“How far is it from here to Putney Heath?” Lizzie asked as they meandered their way across the field toward the cart track.
“Some twelve miles or thereabouts.”
“And how long do you suppose that will take us?”
Frank gave her a rueful glance. “A good part of the day, I’m afraid. It’s slow going with the wagons.”
“At least it’s not raining,” Lizzie said, glancing up at the sky which was gray and full of clouds.
“Not yet anyway,” Frank agreed.
Just then, they went over a bump in the ground which jolted Lizzie. She gripped the edge of the seat tighter and caught her breath.
“Sorry about that,” Frank winced. “It’ll be easier when we’re on even road.”
Lizzie assured him that she would not be dislodged from her perch, and once they were on the open road, they were able to converse more easily.
“How did you like Greenwich Fair?” Frank asked her, his eye still on the road.
Lizzie considered the question a moment before answering. “I think it’s an interesting life you lead,” she said slowly. “With never a dull moment.”
“It’s your life too now,” Frank pointed out.
“Yes,” she agreed.
He flashed her a curious look. “Did you never think to dissuade Ben from this life? From what he’s said, his savings are still intact, and it’s clear you hold great sway over him.” Lizzie hesitated, unable to explain that in fact she was never in a position to influence Benedict’s way of life.
“I don’t say that you counselled him against seeing us on his release,” he said quickly. “I’m not so foolish as to set that blame at your door.” From the way he said this, Lizzie could tell that someone did in fact blame her for the fact Benedict had stayed away from his family. She guessed Frank was thinking of Ma Toomes.
“I know full well that he’s always been … conflicted about his family, shall we say,” Frank continued unaware of her ruminations.
Questions burned on Lizzie’s tongue. Why should Benedict be conflicted? Indeed, why was it that he did not feel so bound by family obligations as his brothers clearly did?
“It’s not my place to challenge how my husband makes a living,” Lizzie said after a moment’s pause. “Or to try and break any existing familial bonds.”
“Or lack of them,” Frank said grimly.
Lizzie shot him a look. “I think he is close to you and Jack, though,” she said carefully.
“Aye, it’s our father and grandmother he cannot tolerate,” Frank answered tightly, before directing a troubled look her way. “Forgive me, I should not have said anything,” he sighed. “It wasn’t fair of me, and if Ben knew I’d said anything, he’d have my guts for garters. God knows, I have my own things I prefer not to discuss.”
“You mean your wife’s disappearance,” Lizzie guessed, then wondered if she ought not to have.
Frank grimaced. “There’s no mystery about it. She ran off and left me.” Lizzie sat in silence, respecting that the topic was off limits, when to her surprise, he carried on. “I never would have dreamed that old Ben would make a more considerate husband than I.” His voice shook slightly, but any anger he felt seemed to be directed toward himself. “He’s been careful with you. In a way that I … was not.”
“Careful?”
“Considerate,” Frank explained. “It didn’t even occur to me to shield Maggie from Ma and our father. Looking back, I threw her in at the deep end and left her there to flounder.” He swallowed. “I suppose I thought that was her role. To put up with them, I mean. As I do.”
Lizzie was silent a moment before asking, “Did you never try to discover her? It’s clear you miss her badly.”
Frank breathed out loudly. “It’s too late,” he said with a wealth of bitterness. “Far too late to turn back the clock.”
“Why do you say so?” When he would not answer, only shake his head, Lizzie said boldly, “I do not think Benedict would sit back so resigned, if I were to attempt such a thing.”
Frank gave a short laugh. “You would not get further than five miles before he dragged you back again.”
“Yet you cared for Maggie,” she persisted. “Why is it so different with you?”
“Benedict would not come after you if you had done what Maggie did, I assure you.”
Lizzie felt the sting of his words and almost argued back that Benedict would come for her whatever she had done. Then she considered his words and found them strangely inconsistent. “Everything I have heard about Maggie said she was hard working and downtrodden. What is it you imagine she has done which is so unforgiveable?”
