A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

by Alice Coldbreath

  “I’m not infirm,” Lizzie objected, but was ignored.

  “Do you need me to help you into your nightgown?”

  “Of course not!” she spluttered. “I meant to do some sewing this evening on the new curtains.”

  “No,” he interrupted her. “You’re resting that eye tonight and that’s my final word.”

  Lizzie leaned back and regarded him narrowly, though she suspected the effect might be ruined by the fact it was only through the one eye.

  “I’ll join you in ten minutes,” he murmured unperturbed and swung her inside the wagon. In truth it was more like five. Lizzie had scarcely tied the bow at her neck before he was opening the door and slamming it shut behind him.

  “Sebastian’s settled.”

  “And Florence?” she asked. She had felt a bit guilty seeing Daphne depart with the brown cob. She had no idea of Frank or Jack had a favorite among their horses.

  “Both are fine.”

  She had wondered if he might press her for more information about Ma or Daphne, but Benedict seemed wholly unconcerned about either of them. She climbed into the bed. “I can’t possibly keep this on my face all night. What shall I do? Remove it before I fall asleep?”

  Benedict murmured some agreement to this as he undressed, and Lizzie stared up at the ceiling with one eye, fiercely trying to think of counter arguments in case he tried forbidding her from work tomorrow. Goodness only knew when she would next see her friends! She was determined, in any event, that she would not be prevented from sharing their company while she still had the opportunity.

  Mercifully, however, her husband did not even attempt to raise the subject, merely settled beside her and wrapped an arm about her waist. “Go to sleep,” he growled, almost as though he could hear her busy thoughts.

  23

  Benedict left Lizzie outside the Wonderous Females tent the next morning without bothering to voice any objections he knew she would disregard. Her eye was not swollen this morning, though the area underneath and in the inner corner was a bright mottled red. She let him inspect it and apply a little ointment before they left their fireside, and then she expected him to act as though nothing ailed her.

  Hearing a stifled expletive, Benedict turned back to see Connie had come bursting out of the tent after him, but Lizzie had a hold of her arm and was gabbling into her ear at top speed. Connie relaxed and disappeared back into the tent. It occurred to Benedict that his wife’s employer must have thought he was the one that had given Lizzie the eye. He was both impressed and surprised that Connie had sought to tackle him about it. Connie Brown had always been a man’s woman, but evidently, Lizzie had won her over.

  And she wasn’t the only one, he thought when both his brothers asked after Lizzie as soon as he entered the boxing tent. Jack followed this up with a flurry of complaints about having no one to make their breakfast or light the fire for them that morning.

  “Do it yourself, you lazy bastard,” Benedict growled.

  Jack pulled a face. “That would mean getting up earlier,” he grumbled.

  Frank said nothing, but Benedict noticed he was quiet and distracted all morning. The mid-week point at Putney Heath was an all-day event, from ten in the morning until ten at night. He wasn’t surprised when his older brother drew him to one side before lunch and told him he would need to take some time away from the booth at some point soon, and that he and Jack would have to hold the fort.

  “For how long?” Benedict asked with a frown. If Frank was talking of going off, how was he supposed to make his own plans for settling Lizzie at Winchester Street?

  “I don’t know yet,” Frank admitted. “I haven’t firmed up how I’m to go about it.”

  Benedict raised his brows and Frank drew himself up. “I’ll need some time off, to go in search of her, Ben. You must see that.”

  “Which one?”

  Frank bristled. “Maggie, of course!”

  “Oh? And where will you start?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to make some enquiries. There was that friend of hers that worked for Connie.” Frank frowned. “I haven’t seen her in months, come to think of it. Then there was that one Farini sister. Sophia, I think?” He scratched his neck. “It’s a starting point anyway.”

  Benedict debated a moment telling him all that he knew, but for some reason held his tongue. After all, he didn’t need another reason for Lizzie to be pissed at him. He had given her plenty already, what with the house he owned and hadn’t told her about. “Well,” he prevaricated. “You’ll need to lay your plans first. No point rushing off half-cocked.”

