“It’s Wilkins, sir, of Wilkins Finest Quality Nuts. And this lady’s dog’s been and upset me wares, that’s what’s up!” the stallholder protested hotly. “Just look at the mess it’s made of me spiced nuts!”
The man turned censoriously toward Lizzie. He eyed her dubiously a moment, and Lizzie felt her face flush at the picture she must present. She had jammed her bonnet over her head with scant thought of how tidy she looked after a day patrolling Connie Brown’s tent. “Well, madam,” he demanded. “What reparation do you mean to make for your animal’s mishap?”
Lizzie gazed back at the official a moment and then glanced toward the craven menagerie owner. His eyes flashed with malignant triumph, and Lizzie turned back to the official. “My name is Mrs. Elizabeth Toomes,” she said concisely. “Enter that if you will to your record. And it was this man,” she said coldly, “who is responsible for the entire misfortune. He approached the animal with his whip upraised and moved to attack him without provocation.” She turned back to the crowd. “Will no one here bear me witness?”
“He did have a whip wiv ’im,” someone piped up. “That’s it on the ground, lying there.”
The crowd turned as one to look at the discarded whip.
“Is this your whip, sir?” the official asked direly.
The man in the red-tailed coat let out a yell of fury. “That animal was clearly out of control!” he roared.
“He upset the cart only after you cornered him!” Lizzie countered sharply.
“That’s true enough,” the stallholder conceded grudgingly. “I saw ’im come chargin’ across wiv his whip. Thought he was coming for me for a minute, I did.” He tugged at his neckerchief and eyed Mr. Overton reproachfully. “He looked like a ravin’ loony!”
The man scribbling the details down in his book looked toward the irate gentleman. “What is your name?” he asked blandly. “I need it for the official record.”
The man vibrated with anger, but when he spoke, he did so in a barely audible mumble. “It’s Stanley Overton,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Overton?” the official repeated distinctly. “Are you not the owner of that menagerie tent over yonder?”
Stanley Overton ground his teeth. “I am,” he admitted. “But I have never seen that dog before, so don’t you try and pin the blame on me!”
The first official stroked his sideburns a moment thoughtfully before turning back to Lizzie. “No, we have established the animal belongs to this lady, have we not?”
Lizzie looked down and met the creatures eyes a moment and was shaken by the shining confidence the dumb animal seemed to have in her. It was almost as though, she thought, he had chosen her. Lizzie squared her shoulders and gave a short nod. She had never been one to shirk her responsibilities, and besides, a dog was supposed to be the most faithful of companions, was it not? She who was friendless could hardly go wrong in acquiring one now.
“Be that as it may, madam,” the official conceded. “You should have had the dog under control. You have no leash? No means of restraining it?”
Looking down, Lizzie saw the animal was wearing a battered leather collar. She seized hold of it in a firm grip. The beast did not even flinch, just continued to gaze steadily up at her. She exhaled her breath. “I have him securely now,” she assured them and remembering she still had the golden guinea she had made fortune telling, she plunged her other hand into her pocket and lifted her chin. “I will, of course, make reparation to Mr. Wilkins. However, I have not yet had the opportunity to obtain any small change. Perhaps one of you gentlemen could help me?” She stepped forward, showing the gold coin in her palm discreetly to the black-suited official.
He started. “You are ill-advised as a female to go wandering around a place like this unaccompanied with such an amount on you, madam,” he said disapprovingly.
Lizzie frowned at him meaningfully. Surely, he would realize that he was the one being indiscreet! She could practically feel Mr. Wilkins’ gaze on the back of her head as he craned to see what money she had in her hand. The official seemed to take her meaning for at once he cleared his throat, reached into the inner pocket of his coat.
“As to that, sir,” Lizzie said recovering her composure. “I am not unaccompanied. I do not think many would approach me with threat of violence when I am in possession of so very large a dog.”
