The Fighter and the Fallen Woman

by Pamela Cayne

  “Truthfully, I have been a bit lonely since arriving in your fair city.”

  Hannibal slid an ivory card out of the case and passed it to Collins. “Go to the Red Door Brothel—don’t worry, any hack will get you there—and give this to the madam, Mrs. Henderson. She’ll make sure you’re not lonely.”

  Hannibal turned away from Collins. After watching his fighter demolish his way through the first round, taking a bet for ten thousand pounds and another superior bruiser, and winning quite a few pounds on the bouts tonight, he was feeling like the king of the world.

  “Come on, pet.” He pulled Lady toward the door. “I’m going to make sure you’re not lonely for quite a while.”

  * * *

  After the fight, King returned to his rooms in the rear of the Red Door. When he’d managed to convince Mr. Adams that Shade should have the bigger, more opulent rooms King had been occupying in Mr. Adams’s home and he’d take these smaller rooms in the Red Door to provide extra protection during especially busy nights, he’d gained a small freedom but a rich one. Too many times had Mr. Adams stormed into King’s rooms and announced they were going on a collection run or to the Red Door or, worst of all, to Lady’s, and the small daydream King had been having about that very woman would be shattered, King’s calm with it.

  Images of Lady flickering through the back of his mind like a moving picture book, he checked on the ragged, bandaged brown bird in a box near the fire and saw it had eaten the worm King found in the street earlier this evening. “Good girl,” he murmured and lightly stroked the bird’s head. As he sat cross-legged in front of the fire and started building a small cage using bamboo canes he’d nicked at the warehouse tonight, he let the images of Lady build and break free. He could still feel her holding his hand, tracing that scar over and over again. Having her touch him like that was worth the pain of getting it, and he wondered if he’d feel the same about the pain to come because of that kiss. He’d been a brawler from damn near birth. He could handle the pain, but could she? Would she want to? He’d shielded her as much as he could from Mr. Adams’s attacks and moods, but their owner was capable of so much more pain and cruelty. She’d be smart to keep Mr. Adams happy and he’d be smart to stop thinking of Lady so much. There were other girls out there, blonde and blue-eyed, and it would be better for both of them if he picked one of those girls instead, regardless of that moment before Lady kissed him and he could see the question in her eyes.

  Do you feel the same way I do? Knowing the darkness, knowing who I am and what I’ve done, do you?

  And he did. He’d known killers who were the benefactors of orphans and titled men who tortured barn cats, so as far as he was concerned, the measure of a man was more than the circumstances of birth or the basic power each person held. Mr. Adams was proof of that lesson, as was Lady. She’d never been anything but nice to him, never appeared to hold his profession against him, so how could he judge her for the way she earned a living? He made use of his body as she did hers, so who was the real whore and who was the real fighter?

  Somebody knocked and King flinched, cutting himself on the bamboo. As he looked at the drop of blood on his thumb, he smiled ruefully. Probably wasn’t the last time he was going to bleed for this particular ladybird.

  He sucked the blood off his thumb and looked up. Whoever wanted to see him wasn’t at the door leading to the street, but rather at the door connecting his rooms to the whorehouse. That meant his visitor was one of the girls or Mrs. Henderson. Shade avoided going into the house if he could, and only did so if he was guarding Mr. Adams. And King knew Mr. Adams would be at Lady’s right now, doing to her what other men were doing to other women upstairs.

  The knock came again and King sighed. Of all the nights he didn’t want company, tonight was highest on that list. He needed space, quiet...time to get her out of his head. He set the bamboo on the floor, covered the bird with an old ripped blanket and got up. Since his entire suite consisted of a front room with the fireplace and his chair, a small table, a bed, a trunk and pegs for his clothes, and a small alcove that served as a kitchen, it only took King a few steps to get to the door. He grabbed a shirt and put it on but didn’t button it, knowing he would still be overdressed for whoever his visitor was. He opened the door to one of the new girls, a blonde who reminded him of Lady the way a piece of gravel reminded him of a diamond. He didn’t say anything, only leaned on the door and watched her.