Frank had stiffened at her words. “Who’s been talking to you about my Maggie?” he demanded hotly, before coloring and looking away. “Nay, that’s not right,” he muttered. “For she’s not mine. Not anymore.” When he looked at her again, his expression was shuttered and closed. “She cheated on me with another man and then ran off with him, that’s what. I may not have been the perfect husband, but few men would tolerate such a betrayal, including Ben. Such a thing cuts deep with a man.”
She could not say why, but something did not ring altogether true to Lizzie. She might have had a narrow upbringing, but there was plenty of gossip and speculation among her aunt’s acquaintance and the flock of St. Joseph’s. Such was the nature of gossip, that if Maggie had played her husband false and run off with another man, it seemed to Lizzie that Niamh or Connie, both forthright women, would have said as much to her. Instead, they had merely talked of Maggie being worn out and lacking the gumption to stand up to her husband’s family. These facts were not half as juicy a tidbit to impart as infidelity.
Of course, she reflected, it might just be that neither woman knew the full truth of the matter. She did not really know enough to comment, and so Lizzie lapsed again into silence and drew up her hood when it started to drizzle with rain. With some wriggling, she managed to free up enough of her cloak to wrap it around Sebastian’s shoulders and envelope him beneath the voluminous black cloak with her.
Once again, she remembered that she had not yet returned the garment to Ma Toomes and suffered a pang of remorse. She really must speak to the old woman presently, however disagreeable the task may be. Sebastian suffered her close embrace, and after a while, she began to feel grateful for the warmth of his body seeping into hers beneath the cold April sky. The only moment of alarm the journey gave her was when a cart passed carrying several sheep. Sebastian trembled with excitement and seemed to gird himself up to spring from his seat after them.
“No, Sebastian!” Lizzie told him and seized him even tighter. As soon as the cart was out of sight, he subsided against her once more, yawning ostentatiously as though such a thought had never occurred to him. “I’m not fooled,” she told him darkly. “I know you considered abandoning your post, you wicked creature.”
Frank gave a chuckle, his former mood seemingly passed. “You let him alone,” he said comfortably. “We can none of us go against our natures, more’s the pity.”
Lizzie was not so sure about that. Was not every Christian tenet to revolt against the base nature of man, with its impulses toward greed, revenge, and selfishness? She brooded on this a moment before Sebastian rested his head against her shoulder. Reaching up, Lizzie stroked his muzzle to show all was forgiven.
They reached Putney Heath before nightfall, and once they had found a spot Frank approved of, he sprang down and shared some words with the wagon behind them containing Daphne and Ma Toomes. Though she could hear Ma’s cracked voice upraised with indignation, Lizzie could not make out the words and did not trouble herself overmuch. She felt tired and wanted to stretch her limbs but could not do so until Frank unhitched the wagon. To her surprise, on his return, he leapt back up into the driving seat and set Florence in motion once again.
“Are we not stopping here?”
He cast her an apologetic look. “Ben was quite specific. Your pitch is to be separate from
ours.”
Enlightenment dawned. “Oh,” she said. No doubt that was what the old woman was being so scathing about. “I hope Ma did not give you too much grief,” she said shrewdly. “No doubt she thinks I believe myself too good to set up camp next to her.”
Frank flushed and she knew she had hit the mark. “Don’t worry,” he replied awkwardly. “I told her it was Ben’s instruction, not yours. She wouldn’t dream of trying to bend his ear like she does mine.”
It was not long before he had tethered Florence and stabilized their wagon in a spot about a five minute walk from the Toomes. As Lizzie checked on any items that might have been dislodged inside, Frank grabbed the water pails and went off in search of water for her. There was not much to set to rights for their possessions were so meager that most had fitted inside the two trunks that were fixed to the floor.
As Sebastian sniffed all around their new spot, Lizzie scoured about for branches for the fire and had made quite a pile by the time Frank had returned carrying the water. He soon had the fire lit and the water on to heat.
“What will you do for supper?” Frank asked. “I could fetch you some of our stew.”
