“Conversing? That’s a riveting description, I must say. Details, love. I need details.”
“But they are just conversing ... albeit rather intensely. The man appears to be glowering, but Mr. Arthur is still smiling.” Because of course he was. “Oh dear ... The man is expanding his chest and broadening his shoulders. He’s advancing on Mr. Arthur. There’s no polite space left between them now. My stars, that giant truly does make Mr. Arthur resemble a shepherd boy.”
“Thrilling! Are they going to engage in fisticuffs?”
“Surely not. Mr. Arthur must realize they’re unequally matched and such a row wouldn’t result in his favor. Although ... he doesn’t appear to be retreating.” Not one step. Despite the giant’s aggressive stance, Mr. Arthur was standing his ground.
And he no longer smiled.
Clara’s stomach sank into the river.God, please don’t let there be a—
The giant’s knuckles connected with Mr. Arthur’s jaw, snapping his head backward.
A gasp flew from Clara as if she’d been the one struck.
Mum beamed a hopeful smile. “Fisticuffs?”
Clara pursed her lips and nodded, fixing her gaze on what was now a full-blown brawl between Mr. Arthur and Goliath. Pedestrians dodged the flying fists, scattering in all directions. Young men tossed goading hurrahs into the fray, while their elders trudged by with unimpressed grunts. Mr. Arthur proved to be swifter than his rival, getting in a few punches,then darting just out of reach. But the giant soon perceived this tactic. When Mr. Arthur bobbed, the giant weaved and locked a brawny arm around Mr. Arthur’s head, dragging him under and out of sight amid the sea of bodies.
Seconds ticked by, then a minute. Still the men did not resurface. Clara elevated to the tips of her boots but could see no better, thanks to the crowd of onlookers who’d encircled the brawl with morbid curiosity. Two minutes. Still no sight of Mr. Arthur. The vein along her brow began to pulse faster and faster, plucking at the corner of her eye. She didn’t know whether to pray for Mr. Arthur’s safe return or for the brute to knock some sense into him.
“Well, this is a moldy apple tart. My first bout of fisticuffs, and I can’t see the action.”
Clara rolled her eyes in her mother’s direction. “What happened to your moral stance against senseless violence?”
“My stance still stands. Nonetheless, I must admit, watching a prime male specimen duel in defense of a lady’s honor is rather ... rousing.”
“Mother!” Clara gasped, cheeks awash with the flames of mortification, and placed a hand over Fred’s innocent ears. “For the love of all, never use the wordrousingin reference to yourself. Not within my hearing, I beg you. For the sake of my digestion and sanctity of mind, just ... don’t.” A shudder racked her stomach. “As to defending a lady’s honor, we both know this is not that. Our honor didn’t require defense from a mere bump on a congested bridge. It would’ve been far wiser for Mr. Arthur to see us to our destination. This skirmish was provoked by his pride and for his pride, nothing more.”
“Ruled the judge without hearing the accused’s testimony.” Mum shook her head at Clara, and turning back toward the fisticuffs, broke into a smile. “Ah, here the boy comes! Just you wait, ducky. Arthur will have a logical explanation for his actions, I’m sure.”
A flimsy excuse, more like.
Head downcast, Mr. Arthur made his way to them with a noticeable hitch in his stride. The collar of his shirt was torn, his overcoat was smeared with dust, and blood trailed from his nose in a scarlet mark of defeat. He met them with a ragged sigh. “Apologies for the delay. I had a matter of business to tend to.”
Matter of business, her foot. She strangled the carpetbag handles in her grasp. “What were you thinking, inciting a row on a public street?”
“That Mrs. S. might like to have this back.” From a bruising hand, with cracked and bloodied knuckles, Mr. Arthur produced a coin purse with a distinctive gold clasp in the shape of two squirrels with interlocking fluffy tails.
The carpetbags slipped from Clara’s grasp and fell to the sandstone with a thwump, right along with her jaw and preconceived notions. She took Mum’s coin purse from Mr. Arthur, but even with its weight balanced in her gloved palm, right before her eyes, she still couldn’t believe her senses. “How?”
Mr. Arthur indicated over his shoulder with a nod, immediately regretting the movement with a wince. “That chap acquired the purse through the old push-and-pocket maneuver. I recognized it straightaway. Travel the world in a coat that’s all pockets, and you’re sure to learn many a trick of the pickpocket trade firsthand. Anyhow, I confronted the thief in question. Politely requested he return what wasn’t his. When I realized the fellow wasn’t inclined to oblige my request, I created a situation that would, erm ... bring us closer together.”
A gleam sparked in Mum’s eyes. “You pinched it back? You darling scamp!”
Mr. Arthur’s grin turned to a grimace when his split lip stretched too far. “I just employed the old snitch-back-what’s-yours shuffle.”
Producing a handkerchief, Mum fussed over Mr. Arthur,cleaning the blood from his face. “As much as I admire your pluck, you must take more care with yourself. You shouldn’t have let the brute pummel you for so long. You might’ve suffered more serious injuries.”
“Better me than you, Mrs. S.”
Clara blinked, unable to heft her jaw off the ground. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, absorb what she was hearing. Mr. Arthur had taken a beating for the sole purpose of retrievingandreturning Mum’s money?Allof her money?
While Mum nursed Mr. Arthur’s wounds, Clara discreetly examined the purse’s cache. Nothing was missing. She didn’t understand it. First, Mr. Arthur had returned her bribe, and now he’d passed up the perfect opportunity to dip into their coffers and blame the theft on someone else. A temptation her own fiancé had been unable to resist.
“Arthur is not Rupert,you know.”
The hot coal of prejudice Clara had kept burning turned cold and crumbled to ash.Good heavens ... Imight just be wrong.