  Frank nodded. “Aye, I know.”

  “If you mean to speak to anyone at Wonderous Females, then you’ll have to do it today.” At Frank’s curious look, he explained Connie’s company were packing up to leave for Banbury tomorrow.

  “Right,” Frank said. “Thanks for the tip.”

  Benedict’s mood did not improve at lunchtime when he headed over to Connie’s tent only to find it empty and a sign pinned to the entrance saying they were closed and would return next year. He stared at it a moment before peering inside to check if Lizzie had waited for him. She had not. Not only that, but everything was tidied away neatly into packing cases and trunks. They must have spent the morning packing up. He bought a ham sandwich and returned to the boxing tent in a somewhat worse mood.

  “That was quick,” Jack said, looking up at his re-entrance.

  “Lizzie’s gone off to lunch without me,” he admitted, unwrapping his sandwich.

  Frank looked up from where he was sat drinking oxtail soup but made no comment.

  “What have you done to rile her up?” asked Jack, who was not so tactful.

  “Bought a house,” Benedict admitted, dropping down onto an upturned box that doubled up as a chair.

  Frank spluttered on his soup. “You did?”

  “It was before we got married,” Benedict added defensively in the face of his brother’s incredulous stares.

  “Is that what she meant yesterday when she said you were planning on sending her away?” Jack asked. “I thought that blow to the head had scattered her wits.”

  “You’re what?” demanded Frank. “Why in God’s name would you do that?”

  “It’s cutting off your nose to spite your own face, if you ask me!” Jack agreed.

  “Because,” Benedict said, swallowing his mouthful of sandwich. “This isn’t a fit life for her. She deserves better.”

  “So, you’re leaving again too, are you? Again?” asked Jack testily.

  “The first time I didn’t have much choice about it,” Benedict reminded him. “I was in prison.”

  “Well, when you put it that way, you’re not exactly a fit husband for her either, are you?” his younger brother responded. Benedict leapt off his box and Frank got between them. “I only meant,” Jack clarified, “that she married you in spite of your prison sentence, you bad tempered bastard.”

  Benedict simmered down, just a tad. “She was in a tight spot,” he admitted, returning to his seat, and picking it up off the floor. “I took advantage of that fact.” He hesitated. “When I married her, she had no clue I’d be dragging her around the fairs.”

  Jack whistled, but Frank shook his head. “That’s not really something you ought to spring on a person, Ben.”

  “I know that. When I married her …” His brothers both looked at him expectantly, and he found he couldn’t say the words ‘I didn’t like her that much.’ He’d respected her, but he hadn’t liked her. Not then.

  “You were scared she’d turn you down flat if she knew the truth?” Jack guessed.

  Benedict decided to let that stand. “Something like that, maybe,” he muttered.

  “Well, she seems to have taken to it well enough,” Frank commented, scratching the side of his face.

  Jack snorted. “He coddles her something awful!”

  “I do not!”

  “That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Frank put in rea
sonably. “I wish I’d taken a leaf out of your book.” Benedict relapsed into silence.

  “She ever said she’s not happy with this life?” Jack asked. “Cos if you ask me, she was hopping mad yesterday when you said you’d send her away.”

  Benedict rubbed his eyes. “She can’t take over for Daphne outside the tent,” he said shortly. “If that’s what you’re thinking. And she’s certainly not picking up your cooking and cleaning.”

  “She doesn’t even do yours!” Jack retorted. “Has she cooked you a single meal since you were wed?”

  “I don’t expect her to,” Benedict retorted and saw his brothers both were taken aback. “That’s not why I married her.” They seemed at a loss of how to respond to that. “She was raised in a house with a cook and a maid,” he added grudgingly. “I doubt she’d even know where to start.”

  “Oh,” Frank said lamely. “Well, she’s picking things up as she goes along, I daresay.”

  Benedict shrugged. Such things didn’t concern him overmuch.

  “How will you afford to keep her in such a style, with cookmaids and the like?” Jack asked. “You heard from Nat about any future fights he might be able to put your way?”

