A Bride for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

by Alice Coldbreath

  Coming upon the edge of the cliff was a shock. For one horribly thrilling moment, she thought her momentum would carry her right over the edge. Instead, she swerved and came up short, a shower of small stones falling instead on to the rocks below. Again, she heard voices carried on the wind behind her but refused to look back. Almost she felt as though she were pursued by furies or her own overwhelming misery which she had managed for an instant to outrun. But she would not let it catch her. They would not prevent her from her aim.

  Instead she crouched a moment, panting to catch her breath and steady her wildly beating heart before lurching unsteadily to her feet in search of a path down the cliffs toward the beach. The fates for once were with her, as almost straight away she hit on a rough-hewn path. Slipping and stumbling, she made the steep descent, her heels dislodging clods of earth, her hands clutching at tufts of grass to stop herself from losing her footing and sliding the whole way down on her backside.

  By the time she reached the bottom of the cliff she was out of breath and aching all over from where she’d scraped and bumped herself on the way down. She didn’t care. Clambering over the rocks, she headed for the patches of golden sand. When she reached the wet sand, she collapsed onto it, whimpering and tearing at her ankle boots, throwing them one after the other over her shoulder. She didn’t bother stripping off her ripped and torn stockings. She could already feel the sand through them in any case. She had reached the sea and was wading out into its cold waves when she felt hands close onto her upper arms, whirling her round.

  Will Nye’s face was livid. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you crazy woman?” he bellowed. “I thought you went over the edge! I thought—”

  Mina’s balled fists rose up and struck against his chest as she struggled wildly against him. “I don’t want you either!” she screamed in his face. “I don’t want you! I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you!” He didn’t react, just stood there solid and stoic as she pummeled and yelled, she knew not what, until her lungs burned and her voice broke. Then her legs went from underneath her, and the next thing she knew, her cheek was pressed to his chest and he was holding her up and she was being carried back up the beach, sobbing as if her heart would break.

  *

  Mina kept her eyes tightly shut during their ascent. She was humiliated beyond belief. Her face felt sore from all the tears. Straggles of her hair kept blowing across her face. The gulls screeched and the waves crashed as they broke on the rocks below. She was sure that any minute now, he would set her down and either tell her to climb the cliff path for herself or simply dump her there and leave her. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  Yet, for some reason, he did neither of those things. At one point, he did set her down on a rocky ledge and Mina was just struggling to sit up, when she felt herself seized once again and slung over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. She had no fight left in her by this point and just hung there limply as he started, sure-footed as a goat, up the steep track.

  When she heard voices hailing them from above, she did not raise her head to see who bore witnessed her shame. She told herself she didn’t care, but her hot cheeks and sweaty discomfiture spoke otherwise. She had made an embarrassing spectacle of herself. She hoped Gus Hopkins was not aware that Minerva was supposed to be a goddess of wisdom, but even as the thought fervently crossed her mind, she realized he most probably did.

  She was the wretchedest creature alive. Without friends, without family, reduced to helping herself to a bowl of whatever stew Edna cooked for the bar patrons for her evening meal alone. She had no-one even to break bread with. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, welling up and spilling over. Because she was upside down, they dripped the wrong way up her face and ran into her hair which felt sweaty at the roots. Beating the rugs that morning felt like days ago. She had been a different person then. One who was not broken.

  Someone cleared their throat. “She alright, is she Nye?” she heard a man’s uncertain voice ask nearby. She felt Nye’s body twist at his waist as he turned to look at this person, but he didn’t utter a word. From the pregnant silence, Mina could only suppose he had directed a scathing look in his direction. She could hear several pairs of boots thudding against the ground, trotting alongside Nye’s long-legged stride, but none of them dared address him again, even when the flattened earth give way to the cobbles of the inn’s courtyard.