Lizzie paused in the act of throwing the last of her twigs into the flames. “Oh no, thank you,” she said hastily thinking of Daphne’s likely reaction to her partaking of their food after snubbing their company. “There’s half a loaf inside I can toast with some butter and jam.”
“Well, so long as you’re sure.” He hesitated a moment. “It doesn’t seem right leaving you alone like this.”
“I have Sebastian,” she said as the large dog ambled over at the suggestion of his name. “Where will you sleep tonight? Have you made arrangements?” She thought he would find it a tight squeeze in with two women.
“I have, don’t worry about me. Tony Farini said I could bunk in with him.”
“The Farini Family Acrobats?” Lizzie said, remembering their tent from Greenwich.
“That’s right.”
“Well, thank you for all your help today, Frank,” she said, and after a moment, offered him her hand.
Frank took it with a rueful smile and shook it. “I’m sorry if I came across a bit brusque,” he started as Lizzie simultaneously came out with,
“I’m sorry if I said anything I ought not.”
They both laughed.
“No, of course not,” he said.
“Not at all,” Lizzie responded.
“You know where we are if you should need anything.”
Lizzie nodded. “What time do you suppose we can expect Benedict and Jack back tomorrow?”
“I can’t imagine they would get here much later than midday,” Frank answered. “I’ll be sure and fetch you some water in the morning.”
Lizzie nodded. “That would be very good of you.”
She ate her solitary tea by the campfire with Sebastian gnawing on his bone at her feet. When it came time to turn in, she was disappointed to find she still could not coax the dog to accompany her inside. It seemed the step was as far as he would go. Instead, she arranged Sebastian’s blankets for him and bade him goodnight before climbing into the wagon.
Wrapping the sheets around herself, Lizzie opened her bible and read a while, seeking comfort from the good book as had always been her habit. She had been too busy eking out her new life to really miss St. Joseph’s, but she was determined that her faith would remain constant, even if regular church attendance was no longer guaranteed.
After extinguishing the lamp, she lay awake a good deal longer than she thought she would after such a tiring day being jolted around on the road. She would have to do some laundry soon, she thought, for she had run out of clean underwear and the skirts of her navy dress were muddied. The thought of attempting laundry without the aid of a heated copper was a daunting one, but it would have to be faced, nonetheless.
At least, she would not be expected to launder for the entire family as it seemed likely poor Maggie had been. Frank seemed nice enough, but she did not envy his wife’s drudgery. Really, who could blame Maggie for running away under such circumstances?
Resolving to ask Niamh about it on the morrow, she rolled onto her side and dragged the blankets up and over her shoulder. It was a little after ten o’clock. She had no idea if Benedict would yet have fought in his match. She was sure he would win; she just hoped he managed to be gracious about it and rebuild some bridges with his former acquaintance. Deep down, she knew this was important to him, however much he claimed it was all over and done with.
She could not help a twinge of misgiving when she remembered the event was unsanctioned by the law. If there were to be some trouble, would her husband not suffer harsher consequences due to his being so recently released from prison? It was a disquieting reflection. What would happen to her if Benedict was clapped in irons again? She had no family of her own to support her, and Benedict had deliberately kept her apart from his.
She rolled onto her back and lay there a moment, filled with uneasy thoughts and fears. Strange, she thought suddenly, she could not remember doing this since she had left Mrs. Napp’s. This past week at Greenwich, she had not lain awake once weighed down with worries. Even at Sitwell Place, Lizzie had been a worrier, often lying sleepless well into the early hours. Somehow, lying tucked into Benedict Toomes’ side, was not conducive to nameless dread.
Closing her eyes, Lizzie allowed herself, just for a minute, to remember how he had sat her in his lap and told her he would buy her a new wedding ring, a gold one this time. Without opening her eyelids, she felt for the brass ring on her third finger and turned it about like a talisman or good luck charm. Let him come safely home to me, she wished in silence.