  “No,” Benedict cut him off. “And nor is he like to. But I’ve a good sum of money put by. I need to make some decisions how to invest it and what line of business to go into.” Even as he said it out loud, he knew his words lacked conviction. What business did he know of except for boxing? Or want to know for that matter? He sat stock still a moment, letting this sink in.

  Was that the reason why he’d never managed to settle on anything these last couple of months? He’d had enough opportunities dangled before him by Edwards, his man of business, and others keen for his input. Clem’s mad scheme about a theatre had been another, but nothing had appealed.

  Sitting here in the tent, opposite his brothers, he experienced a moment of clarity. He didn’t want to be anywhere else. That was one of the reasons why he’d felt so bloody relieved when he’d joined them at Greenwich. He’d thought at the time it was the last minute escape from marrying Betsy, but part of it had been returning to the family fold all along. He felt dazed at the realization.

  “I want to stay with the booth,” he admitted abruptly. “Turning my hand to anything else just wouldn’t feel right.”

  “Good,” replied Frank, looking relieved. “But, Ben,” he hesitated. “I don’t think you’ll do so well with her stashed elsewhere.”

  “Of course not!” he snapped, rubbing his face. “I didn’t think things through.”

  Jack chortled. “Well, at least you’ll own you put a foot wrong in this regard. It’ll be some consolation to poor old Frank that you don’t know everything there is to know about being the world’s perfect husband.”

  Benedict darted a quick glance at Frank who looked a little pained. “I’m far from perfect,” he said gruffly. “As you both know.”

  “We’re glad you’re sticking around, Ben,” Frank said sincerely. “Things will be easier now we’re all of one accord when it comes to the old man.” His expression grew grim. “I certainly won’t be making excuses for him now I know the trick he served me over Maggie. I’ll be the first to run him off if he turns up again.”

  The brothers lapsed into silence a moment as they contemplated the prospect of their father.

  “Though for my part,” said Jack, sticking out his chin. “I don’t think our mother was much better, if you look at how she left you, Ben.”

  Benedict bristled and saw the warning look Frank sent to their younger brother. Breathing in, then out again, he let his idealized picture of his mother slowly fade away. “No,” he said thoughtfully. “No, I suppose she wasn’t.”

  *

  It had been a strange sort of day, all told. Benedict was making his way toward the Wonderous Females tent when he spied Sebastian in the distance. Quickening his pace, he soon saw the dog was, as usual, on his mistress’s heels.

  Lizzie was sandwiched between her redheaded friend and Connie Brown. They seemed to be headed back in the general direction of their own tent, though taking a rather circuitous route. Connie said something and the redheaded threw back her head to laugh uproariously.

  Benedict caught up with them just as they were approaching their tent.

  “Oh, Benedict!” Lizzie said, pitching forward and almost barreling into him. He closed his arms around her automatically and thought he got a whiff of gin. “I said he’d be waiting for me, didn’t I?” she asked of the other two, attempting to turn about and nearly tripping over Benedict’s feet. He tightened his grip on her waist to steady her.

  Connie guffawed. “We’ve been celebratin’,” she said with a defiant air. “And wishing our dear Lizzie all the best, until we reunite again.”

  Benedict glanced back down at Lizzie’s vacant smile. Her eye looked none the worst, for all it had turned a deeper purple. “Been enjoying yourself, have you?” he asked, quirking a brow at her.

  Lizzie tipped her head back. “I have,” she sighed. “Connie bought us such a lovely pitcher of fruit punch.”

  “Two pitchers,” the redhead corrected her.

  Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Did we drink two whole pitchers?” she marveled.

  “Goes down awful easy, don’t it?” Connie cocked a knowing look at Benedict. “You’d best take your leave of us now, Lizzie girl. That man of yours will be wanting to drag you off for your supper.”

  “What about packing up the tent?” Lizzie asked, but Connie seized hold of her and kissed her cheek. “I’ve already hired a couple of burly hands to see to it. Until next time. Be off with you.”

