Page 71

Lizzie caught her breath. Something in his voice made her feel oddly defensive of him. “He did not contact you once while you were in Exeter jail?”

Benedict gave a short laugh. “No,” he said shaking his head. “After the row we had, I never expect to hear from him ever again.”

Lizzie hesitated. She wanted to ask why they had fought but had a shrewd notion any such enquiry would be firmly repulsed.

“I wanted a shot at the title,” he said suddenly, surprising her. “Nat booked me for a lot of fights, good fights with high money stakes. But he never saw me as champion material, Lizzie. I never got to fight for the title. Not once. That rankled with me. It took root inside me, and over time, I couldn’t see anything else he’d done for me. Only what he hadn’t.”

“You grew embittered,” she murmured.

He gave a short nod. “Finally, it burst out of me, like poison from a wound. I burned my bridges that night in the worst possible way. I struck out at whoever crossed me and all but destroyed a fancy hotel barroom. That’s how I wound up in prison for nine long months.” He grew silent, and Lizzie felt herself abruptly sobered by their conversation. “That’s the manner of man you married, Lizzie,” he said in a low voice. “A man that bit the hand that fed him.”

Lizzie looked at him. “Yet you regret it now,” she replied thoughtfully. “And fully own you were the party at fault.”

“Nine months is a long time to cool your heels. Only a complete fool would not see he was to blame for his own downfall in such a matter.”

“Have you considered contacting this man at all since your release?“ she asked tentatively.

“No.” His abrupt answer held a note of closed finality. “That part of my life is over and done with now.”

Lizzie frowned. Instead of climbing down and apologizing, he would simply write off a huge part of his life. His dream, even? She found such a thing hard to fathom. Especially when he knew himself to be the one who was in the wrong.

They had reached the wagon by now. “Sit down,” he told her, drawing the packing cases up. “I’ll soon have the fire going.”

“You forget I have not done a stroke of work today,” she pointed out. “Besides, it’ll be quicker if we work together.”

They had soon gathered up a pile of sticks, and Benedict started the fire before fetching water for Florence the horse and Sebastian. Then he made a second trip for their own water. Lizzie managed to set up the tripod and chain above the fire before his return, and he set the water on to boil as she fetched the blankets from the wagon, for the evening had turned chilly.

They were soon sat beside the blaze, bundled in blankets and eating their supper while the water boiled for a pot of tea. “I can see why the fairs do not run over the winter period,” Lizzie observed. “For this kind of living must be a good deal harder then. Where do you live during the off season?”

Benedict threw another log on the fire. “Lodgings usually.”

She badly wanted to ask what he had meant to do with Betsy while he was touring with the booth, but something held her back. “Do you usually lodge in London?” He nodded. “Your family too?”

“It depends. Ma has some family in Shropshire. Sometimes she’ll head that way for a couple of months.”

She wanted to ask what Benedict had meant when he claimed his family had not raised him, but again, some instinct bade her hold her tongue. Another thought occurred, so instead, she asked, “What was the possible significance you attached to the man in the fancy waistcoat?”

He swallowed his last mouthful and scrunched up the newspaper. “It occurred to me it could have been Nat Jones,” he admitted.

“Nat Jones?”

“The fight promoter I told you of. The one I fell out with. He’s known for his flamboyant dress, particularly his waistcoats.”

“Oh, I see.” Lizzie pondered this a moment. “If it was him – ” she began.

“It probably wasn’t.” His tone was dampening, but still Lizzie persisted.

“But only suppose for moment that it was. Would that not mean that he was considering giving you another chance?”

He was silent a moment. “I don’t see why he would. In my experience, it’s best not to get your hopes up about such things. That way lies disappointment.” She could see what he meant of course. Biting her lip, Lizzie resolved not to press him, so when he did speak, it took her by surprise. “Besides,” he added. “He might have come to see Jack box.” He touched the graze that had formed on his cheekbone. “I never gave him enough credit before now.”

“Jack’s as good as you?” Lizzie asked.

“He could be, if he trained hard enough, with the right person.”

“Your uncle trained you?” Lizzie guessed shrewdly. “Your Uncle Ted?” He nodded. “Could you train Jack?”

Benedict shrugged. “Maybe.”