A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

by Alice Coldbreath

  He just about managed it. By the time she opened the door an hour later, he had boiled the water and was scooping the tealeaves into the pot.

  “Good morning.”

  He glanced up warily and found her wrapped in a blanket off the bed, her hair still loose about her shoulders. “I’ve water for you here,” he said, clearing his throat and standing.

  She took the water with thanks and shuffled back inside to wash and dress. Benedict scratched the back of his neck, still gazing at the door she’d shut after her. Sebastian yawned and Benedict glanced at the dog, only to find the beast regarding him steadily.

  “I suppose you want another bone,” he muttered, retrieving the sack which was decidedly lighter than when he’d carried it back the previous day. He held one out for Sebastian who clamped his jaws around it and dropped down on his haunches beside the fire.

  Lizzie joined them there ten minutes later in a dress of dark gray wool, her hair once more demurely coiled at her nape. She sat on an upturned wooden crate and reached for the teacup he slid toward her wordlessly.

  “Thank you,” she murmured and settled back to enjoy the hot drink. “It seems funny,” she commented a moment later, “to think our view will be a completely different one after today.” Benedict grunted and she shot him an inquisitive look. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night – ” she started, and Benedict shot to his feet.

  “You don’t need to set any great store by anything a man might say to you in bed,” he heard himself say abruptly. “That kind of talk … It doesn’t really mean anything.”

  Lizzie blinked and stared at him a moment, then she said blankly, “Oh.” Then, “I see.” Something about the way she said it bothered him and even more so, the way she averted her face a moment from him. He opened his mouth again but found himself at a loss for words. When she turned to face him again, she was perfectly calm and even had a small smile for him. “Thank you for explaining,” she said simply and picked up both their empty cups, carrying them over to the basin of water, and employing herself there washing them clean.

  Benedict stared after her, feeling if anything, worse than he had on first waking. Shit, that didn’t come out right.

  “I must go and visit with your grandmother at some point today,” Lizzie’s raised voice carried over to him. He had the feeling she was talking simply to fill the awkward silence, but after his unpardonable clumsiness, thought he had better humor her in any case.

  “Why?” he asked, frowning.

  “To return her headscarf for one thing and ask if I can keep her black cloak.”

  “I see.”

  “When do you think would be the best time for me to go in search of her?” Lizzie asked, looking back over her shoulder.

  Benedict shrugged irritably. “She both rises and goes to bed early, if memory serves.”

  Lizzie nodded, reaching for a drying cloth and employing unnecessary care over the cups. “Shall we head for the main field now?” she asked brightly, and he answered her with a wordless nod. He told himself it did not bother him when Lizzie chose to cling to the dog’s collar instead of his arm.

  They had crossed into the main field, and he was helping Lizzie down from the stile when a stifled cry had them both turning their heads. Benedict saw a plump, middle-aged woman in a purple dress staring at them with her mouth open.

  “Annie!” Lizzie exclaimed, straightening up and pushing Benedict’s hands away from her waist.

  Annie? Benedict looked from Lizzie’s expression of dismay to the other woman’s obvious stupefaction with raised brows. Was no one to speak?

  “Lor’ bless you, Miss Lizzie,” the other stammered, recovering her wits. “I scarcely recognized you for an instant.” She stole another incredulous glance at Benedict, and it occurred to him he did dimly recognize the woman, though from where he could not quite recollect. Annie swallowed convulsively. “And you’ll remember Dick,” she said, pulling at her escort’s arm.

  The man beside her, sporting a fluffy pair of sideburns, pulled on his braces and cleared his throat.

  “Of course,” Lizzie replied unevenly. “You are Mr. Blake, the butcher’s assistant, are you not? I believe you made the deliveries to Sitwell Place.”

  “That’s right,” the other agreed cheerfully, looking Benedict up and down. “I been walking out wiv Annie some six months now in all. How do?”

  “I did not realize,” Lizzie murmured. Then she seemed to pull herself together. “I’m sure, Annie,” she said half-turning toward Benedict, her expression self-conscious in the extreme, “that you remember Mr. Toomes.”

