Lizzie considered a moment. “A baked potato,” she answered. “You’ll have to let me buy it this time,” she said. “For I’ve had my wages. Or do I just give them straight to you?” she asked uncertainly. She had never received a pay packet before and was not precisely sure of the etiquette.
Benedict shook his head. “You hold onto it. I’m sure you’ve plenty of things you need to spend that on for yourself.”
Lizzie looked up at him in surprise. “Such as?”
“I’m sure there’s a hundred things,” he replied with a shrug, towing her in the direction of a baked potato stall. It was a curious stand on four legs with a little spout at the top emitting steam. A fire bucket kept the large tin container which housed all the potatoes warm and there were various compartments with little lids containing the butter, pepper, and salt.
Once they had bought two potatoes and had them wrapped in newspaper, Benedict bought a meat pie from another vendor and another bag of bones for Sebastian and they made their way back over the fields toward their wagon.
“Have your family always travelled the fairs?” Lizzie asked as helped her down from the stile.
He was silent a moment before answering. “No. My great-great-grandfather was a tenant farmer. He had five sons. My great-grandfather was the youngest and ran away at thirteen to join a travelling fair. Eventually he owned his own jellied eel stall. His son, my grandfather, was the first boxer in the family.”
“And your father carried on the tradition?”
“That’s right, he and his brother Ted.”
“Where is your uncle now?”
“Dead,” he answered briefly. “But he was the true talent of the two. My father was never more than passable and that was before he took to the drink.”
“Oh.” Lizzie, noticing his expression, thought she had better lighten the mood. “And what of your generation?” she asked. “I suspect it’s you that possesses the true boxing talent out of you three brothers.”
A reluctant smile twisted his lips. “Why do you suspect that?” he asked.
“Mostly because you seem to be the one carrying the performance on your shoulders. Frank does the announcing and Jack the betting book.”
“They both take their turn in the ring when the need arises,” he answered. “While I was in prison, they got by without me ably enough.”
“I don’t know about that,” Lizzie mused, thinking of Jack’s previous angry words. “I received the distinct impression things have not been easy for them without you.” Benedict snorted. “Besides,” she added in a lighter tone. “I benefitted from some expert commentary on your performance in the ring, so I know you are something quite special.”
“What expert commentary?”
“There was a gentleman in a fancy waistcoat stood beside me when first I saw you fight. He was talking to his friend and I overheard him.” She thought he checked his step, but then he seemed to recover himself. “It is a bit muddy, isn’t it?”
“A bit.” He paused before adding, “Tell me about this gentleman.”
“He bet on you every time,” Lizzie replied promptly. “Moreover, he told his companion that you would defeat every man in the tent.”
“He had a fancy waistcoat?” Benedict asked in an odd tone.
“He did. It was a pattern of silver thread in the shape of little conch shells in delicate pinks and purples.”
It occurred to her that his expression was oddly intense. “What have I said?”
“Maybe nothing,” he said slowly. “But maybe something.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Boxing at fairgrounds was not always the full extent of my ambition, Lizzie.” She waited for him to speak, and after a moment he continued. “I used to fight for real money before I went to prison. Prize fighting, I mean. Against other boxers. Real boxers.”
“You do not anymore?” Lizzie asked when nothing else seemed forthcoming. “Does possessing a criminal record prohibit you from competing, then?”
He laughed at that. “No. If it did, there would be precious few contenders.” He eyed her warily. “They’re a checkered bunch, Lizzie, myself included.”
“Why do you not prizefight anymore?” she persisted, refusing to be sidetracked.
He cleared his throat. “I fell out with the man who arranges most of the fights. Fell out with him badly. Said some things … I was in an ugly mood that night. It was the same night I got arrested. He washed his hands of me. I’m finished now.”
Lizzie caught her breath. Something in his voice made her feel oddly defensive of him. “He did not contact you once while you were in Exeter jail?”
Benedict gave a short laugh. “No,” he said shaking his head. “After the row we had, I never expect to hear from him ever again.”
Lizzie hesitated. She wanted to ask why they had fought but had a shrewd notion any such enquiry would be firmly repulsed.
“I wanted a shot at the title,” he said suddenly, surprising her. “Nat booked me for a lot of fights, good fights with high money stakes. But he never saw me as champion material, Lizzie. I never got to fight for the title. Not once. That rankled with me. It took root inside me, and over time, I couldn’t see anything else he’d done for me. Only what he hadn’t.”
“You grew embittered,” she murmured.
He gave a short nod. “Finally, it burst out of me, like poison from a wound. I burned my bridges that night in the worst possible way. I struck out at whoever crossed me and all but destroyed a fancy hotel barroom. That’s how I wound up in prison for nine long months.” He grew silent, and Lizzie felt herself abruptly sobered by their conversation. “That’s the manner of man you married, Lizzie,” he said in a low voice. “A man that bit the hand that fed him.”
Lizzie looked at him. “Yet you regret it now,” she replied thoughtfully. “And fully own you were the party at fault.”
“Nine months is a long time to cool your heels. Only a complete fool would not see he was to blame for his own downfall in such a matter.”
