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Though she found it hard to follow the blur that was Benedict’s left fist, she could see, with the help of these pointers, that the combination of his defensive right and the way he moved his body about ensured that he received minimal punishment while inflicting maximum damage.

Another minute of this had Lizzie wincing in sympathy for the carter, who slipped down onto one knee, not once, but twice under the steady onslaught. Each time this happened, Benedict stepped back, and Frank stepped forward. Lizzie guessed the older Toomes brother was talking to Smith who furiously shook his head and clambered to his feet to the approving cheers of the crowd.

Each time, the burly carter positioned himself in the center of the square again, although by the third time, he seemed to have some difficulty in finding the right place, and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, making him squint his eye.

“Poor chap’s done for,” the fancy waistcoat sighed. “Just won’t accept the fact.”

“Damn and blast it,” the first objected. “Great, hearty fellow like that should have a jaw of granite!”

“He does, Barney, you fool,” his companion said affably. “If he did not, he would have been down in the first minute.”

Lizzie cast a curious glance their way and caught the eye of the natty dresser. He winked at her and tipped his hat. Had he realized she was listening to every word he spoke? Lizzie flushed and faced resolutely forward. How embarrassing. Though, she comforted herself, it was practically impossible to follow social conventions in such an environment.

It was just as well she turned back when she did, for the carter was attempting to struggle back to his feet again. When it became apparent that he could not manage it, Frank Toomes came forward and, crossing his forearms together, pulled both hands in a downward motion. A groan went up from the spectators.

“It’s over,” said her neighbor sourly. “Deuce take it, I should have listened to Maud!”

Lizzie ignored him, watching Frank hook his arms under the fallen man and drag him to the side where his friends crouched over him, splashing water in his face, and arguing hotly among themselves.

“A most valiant effort, I’m sure you’ll all agree!” Frank cried, returning to the center. “Mr. Daniel Smith, gentlemen! One of Spitalfields finest! And only the first of our three volunteers!”

“Oh?” murmured Lizzie’s neighbor. “Maybe I’ll recoup my losses, Nat, what say you to that?”

His friend merely laughed. “By all means, Barney, though I should probably warn you that the next two will suffer the self-same fate.”

“Nonsense!” Barney cried. “Why, you haven’t even clapped eyes on them yet!”

“Doesn’t matter, Barney, my boy. The next one could have arms like tree trunks and I still say Toomes will dispatch him in just the same fashion.”

“I tell you, Toomes is not fresh like he was!” Barney cried. “He goes into this next bout at a distinct disadvantage!”

“Does he look tired to you?” his friend asked laughingly, and glancing up, Lizzie had to admit that Benedict looked just as cool and unruffled as he had at the outset. He tipped back his head to take a drink of beer from a glass bottle, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drained it. When he lowered the bottle, she could have sworn his gaze met hers again before she looked hurriedly away.

Frank was now parading another contender for the crowd. Lizzie barely listened this time for she found she believed the gentleman with the flowered waistcoat. This must indeed be how these things worked, she thought dazedly. But how many times a day did they repeat this process of filling the tent with both audience and prospective volunteers?

Again, there was the rush toward Jack Toomes and his betting book. Lizzie wondered if they only allowed bets against the house, or else surely Jack would still be trying to sort out who he owed money to from the first fight? She looked about distractedly. More spectators seemed to be drifting in by the minute, and the air, which had been thick enough to slice from the start, was now taking on a distinct odor of beer which she could only suppose was courtesy of The Adam and Eve.

Oh, for a cup of tea, Lizzie thought wistfully and wondered if any of the tents sold the superior beverage. If they did, she had not seen any sign of it so far. She was just pondering this when she felt someone tapping her shoulder.

“Excuse me, madam!” It was the handsome brunette from outside. The rush to place bets meant there was now room enough for her to make her way through the tent. “You owe me a ha’penny!”

Lizzie turned to face her. “That’s my husband in the ring,” she explained.

“I don’t care if he’s King Solomon himself,” the brunette answered in strident tones. “You still got to pay your ha’penny or I’ll sling you out on your ear.” Lizzie found she believed the belligerent young woman and had just opened her mouth to clarify who she was when an arm was slung around her waist, and she was dragged back against a half-naked body.

“Who the hell are you to threaten my wife?” snarled Benedict, and the woman recoiled in alarm.

Lizzie gasped. He must have leaped over the ropes quick as a flash. “It was just a misunderstanding, I’m sure,” she blurted.

“It had bloody better be.”

Frank asked, hurrying over, an alarmed expression on his face. “Daphne, I don’t think I’ve had the chance yet to introduce you properly to my brother Ben and his wife Lizzie.”

Daphne looked stunned by this, but she rallied fast. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” she said promptly. “And I apologize for not realizing who you was.”

“Not at all,” Lizzie responded.

“Daphne is a sort of stepdaughter of Pa’s, Ben,” Frank explained, not quite meeting his brother’s eye.