Zaya slipped her slim hand into Lizzie’s. “She is only joking, Lizzie,” she murmured squeezing her fingers. “We would not leave you behind even if your bonnet was ever so ugly.”
“Course not!” Niamh agreed. “She’s one of us, ain’t she, girls?”
“Oh yes,” Ema agreed breathlessly from in front. She had her hand on Sebastian’s collar and was being run hither and thither by him in some sort of frantic game.
“Careful,” Lizzie called in warning. “He’ll have you over!”
They managed to make it into the tea tent in one piece and settled around a table, though Lizzie felt they were the object of a few stares. As she took her first sip of tea, it suddenly occurred to her that Annie and her swain might be lurking somewhere inside the tent. She took a quick furtive glance about but could see no sign of them.
They ate a large breakfast, though a good deal of it seemed to disappear under the tablecloth to Sebastian. After that, the twins insisted they go to the waxwork tent so Lizzie could be terrified by the ghoulish Bluebeard tableau. The man on the door recognized Niamh and waved them through without paying admission. “Only make sure one of the pretty ones faints on the way out,” he whispered to Lizzie.
The twins cackled over the grisly display, but Lizzie felt herself taken quite queasy at the display of dismembered limbs. She blamed it on the late, heavy breakfast and possibly the aftereffects of last night’s punch. When she had woken that morning, she had felt quite seedy, and that was before Annie’s upsetting appearance. She took several deep breaths and managed to navigate the tent without embarrassing herself.
Zaya and Ema quarreled about who should be overcome, so Niamh ended up bundling Ema out and Lizzie half dragging Zaya.
“Oh!” Niamh cried. “Whatever shall we do? These poor young ladies have been scared insensible!”
This had the unfortunate effect of causing several young gentlemen to bound over to lend their manly aid. Zaya and Ema fluttered their eyelashes and sighed so prettily that the male admiration was increased tenfold and they then seemed unable to shake them off.
By the time they reached the theatrical tent, they still had the most persistent three in attendance. Lizzie and Sebastian eyed these newcomers with disfavor, but Niamh just laughed and said the twins were having a high time. “Besides,” Niamh whispered nudging Lizzie in the ribs. “We’ll just let them pay for everything from here on out.”
Lizzie stiffened and opened her mouth to object strenuously to this but found her herself whisked through the entrance and a bag of peanuts thrust into her hands. Zaya dragged her down onto a bench.
“It is already started!” Ema whispered excitedly. “Come, Sebastian!”
Inside the tent was pandemonium. Clowns with painted faces moped over beauties in elaborate wigs. There was a plotting villain who the audience booed and pelted with orange peel and nutshells and a ghost in a winding sheet who kept popping up from behind fake trees. Lizzie watched in gathering bewilderment as she felt the beginnings of a headache form behind her temples.
It didn’t help that around her the young people kept getting up and down and tripping over each other’s feet. It seemed to Lizzie just as chaotic on their bench as it was on the stage. The young men seemed determined to make the most of their opportunity to sit in a darkened tent with their arms about the twins’ slender waists, and as there were three of them, this meant frequent swapping of seats and much indignant whispering about ‘it being my turn now, old man’.
Lizzie placed a hand on Sebastian’s neck as he growled with irritation, but really, she felt just as impatient with it all as he. A brief intermission while the scenery was changed gave Lizzie a chance to give her excuses. At first the twins were inclined to argue, but when she used Sebastian as her excuse, they allowed that poor dear Sebastian might not like the noisy surroundings. One of the young men politely offered to escort her, but Lizzie declined with haste.
“We’ll see you at Putney Heath, then, for the next fair,” Niamh said, kissing her cheek. “Be sure to give Connie’s tent a wide berth now or she’ll have you in there doing all the packing.”
Lizzie nodded and made her way back out into the fresh air with a sigh of relief. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the dim interior, and it was while she was stood blinking in the light that someone sidled up to her.
“Given your swains the slip, then?” asked a voice to her right. Sebastian turned sharply, but apparently recognized the newcomer, and so did Lizzie after a split second for it was Daphne.