  “O’ course I do!” Annie responded, bobbing up and down. It was at that moment that he remembered her, crouching at the keyhole when he opened the parlor door open after breaking his engagement with Betsy. She was the Anderson’s maid.

  He gave a curt nod, observing the way Annie stared at Lizzie. Then she seemed to notice something that made her gasp aloud, and she staggered against her swain.

  “’Ere careful, old girl!” Dick protested, extending a steadying arm about her reeling figure. “You turnin’ faint?”

  Benedict followed Annie’s gaze and deduced she had seen the brass ring on Lizzie’s third finger. It struck him once again with uncomfortable force that the thing looked cheap and was beneath her.

  “You haven’t been frequenting the waxwork tent, have you?” Lizzie asked with a feeble attempt at humor. “Only I saw a woman carried out of there half-insensible the other day.”

  “She works there,” Benedict cut in, feeling he ought to have some share of the conversation. “Her name’s Nancy, and she faints at least five times a day to attract passing custom.”

  “Does she really?” Lizzie asked turning to him. He was pleased to see the color was returning to her white face. “Well, what an ingenious stratagem.” Her voice had a faint wobble in it, but otherwise she was trying to rally from the shock of seeing a familiar face from her not so distant past.

  He turned back to the couple. “You’ll have to excuse us now,” he said smoothly. “Only my wife and I have places we need to be.” He heard the hitch in Lizzie’s breathing, but she managed to stammer out her goodbyes as he dragged her back toward Wonderous Females. “Are you alright?” he asked in low tones once they had left the couple behind them.

  “What? Oh yes, of course,” she answered. “Thank you,” she added distractedly, and he saw the hand that was not tucked in his arm reach out for Sebastian’s collar, squeezing it tight. She took a shuddering breath. “I do not think you realize, but she will certainly talk about the fact she has seen us,” she said in an uneven voice.

  “Will she?” he asked, feeling irritated the dog was a source of comfort to her rather than her own husband.

  “Of a certainty! You probably don’t understand how these things work, but she will tell Cook and the boot boy and the gardener …” She bit her lip.

  “I expect she will. She was certainly listening at the door when Betsy and I broke off our engagement.”

  Lizzie’s eyes grew rounder. “I see,” she choked out. “The thing is, it will undoubtedly get back to my Aunt Hester. And in turn she – she – ”

  “Will tell your cousin,” he continued when she seemingly could not.

  Lizzie’s gaze flew to meet his and her own was wretched in the extreme. “Yes,” she said feebly.

  “This distresses you?” he asked coolly. “I had not realized you were hopeful for a reconciliation with the Andersons.”

  Her gaze grew startled. “A reconciliation?” she echoed. “No, I had not dared to ever hope for that.”

  Her response jarred him. That was something she wanted, then? “You have another family now,” he pointed out, although he did not mean the Toomes clan precisely, just himself.

  Lizzie’s shoulders slumped. “I had better go in,” she said glancing toward the Wonderous Females tent. “Connie will be scolding me if I am late.”

  “Connie be damned,” he said sharpl
y. “I haven’t bought you any breakfast yet.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Lizzie responded and hurried away from him without even fixing up a meeting point for lunchtime. He opened his mouth to call after her, but something about her tense bearing and the way she clung to the dog for dear life dissuaded him. By the time he reached the boxing tent, he had worked himself into a fine temper, and Jack did a double take on seeing him.

  “I take it the dancing was not a success?” his brother commented with a wry twist of his lips.

  “What?” Benedict swung around to glare at his younger brother. “The dancing was fine.”

  “What’s with the ugly look on your face, then?”

  Benedict shrugged out of his jacket and threw it over the rope. “We just bumped into someone from Lizzie’s past,” he answered with a scowl, glancing away.

  “Oh ho! An old beau I’ll warrant from the frown on your face. I pity the poor bastard that gets in the ring with you this morning, eh Frank?” Jack said, hailing their older brother.

  Even in his current bad mood, Benedict recognized Frank was not looking his best this morning. He hadn’t shaved, and his hand shook as he raised a silver hip flask to his lips. As he lowered it, he sent a hangdog expression their way.