“There may be something in what you say,” he acknowledged, inspecting the contents of his coin purse. “Here, madam,” he said after picking out several coins. “Will you check it is correct?”
Lizzie did so, and then handed her golden coin over to him with thanks.
“For the official record,” his companion piped up, pausing in the scribbling of his pen. “What is the name of your animal?”
Lizzie only paused for a second. “Sebastian,” she said, suddenly inspired.
The man made haste to note this down in his book as Lizzie turned to Mr. Wilkins. She checked his sign proclaiming the price of his spiced nuts per portion. “How many portions of nuts do you suppose has ended up scattered on the floor, my man?” she enquired briskly of the stallholder. With the eyes of the officials on him, Mr. Wilkins clearly felt hampered in his reply. He scratched the back of his neck and mumbled a sum that the official immediately took issue with.
“She will give you a florin and not a penny more, my good man! We both know as soon as we are out of sight you will be on your hands and knees scrabbling to reclaim every kernel!”
Lizzie handed over the agreed compensation, and Mr. Wilkins thanked her rather huffily before retreating behind his barrow.
“There, now that’s the end of the matter,” said the man in the black suit, glancing meaningfully at Mr. Overton who still stood hovering. His companion snapped his book shut, and they bowed to Lizzie. “Good day to you, ma’am.”
Lizzie inclined her head and watched them walk some distance away before turning to the tall man stood irresolute.
“You are still here, Mr. Overton?” she asked.
“I am, madam!” he snapped. “We both know why.”
“Do we? Perhaps you did not hear the official pronouncement. He said you were not due any damages for your part in this mishap.”
His face turned a mottled purple. “We both know, madam, that is not true!”
“Indeed?” Lizzie asked politely. “Perhaps I should summon him back, then, for all three are still within earshot if I was to raise my voice.” Mr. Overton’s lips trembled with suppressed fury. Lizzie stood silent a moment, letting the difficulty of his situation sink in. “How much do you want for the beast?” she asked softly.
Mr. Overton’s back stiffened. “He is no common dog, but a rare wolf-dog – ” he began.
“To my mind,” she interrupted him, “he is naught but a common mongrel that somewhat resembles a German shepherd dog.”
“A mongrel?” squawked Mr. Overton, clearly outraged.
“Recollect that according to official record, he is already mine,” she pointed out and began to saunter away. Sebastian obediently trotted by her side, and she retained her grip on his collar with ease.
“I want two guineas and no less will I accept!” Mr. Overton snapped angrily as he capered beside her with his long, skinny legs.
“I do not have anything like as much,” Lizzie retorted smartly. “I had a sovereign only and from that Mr. Wilkins’ damages have been subtracted, which by rights you should have paid.”
Overton’s mouth snapped shut as he considered this. “Very well, I want what remains of your sovereign,” he said grandly. “And will accept that as my payment for the animal.”
Lizzie considered this. Easy come, easy go. “Agreed,” she conceded and saw that even that did not please him. The corners of his thin lips drooped downward, as he clearly now thought he could have extorted more. “But I shall require written proof of our transaction and also witnesses. You do write, I take it?”
He glared at her. “I do, madam,” he sneered.
She
inclined her head. “If you will follow me this way, then I shall pay you in front of – er – one of my family.” She almost stammered over the word, so strange was it to consider the Toomes’ in such a light.
Mr. Overton muttered under his breath but moderated his long stride to match her own. They made their way in silence toward the Toomes boxing booth, and she heard his swiftly indrawn breath. “I thought you said your name was Coombe,” he complained as they approached the boxing tent.
“Did you?” Lizzie uttered, glancing his way. She noticed he did not look thrilled at the prospect of tangling with the Toomes clan and could not say she blamed him.
Daphne was stood outside the entrance to the tent with a sour expression on her face. “You’re back, are you?” she asked without any marked enthusiasm. Her gaze flickered over Overton and the large dog impassively. Even as Lizzie opened her mouth in reply, Jack ducked under the canvas and appeared in front of them. He did a double take at Lizzie with her hand on the hulking dog beside her.
