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Jack fell silent a moment. “You say Nat wouldn’t give you a title shot, but he got you a lot of top-paying gigs, Ben. You must have been getting top dollar for some of those fights. That one against Meaks, and that Frenchie, Pfeifer.”

“He did,” Benedict agreed. “And yes, I got good money. Enough to retire on.”

His brother gave him a quick look. “Nat never got those kinds of fights for Frank,” Jack said, raising his chin pugnaciously. “He never got the chance to earn those kinds of purses. Yet you don’t see him getting into brawls about it or burning his bridges with Nat.”

Benedict came to a standstill. His brother halted a couple of steps away. “No, Frank didn’t,” Benedict agreed harshly. “And you know why, don’t you, Jack?”

Jack flushed and looked away. “He ain’t good enough,” he admitted tightly. “Neither am I. Not for top of the roster.”

“But I was good enough, Jack. I was damned good, and deep down, you and Frank know it and so does Nat. But I wasn’t given my shot because my face doesn’t fit.”

His brother gazed at him. “Is that really what you think, Ben?” he asked, shaking his head.

“What else?” Benedict snarled.

“It’s not your face, Ben, but your stinking attitude that’s the problem. So, Nat expected you to show off for a few of his rich backers. Would it have killed you to show willing? To turn up at a few dinner parties and smile?” Benedict glared at his brother, but Jack didn’t even pause to draw breath. “As for Frank, he may not be as talented with his fists as you, but by God! He has other strengths you’ll never possess! Loyalty for one thing! Unwavering loyalty to his family!”

“Maybe,” Benedict conceded through gritted teeth. “But it cost him his wife, Jack. Not a mistake I’ll be making any time soon, I assure you!”

The two brothers stood facing each other with rigid faces and clenched fists as the crowds drifted past them. Finally, Benedict relaxed his stance. After all, what was the point in falling out with Jack? “Come on,” he said grimly. “Frank will be expecting us for the afternoon bouts.”

Jack followed suit and they made their way wordlessly back to the booth.

12

The last of the stragglers left the tent, and Niamh let out a great sigh of relief, hopping down from her plinth. “Well, thank gawd for that, I’m stiff as a post.”

“I’m famished,” complained one of the twins from behind her sister. As ‘the living goddess’ one of them had to stand obscured behind the other, only showing as an extra pair of slim brown arms adorned in golden bangles. Her sister turned around and started unfastening the obscuring black curtain to free her.

Ada Wurtzel’s brother hurried across the tent to help her up from the couch she was draped across with only her long hair for a covering. At least, Lizzie had thought it was only her long light brown hair that preserved her modesty, but as she caught a glimpse of Ada straightening up, she did seem to be wearing some flesh-colored fabric over more crucial parts of her anatomy.

Lizzie hurriedly looked away from the abundance of naked pink skin as Jakob Wurtzel covered his sister in a frothy wrapper. Ada yawned. “I almost went off into a nap,” she declared ingeniously, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.

“You were not cold, my Ada?” Jakob asked anxiously.

“Ach no,” she replied heartily, and Lizzie wondered at it. She could feel a definite nip in the air herself for it was early March and the weather frigid. As though guessing the reason for Lizzie’s expression, Niamh nudged her.

“You haven’t got Salome’s padding,” she said slyly with a wink. Lizzie cleared her throat and went to store her parasol and bonnet in the trunk, retrieving her own hat in exchange.

“Not a bad day’s work,” Connie said, looking her over critically. “You can come back tomorrow after all.”

“Such grudging praise!” fired up Niamh. “Lizzie was wonderful! Didn’t you see the way she challenged that fellow with the red nose who tried to pull Zaya off her stand? Escorted him right out the tent she did and gave him a fine scolding to boot!”

“Yes, that is so,” the first twin said, clambering down from their display. She turned back to help her twin down before joining them. “Miss Lizzie was magnificent!”

“And I nearly burst out laughing,” Niamh put in. “When you prodded that corpulent gent in the side and then said, ‘Excuse me, sir, I thought you were a chesterfield. Could you please move along.’”

“Please, what is a chesterfield?” asked the second twin.

“It’s a kind of sofa,” Niamh told her. “Like Salome’s couch over there.” The twins went off into peals of mirth.

“He did look like a couch!” exclaimed the one in delight.

“And his eyes were two deep set buttons!” chimed in her sister.

Mr. Wurtzel turned from the screens he had folded around his sister for her to dress. “You are to be commended, Mrs. Toomes,” he said curtly. “I will confess, I was much impressed with your manner and work ethic.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wurtzel,” she answered, feeling pleased in spite of herself to receive such universal praise. He gave a quaint little bow and returned to fussing over his sister’s gloves and hat.