Hidden Currents

by Rowena Summers

  * * *

  To Carrie’s horror, she discovered that the prize-fighter’s tent was like a mecca for the curious gentry, and it was almost the first place Helen wanted to visit.

  ‘These showmen are such a laugh, Carrie, strutting about their arenas like Roman gladiators. We simply must go and be entertained by this one with the ridiculous name.’

  Carrie wasn’t even sure just what Roman gladiators did, but she took Helen’s word for it that BIG LOUIE was going to resemble one. And what about John? Would Helen think he was ridiculous as well … ? She prayed that he wouldn’t be there to humiliate her.

  She took her seat beside Helen, sitting as small as she could while the young lady waved and nodded to various friends and acquaintances who were there to witness the spectacle of two men knocking hell out of one another, as Pa would say. It amazed Carrie to see so many well-dressed people there, and it seemed as if this bare-knuckle fighting appealed to their baser instincts.

  She remembered Wilf’s sneering comments once, when an acquaintance had persuaded him against his better judgement to attend a cock-fight.

  ‘You should have seen the dandies, dressed up to the nines in their velvets and fancy weskits, their eyes glittering with greed as they put their wagers on the poor damn birds. Anything for a bet, it seemed, and the dirtier the fighting the better. And in the evening, they’d all be sitting around their tables, gorging on roast chicken, and never giving a thought to what they’d seen earlier.’

  Wilf’s vehemence had touched her then, and it touched her now, because there was no difference between putting two cock-birds or animals into a ring, and two men. It was all the same, and those who cheered and baited the fighters were every bit as bad as those who performed it.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, must you sit there looking so dreary?’ Helen said testily. ‘Put a happier look on your face, or I’ll stop your wages for a week.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not sure that I’m going to enjoy this,’ Carrie muttered.

  ‘You’re not afraid of the sight of blood, are you?’ Helen said in amusement. ‘It doesn’t really hurt them, you know. These people can withstand any amount of pain.’

  She was so stupid, Carrie thought, in a sudden rage. It was the typical upper-class mentality. If they preferred to look on cruelty as a sport, and chose to pretend that it hurt no-one, then it was perfectly acceptable to enjoy it.

  It was exactly how they viewed fox-hunting, with never a moment’s thought for the poor hunted fox; and that dreadful Spanish bullfighting she’d heard tell about. She wondered if Frank would ever go to see such a thing on his travels, and fervently hoped he would not.

  She heard Helen’s voice sharpen. ‘Isn’t that — yes, I’m sure it is, Carrie! Over there, look, waiting at the ring-side.’

  ‘I can’t see anybody.’

  ‘You must be blind then, for you were looking at him adoringly enough a while back. It’s your young man, isn’t it? Do you want to go and speak to him for a moment?’

  Carrie bit her lip. She’d caught sight of John almost at the same moment as Helen. He was in the front row, at right angles to themselves, in a prime position to leap onto the stage the minute the promoter asked for volunteers to test their skill against BIG LOUIE.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said slowly.

  Helen stared at her, and then shrugged. ‘Oh well, you know your own business best. But if some rift between you is the cause of all these sour looks, then the sooner you resolve it, the better. I’ve no wish to have such a grouch accompanying me.’

  Carrie seethed at her pompous tone. What would she know of the rifts between lesser folk, and the struggle to simply survive, let alone enjoy life? Even if Helen’s worst prospect had happened., and she had been obliged to marry the odious Humphrey de Vere, she’d have lived a life of luxury and ease, and pampered young ladies could usually make do with far less …

  But she stopped pondering on the selfishness of her betters as the promoter came into the ring to thunderous applause, and announced the first appearance in Bristol of the much-acclaimed BIG LOUIE, of international fame.

  Then the man himself appeared in the ring, a huge handsome giant of a man, clad in a silver cloak, which he discarded at once to reveal a broad bare chest and bulging muscles over knee-length shorts.

  ‘My goodness,’ Helen breathed. ‘He’s a fine figure of a man and no mistake.’