“Hello, Daphne,” she responded coolly, not caring for the woman’s over-familiar tone or what she was implying.
“I seen you gadding about with your gentlemen friends. Guessed you didn’t have quite so much starch in your drawers as you made out, or he wouldn’t hardly have married you, would he? I still can’t see how you hooked him, mind you,” the other carried on snidely.
Lizzie felt herself bristle but didn’t want to give Daphne the satisfaction of launching into explanations. “And why are you so far from the boxing tent?” she asked instead. “I thought you took the entrance fees.”
Daphne sniffed. “They didn’t put on much of a show today as it ’appens. Packed up early, didn’t they. After they’d knocked merry hell out of each other, that is.”
Lizzie felt a lurch of alarm. “After they’d what? What time is it anyway?” she asked gazing about in consternation.
Daphne smirked knowingly. “Lost track of your day, did you? Well, that’s what happens when you’re enjoying yourself.”
Lizzie turned a look of exasperation on her. “Are they packing up the boxing saloon?” she asked outright.
Daphne looked her up and down and folded her arms. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked with a decided sneer.
Lizzie turned on her heel and headed in the direction of the boxing tent. She thought Daphne called jeeringly after her, but she paid her no heed and did not catch her mocking words. With Sebastian trotting along beside her, they soon reached the tent, or rather the spot where the tent had once stood.
Lizzie stared about her in consternation, turning in a full circle as she gazed about for any sign of the Toomes family, but there was none. She felt a momentary panic well up inside her when suddenly she heard someone shout her name. Whirling about with tears in her eyes, she saw Benedict standing a few yards away and took off toward him with a choked cry.
She saw a flash of surprise in his eyes the instant before she was caught up in his arms and held tight. “Lizzie?” he asked in muffled tones as she hung about his neck. She shook her head, feeling words were beyond her at this point. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” she managed to choke out, struggling to regain control of herself. “I just – I thought you’d left without me,” she admitted, dropping her arms and attempting to disentangle herself. To her consternation, she found herself hoisted rather more firmly into his arms.
“Well, that was foolish,” he answered coolly and swung around with her still in his arms toward the beer tent.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re joining Jack and Frank in The Adam and Eve for a farewell drink.” He looked back over his shoulder and whistled to Sebastian. “Where have you been anyway? I went to Connie’s tent earlier and there was no one to be seen.”
“There was a bit of an upset,” Lizzie admitted, plucking at his shoulder. “The Wurtzels have run away to the continent, and Connie flew into a fury about it.”
His stride checked. “Not with you?”
“With all of us,” Lizzie clarified. “She screamed at us all to clear out, so we did.”
By this point they were inside the beer tent, and Benedict slid her down his front until she was stood on her own two feet. “What happened to your face?” Lizzie asked with surprise, noticing the red marks about his cheekbones.
“Jack happened,” he said, seizing her hand in his. “He’s turned out a lot better boxer than I thought he would
, only don’t tell him I said so.”
Lizzie opened her mouth but did not get the chance to voice her words as she was tugged in his wake until they reached a table near the bar area.
“Lizzie!” cried Jack who looked to be in high spirits, though he sported both a split lip and a swollen eye. He patted the seat next to his own. “Come and sit! We’re celebrating.”
Frank seemed to be in a lot more subdued spirits, but he gave her a tired smile and added his entreaties for her to sit, removing his cap and pulling out her chair. Sebastian shot under the table and sat there looking alert with his ears sticking straight up in the air.
“What are we celebrating?” Lizzie asked, seating herself as some beer was sloshed into her mug from the pitcher.
“The best takings in two years, that’s what,” Frank said, as Benedict pulled up another seat and set it next to hers.
“A successful reunion of the Toomes brothers,” Jack said, wiping the foam from his moustache with the back of his hand.
“You should shave that off,” Benedict said critically, dropping into his chair. “It looks ridiculous.”
“I’ve been told it lends me a rakish air,” Jack said, twiddling the ends. “What say you, Lizzie? We’ll have a female opinion, if you please.”