“Ah, Jack,” Lizzie hailed him with more familiarity than she had displayed heretofore. “I need you to bear witness to a business transaction between myself and this gentleman.” Jack looked immediately wary, although Daphne straightened up with interest. “I am purchasing this animal from Mr. Overton,” she asserted. “Do you have paper and pen?” she asked turning back to that gentleman.
Overton fumbled in his breast pocket and withdrew a small notebook of cheap-looking yellowed pages and the stub of a pencil.
“Excellent,” Lizzie said bracingly. “Now write: I, Stanley Overton, do willingly sell this large brown dog known as Sebastian to Mrs. Elizabeth Toomes for the sum of eighteen shillings–”
“Eighteen shillings?” Jack burst out incredulously.
“ – on this day, Wednesday the twenty-sixth of March in the year of our Lord 1845,” Lizzie finished smoothly.
Stanley Overton’s pencil moved over the paper, as he muttered the words under his breath.
“What sort of dog is that?” Daphne asked critically. “It looks half wild to me.”
“Now you sign, Mr. Overton,” Lizzie prompted, ignoring the interruption. “And Jack here shall sign as witness.”
Overton ripped out the page and added his scrawl on the back. Before he would pass the pad to Jack, he held out his bony fingers for the money. Lizzie dropped the coins into his palm, and he passed it over to Jack, who shook his head but added his initials all the same.
“If you would print your name underneath,” Lizzie told him looking at the J.T. he had contributed.
Jack gave her an ironic look. “You’ll have to do any writing,” he said with a shrug. “If it’s more than my initials you want.”
“I’ll do it,” Daphne offered. She took the page and painstakingly printed Jack Toomes under his initials, then added her own details before passing the paper to Lizzie who, glancing down, saw she had signed herself Daphne Smith in a neat hand. Lizzie returned the notebook to its owner, and abruptly, Stanley Overton turned on his heel and made off without a single further word.
Jack eyed her doubtfully as Lizzie folded the paper of ownership. “There’s plenty of husbands who’d beat you black and blue for wasting eighteen shillings on a dog like that.”
Lizzie opened her mouth on a sharp retort, but a great cheer went up from inside the tent, forestalling her. Jack turned and looked back over his shoulder.
“He could have spun it out for a couple more rounds,” he grumbled. “That bastard never plays the game like he’s supposed to.”
“Will Benedict be finished soon, or should I head back to our wagon, do you think?”
“He shouldn’t be too long, should he, Jack?” Daphne said quickly. She turned back to Lizzie. “I don’t suppose you’d do me a favor, would you, and take a turn here collecting the entrance fees?” It was by far the friendliest that Daphne had addressed her, but even so, Lizzie was wary.
“I’m afraid I have just finished my day’s employ,” she pointed out firmly, moving to step around the woman.
“Hold up,” said Jack, putting his hand out to stay her. “Are you saying you won’t help us out here when the need arises?” His voice rose with indignation.
Sebastian set up a threatening growl that made them all step back in alarm. “Perhaps if you remove your hand from my arm, Jack?” Lizzie recommended. Jack pulled it back sharply and the horrible noise emitting from Sebastian’s throat subsided. They all breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Lizzie looked squarely at Daphne. “How long do you need me to cover your duties?” she asked. “If Benedict will soon be finished, then he will not be pleased to find I have pledged myself to sit here all evening.”
Daphne opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Jack forestalled her. “That’s true enough,” he grumbled. “You don’t want to get on the wrong side of him, Daph.”
Daphne huffed out a sigh. “Long enough for me to get a bite to eat?” she offered.
Lizzie nodded. “Very well.”
“Obliged, I’m sure,” Daphne sniffed and hurried off.
Lizzie sought out the little three-legged stool just inside the entrance and picked up the jar of ha’pennies Daphne had stowed there. As Lizzie lowered herself onto the wooden stool, Sebastian seated himself beside her.