  Carrie glanced around and saw than most of the other young ladies were leaning forward in their seats at the spectacle of a man stripped to the waist in honest pursuit of his trade. Those who were less genteel were openly whistling and cheering, including several young maids that Carrie recognised from the Clifton mansions. She grinned, wondering just how Elsie would respond to such blatant male physique, and guessed that she’d probably be here every minute she could get away from her market stalls.

  The sparring partner appeared in the ring next. He was somewhat smaller in stature than the star, but worthy of whistles and foot-stamping for all that. Then the fighting began, and it was pretty obvious to anyone with half an ounce of gumption that it was fairly well rigged. No way was the sparring partner going to mar BIG LOUIE’s handsome looks.

  All the weaving and diving looked very effective, and drew jeers and applause in equal measure from the crowd. But as entertainment it was well worth the entrance fee, and apart from slightly skinned knuckles, it was hardly going to draw any blood. Carrie didn’t know whether to feel relieved or cheated.

  By the time the sparring partner finally staggered and fell to his knees with BIG LOUIE standing lightly over him, honour was done and the main attraction was all over. The two of them retired to the back of the tent for some minutes to take refreshment, and the promoter took the opportunity of waving a five pound note under the noses of the spectators from the safety of the raised ring.

  ‘Now’s your chance, me fine gents, to earn yourselves a fiver, if you’ve the nerve to step inside the ring with the chap. BIG LOUIE has demonstrated his skills and you’ve already seen the size of ’im.’

  At these words, he was obliged to pause for a moment for renewed lewd catcalls and foot-stamping. When the noise had died down, he went on with a smirk.

  ‘I can see BIG LOUIE’s attributes ain’t been lost on the young ladies in our audience, and I can’t say I blame ’em. If I was of the female persuasion, I’m sure I’d be real taken with ’im as well. But as I was sayin’, folks —’

  ‘Get on wiv it, you bloody pansy!’ came the yells from all corners of the tent. ‘Let’s see if some real fisticuffs can mark that pretty face of his!’

  The promoter tried to quieten the sudden hullabaloo by waving his hands about frantically.

  ‘All right, folks! As I was sayin’, if there’s any challenger here who wants to pit his skills against BIG LOUIE, there’ll be a fiver for any man who can beat him.’

  His confident smile told its own tale of how unlikely a prospect he believed it to be. In seconds, a scuffle at the side of the crowd produced a brawny fellow, pushed forward by his cronies. They shoved him into the ring, where he stripped off his shirt to the roars of approval from the onlookers.

  The thick covering of hair on his chest was already glistening with sweat, and Carrie felt sick as she watched him leering at his mates. But at least if he beat BIG LOUIE, that would be the end of it for the day, and there would be no opportunity for John Travis to make his challenge.

  But she quickly realised that when the star of the show fought with a challenger, there was no holding back. This was the real thing, and in a very short time the challenger groped his way through the ropes with a bloodied nose and a split cheek, and another had leapt onto the stage to take his place.

  There were four of them altogether, and all emerged the loser in a very short time, while BIG LOUIE flexed his muscles and grinned down in triumph at his audience, and hardly looked ruffled at all.

  ‘Good Lord in all His glory!’ Helen suddenly exclaimed. ‘I do beli
eve your young man is going to take up the challenge, Carrie!’

  As far as she knew, John hadn’t known she was there. But even if he had, she doubted that it would have stopped him. By now, she knew he had a mind of his own, and besides, he had a good reason for wanting that five pounds purse. She bit down her snappy reply, and nodded her head.

  ‘He told me he might,’ she said hoarsely.

  ‘Well, why didn’t you say so? This is even more exciting!’ Helen said, sitting up straighter.

  Carrie had expected her to look down her nose at actually knowing anyone who would step into a ring and fight with his bare knuckles. But she couldn’t miss noting the attentive way Helen watched as John slowly took off his jacket and then his shirt, and revealed his own fine physique, while never taking his own eyes off his opponent.