“Have you considered contacting this man at all since your release?“ she asked tentatively.
“No.” His abrupt answer held a note of closed finality. “That part of my life is over and done with now.”
Lizzie frowned. Instead of climbing down and apologizing, he would simply write off a huge part of his life. His dream, even? She found such a thing hard to fathom. Especially when he knew himself to be the one who was in the wrong.
They had reached the wagon by now. “Sit down,” he told her, drawing the packing cases up. “I’ll soon have the fire going.”
“You forget I have not done a stroke of work today,” she pointed out. “Besides, it’ll be quicker if we work together.”
They had soon gathered up a pile of sticks, and Benedict started the fire before fetching water for Florence the horse and Sebastian. Then he made a second trip for their own water. Lizzie managed to set up the tripod and chain above the fire before his return, and he set the water on to boil as she fetched the blankets from the wagon, for the evening had turned chilly.
They were soon sat beside the blaze, bundled in blankets and eating their supper while the water boiled for a pot of tea. “I can see why the fairs do not run over the winter period,” Lizzie observed. “For this kind of living must be a good deal harder then. Where do you live during the off season?”
Benedict threw another log on the fire. “Lodgings usually.”
She badly wanted to ask what he had meant to do with Betsy while he was touring with the booth, but something held her back. “Do you usually lodge in London?” He nodded. “Your family too?”
“It depends. Ma has some family in Shropshire. Sometimes she’ll head that way for a couple of months.”
She wanted to ask what Benedict had meant when he claimed his family had not raised him, but again, some instinct bade her hold her tongue. Another thought occurred, so instead, she asked, “What was the possible significance you attached to the
man in the fancy waistcoat?”
He swallowed his last mouthful and scrunched up the newspaper. “It occurred to me it could have been Nat Jones,” he admitted.
“Nat Jones?”
“The fight promoter I told you of. The one I fell out with. He’s known for his flamboyant dress, particularly his waistcoats.”
“Oh, I see.” Lizzie pondered this a moment. “If it was him – ” she began.
“It probably wasn’t.” His tone was dampening, but still Lizzie persisted.
“But only suppose for moment that it was. Would that not mean that he was considering giving you another chance?”
He was silent a moment. “I don’t see why he would. In my experience, it’s best not to get your hopes up about such things. That way lies disappointment.” She could see what he meant of course. Biting her lip, Lizzie resolved not to press him, so when he did speak, it took her by surprise. “Besides,” he added. “He might have come to see Jack box.” He touched the graze that had formed on his cheekbone. “I never gave him enough credit before now.”
“Jack’s as good as you?” Lizzie asked.
“He could be, if he trained hard enough, with the right person.”
“Your uncle trained you?” Lizzie guessed shrewdly. “Your Uncle Ted?” He nodded. “Could you train Jack?”
Benedict shrugged. “Maybe.”
Picking up on his reluctance to further discuss his family, Lizzie let the matter drop. The trouble was, if they did not discuss his family, she was a little apprehensive about what topics that did leave on the table.
Recalling some of the things she had come out with the previous evening left her feeling rather foolish. Her ears felt hot when she thought about her tipsy ramblings about what men liked. She was fairly certain she had mentioned Ada Wurtzel’s bottom at one point. As she drank her tea, Sebastian leaned heavily against her side, and Lizzie wound an absent arm around his furry neck.
“I hope Sebastian will come into the wagon on the journey tomorrow for he certainly cannot run alongside us the whole way,” she commented aloud.
“He seems intelligent enough and won’t want to be left behind,” Benedict said, casting the dregs from his cup aside.
Lizzie nodded. “Perhaps if he won’t go inside, he will sit up on the step beside us.”
Benedict nodded. “We’ve an early start in the morning so …” his words trailed off.
Lizzie nodded and helped clear away before adding another blanket to Sebastian’s nest beneath the wagon. The dog accompanied her to the field opposite and then settled in his blankets with another bone.
Lizzie washed, donned her nightgown, and brushed her hair before Benedict joined her. Her thoughts kept returning again and again to his astonishing words in the beer tent. There’s nothing you could say could turn me against her, so don’t even try. Could he truly have meant that? She bit her lip as she climbed between the cold covers and curled herself into a ball. After all, he had not been in bed when he said it. He said you could not set store by any words a man said when he was in your bed, but out of it, presumably you could.
Behind her she could hear Benedict washing in the basin. His words had left her almost breathless especially after the way her own family had turned on her so swiftly, but perhaps again, she was seeing too much in what he’d said.
After all, it was plain to see his relationship with his grandmother was a poor one. Maybe he had simply meant there was nothing Ma Toomes could say that would set him against her because he disliked the old woman so much and did not trust her?
She hugged her knees and thought that this was distinctly probable. Benedict blew out the lamp and climbed into the bed beside her, and Lizzie breathed out as he crowded around her shivering body.
“You’ve given too many blankets to the dog,” he murmured, pulling her firmly into her arms.
“No, I haven’t,” Lizzie disagreed at once. “For he does not have anyone to curl up with as we do.”
He grunted, resting his chin against the top of her head. “Did you really think I’d left you behind earlier?” he asked after a moment of silence.
