mr. Mountford headed for Toomes’s Boxing Saloon.
She kept a brisk pace ahead of Frederick Mountford, otherwise she had a suspicion she would feel he was escorting her as an armed guard. She would not say his manner was officious, but he clearly thought himself the master of the situation. Probably, she thought, due to her aunt’s current collapse and Betsy’s cloying manner toward him. Lizzie’s expression grew even more determined. He would certainly not be taking charge of her!
To Lizzie’s surprise, she found Maggie sat at the entrance with the collection tin. She gave a guilty start when she saw Lizzie. “Oh, I – I just said I would help Frank out this afternoon – ” she began, but Lizzie did not have time to tarry.
“It is not my place to judge your actions, Maggie,” she said as patiently as she could under the circumstances. She no longer had the smallest hope that Maggie would spend a couple of nights under Sophia Farini’s roof. “I need to have a word with my husband, so this gentleman and I are just popping inside for a moment.”
Maggie’s eyes widened with panic. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Lizzie! Frank said this is a crucial moment for Ben’s future. You wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, surely!”
Lizzie paused just the barest moment at Maggie’s words, but she knew what she had promised. Benedict would absolutely hit the roof if she went off now without telling him.
“I’m afraid I must be the best judge of that,” she said firmly and pressed on, though once inside the tent flap, she could see it was packed out, the baying crowds noisier than ever. Sebastian barked in agitation, and Lizzie patted his neck and grabbed his collar.
She turned back to Frederick Mountford who had reached out to grasp her arm. “You will have to stay close,” she shouted. “Lest we get parted in the crowd.”
He nodded and set his jaw resolutely as they began to push forward into the jostling crowd.
“Let’s hear it for Charlie, gentlemen,” boomed Frank. “This man gave his all, though it wasn’t enough to stop the Harbinger of Doom! He gave it a good try.”
A chorus of boos and jeers rang out, and Lizzie craned her neck to see a bloody nosed bruiser being helped from the ring. Her gaze sought out her husband who was stripped to the waist, pacing about the roped off area with a barely contained energy which put Lizzie in mind of a visit she had once paid to the London Zoological Gardens. Some of the bigger cats had seemed to embody the same restlessness as they stalked their pens.
“Is there any man here can challenge him?” Frank asked. “He’s fresh as a daisy, gentlemen, and ready for the next contender, if anyone dares!”
“Over ’ere!” yelled a raucous voice to Lizzie’s left. “My friend here will take him on!“
A few cheers rang out, and Lizzie saw Frank walk to the edge of the roped off area. “Your name, good sir?” he shouted.
“It’s Jim!” roared another who stood head and shoulders above his companions. “Jim North and I can take any man here, Toomes included!”
Lizzie saw Frank’s eyes narrow, and he shot a look toward the row of suited gentlemen thronging the ropes to the one side of the ring. She could just about make out the lavender and silver waistcoat of Nat Jones in the midst of them. She fancied he had an amused gleam in his eye, but that might have just been down to her own imagination.
“Jim!” Frank shouted, recovering quickly. “Long time, no see. One of our boxing brethren is among us today, I see.”
“Thought you said he takes all comers!” shouted one of North’s companions. “Or is it only amateurs Toomes will face?”
The crowd grew even more animated at this back and forth. Lizzie saw Benedict’s lips move, and Frank moved across to him to speak quickly in his ear. Whatever he said, Benedict seemed to be disregarding. His hazel eyes were dwelling on North with a cold sort of disinterestedness that almost bordered on contempt for his fellow man.
Before seeing him in the ring, Lizzie had assumed fighters must be hot-headed and quick to anger, but Benedict seemed just the opposite. She knew the exact moment his gaze fell on her. The quick blink of his eyes, and then he was surging forward, shouting to Frank.
“He’s seen us,” she said weakly to Mountford, though she was not sure he heard her, the crowd was so rowdy. North was shouting and bawling all manner of insults behind them which was sending the crowd into a frenzy. Lizzie struggled but could not seem to make any headway now they had reached the thickest part of the audience. Sebastian growled low in his throat, but she doubted anyone could hear him among the noisy throng.
Suddenly, to her relief, she realized the men in front of her were parting ways, and she saw Benedict coming through. At his approach, they hastily fell back a step. It was not just she who relaxed at his approach, for Sebastian ceased plunging and straining under her grasp. As soon as Benedict reached her, he seized hold of her and dropped any semblance of cool indifference. “Who the fuck is that?” he barked, nodding at Mr. Mountford though his eyes did not leave Lizzie’s face.
“It’s complicated,” she yelled back. “He bought my aunt and cousin with him. They want me to go with them now to the police station – ”
“No,” he answered tightly. “Not without me.”
“Mr. Toomes, I must protest – ” Frederick Mountford began, and Benedict swung round on him with an expression that blazed. If he’d had room, Mountford would undoubtedly have retreated. As it was, he could only fall back against the press of bodies behind him.
