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Lizzie considered a moment. “A baked potato,” she answered. “You’ll have to let me buy it this time,” she said. “For I’ve had my wages. Or do I just give them straight to you?” she asked uncertainly. She had never received a pay packet before and was not precisely sure of the etiquette.

Benedict shook his head. “You hold onto it. I’m sure you’ve plenty of things you need to spend that on for yourself.”

Lizzie looked up at him in surprise. “Such as?”

“I’m sure there’s a hundred things,” he replied with a shrug, towing her in the direction of a baked potato stall. It was a curious stand on four legs with a little spout at the top emitting steam. A fire bucket kept the large tin container which housed all the potatoes warm and there were various compartments with little lids containing the butter, pepper, and salt.

Once they had bought two potatoes and had them wrapped in newspaper, Benedict bought a meat pie from another vendor and another bag of bones for Sebastian and they made their way back over the fields toward their wagon.

“Have your family always travelled the fairs?” Lizzie asked as helped her down from the stile.

He was silent a moment before answering. “No. My great-great-grandfather was a tenant farmer. He had five sons. My great-grandfather was the youngest and ran away at thirteen to join a travelling fair. Eventually he owned his own jellied eel stall. His son, my grandfather, was the first boxer in the family.”

“And your father carried on the tradition?”

“That’s right, he and his brother Ted.”

“Where is your uncle now?”

“Dead,” he answered briefly. “But he was the true talent of the two. My father was never more than passable and that was before he took to the drink.”

“Oh.” Lizzie, noticing his expression, thought she had better lighten the mood. “And what of your generation?” she asked. “I suspect it’s you that possesses the true boxing talent out of you three brothers.”

A reluctant smile twisted his lips. “Why do you suspect that?” he asked.

“Mostly because you seem to be the one carrying the performance on your shoulders. Frank does the announcing and Jack the betting book.”

“They both take their turn in the ring when the need arises,” he answered. “While I was in prison, they got by without me ably enough.”

“I don’t know about that,” Lizzie mused, thinking of Jack’s previous angry words. “I received the distinct impression things have not been easy for them without you.” Benedict snorted. “Besides,” she added in a lighter tone. “I benefitted from some expert commentary on your performance in the ring, so I know you are something quite special.”

“What expert commentary?”

“There was a gentleman in a fancy waistcoat stood beside me when first I saw you fight. He was talking to his friend and I overheard him.” She thought he checked his step, but then he seemed to recover himself. “It is a bit muddy, isn’t it?”

“A bit.” He paused before adding, “Tell me about this gentleman.”

“He bet on you every time,” Lizzie replied promptly. “Moreover, he told his companion that you would defeat every man in the tent.”

“He had a fancy waistcoat?” Benedict asked in an odd tone.

“He did. It was a pattern of silver thread in the shape of little conch shells in delicate pinks and purples.”

It occurred to her that his expression was oddly intense. “What have I said?”

“Maybe nothing,” he said slowly. “But maybe something.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Boxing at fairgrounds was not always the full extent of my ambition, Lizzie.” She waited for him to speak, and after a moment he continued. “I used to fight for real money before I went to prison. Prize fighting, I mean. Against other boxers. Real boxers.”

“You do not anymore?” Lizzie asked when nothing else seemed forthcoming. “Does possessing a criminal record prohibit you from competing, then?”

He laughed at that. “No. If it did, there would be precious few contenders.” He eyed her warily. “They’re a checkered bunch, Lizzie, myself included.”

“Why do you not prizefight anymore?” she persisted, refusing to be sidetracked.

He cleared his throat. “I fell out with the man who arranges most of the fights. Fell out with him badly. Said some things … I was in an ugly mood that night. It was the same night I got arrested. He washed his hands of me. I’m finished now.”