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“I beg your pardon, Miss Anderson,” he said looking at Lizzie. “But I am afraid we would need you to proceed with us at once if the miscreant is to be apprehended.”

Lizzie opened her mouth, but Betsy forestalled her.

“My cousin is not Miss Anderson anymore, Frederick,” she reminded him briskly. Lizzie glanced quickly at Betsy’s face, but her bright gaze was fixated on Frederick Mountford.

“I apologize, Mrs. Toomes.”

Lizzie nodded absently, wondering if his aunt was due to lose considerably more than a brooch this time if Reverend Milson was not prevented from fleeing the country. Mr. Mountford certainly seemed very invested in the outcome.

“It is at Millbank station that we have lodged our complaint,” he continued smoothly. “We have told them that we hope to have you attend an interview this very afternoon. They have indicated that is the only circumstance in which they will be able to clap him in irons.” Mr. Mountford’s tone was faintly apologetic. “Our every hope depends on you, Miss – , that is, Mrs. Toomes,” he corrected himself.

“I see.” Lizzie’s mind raced. She had promised Benedict not half an hour ago that she would ‘stay put’ for the rest of the day. “You must understand that I cannot leave with you without first consulting my husband.”

“You will bear witness, Lizzie?” her aunt asked, half disbelieving.

“Of course, I will,” Lizzie replied. “After all, you showed me twenty-one years of kindness in your home, Aunt Hester.”

“Before one act of very grave unkindness,” her aunt gasped and then burst into tears. Lizzie patted her shoulder, but otherwise left Betsy to comfort her as she spoke hurriedly with Mr. Mountford.

“I need to make for the boxing saloon where my husband works,” she explained. “Will you await me here?”

“I will accompany you,” he responded quickly, and she saw that Frederick Mountford had no intention of letting her out of his sight. As it had not been her intention to give him the slip, Lizzie did not allow this to trouble her.

“I won’t be long,” she said getting to her feet. “Shall we meet you at the exit in fifteen minutes? I may have to wait for my husband to reach the end of his current bout.” Betsy gave her a grateful nod, and she, Sebastian, and Mr. Mountford headed for Toomes’s Boxing Saloon.

She kept a brisk pace ahead of Frederick Mountford, otherwise she had a suspicion she would feel he was escorting her as an armed guard. She would not say his manner was officious, but he clearly thought himself the master of the situation. Probably, she thought, due to her aunt’s current collapse and Betsy’s cloying manner toward him. Lizzie’s expression grew even more determined. He would certainly not be taking charge of her!

To Lizzie’s surprise, she found Maggie sat at the entrance with the collection tin. She gave a guilty start when she saw Lizzie. “Oh, I – I just said I would help Frank out this afternoon – ” she began, but Lizzie did not have time to tarry.

“It is not my place to judge your actions, Maggie,” she said as patiently as she could under the circumstances. She no longer had the smallest hope that Maggie would spend a couple of nights under Sophia Farini’s roof. “I need to have a word with my husband, so this gentleman and I are just popping inside for a moment.”

Maggie’s eyes widened with panic. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Lizzie! Frank said this is a crucial moment for Ben’s future. You wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, surely!”

Lizzie paused just the barest moment at Maggie’s words, but she knew what she had promised. Benedict would absolutely hit the roof if she went off now without telling him.

“I’m afraid I must be the best judge of that,” she said firmly and pressed on, though once inside the tent flap, she could see it was packed out, the baying crowds noisier than ever. Sebastian barked in agitation, and Lizzie patted his neck and grabbed his collar.

She turned back to Frederick Mountford who had reached out to grasp her arm. “You will have to stay close,” she shouted. “Lest we get parted in the crowd.”

He nodded and set his jaw resolutely as they began to push forward into the jostling crowd.

“Let’s hear it for Charlie, gentlemen,” boomed Frank. “This man gave his all, though it wasn’t enough to stop the Harbinger of Doom! He gave it a good try.”

A chorus of boos and jeers rang out, and Lizzie craned her neck to see a bloody nosed bruiser being helped from the ring. Her gaze sought out her husband who was stripped to the waist, pacing about the roped off area with a barely contained energy which put Lizzie in mind of a visit she had once paid to the London Zoological Gardens. Some of the bigger cats had seemed to embody the same restlessness as they stalked their pens.

“Is there any man here can challenge him?” Frank asked. “He’s fresh as a daisy, gentlemen, and ready for the next contender, if anyone dares!”

“Over ’ere!” yelled a raucous voice to Lizzie’s left. “My friend here will take him on!“

A few cheers rang out, and Lizzie saw Frank walk to the edge of the roped off area. “Your name, good sir?” he shouted.

“It’s Jim!” roared another who stood head and shoulders above his companions. “Jim North and I can take any man here, Toomes included!”

Lizzie saw Frank’s eyes narrow, and he shot a look toward the row of suited gentlemen thronging the ropes to the one side of the ring. She could just about make out the lavender and silver waistcoat of Nat Jones in the midst of them. She fancied he had an amused gleam in his eye, but that might have just been down to her own imagination.

“Jim!” Frank shouted, recovering quickly. “Long time, no see. One of our boxing brethren is among us today, I see.”

“Thought you said he takes all comers!” shouted one of North’s companions. “Or is it only amateurs Toomes will face?”