  Carrie saw BIG LOUIE’s eyes narrow, as if sensing that this was a different kind of opponent. But how could John possibly win? she thought, realising how desperately she wanted him to.

  ‘Aren’t you proud of your young man, Carrie?’ she heard Helen say.

  Carrie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ve never thought prize-fighting was anything to be proud of,’ she muttered. ‘And I’m surprised that you take such an interest in it, miss. I’d have thought it was far too — too beneath your idea of amusements, if you’ll pardon me for saying so.’

  She had almost said lower-class, and just managed to stop herself in time, knowing it might have implied that she thought Helen’s own standards were lowering. She heard the other girl laugh more indulgently than of late.

  ‘What a child you are, Carrie. Don’t you know that most healthy young ladies find it intriguing to watch a man flex his muscles and prove his strength? Especially when one knows the challenger and is urging him on to win!’

  She spoke now as though John Travis was her own special protégé, Carrie thought resentfully. Or her own property … at the thought, her heart jumped. The elegant Helen Barclay surely couldn’t be having her lovely head turned by the sight of a boatman about to do battle with a bare-knuckle fighter? She simply wouldn’t let such a stupid idea enter her head.

  And yet … wasn’t there something in the way Helen was admiring John, with her mouth slightly open and her eyes shining, that reminded Carrie all too well of someone else? For a second longer she couldn’t think who it was. And then she knew. It was just the way she had seen Elsie Miller drooling over the boyos at the Welsh Back Market.

  She pushed such unwelcome thoughts out of her mind at once. But she realised her own mouth was dry too, because she had never witnessed John’s broad chest with its sprinkling of hair, and the well-developed muscles on his back and arms. She had been clasped in those arms and felt the beat of his heart, but she had never seen him partially unclothed before, and she didn’t miss the ripple of approval from the less inhibited skivvies near the front of the arena. John was no weakling, that much was certain, and was attracting a fair amount of female approval. But as for being a match for BIG LOUIE …

  ‘I don’t know if I can bear to watch this,’ she gasped, as a sudden panic overtook her. It had been bad enough when strangers were hurt and bloodied in the ring, but this was her love … she felt Helen’s vice-like grip on her arm as she made to turn and flee.

  ‘Stay where you are, ninny,’ Helen snapped. ‘I’ve said you’ll accompany me this afternoon, and so you shall, unless you want to be sent packing.’

  So the sunny nature wasn’t to be relied on, Carrie thought with a scowl of her own. She had no option but to stay until the fight was over. But she didn’t have to watch it. She closed her eyes so tightly they hurt, but she was damned if she was going to witness John’s humiliation. She knew it was about to begin by the sudden hush among the crowd as the promoter called for silence, and then rang the starting bell. After that the noise was deafening as they all shouted for their favourite to win, and even Helen Barclay had leapt to her feet along with the rest. And still Carrie sat with hands clenched and eyes closed, until she was yanked to her feet by the other girl.

  ‘You’ve got to watch him, Carrie! Do you know if he’s been trained in the art or is it a natural ability?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ she muttered, and opened her eyes a fraction, so that the bloodied face wouldn’t look so awful through the slits of her vision. But it wasn’t John’s face that was bloodied …

  ‘Kick ’im where it hurts!’ the skivvies screamed out to their local hero. ‘Go on, duck! Give ’im the works!’

  ‘Kick ’im in the bollocks!’ roared the less inhibited yokels egging on their man.

  As Carrie became fully aware of the proceedings now, she realised it was nearly all over. The champion was staggering, doubled over and visibly almost senseless, while John stood over him like a predator from the jungle.

  He was grinning down at his admirers, clearly not averse to such encouragement. One or two of the skivvies threw ribbons into the arena, followed by coins from some of the men as soon as they realised the fight was over. The champ was on his knees and was counted out, and the promoter was holding up John’s arm and pronouncing him the winner.