  The door banged shut behind them and she heard another pair of feet running up the corridor. “Get water heated,” she heard Nye order tersely. “Fill the bath.” Then they were climbing the stairs. Mina kept her eyes shut, telling herself she didn’t care, but the moment they reached the second floor and he dipped his shoulder to set her down, she tensed and braced herself. He set her down on her dirty stockinged feet carefully enough. Seeing spots of blood on her shins she guessed she must have scraped them on the cliffs on the way down. Mina kept her eyes averted as Nye straightened up. She was in the tiled bathroom.

  “You’re shivering,” he said flatly. “You need to take those wet things off.”

  There was a knock on the door. Edna’s head peered around it. “The water was already on,” she said matter-of-factly. “For the next lot o’ washing.”

  Nye grunted and she carried a pail of hot water in, sloshing it into the hip bath. To Mina’s surprise, Ivy entered the bathroom behind her with another bucket which she also emptied into the bath. She stopped next to Mina and tossed her head. “Here,” she said and held out her upturned hand to her. Mina looked down and saw a round cake of pink soap in it in the shape of a rose. “Take it, then.”

  “Leave it on the side,” Nye said curtly. “Can’t you see, she’s not in a state to take anything right now?” Ivy shot him a curious look and set it down on the basin.

  “Thank you,” Mina murmured through numb lips. Ivy made no reply and exited the room. Edna entered again with a third bucket of steaming water; a towel slung over one arm. Nye took these from her and ushered her out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.

  “Can you take your clothes off, or do you need me to send Edna in to help you,” he said over his shoulder as he emptied the bucket into the bathtub.

  “I can manage,” Mina muttered.

  “Don’t lock the door. I’ll stand outside.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why?”

  “You look fit to drop.”

  He thought she would pass out in the bath? Surprised by his solicitude, Mina nodded her head and he let himself out, shutting the door firmly behind him. She reached up to start unbuttoning her bodice. Her skirts and petticoats were harder to wriggle out of as the bottom half were sodden and clinging to her legs. She felt limp as a rag and slumped against the wall a couple of times to muster the energy to carry on unfastening her hook and eyes. Her eyes felt gritty. Everything ached. By the time she lowered herself into the bath, she was exhausted and the water lukewarm. She clutched Ivy’s rose soap to her. Vaguely she recognized it smelt like sandalwood and rose petals.

  A sharp rap on the door roused her. “Are you in that tub yet?” Nye’s voice penetrated the fog of her thoughts.

  “Yes,” she croaked.

  The door squeaked open, just a crack. “Answer me, Mina.”

  “Yes!” she repeated louder, twisting her head round to look at the door. Had he just called her Mina? She thought it was the first time he had done so. Apparently satisfied, he shut the door. Swallowing, Mina shuffled down the tub to wet her hair and soap it up. By the time she had rinsed it through twice and run the sweet-smelling soap over her body, he was knocking on the door again.

  “I-I’m nearly done,” she called weakly. Why was her throat so raw? Then she recalled the yelling herself hoarse on the beach. Oh, that was why. She had just about gotten the towel wrapped about her when the door opened again. She started hobbling in the direction of the door and found herself once more caught up in those strong arms.

  They were halfway up the stairs to the attics when she lifted her he
ad from his shoulder, with effort. “I left my boots on the beach,” she murmured, but Nye made no reply to that, just shouldered the bedroom door open and carried her inside, twitching back the blankets.

  “Get under the covers,” he ordered, laying her down.

  Mina blinked up at him and reached for her cotton nightgown which she had hooked over the rail that morning. It seemed to be caught there and she dropped her arm in defeat. It ached too much from the earlier exertion to persist tugging at it.

  “You want this?” Nye reached past her and caught up the white garment. He eyed it a moment doubtfully.

  “My nightgown,” she said feebly.

  “It looks about ten sizes too big for you.”

  Her towel still firmly about her, Mina determinedly pulled the voluminous white garment over her head but the ribbons at her throat defeated her. She was too drained to fasten them.

  “Take off that damp towel or you’ll catch a chill.”

  Mina lay limply on her back. “I will in a minute.” Her sore eyelids drooped shut.