“Would that not be rather awkward for you?” Lizzie asked him dropping her voice as much as she could with so much background noise. “It’s not just my aunt, but also Betsy that came – ”
“I don’t give a fuck about Betsy,” he answered swiftly.
Lizzie caught hold of Benedict’s arm. “They need me to testify against Reverend Milson,” she explained. “They fear he is about to flee the country.” She hesitated, horribly conscious of the chaos around them and Frank hanging over the ropes with an expression of anguish on his face.
She was messing things up for Benedict’s career, she thought with a pang. She found herself stroking his arm in a vain attempt to calm him. “It won’t take long, dearest,” she heard herself placating him. “I just need to make a statement.”
“Not without me,” he repeated in a calmer, though no less deadly, voice.
“Very well,” Lizzie agreed desperately. “How many more bouts must you win tod
ay?” Frederick Mountford opened his mouth but lacked the courage to voice his objection.
“Just this last one,” her husband answered grimly, his gaze flickering over Lizzie’s shoulder to where North’s faction were creating quite a commotion.
“Surely the Harbinger’s not scared of a little real competition?” Jim North sneered to accompanying backslaps and encouragement.
“Then we shall wait,” Lizzie said brightly. “Until you have knocked down this rude man and can accompany me to the station.”
Benedict’s gaze focused on her again, and Lizzie saw he was looking icy cold once more. She gave him a determinedly cheerful smile. “I daresay it won’t take you long.”
His eyes seemed to warm for a fraction of a second, his hand tightening about her wrist and dragging her forward. Lizzie did not even have a chance to check if Frederick Mountford had kept up with them or no, for the next thing she knew, she and Sebastian were up against the front of the ropes and Benedict had stepped back inside the square.
He gave the nod to Frank who turned back to the audience. “Challenge accepted!” The crowd erupted and Lizzie groped for Sebastian’s collar at her side. Benedict turned full circle in the ring, his gaze pinning Lizzie when she would have looked over her shoulder to check if Mr. Mountford were there.
“Eyes on me,” he mouthed to her.
Lizzie nodded her throat suddenly dry. Why this was reminding her of the first time they were intimate, she could not say. Except that he had wanted her eyes on him on that occasion too, she remembered suddenly. Lizzie swallowed and did not let her gaze drop away, no matter how boldly he stared at her.
Sensing Sebastian’s agitation, she reached down to pat his head, though her gaze never wavered from her husband. “Easy, boy,” she murmured as the North party came forging forward, all bluster and bombast.
“Toomes won’t find this prospect such an easy conquest,” a whiskered gentleman nearby opined.
“Don’t be so sure,” his companion replied. “Care to make a little side wager, Algie?”
Lizzie was dimly aware that North had entered the ring and stripped off his shirt showing a barrel chest bristling with hair to match his bushy beard. She had no eyes to spare for him, however, for she somehow knew Benedict was conscious of her gaze on him.
She had no sooner steeled herself for the spectacle than it had begun. Benedict seemed to launch himself at his opponent in a sudden onslaught of blows which the other man, for all his bragging, seemed ill-prepared.
“Good lord!” the whiskered gentleman puffed. “Seems to have taken that chap’s remarks to heart, don’t he?”
Actually, Lizzie thought, he’s just in something of a hurry.
North, finding himself with his back to the ropes, roared like a bear and lurched forward, swinging wildly, only to find his great fists dodged and his ribs struck in quick succession with three brutal body blows.
“Did ye see that?” the whiskered gentleman demanded, as his friend simultaneously exclaimed. “Cracked his ribs, I’ll warrant!”
Surely not, Lizzie thought with dawning horror, but North was certainly wheezing with discomfort as he tried to fend off the procession of jabs Benedict was directing at his head.
“Winded, by gad,” her neighbor pronounced dolefully. “He’s blowing like a bellows!”
As soon as North managed to get his fists up to protect his face, Benedict returned to slamming his fist into North’s ribs. Lizzie winced. It seemed almost cruel to watch. The fickle crowd had turned again and now seemed to be enjoying the bigger man’s humiliation.
North rallied again, managing to throw out a few punches, but Benedict dodged and sidestepped, countering them with his own which seemed to be a good deal more effective.
No one was surprised when, moments later, a right landed on North’s jaw that sent him sprawling to the ground.
“Clapped out,” her neighbor said sadly. “Fellow’s done for.”
Lizzie swallowed and lifted her chin when Benedict swung about and looked straight at her. Their gazes clashed a moment, and then he turned back to watch his fallen opponent. Frank crouched down over North, speaking to him in measured tones.
To Lizzie’s alarm, the large man struggled into a seated position before clutching his ribs and groaning. Frank straightened up, still talking, and when the crowd saw North vehemently shake his head, they set up a disappointed groan. Frank crossed his arms and then pulled them apart. “It’s all over, gentlemen,” he pronounced loudly.