  “Hair of the dog,” he mumbled, running a hand through his untidy hair.

  “Since when do you drink hard liquor before nine in the morning?” Benedict asked.

  “You were out drinking last night, weren’t you?” Frank demanded belligerently. “We haven’t all got pretty wives to distract ourselves with. Not anymore, at any rate.”

  “You leave off looking at what’s mine. You’ve got Daphne, haven’t you?” Benedict retorted nastily. “Everyone seems to think she’s taken Maggie’s place where you’re concerned.”

  “Daphne?” Frank pulled up short. “Is that what you think?”

  “Everyone thinks it.”

  Frank looked a little green around the gills as he lowered himself onto a low wooden stool with a groan. He dropped his head into his hands. “I haven’t touched her,” he groaned. “I swear it. Not even once.” He breathed in and out raggedly. “I haven’t been with another woman since Maggie.”

  Jack looked up sharply at his words. “What about Ivy, that time at Nye’s?” he asked.

  “Oh, I tried it alright with pretty Ivy, but when it came to the actual deed, I couldn’t stomach it. I paid her double and she promised not to tell anyone.” Frank looked shame-faced. “At the time, I thought that was my lowest point, but every day since has felt just as bad.”

  “That state of you,” Benedict growled. “You’re not fit to be seen in the tent.”

  “Ben,” Jack’s voice was low with entreaty. “Leave off him.”

  “Someone needs to give him a talking to and seems to me you’re all tip-toeing round him!”

  “Well you’re not the one to deliver it,” Jack fired up. “It’s clear you’re spoiling for a fight this morning, and Frank’s not the one to give it you!”

  “No? What about you, then?” Ben snarled. “I’m sick of wasting my time with slow tops. Why don’t you get in the ring with me this morning? If you’ve got the stomach for it.”

  “I’ll not deny you,” Jack retorted promptly. “Come on, then! Let’s have you!”

  “Oh God,” Frank moaned and grabbed a bucket. He heaved and both brothers turned to watch him impassively.

  “That’s the idea, Frank,” Jack said heartily as he shrugged out of his braces. “You’ll feel better directly.”

  “I’m dying,” Frank wheezed.

  “Well you won’t have to worry about working the crowd this morning,” Benedict told him coldly. “Me and Jack will put on an exhibition match, so you can just take it easy.”

  “Not if you half-kill him, I can’t!” Frank retorted, before another wave of nausea had him bent over double.

  “Lord, he ain’t gonna kill me, Frank,” Jack said blithely. “He just wants to let off some steam.” He cast a sly look Benedict’s way. “That little wife of his is holding him at arm’s length, so he needs some kind of outlet.”

  “Fuck off, Jack.”

  Jack laughed merrily. “Oh, she’s brought you low, brother. Maybe you should let me take her dancing. Bet I could put a smile on her face.”

  “You – ”

  Frank shot up from his seat and got between them. “Save it for the ring,” he bit out, before raising a scarf to his mouth. His brothers eyed him warily, but he managed to lower it without gagging. “Jack, go out and explain to Daphne that we don’t need her to find any contenders this morning.”

  Jack nodded briskly and made for the entrance.

  “Don’t you hurt him, Ben,” Frank said direly. “I’m trusting you to have some fucking self-restraint.”

  Ben curled his lip, but in point of fact, his anger was no longer at boiling point or even a low simmer. “Oh, sit down, you fool, before you pass out.”

  16

  Lizzie found Wonderous Females in disarray. Zaya and Ema were sat side by side on Salome’s couch watching as Connie roamed from one end of the tent to the other like an uncaged tiger. “That bitch! She can’t do this to me!” she seethed. “I’ll have her up in court for breach of contract!”

  Niamh ushered Lizzie in with a finger to her lips. “Don’t breathe a word!” she warned in a hushed whisper as Lizzie abruptly dropped down beside Niamh to perch on her pedestal. “Connie’s breathing fire this morning.” Niamh looked gleeful.