  She heard Nye click his tongue and the next minute two strong hands had reached beneath her tent of a nightgown to drag the fluffy towel down her legs. Mina gave an outraged squawk but could not muster the energy even to bat his hands away. The next thing she knew, she was jerked into a sitting position, the towel enveloped her head and he was vigorously rubbing her wet hair with it. Mina gasped, feeling her back against his warm front. Was she sat between his thighs? Oh God, why did it feel so good?

  In general, she had never been much of a one for physical closeness. Such a prickly little thing, her mother had always objected when Mina wriggled off her lap as a child. Mama’s little hedgehog. Now though, she felt weak as a kitten and certainly in no fit state to object to his familiarity. In any case, it gave her an excuse to just sit there with her eyes closed and feel his strength surrounding her. She wished she could tuck her knees up and just lie back against him, but of course, she could never allow such a thing.

  A knock on the door, startled her eyes open. It was Edna carrying a tray with the brown teapot and a cup on it. “She’ll get an inflammation of the lungs, if you’re not careful,” she warned direly as she set it down on the small bedside table. Mina tried to sit forward, but Nye’s firm hold on her did not permit it.

  “Make her some soup,” he ordered. “And pass me that brush.”

  “There’s oxtail on the stove,” Edna replied, picking up the hairbrush and passing it to him. “But it needs another two hours.”

  He didn’t reply, but it was still the most words Mina had ever heard them exchange. Edna nodded to her and left. Nye set the towel aside on a chair and started running the brush through the ends of her hair at her waist.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Mina said wearily, as her head drooped forward.

  “If I don’t, you’ll sleep on it wet,” he said dryly. “And we both know it.”

  Mina’s eyes drifted shut as she submitted to the strokes of the hairbrush down her back.

  “Put your feet under the bedspread,” he recommended at one point. “Your toes will get cold.” But Mina was already fast asleep.

  When next she woke, she was tucked in bed, extra pillows behind her head and her nightgown ribbons neatly tied. Someone was bustling through the door with a tray. It was Edna, and this time it bore a bowl of soup.

  “You didn’t drink your tea, Mrs Nye,” she scolded.

  “Sorry,” Mina muttered guiltily, sitting up. “That smells good.”

  Edna set the tray down across her knees and thumped the pillows until they gave enough support to Mina’s back. She stood a moment, watching Mina take her first mouthful, then allowed her eyes roamed over the room. “That’s a fine silver teapot,” she said with grudging admiration.

  “It was my mother’s.”

  “You ought to have a fine parlor to set it off.” Mina had no reply for that. “Shall I make you another then?” Edna asked, nodding to the cold pot of tea.

  “I would love a cup of tea,” Mina admitted. “Thank you, Edna.”

  Enda picked up the tray with the earthenware teapot and hesitated. “Will I use your things?” she asked casually. Mina looked up in surprise to see Edna’s gaze fixed longingly on the yellow floral cups and saucers.

  “If you would not mind, that would be very nice.” She hesitated. “Will you join me for a cup? If you’re not serving this evening.”

  “Ivy always serves evening bar,” Edna replied, visibly brightening. “I’ll be glad to join you, Mrs Nye.”

  She reappeared twenty minutes later without her apron, carrying a tea cloth and a pot of hot water. She laid the small table in Mina’s room with exquisite care, setting out the silver spoons, cups and saucers and the little jug and sugar tongs.

  Mina, finishing off her soup watched as Edna warmed the silver pot and added the tea leaves, setting it aside to brew as she polished the delicate cups with a tea towel, admiring their gilded and fluted edges.

  “As pretty a tea set as I ever did see,” Edna commented.

  “Thank you. It used to be a lot bigger, but alas I could not bring much with me.”

  “Fancy having to leave your things behind,” Edna said with a shocked gasp. “Would ‘a broken my ‘eart, that would!”

  “A lot of it had to be sold,” Mina admitted. “To pay my father’s doctor’s bills.”

  Edna’s sharp gaze darted to meet Mina as she daintily spooned the sugar into the cups. “That who you’re mourning?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Recent?”