Jack looked them over with raised brows. “Well, no one will be arguing the entrance fee with him sat beside you, at any rate,” he commented wryly before disappearing back into the tent.
It was twenty minutes later that Benedict appeared beside her, still buttoning his shirt.
“What are you doing sat there?” he asked with surprise.
Sebastian set up a low rumble, but Lizzie’s hand shot out and shook his collar. “No,” she said firmly. “I won’t be here long,” she said addressing her husband. “I’ve just taken over for Daphne a moment while she fetches herself some refreshment.”
He grunted. “Who’s this?”
“Our new guard dog,” Lizzie said boldly. “I bought him off a most objectionable man.” Wordlessly she passed him the bill of sale. Benedict glanced it over before passing it back.
“Overton?” he asked with a frown. “Doesn’t he run some sort of performing animal act? Teeth like a row of neglected tombstones?”
“He does,” she agreed, wincing at the description of Stanley Overton’s teeth. “And vastly sorry I feel for any animal under his yoke. He was abusing this one most cruelly.” They both regarded Sebastian’s long nose and shaggy fur coat a moment in silence. “He claimed he was a wolf-dog,” Lizzie admitted after a moment. “Is such a thing even possible?”
Benedict shrugged. “Damned if I know. He looks like some kind of sled-dog to me. Is he friendly?”
“Not especially, but he does seem to listen to me. He takes grave objection to anyone accosting me, I know that much.”
“Does he, by God?” Benedict’s expression lightened. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt for you to have a protector to escort you about.”
“Do you suppose Connie would allow me to have him accompany me tomorrow?” she asked a little doubtfully.
“I don’t see why not,” Benedict answered.
She gave him a sidelong look. “And the mere sight of him doesn’t inspire you to violence?”
His eyebrows rose. “Why do you ask that?”
“I was informed that some husbands would feel justified in beating their wives for squandering eighteen shillings on a dog.”
“I’ve never beaten a woman in my life, and I’m not about to start now,” he answered swiftly. “You can put any concerns of that nature out of your head.”
Lizzie nodded, but any reply she might have made was swiftly forgotten when Daphne reappeared and interrupted them.
Daphne eyed Benedict warily as she brushed her hands on her skirts. “Thanks for that,” she muttered to Lizzie.
“You’re welcome.” She stood and turned back to the looming animal. “Come, Sebastian.”
13
Th
ey did not tarry overlong in the fairground. Benedict bought three meat puddings for their supper, which included one for the dog. Sebastian gulped his down in two swallows and then eyed Lizzie’s with a covetous gaze. Benedict was not surprised to see her give the animal at least half of her own. The beast trotted after her even more assiduously after that.
He was wholly reconciled to the animal’s presence when he saw his dark shadow accompany Lizzie into the opposite field when she went to relieve herself before bed. She would come to no harm when accompanied by such a beast.
When Benedict returned from fetching water, he found Lizzie trying to coax the animal into the wagon to no avail.
“What am I going to do?” she asked in exasperation. “He simply won’t come inside.”
Benedict considered Sebastian impassively. “He may settle under the wagon for the night. He’s likely wary of small spaces.” She did not look appeased by this, until he added. “You can give him one of our blankets to sleep on.” This sent her back into the wagon to fetch one, and she set about arranging it into a sort of nest for the dog as Benedict set the water on to boil.
“Here, boy!” she said, patting the blanket. “Nice and warm. Come and see.” Sebastian ignored her, setting his great head onto his front paws next to the fire Benedict had lit.
“He’ll settle in once the fire’s banked,” he consoled her.
Sure enough, that was the case. By the time Benedict had kicked over the fire and visited the opposite field before turning in, Sebastian was ensconced underneath the wagon.
“Do you think he’ll be warm enough?” Lizzie asked anxiously as he joined her inside.
A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 17