  Sebastian slunk under the couch and poked his head out from between Ema’s legs. The twins surreptitiously bestowed caresses on him as Connie muttered dire threats and viciously kicked out at a striped hat box that Lizzie thought belonged to Ada Wurtzel.

  “What’s happened?” Lizzie murmured out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Darling Ada’s done a moonlight flit for some tour of Europe,” Niamh replied in barely audible tones. “She had a letter delivered here by some errand boy first thing.”

  Connie was now viciously tearing something that looked suspiciously like a letter into tiny pieces and finished by jumping up and down on top of it, her face a mottled purple with rage. Suddenly she wheeled around, as though only just noticing her avid audience.

  “Get out of my sight, you jackals!” she screeched, flinging her arms in the air. Sebastian’s lip rose on a growl, but Lizzie called him sharply and all five of them fled from the tent.

  “Phew!” said Niamh slowing down as soon as they were at least three tents away. “Did you ever see such a temper?”

  The twins giggled. “Her face was like a big ball of fire,” said Ema, blowing out her own cheeks. “Steam was about to start pouring from her ears!”

  “But if she had really flown at us,” Zaya put in. “Then dear Sebastian would have nobly defended us!” Sebastian promptly wheeled about and darted through the twins’ legs making them squeal with delight. The running had excited him, and he bounded about them like a puppy with his tongue lolling out.

  “If she means to sue,” Lizzie said with dignity, for she did not think it became her to run away like a frightened child. “Then it was very foolish of her to destroy that letter which would have formed the bulk of evidence for her case.”

  “Lord, she ain’t really going to sue, Lizzie,” Niamh told her, hooking her arm through hers. “Connie’s all talk. Anyway, we got the day off, girls. What we going to do wiv it?”

  “Alas,” said Zaya turning tragically toward them. “Today is the last day of the fair and the day that Connie was meant to pay us all! What will we do now with empty pockets?”

  “Do?” echoed Niamh. “Why, you can thank your lucky stars that you’ve got a prime article like old Niamh for your friend and work colleague, that’s what.” She reached into her bodice and extracted a bunch of envelopes. “I picked up our wages soon as I walked into the tent this morning and seen what way the wind was blowing, didn’t I?”

  Ema and Zaya screeched and threw themselves about Niamh’s neck.
“You have saved us!” they crowed, bringing their envelopes to their lips and kissing them. Niamh passed Lizzie’s to her with a wink. “Yes, I know,” she gloated. “And this way we don’t have to help Connie pack up the tent tonight neither! By the time she’s simmered down, we’ll be long gone, and she can bloody well hire some muscle to do it for her!”

  Lizzie interrupted the twins’ high glee to ask if Connie would not be rather angry the next time they saw her. “She will have dismounted her high horse by then,” Zaya said with a dismissive wave of her arm.

  “And besides,” her sister chimed in. “She can have no one to blame for that, save herself. She chased us off like a ferocious old dragon, did she not? And now we will have a half day holiday!”

  Rather more than a half day, Lizzie thought, but did not voice it. “Where will we go?” she asked doubtfully. Mercifully, Niamh and the twins had not had chance to change into their costumes that morning, so they were not wearing outlandish or revealing garb.

  Still, Lizzie thought looking at the laughing slender twins with their long, dark braids, they drew the eye. Even now, heads were turning to stare at them as they gamboled about with Sebastian. Luckily, the fact they had such a large and fierce escort would put off any would-be admirers, Lizzie hoped. As for Niamh, she carried herself with a sort of brash assurance that meant only the boldest of men would approach her.

  “Where won’t we go?” Ema answered gaily.

  “First we must have both sausage and egg,” Zaya asserted. “And the bread and butter.”

  “And a nice pot of tea,” Niamh added. “There’s a tea tent in the next field.”

  “None of you are wearing bonnets,” Lizzie remarked with misgiving.

  Niamh reached up and patted her flame red hair. “Oops,” she remarked. “Must of left it behind in the rush. Well thank gawd you ain’t got that awful fright of an ’at on this morning!” Niamh laughed. “Or we’d have had to cut our ties wiv you.”