Lizzie paused, then realized what he was alluding to. “Just for a moment,” she admitted.
“I wouldn’t do that.” When she did not reply, he jolted her in his arms. “Lizzie?”
“What?”
“Tell me you believe me.”
“You told me not to, though,” she reminded him.
“What?”
“You told me I could not believe a word a man said to me when he was in bed with me.”
A stunned silence greeted these words, then to her surprise, he released her and sat up in the bed.
“Benedict?” Moments later, she heard a match strike and the lamp was relit. Lizzie rolled onto her back and blinked up at him. “What are you doing?” she asked in bewilderment.
He turned back to her; his expression frustrated. “Lizzie, we need to talk.”
Lizzie drew the blankets up to her chin and regarded him doubtfully. “Are you going to get out of bed, then?” she asked. There wasn’t much room for him to sit anywhere else except on one of the two fixed trunks.
He scrubbed his face with his hand. “When I said that, I did not mean that precisely,” he started. “I meant simply that when a man is trying to get you into his bed, his words can’t be trusted.
Lizzie regarded him blankly. “No one ever tried that with me,” she pointed out flatly. “And besides,” she added, giving him a frank look. “I don’t think that was what you meant.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why?” he asked in steely tones.
“Because, you weren’t trying to get me into bed at that point. It was very first thing in the morning.” When he continued to glare at her confrontationally, Lizzie added. “I said I had been thinking over what you said to me and you – ”
He flung his hand up for silence and looked away. If she did not know any better, Lizzie would think he was blushing. He breathed out noisily. “Very well,” he bit out. “You have me there. I was embarrassed, so I said the first thing that sprang to mind, to discredit what I’d previously said.”
He’d been embarrassed? Lizzie clutched the blankets and gazed at him in bewilderment. “I don’t think I quite follow you,” she admitted. Benedict was practically grinding his teeth by now, she noticed with misgiving.
“I was embarrassed,” he repeated doggedly. “Because I’d said, nay, I’d asked some things of you that I ought not have.” His gaze swerved away from hers, and Lizzie realized he was still abashed by the memory. She cast her mind back to the previous night. Tell me that you wanted me all along. That was what he’d said. Her frown cleared. That was what he was so ashamed of?
“Oh,” she said. “Well, we need never mention it again if you feel so badly about it.”
He looked conflicted to say the least. “Tell me what you were going to say this morning,” he said, folding his arms and bracing himself as though for the worst.
She was quiet a moment, bringing the speech she would have made to mind. “I – well, I was going to explain that it never even occurred to me in those days. To view you as a man, I mean.” She shook her head, dissatisfied with her choice of words. “What I mean is,” she tried again, “I did not consider men as anything to do with me. I was twenty-five years old and devoted to a life of charity and good works at my aunt’s side. I thought that Reverend Milson –”
“Lizzie,” he interrupted in a warning voice. “Watch your step.” Lizzie gazed at him in confusion. What had she said? “Never mind. Continue,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I didn’t know, I just didn’t know how things could be between a man and a woman,” she admitted. “But if I had known – ” She bit her lip and hesitated.
“Go on,” he said gruffly.
The tips of Lizzie’s ears burned at the confession she was about to make. “Then I would have wanted what I knew I couldn’t have.” She paused. “I would have wanted you.”
“Lizzie,” he groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. Lizzie gazed at him with misgiving. Had her words not pleased him, then? “Do you mean to say, I could have had those words this morning? If I had not – ” he broke off. “If I had not been such a damned coward.”
Lizzie continued bemused. “How were you cowardly?” she wondered aloud.
“Say it again,” he demanded, reaching for her and dragging her against him, his hands roaming up and down her back and sides. “You’re covered in gooseflesh,” he murmured distractedly. “I need to get you warm.”
“I would have wanted you,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “If I had known who you truly were. If I had known you were like this.”
He shivered, seemingly more from her words than the decided nip in the air. “Let me take care of you,” he said wrapping his arms around her. “God,” he groaned. ”My day would have been so very different if I had only let you speak this morning.”
Lizzie blinked against his neck. “How would it?” she asked.
“Well, for one thing, I would not have snapped and snarled like a cur at everyone who crossed my path.” She still didn’t quite understand but looped her arms about his waist in any case. “And I probably wouldn’t have dragged Jack in the ring for another.”
“But it sounds as though that turned out to be a good thing,” she reminded him. “For you realized your brother’s improvement, did you not?”
He brushed this off with a rumbling sound. “Let’s not have any more misunderstandings of that sort between us again,” he said firmly. “We’ll make sure we clear the air at the outset in future.” Lizzie nodded and he tipped her face up, looking down at her intently a moment. “Tell me truly,” he said gruffly. “Are you upset that your aunt will discover we’re married.”
Lizzie blinked. “You mean from Annie?” Seeing his expression, she realized it must have been preying on his mind a good deal more than it had her own. “I own that I was a little discomforted at first,” she admitted slowly. “But in truth, I thought you would be more upset by it than I.”
“Me?” he sounded stunned at the very idea. “Why should I?”
A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 23