  “Papa died ten days ago today.”

  Edna breathed out noisily. Mina could see a question trembling on her lips that she could not quite bring herself to ask. She looked up suddenly. “I don’t care what they say,” she said defiantly. “It’s like I told my aunt. I know a respectable woman when I sees one.”

  Mina felt a little choked at Edna’s vehemence. She set the empty bowl of soup onto the bedside table. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Edna gave a sharp nod and lifted the lid to peer into the pot. “I know my own mind,” she said grimly. “And nobody makes it up but me.” She levelled a look at Mina. “Will you be coming to church tomorrow?”

  Mina could see it was a loaded question. “Of course,” she replied, though the prospect of seeing that place again was far from enticing.

  Edna looked gratified. “Service starts at nine sharp, so I always leaves at half eight to make it in plenty of time.”

  “I will be ready to join you,” Mina assured her. Edna poured their tea and they drank it in companionable quiet. Then Edna withdrew and washed the things before restoring them carefully to Mina’s shelf.

  “Goodnight, Mrs. Nye.”

  “Edna, won’t you call me Mina?”

  “It wouldn’t be fitting,” the maid replied looking scandalized.

  “Just in private then?” Mina suggested. Edna looked torn. “Just consider it.” She gave a nod and closed the door softly behind her.

  Surprisingly, Edna wasn’t the last of her visitors that night. Mina had dozed off into a deep sleep, only emerging from it when the clock struck midnight in the passage below. Then she heard heeled boots coming up the attic stared and guessed it must be Ivy, for Edna she knew retired early for her early morning start. The click of the heels stopped outside her room and hesitated a moment, before they crossed to the other side and returned a few moments later.

  Mina frowned, only hearing the tap on the door because she was listening for it. “Come in,” she called and Ivy’s blonde head full of curls peered round it. She seemed surprised to see Mina wide awake. “Evening,” she said, coming into the room with her candle and in her other hand and a stoppered glass bottle with a floral label on it, straight out of the pages of one of Mina’s periodicals.

  “Thought you might like a drop of lotion for your poor hands and shins,” Ivy said. “They looked scratched to high heaven when I saw you earlier.”

  Min
a was taken aback. “That’s very kind of you Ivy,” she said, sitting up.

  Ivy shrugged, dragging a chair to the bedside. “Know how it feels, don’t I? Having a man promise you the world then passing you off like you were nothing.” She pursed her full lips as she pulled the stopper out of the bottle. “He may be a pretty spoken gentleman,” she said bitterly. “But that don’t make him any better than all the rest of them.”

  Pretty spoken? Mina couldn’t think of anyone less pretty spoken than William Nye. When Ivy held her hand out, Mina placed hers in it with an air of bewilderment. Ivy tipped a blob of white creamy fluid into Mina’s palm and then started working it into her hands with her fingers.

  “I’m sorry I laughed now, when he was acting ugly toward you, on that first night.” Ivy directed a frank look at her. “Only he’s a good tipper and I didn’t think about how you’d be feeling at the time.” Mina’s confusion grew. “Looking back on it now, I can’t blame you for thinking I was a spiteful cow. I’m not proud of myself.”

  “I don’t think I quite…”

  “I don’t expect you to confide in me,” Ivy interrupted firmly, reaching for Mina’s other hand. “Or to want to be friends.” She applied more lotion liberally to Mina’s other hand. “I just want you to know that—”

  Mina’s frown cleared. “Do you mean Lord Faris?”

  Ivy finely plucked eyebrows rose. “‘Course. Who else?”

  “Well, he didn’t make me any promises,” Mina assured her. “I think he brought me here out of a misguided notion of familial duty.”

  Ivy’s brow puckered over this. “Out of what?” she puzzled.

  “Because we shared a mother,” Mina explained without thinking. Ivy gasped and fell back in her chair.

  “You never!” she squeaked. Mina nodded. After all, Jeremy had never enjoined her not to speak of it. “You mean, your mother was Viscountess Faris?”