  Niamh kissed her other cheek. “Take care of yourself, Lizzie darlin’. We’ll soon be all back together.”

  Benedict led a tottering Lizzie away. “We’d better get something substantial inside your stomach,” he remarked wryly. “Or you’ll be feeling the worst for it in the morning, and we’ve an early start.”

  Lizzie was hanging off his arm and humming a tune. Suddenly she came to a standstill. “Where’s Sebastian?” she remarked looking around. “Oh, there he is.”

  Benedict steered her toward the food stands. She had a potato with minced meat and gravy, and they made their way back to the wagon with a meandering step. She ate most of her food and then set down the last of it for Sebastian to finish off. Benedict handed her up into the wagon, as she was yawning her head off.

  “I’ll bring the water in for you to wash as soon as it’s ready.” She nodded, removing her bonnet and sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “There’s just one thing I can’t figure out,” she said, frowning with concentration.

  “What’s that?”

  “What kind of a marriage did your grandmother and grandfather have?”

  Benedict gazed back at her a moment. “A rotten one,” he answered after a pause.

  “Oh.” Her frown cleared. “That makes perfect sense to me.”

  Instead of saying anything further, she flopped back onto the bed and rolled onto her side.

  Benedict watched her a moment in silence. Then, realizing nothing else was forthcoming, he pulled the door shut and set about fetching the water. It seemed they would not be clearing the air tonight about the house on Winchester Street.

  It didn’t take him long to feed and water the horse, and he smoked a while as he waited for the water to heat. For a moment, he debated helping himself to Lizzie’s writing supplies to send some new instruction to Edwards. But what was the point in throwing out his tenants if they weren’t going to live there for at least another nine months?

  He cast the butt of his cigarillo away, removed the water, and put out the fire. Letting himself into the wagon, he found, as he knew he would, Lizzie fast asleep. He lit the lamp and moved to the bed, swiftly unlacing her boots. She stirred but did not wake. He moved onto her stockings and then her dress and underclothing, until he had her swathed in her nightgown and tucked under the covers.

  When he d
abbed at her eye area with some water to clean it and then followed this up with the ointment, she flinched and murmured. “Shhh, let me do it,” he soothed her.

  His words seemed to do the trick, and she relaxed back onto the pillows with a sigh. Benedict glanced towards her wash bag but knew she would not appreciate him trying to tackle her with either hair or toothbrush. Pulling out any obvious hairpins he could see, he realized this would simply have to do for her evening’s toilette.

  Moving back over to the washbasin, he saw to his own wash and then stripped down to his underwear for bed. When he pulled back the blankets to climb in, she rolled onto her side toward him and cuddled into him. Benedict lifted his arm to accommodate her and then settled it about her, resting his hand at her waist.

  He’d sell the damned house if that was what she wanted. After all, what was the point of keeping it if she didn’t like it? While it was true, he had bought the house with marriage in mind, he had not precisely thought of Betsy, but rather some vague idea of what he thought a gentleman’s residence should be.

  At the end of the day, he was under no illusions about his own claim to the title of gentleman. He had none. The best thing he could do at this point was simply be led by Lizzie in what was acceptable to her and what was not. Gazing into the darkness at their current cramped conditions, he found it hard to believe her standards could be all that exacting. After all, she seemed content enough in this tiny box. With him.

  24

  Lizzie woke abruptly, her eyes heavy and a bad taste in her mouth. She lay a moment in confusion before realizing she was safely in her bed. Though, now she came to think of it, she could not remember climbing into it. Glancing to her side, she found she was alone in the bed. Where was Benedict?

  Sitting up, she could see light streaming through the small window at the foot of the bed and guessed it was mid-morning. He must be up and about already!

  Swinging her legs off the mattress, Lizzie grimaced feeling her sore head. Raising her hands to massage her temples, she realized she had imbibed rather too much fruit punch. She had not brushed her teeth the previous night either, she thought with a groan and moved across to the wash basin which stood on the trunk. The water was cold, but she plunged her hands into it and scooped the water into her face.