Then she gasped, her eyes springing open. Home. Did she think of this small space on wheels as her home now? She gazed about her at the shadowy interior. There was next to nothing to it. Two trunks and a bed, that was all. The contents of the trunk were clothing and a few basic household essentials only. And yet … what there was felt homely in a way that Sitwell Place, for all its attendant comforts, never had, not to her.
At the end of the day, it had been the house of her aunt and uncle. She had been there under sufferance. No, she thought, rolling onto her other side. That wasn’t fair. They had been gracious about doing their duty by their niece. When all was said and done, perhaps she had been as much a charity case as the Napps. The thought surprisingly did not make her feel any worse. Had she already known this all along, she wondered, on some unspoken level?
She had at one point, lying on the floor in Mrs. Napp’s overcrowded bedroom, wondered if her aunt and uncle would have thrown out their own child if it had been Betsy that had seen Reverend Milson help himself to that brooch instead of her. She considered it again now impassively and fancied she knew the answer only too well.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she told herself it was pointless raking over this old ground. She had been disowned and was nothing to them now. She had a new family, and by that she did not mean the Toomes family as such.
She had Benedict, that much was true, but she also had Sebastian and new friends like Niamh and the twins. Her brothers-in-law, too, she felt instinctively would become closer to her over time, for even if Benedict was not aware of their import to him, it was clear the Toomes brothers were close in their own fashion.
Lizzie knew she was not the type of person to draw others to her with natural warmth or an engaging manner, but against all the odds, she did think she had found a new place to belong. Strangely enough, it was at Benedict Toomes’ side. When she finally fell asleep, she did so hugging her pillow tight and thinking of her husband.
She woke early the next morning, but even so, she had scarcely dressed and relieved herself in the adjacent field when Frank turned up to collect their buckets for water. Lizzie handed them over and set about gathering firewood. When she had a decent pile, she selected the last of the meat bones from Sebastian’s store and then set up the cast iron rigging to go over the fir
e with the chain and hook for the kettle.
She was fetching the box of matches from inside the wagon when Frank returned.
“Let me do that for you,” he offered and soon had the fire lit and water on to boil.
“It does not look terribly busy,” Lizzie commented, gazing three fields away where a very few tents stood fluttering in the breeze.
“There will be more going up. We haven’t set up our booth yet.” At Lizzie’s surprised look, he explained. “It doesn’t get started till midday here, except for on Wednesday.”
“Really? Oh.” For a moment, she wondered what she was going to do with herself for the next few hours. Then she remembered her resolve the night before. “I’ll dedicate the morning to a wash day then, I think.”
Frank offered to fetch her more water, and she accepted his offer gratefully. After checking on Florence and feeding her from a bag of oats and corn that Benedict kept in the wagon, Lizzie set about collecting up the laundry that needed doing. When she had a substantial pile, she delved back into the trunk for the bar of lye soap she had seen in there before going back outside to tackle the laundry.
It was hard going, and it was when she was elbow deep in suds, her skirts tied about her calves, that she had her first visitor. Ma Toomes came strolling about the corner of the wagon with a pipe sticking out the corner of her mouth.
“So you ain’t so fancy you can’t turn your hand to a bit of scrubbing when the occasion calls for it, I see,” she said with a disparaging glance at the nearby thorn bush over which Lizzie had draped her first lot of clean washing.
“Good morning to you,” Lizzie responded after a moment, straightening up. Sebastian bounced up from his seated position to give a loud bark.
Ma Toomes eyed him warily. “That dog of yours is needs tellin’, unfriendly varmint.” Her pipe waggled as she spoke.
“He’s just doing his job,” Lizzie replied, shushing Sebastian. He made a loud rumbling in his throat as he sat back down on his haunches, letting them know he was close at hand.
“I’ll take a drop of tea if you’ve not got anything stronger,” the old woman said, dropping down onto a convenient tree branch. Lizzie eyed the old woman’s disreputable appearance with resignation. Ma Toomes stretched her legs out next to the fire, showing her hobnail boots and gray woolen stockings.
A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 25