Lizzie’s shoulders slumped with relief. Benedict leaned over the back ropes. When he straightened back up, Lizzie realized he had been retrieving his shirt and jacket.
“I must say,” the whiskered gentleman complained, watching Frank help the fallen man to his friends on the other side of the square. “That blasted ruffian did not last half as long against Toomes as that brickmaker chap he faced off against before this!”
His friend laughed. “Toomes would not feel he had to hold back against a fellow professional.”
“My God!” breathed a voice behind them. Lizzie glanced back to see Mr. Mountford was stood behind her. He had removed his gray bowler hat to wipe his brow with a silk handkerchief.
Lizzie did not give him her attention for long as Benedict was walking toward her. Wordlessly, he passed his clothes to her and started wiping a cloth about his neck and face and then over his chest and arms. Lizzie extracted his vest from the pile, which he pulled on over his head, followed by his shirt, which she helped him button, followed by his waistcoat.
Frank came hurrying over. “Ben, will you come and have a word with Nat’s backers?”
“No,” he answered shortly, tying his neckerchief. “They saw what they came to see. Let them console their man North.” When Lizzie opened her mouth, he shot her a warning look and she left her words unspoken. Taking his jacket from her, he slung it over his arm and reached for her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Out of the corner of one eye, Lizzie saw Frederick Mountford following in their wake. She kept one hand on Sebastian and let Benedict propel the three of them forward. The crowd seemed to part automatically for him, though a few brave souls attempted a back slap or a shoulder squeeze as he passed by.
Lizzie felt half deafened by the time they had passed out of the tent. She nodded to Maggie as they passed her, but she had her mouth half-open and did not attempt to speak.
“We’re meeting my aunt and cousin at the exit,” she explained. “Did I introduce you to Mr. Mountford, Benedict?” she asked, hoping she was not still shouting.
Benedict half-turned his head and nodded.
“A pleasure, sir,” yelled Mountford, hastening to fall in step beside them. “This is very good of you, indeed.”
“It’s my wife you need to thank,” Benedict responded grudgingly.
“Will it matter that you did not take the time to converse with Mr. Jones’s friends?” Lizzie asked anxiously. “Frank seemed to think – ”
“Very little,” Benedict retorted. “They didn’t come to talk to me.” He spat and Lizzie hoped it was not blood. Very few of Mr. North’s punches had seemed to land, but she was sure even a graze from those huge fists would wreak some damage.
“Did they bring Mr. North to test you, then?” she asked, and he cocked an eye at her.
“Picked up on that, did you?”
“I did not see Jack at all.”
Benedict gave a short laugh. “He was buried under a mountain of bets.”
“A bookmaker would have made a pretty penny on such a match,” Mr. Mountford interjected and was ignored.
“Will you not put your coat on?” Lizzie fretted. “There is quite a chill in the air.”
Benedict glanced down at his jacket over his arm as though he had forgotten all about it. He stopped to pull it on, and Mr. Mountford, catching sight of Betsy and Mrs. Anderson in the distance, ran on ahead to assure them they were on their way. Sebastian barked after him disapprovingly.
“Who
the hell is that anyway?” Benedict grouched.
“He is the nephew of that lady whose brooch the reverend pilfered. He was not there that night. He lives in Lincolnshire, I believe, and is his aunt’s heir.”
“Thought she got her brooch back,” Benedict commented, seizing hold of her hand once more.
“She did,” Lizzie sighed. “But it seems a good many of the congregation, Mrs. Lessing and my uncle included, have invested their money in Reverend Milson’s various schemes.” Benedict pulled a face. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” Lizzie blurted. “You ought to be celebrating with your brothers, not on your way to a police station.”
Benedict snorted but made no other reply. When they reached the gate at the end of the field, they found Mrs. Anderson looking fit to drop. Betsy hurried forward on seeing Benedict. “We did not mean to trouble you, Mr. Toomes,” she exclaimed in a high, unnatural voice. “I hope this is not an inconvenience.” She looked from Benedict to Frederick Mountford, and Lizzie found herself wondering if the formal address was for his benefit.
Compared to Benedict, Frederick Mountford seemed bland and unsubstantial to Lizzie. She marveled that Betsy’s eyes should be so drawn to him. Then again, there was no accounting for taste. She dimly remembered a time when she had thought Betsy mad for looking at Benedict Toomes. She cast a quick look at her husband’s face. With a pang, she realized this situation must be awkward for him as well.
“Hello, Betsy,” he said shortly. “Mrs. Anderson,” he said, nodding toward the older lady. Lizzie’s aunt made an incoherent noise behind her handkerchief.
“If we walk to the end of the road, I’ll hail us a cab,” Mr. Mountford said, clearing his throat. Betsy and her mother clung on to either side of him as Benedict and Lizzie led the way, Sebastian trotting beside them.
28
It was some two hours later that they returned by the same route. Benedict tipped the cabbie and helped Lizzie down from the carriage. Sebastian jumped down behind her, and they made their way back toward the camping field.
A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 35