  “‘Ello, Mr. King. Mrs. Henderson said I should come over and tells you what a fine job Mr. Adams said you did tonight.” She was smiling like somebody had told her she could have a penny candy.

  “Thank you, Jenny, but I’m tired,” King said, knowing he should take his benefactor up on his offer, but not having the heart to do so. He’d find his blue-eyed blonde another day.

  Jenny’s face fell a little and she glanced over at Mrs. Henderson, a gray-haired matron who looked like a rolled-up rug in a stiff black dress. She could have been in the queen’s drawing room except for her profession and the two-shot pistol she kept strapped to her thigh. Jenny looked back at King and took a swaying step toward him. She still had an anticipatory smile, but the joyful innocence was gone, replaced by something studied and false.

  “Are you sure, Mr. King? I can help you relax, I can. Maybe you needs me to rub your shoulders a bit. Wouldn’t that feel nice?”

  King was weighing how to disengage Jenny with Mrs. Henderson taking such a keen interest in them when he caught sight of a newcomer over Jenny’s head. It was Mr. Collins, and King would bet a night of Jenny’s charms the American didn’t come here of his own accord. Suddenly it was getting too crowded with too many eyes.

  “Sure, Jenny, I’d like that.” King pulled the girl in while watching Mrs. Henderson’s gaze dart from him to Mr. Collins and back again. As he shut the door, King saw Mr. Collins being led into the parlor by two of the girls and with luck, he hadn’t seen King back in the corner, framed by a door nobody was supposed to notice.

  As soon as he shut the door, Jenny pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Oh, Mr. King,” she said and rubbed her hands up and down his stomach and chest, “I’m so glad you said yes.”

  King unwrapped Jenny’s arms. He took her by the hand, then led her over to sit on the bed. “Jenny, I know you can make me feel good, and any other time I would take you up on it like that,” he said and snapped his fingers, causing her to jump, “but I did have a hard fight tonight and don’t feel quite right yet. Why don’t you just lie down and rest for a bit? I’ll tell Mrs. Henderson how good you were and nobody needs to know what really happened except for you and me. Would that be okay, Jenny?” He eased her back so she was lying down and watched the battle going on behind her eyes. “Thirty minutes of quiet and you could rest with nobody bothering you.” He pulled a crown out of his pocket to slip into her hand.

  She nodded, but her expression was still wary. She finally closed her eyes and tucked her hands beneath the pillow, her frown slowly sliding away.

  “Good girl,” King whispered and stroked her head. He went back to his chair in front of the fire and couldn’t stop his thoughts from turning back to Lady as she’d nursed him after the fight. He’d hated being so harsh with her, but the brush of her fingers across his palm seemed especially bitter as she asked if they shouldn’t have choices with Mr. Adams.

  But there was nothing else he could have said, like there was no way he could have touched her like he’d truly wanted. Looking back, he probably should have stayed silent, let her wash him up, then sent her back to Mr. Adams with a polite thank-you, but he couldn’t. He could have no more treated her as blandly as he did Jenny as he could have stopped his hands from bleeding. There was something about Lady that was under his skin as sure as the blood that was trying to seep out.

  He grabbed a glass, determined to wash away the taste of Lady’s lips under his.
Down that road only lay pain, misery, suffering and heartbreak, possibly worse depending on Mr. Adams. He poured the last of his whiskey into the glass and with each splash, counted what he had.

  Money, power and prestige from doing what came naturally to him—fighting.

  Rent-free rooms in a whorehouse where he could have almost any of the girls he wanted for free.

  A good, uncomplicated life that most men in this part of London would kill for.

  Nope. He swallowed the blessings of his life. A kiss from a whore, even if that kiss made him feel more a man than he ever had before, was nothing to throw that all away for. Nothing at all.

  * * *

  As soon as Mr. Adams was dressed, Lady slid out of bed and pulled on a peacock-blue silk robe with flowers and hummingbirds embroidered at the hem and sleeves. It had been a gift from Mr. Adams after a particularly profitable shipment of his vases from China. Ever since then, Lady wore it for his visits.

