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“The ale is like piss water here,” said a polished voice in English, right next to him. “Always go for the wine myself, when in France. I get over here often—I’ve got some property hereabouts. They serve very decent wine, even in a place like this.”
Ace changed his order to a glass of Bordeaux wine, then turned to look at his neighbor to thank him. What he saw made him almost drop his glass in shock.
The fellow looked absolutely identical to him, although perhaps twenty or five-and-twenty years older than Ace. For Ace, it was like stepping into a magic mirror that showed him what he himself would look like in the prime of his middle years. The icy blue eyes, the sharp, sculpted cheekbones and the black hair--although touched here and there with silver--were the same as his own.
“Lord Ashton,” said the stranger, reaching out his hand in greeting.
Ace was going to reply “Ace Smith, my lord,” and leave it safely at that. But some devil got into him, and he suddenly decided to give his full name. “Ashton Smith,” he said, shaking the man’s hand.
“I say, are you the one they call ‘Ace Smith’? The famous pugilist?”
Ace acknowledged it.
“Now that I think of it, I had heard somewhere that Ace Smith’s first name was actually the same as my surname. My friends have kidded me about it, though I assure you I’m no boxer myself! They’ll be so amused to hear that I actually met you.”
Lord Ashton asked Ace a few commonplace questions about the boxing world and the merits of a few of the sportsmen Ace had fought. Ace answered politely.
Then Lord Ashton, calling for another round for Ace and himself, looked at him oddly. “You know, you may not see this, but you resemble me pretty closely in looks. As I was when I was your age, at least. And the same name as me too. You don’t suppose we’re kin, do you?”
Ace answered very quietly, “Yes. I do suppose.”
“Well, I say…! That’s uncanny.” He thought for a minute or so, and he seemed to be trying to figure out how such a kinship might have occurred. Ace was, after all, a rough lad from the back streets of London, despite his obvious success.
“I say, don’t take this the wrong way,” Lord Ashton said, in an effort to be diplomatic. “But...what was your mother’s name?”
“Maud,” Ace said, looking Lord Ashton in the eye.
“Maud...Smith, I suppose. No, I don’t recall—”
Ace interrupted him. “She was very beautiful. And very young.”
Lord Ashton pondered this, then said, “Ah, yes, I do recall.” The hard lines of his face softened for an instant, as he seemed to cast his memory back to his time with Maud Smith.
“I did not know she bore a child as a result,” Lord Ashton said. “Otherwise, I would have helped financially.”
“Actually, my lord, she always told me that it was when she confessed she was carrying your child that you left her and never showed up again,” Ace said. Ace said it mildly, without showing the hatred he felt for the man.
“Whatever became of the lovely Maud?” asked Lord Ashton, trying to take the conversation in a more pleasant direction.
Ace did not wish to be patronized. “When you left her, she had no money to raise a child on,” Ace said. “So she was forced to become a prostitute just to feed me. She died some years later, an alcoholic and opium addict.”
Lord Ashton’s face went white. Ace hoped he was embarrassing and shaming the man thoroughly. It was the least he could do, in his mother’s memory.
“Well, you turned out very well. Sounds like you had some education along the way too.” Lord Ashton obviously was trying to relieve himself of responsibility for this tragedy.
“The local vicar took an interest in me. Found me in the workhouse and gave me a basic education.”
“Good old Church of England, eh?” Lord Ashton chuckled. “You can always count on them to produce a do-gooder.”
“Yes, it’s good to be able to count on someone,” Ace said pointedly.
“Well, I say, now that I know you, if I find myself at one of your big fights, I’ll come to the ring and say hello, shall I? My own son—who’d have thought it?”
“You may do as you wish, my lord,” Ace responded coldly. He stared at the bar top. He had not taken a single sip of wine from the glass Lord Ashton had paid for.
After some silence, Lord Ashton nudged him and said, “Standing here, looking at you—I think there’s a lot of me in you, young man.”
“On the contrary, my lord,” Ace said. “Now that I’ve met you, I realize there’s absolutely nothing of you in me at all.”