Lizzie regarded him thoughtfully. Jack was far better looking than any of the three young men who had been dogging Ema and Zaya’s steps all day, but certainly too youthful for a handlebar moustache. He could not be more than three and twenty. “I think it detracts from your boyish appeal,” she said truthfully.
“There, you see,” Benedict said, though he looked a little askance at her mention of ‘boyish appeal’.
“She’s bound to back to you,” Jack complained, but his hand dropped from fondling his moustache and he grinned all the same.
Frank sat up, seeming determined to make an effort. He picked up his mostly full tankard. “To Greenwich,” he said rousingly.
They all lifted their beer and repeated the toast, taking gulps of their beer. Lizzie was surprised to find hers rather refreshing.
“This is much nicer than the stuff Mrs. Napp had,” she commented as Frank and Jack fell into discussing the merits of leaving that very evening as opposed to the next morning. Benedict dragged his seat closer to hers and draped an arm over the back of her own. “How was your day?” he asked.
“Strange,” Lizzie responded truthfully. “Yours?”
His gaze swiveled from her own to contemplate Jack a moment. “Unexpected.”
“That too,” Lizzie agreed.
He turned back to her, lifting his drink to his mouth. “How did you spend your time?”
Lizzie colored guiltily but hoped the shadowy surroundings obscured her reaction. “Uneasily,” she admitted. “I kept thinking Annie would jump out from behind every waxwork. Or Connie,” she added. “The others seemed to think it was imperative we stayed out of her sight. Funnily enough though, it was Daphne who sprang out at me in the end.”
“Daphne?” he frowned, lowering his beer.
“She saw us going into the theatre tent,” Lizzie said frankly. “The girls had gained some admirers by this point, and Daphne seemed to think I was doing something I ought not. She was … gloating about it. Like she had one up on me.”
Benedict set his tankard down with a thump. “What did she say?” he asked shortly.
“Nothing much, it was more what she implied,” Lizzie said evasively. “That I was being underhand or keeping company I shouldn’t.” Benedict eyed her in silence a moment and Lizzie rushed on. “Truthfully, I felt miserable all day. I’m not really sure why.”
Benedict’s hand slid from the back of her seat to shift comfortingly over her back. “It wasn’t your fault one of Connie’s acts did a bunk,” he said gruffly. “She had no right to lose her temper with you like that.”
Lizzie nodded. “I know.”
“It wasn’t your fault Annie happened upon us this morning either,” he added and shifted closer, and she felt his breath on her cheek a moment before he kissed her fleetingly there.
“Humph!” an explosive exclamation interrupted them. “So here you all are! Swilling beer and canoodling! I might have known!” Ma Toomes stood before their table with her hands on her scrawny hips. Daphne swung out from behind the malevolent old woman with a defiant look on her face.
“Ma, Daphne,” said Frank warily. “Take a seat.”
Benedict pulled on Lizzie’s hand, tugging her onto his lap. “Have this one,” he said kicking it toward his grandmother.
Ma seized on it at once and plumped herself down. “What about a chair for Daphne?” she demanded.
Frank came wearily to his feet. “Take this one, Daphne,” he offered and went in search of another. Daphne sat herself down with a great show of rearranging her skirts.
“Jack, go and fetch your old grandmother another pitcher of beer,” the old woman said with her eyes fixed speculatively on Lizzie’s face.
All of a sudden, Lizzie knew that Daphne had told Ma Toomes what she had seen earlier. She felt a sudden fervent gratitude that she had seen fit to confess all to Benedict, for she could see the old woman had a mind to cause mischief between them. Boldly, she passed an arm about Benedict’s shoulders and felt him relax against her.
Jack sighed but stood up anyway and made his way toward the bar.
“You might not look quite so cozy when you hear what that little wife of yours has been up to this day,” Ma said narrowing her eyes.
“Whatever she gets up to, it’s no business of yours,” Benedict replied in a bored voice.
“No business of mine?” Ma Toomes spat out. “We raised you to respect your elders!”