  “Let me walk you out, Mr. Adams.” She straightened his collar and gave his tie an extra tug.

  “Aw, my girl can’t get enough of me, is that it?” He grinned. His cheer was holding and Lady was thankful. He was easier to control in this kind of mood.

  “I just want to make sure you’re taken care of,” she said in a purr as she left the bedroom in a lazy walk. The touching was over and she was walking him out the door, so if it took a little swing in her step to hasten his departure, she could do that.

  She gathered her robe so Mr. Adams wouldn’t step on it and led him downstairs to the front door. She opened it and leaned against it, casting a coy smile at her owner. “I’ll see you soon, won’t I?”

  “Soon enough, pet. Soon enough.” He stepped outside. Shade emerged from the shadows to stand behind his master as Mr. Adams turned back to face her. “I want you to know how good it makes me feel to have you caring for King. My best girl helping my best fighter, just like any proper family, eh? Makes me so happy, it does. Maybe you could go check on him tomorrow, make sure he’s healthy and ready to fight. Here, this is for a doctor or medicine if you need it.” He slipped a few bills into her hand. “And speaking of medicine, I had Mrs. Henderson send him one of the girls tonight. Let me know if that’s the tonic he needs. I’ve always got more.” He laughed at his joke and Lady chuckled as she was meant to.

  “Anything for you, Mr. Adams.” She winked and closed the door slowly. The instant the door clicked shut, she closed her eyes and leaned against it, listening as Mr. Adams and Shade left in his small coach. Her protector walked a fine line between jovial and deadly, and even after all of these years, Lady could have difficulty spotting the difference. Mr. Adams had been laughing up until the instant he threw her to the floor and kicked her so hard he broke two of her ribs. His idea of her nursing King was as delicate and dangerous as carrying a full punchbowl of blasting oil across a freshly waxed floor.

  The sound of the coach long gone, Lady finally felt safe for the night. She locked the door and called, “Nessie!”

  “I’m right behind you, love. Heard the old man leave, I did.”

  Lady opened her eyes and saw her one friend, her one ally in the world. Nessie was Mrs. Mary Nesbitt, a whore who had been promoted to assistant madam at the Red Door when an angry swell cut her face and disfigured her. She didn’t have much skill managing the girls, but she could run a house like Napoleon, so after Mr. Adams had beaten Lady’s first housekeeper to death, he brought Nessie over as housekeeper, maid, cook and spy. But the plan backfired. Mr. Adams hadn’t known that Nessie was actually the one to bring Lady into the Red Door. She’d found Lady barely surviving on the street at age fourteen and kept her hidden in the kitchen scrubbing pans and learning basic healing skills until Mrs. Henderson found her and put her to work on her back. Even then, Nessie was the one who taught her how to not only become one of the best, but to not let the profession take more than she was willing to give. It served Lady well, both at the Red Door and after Mr. Adams had discovered her and made her his mistress. Now, twelve years later, she and Nessie were closer than if they shared the same blood, but they still had to let Mr. Adams think he had a spy in the house or suffer the alternative. Mrs. Nesbitt’s occasional reports were never difficult because nothing ever happened. Lady prayed she could say the same when the fights were over.

  “God, Nessie, I know the earnings from this tournament are going to be huge, but I don’t know if I can make it much longer.” Lady started playing with the sash of her robe, running the tasseled ends through her fingers with angry little flicks. She had been keeping as much as she could buried deep, but after her interaction with King tonight, she felt raw and exposed, questions long since buried rearing up again. “Maybe it’s time to find a new protector, do something different. All I know is it’s getting harder and harder to wake up each morning and face another day.” She took Nessie’s hands and held them between both of hers like she was praying. “So, what do you think? Is it time to find a little cottage on the coast?”