  As soon as BIG LOUIE swayed to his feet, the promoter had a hurriedly whispered consultation with the two fighters, and then there was an announcement.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, BIG LOUIE challenges this here fine opponent to a similar bout each day of the fair, and he’s accepted the challenge at a purse of ten pounds if he wins, and nothing if he loses. All other challengers will fight at the usual rate of a fiver a win, which is fair, since no other challenger has ever beaten BIG LOUIE before.’

  On and on he prattled, but now that the thrill of the fight was over, most of the onlookers were already struggling to get out of the tent. On all sides, Carrie could hear the excited chatter of coming to watch the dashing challenger fight again tomorrow … and it wasn’t until she was outside in the keen fresh air, that she let out her breath. She hadn’t realised how tightly she had been holding it in until she felt how her ribs ached from the effort.

  ‘We must wait and congratulate your young man,’ Helen said at once.

  ‘Must we?’

  ‘Well, of course! In fact, we shall invite him to take tea with us in the refreshment tent,’ she went on gaily. ‘It’s my duty to know more about this handsome young man you’ve set your sights on, and to make sure that I think he’s suitable for you!’

  Savagely, Carrie knew it was only the thinnest of reasons for wanting to talk to John. And when did Miss Barclay care a fig about her maid’s affairs? But since Helen was her employer, and Carrie really needed this job, there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it, except rage inside.

  Chapter 14

  ‘So when are you and Carrie going to be married, or is that an indelicate question?’ Helen asked in a forthright manner, once the three of them were seated in the musty interior of the refreshment tent.

  Carrie felt her face blush to the edge of her hair. She and John had hardly discussed the actual question of marriage, and she frequently wondered if it would ever happen, since they were so often at loggerheads.

  ‘As soon as the time is right,’ he said evenly, not losing his composure for a moment at sitting here with his lady-love and her grand employer. All the while he was attracting every whispered and smiling attention from those who now recognised him as the victor of the famed BIG LOUIE.

  ‘What kind of an answer is that, my dear sir?’ Helen laughed. ‘Tell me just how you expect to know when the time is right!’

  ‘It will be right when Carrie and I decide on it,’ he said, his smile taking away the sting of his reply.

  ‘Touché, and bravo to such gallantry!’ Helen said, the smile still on her own lips, but a faint blush stained her own cheeks now.

  He was a match for her, Carrie thought suddenly. If she thought to wheedle herself into his affections by her winning ways, she was doomed from the start. He was quite able to converse with those above his station, and while she had felt deci
dedly awkward at sitting here in her plain brown dress and being so obviously the little maid, she began to hold her chin up high.

  He belonged to her, not to Miss Barclay, and the haughty young lady had better be fully aware of it! Money didn’t buy everything, and it would certainly never buy John Travis. It was as clear as the nose on Helen Barclay’s pretty face, and she sat back and watched the other two play out their little charade as if she were no more than an interested observer.

  But Helen was soon tiring of this irritating young man who had an answer to all her questions, and not always the subservient answer a young lady might expect, either. She had no time for feeble male creatures, but neither did she care for working-class men who didn’t pay her the respect she was due, according to her station in life. And she had a growing suspicion that John Travis was merely indulging her, and curbing his impatience to be alone with his lady-friend.

  ‘I understand that Carrie disapproves of your little hobby, Mr Travis,’ Helen said sweetly, reducing his expertise to nothing. Carrie’s eyes blazed in fury at the insult.

  ‘I’d hardly call it a little hobby, miss. And I never said I disapproved, anyway. Especially after seeing John today, and knowing his reasons for doing it.’ Her voice trailed away. She still didn’t like it, but the other girl had goaded her into denying it, and now John would think she approved of it after all.

  She hated the whole mess that she was so innocently getting into, and she hated Miss Helen Barclay most of all.

  ‘True to form, I see. It’s easy to change one’s mind when one senses a winner, isn’t it?’ Helen said, still in that sugary tone.

  Helen finished her tea daintily, apparently unaware of the way her maid was seething, and ignoring the common noisy draining of the cups all around them in the refreshment tent. Helen had had enough slumming, and got to her feet. She looked directly at Carrie.