“You didn’t raise me at all,” he responded coldly. “And we both know it, so don’t come that with me, old woman. You keep your distance from me and mine.”
Ma Toomes had gone rigid in her seat. She glared at Benedict. “So resentful always!” she burst out. “It was barely more’n a year you was gone from us and that no fault but your own!”
Lizzie felt Benedict stiffen. “It was more than two years I was gone,” he replied in a dangerously quiet voice, and Lizzie felt confused, for surely, he’d told her his prison term had been nine months.
The old woman tossed her head angrily. “Such nonsense! Your Pa fetched you back in the end, and if you’d anything to say, you should have said it at the time and cleared the air.” She glared at him. “Not you, though. No, you never breathed a word to any of us. Just let that hatred fester in your heart till there was no room for nothing else!”
“No room for you, you mean,” he corrected her in a low voice, as his hand shifted from Lizzie’s waist to her hip, clasping her firmly.
Ma Toomes’s eyes flashed. “Oh, yet you’ve room for your stuck-up little bride, haven’t you?” she sneered. “Shunned your own family once you got out so’s you could court her. Far too good to mix with your own flesh and blood, ain’t she? Well, what if I told you she’s no better than she ought to be, Benedict Toomes? What then?” She folded her arms and regarded him with an exuberance that was unpleasant to see.
Benedict reached for the pitcher and poured himself some more beer with a steady hand. “You could tell me she was Satan himself and I’d still take her part over yours,” he answered with a shrug. The old lady’s eyes flashed, but even as she opened her mouth to respond, Benedict interrupted her. “There’s nothing you could say could turn me against her, so don’t even try.”
Something in his tone of voice had both Lizzie and Ma Toomes catching their breath. “I may as well tell you now that I’d believe her word over the evidence of my own eyes,” he finished simply. “So, you may as well save your breath.”
Lizzie turned to stare at him quite flabbergasted by this claim.
“I seen her!” Daphne burst out, no longer able to keep her silence.
“What’s this?” Frank asked, returning with a chair. “What’s to do?”
Daphne pointed an a
ccusing finger at Lizzie, but before she could get her words out, Ma Toomes stopped her. “Hold your tongue, you fool!” she hissed. “Didn’t you hear what he said?”
Daphne’s face turned puce. “B-but,” she stammered. “I – ”
“I said quiet!” Ma bit out, whipping around in her seat.
Daphne sprang up from her chair, her fists clenched, nearly overturning the table. Sebastian let out a rumbling growl, leaping to his feet.
“Careful!” Jack cautioned, returning with a second jug of beer. Daphne made a sound of suppressed fury and rushed from the tent.
“Stupid girl!” Ma muttered under her breath.
“What’s got into her?” Frank asked in bewilderment as he sat himself down.
“Pour me a drink, Jack!” Ma demanded, rapping her bony knuckles on the table.
Jack refilled the cups, throwing a puzzled look toward Benedict and Lizzie as he did so. Ma tossed her beer back, wiped her mouth with a grubby mittened hand, and then surged to her feet. She gave a short nod to all present and then marched out of the tent.
“What the hell was that about?” Jack burst out.
When no one spoke, Lizzie drew a deep breath. “Your grandmother was just trying to drive a wedge between Benedict and myself,” she answered calmly, reaching down to pat Sebastian’s neck. “But she did not achieve her aim.”
“Why would she do that?” Frank asked uneasily.
“Same reason she did it to you and Maggie,” Benedict answered reaching for his beer. “Because she likes to have the upper hand.”
“She never tried to get between me and Maggie!” Frank objected, looking thunderstruck.
“Didn’t she?” Benedict remarked, taking a swig of beer.
“No, she didn’t!” Frank insisted. “It was – ” He gazed down into his own drink. “Something else.”
Jack frowned but said nothing, and they only stayed to finish the pitcher before bidding a rather subdued farewell and going their separate ways.
17
“What do you fancy for your supper?” Benedict asked her as they walked across the field in the direction of the campsite.
A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 22