  “Oh, Lady, I know what it’s like to be weary.” Nessie pulled one of her hands free and gently patted Lady’s cheek. “Hold on and it’ll pass. Trust me. Mr. Adams is a good enough man, and a fine protector. You just need a little quiet time, maybe after the tournament is over and things settle down. If things go well, you could ask Mr. Adams for a few weeks in a cottage up north.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” Lady said to nobody in particular as she started upstairs. “Our quilt spread across our laps, piecing it together while the fire crackled and our tea cooled.” She stopped halfway between floors, the vision strong enough to quell her thoughts about King, her enmity for Mr. Adams. “Nessie, would you—”

  “Aye, love, I’ll put the kettle on now.”

  Lady made her way upstairs and after a quick sponge bath, slipped into her heavy cotton night rail and faded pink muslin robe. She braided her hair into one thick plait and went back downstairs to the parlor. Papered in an unobtrusive green, gold and burgundy tea rose pattern on a background of cream, the room was neither opulent nor garish. Below the lace-curtained window was a green damask sofa, and the fireplace on the opposite wall had an oak mantel that matched the sofa’s delicate legs. It was a parlor, and decorated purely as such, but to Lady the room was more about the memories made here than the porcelain statues filling the curio cabinet in the corner.

  She and Nessie had spent many hours in this room, sewing quilts out of old dresses and sheets. The first had been from boredom while they were snowed in for almost two weeks, and after that, they found it a pleasant way to pass time. Every now and then, Lady even lost herself in the fantasy that she was a regular lady presiding over her own house, quilting while her husband was at work and her children were at school. But it never lasted longer than the length of thread she was sewing before it snapped, just like the thread.

  While she was getting the thimbles from the sewing basket, Lady’s mind bounced back to King and her task for tomorrow. She could still feel the touch of King’s lips, even after Mr. Adams. She needed to repair the crack in her armor, smooth it over so he couldn’t see inside, so that touch of warmth could no longer seep under her skin.

  Yes, she could do that. She had to.

  “Ooh, what’s with the long face?” Nessie had two cups and a teapot on a lacquered tray. “Don’t be telling me the thread has snarled again.”

  “No, no—it’s fine.” Lady smiled brightly and started laying out spools with their needles. “Woolgathering, I suppose.”

  “Well, tell the sheep to leave you alone. Or drown them with this.” Nessie handed Lady a teacup and filled it from the pot. She got settled with a cup for herself and took a sip. “By the by, I meant to ask you if Mr. Adams got a new man?”

  “Hmm, no, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “When I was sweeping out the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, I noticed a man
standing out back, across the alleyway. He was watching the house real close. Reminded me of how Shade first stood out there, but this fellow wasn’t like Shade.”

  Lady set her teacup down. A rising panic was threatening to bring her tea back up. Mr. Adams hadn’t said anything, but he wouldn’t necessarily. Was he trying to set her up, making her tend to King while somebody new watched her home? “What does he look like? And why doesn’t he seem like Shade?”

  “He’s a regular-sized bloke, maybe a bit smaller, but his hair looks white, sticking up all over. And usually Mr. Adams’s men look all dour and grumpy. This one’s standing there smiling like he’s just been made a duke.”

  “White hair? Does he have a real sharp face?”

  “Yes, that sounds like him. So, Mr. Adams got somebody new?”

  “No, that’s not Mr. Adams’s man. That’s Jonathan.” In addition to Mr. Adams and King to worry about, she now had Mr. Collins making a bold move, bolder possibly than what she could control. It made going to King’s tomorrow suddenly seem much easier than it had a few minutes ago.

  Chapter Four

  She had to go visit King today. However, after a night spent twitching out of her skin at the thought of Jonathan watching her house, and her eyes stinging from the rawness of staring at the ceiling all night, replaying every second of being with King over and over, she could plead illness and not go. She could stay safe in her bed, tucked under that first blue and yellow quilt she and Nessie had stitched, and read dime novels. The midday sun could fall to dusk and she wouldn’t have to worry about possibly seeing Jonathan on her trek or definitely seeing King in his rooms, all alone and nothing between them but the memory of one sweet kiss. Until another night passed the same as the one before and the next day broke with Lady doing nothing. Then she’d have to go or tell Mr. Adams why not. She had to go today.