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Nine

A dozen men walked stoically out of a door that led to a corridor.

They wore nondescript black suits. “Back now, back!” the middle-aged man in charge called out.

The crowd roared as it accommodated them and created a narrow path.

The men lined up six on each side of the path, close enough they could touch each other if they reached out their arms, presumably so that none of the spectators could come between them.

Soon three men walked out of the corridor and down the path.

The man in the lead wore a plain white shirt buttoned to his collar.

His hair was somewhere between blond and brown with dark muttonchops that extended down to his jaw.

He could have been anywhere between the ages of twenty-five to forty-five.

It was impossible to tell. He walked with comical pomposity, his nose in the air and his step measured and formal.

A mixture of cheers and boos greeted him when the crowd got a good look at him.

“Do they not like him?” Eliza leaned over to ask Lord David.

He gave a brisk shake of his head. “That’s Mr. Rodney Carstone, a member of Gummidge’s, a rival club across town. He’s been claiming to any who would listen that he could beat Cavell. Some of his club has come, but it sounds like most are ours.”

Indeed the jeers now far outweighed the cheers as Mr. Carstone climbed into the ring and walked from corner to corner with his chest puffed out, his expression smug.

He didn’t strut around for long before the cheers started up in earnest as Simon walked through the door.

The crowd surged toward him as one, unsettling her footing.

She might have stumbled had Lord David not been standing next to her.

He reached forward and took hold of Jenny, who held on to his forearm to steady herself.

She called a thank-you to Lord David, but a raucous cheer filled the room, swallowing up the words.

Simon bounced on the balls of his feet, his gaze straight ahead as he made his way to the ring.

His hair was pulled back similar to the style he’d worn on the night they met.

It was tied in a queue at the crown of his head.

The effect was startling in how it emphasized the planes and angles of his cheeks and jaws.

He seemed dangerous and single-minded in his pursuit of victory.

His glittering eyes only enhanced the effect.

She had kissed this man twice. The memory did very pleasant and joyful things to her insides.

Lord Leigh was in his entourage, which surprised her. She’d never seen him less than formally dressed, but he was now. He wore trousers and shirtsleeves with a black silk waistcoat, but no coat or tie.

Simon climbed the dais and stepped through the satin ropes.

His breeches were the color of parchment and he wore a white shirt.

Unlike his opponent, his was open at the neck, and she caught a glimpse of dark chest hair.

His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms and, she imagined, to not hamper his reach.

Lord Leigh stood outside the ropes, intent on whispering last-minute instructions to Simon.

She might have tried harder to figure out what he said if she’d been less preoccupied with the state of Simon’s chest. A very small part of her regretted that she hadn’t let the night in her bedroom play out as it might have had she not corrected his assumption.

Mr. Carstone had stopped his preening before the audience and turned his attention to Simon.

He paced from side to side on his end of the ring, watching Simon as he did so.

Eliza had never seen a bare-knuckle brawl before, or any brawl really, save for one or two between neighborhood children when she was growing up.

But by looking at the two of them, she really didn’t see how Mr. Carstone would have been foolish enough to challenge Simon.

He had the fit but slight physique of a gentleman who spent his leisure time in genteel pursuits.

Simon wasn’t a terribly large man, either, but his chest was solid and she had felt the power restrained in his arms. Mr. Carstone didn’t stand a chance.

An older man stepped to the center of the ring.

He was bald with a thick neck and frame that made him appear as if he’d lived most of his life brawling.

He motioned to both men and they stepped over to join him.

He introduced them both, yelling out their names to the same cheers and jeers as earlier.

Then he started speaking only to them. She had no idea what he was saying to them—the rules of the fight, perhaps?

This was followed by the men shaking hands as well as they could, considering both men’s hands were wrapped with some sort of batting that left only their fingers free.

They each retreated to their side. Lord Leigh was on the floor now, but she could see the top of his head, as if he stood upon a stool, and he was talking to Simon, who nodded. A bell rang and the match started.

The men paced in a circle, the hands of a clock careful to face each other.

Simon indicated with his hands that Mr. Carstone should come to him, but the man didn’t move forward.

For the first time that night, Eliza thought she might have caught a glimpse of fear in Mr. Carstone’s face.

Perhaps he now realized what challenging Simon really meant—certain defeat in front of hundreds of witnesses.

To his credit, he didn’t back away. She could see that Simon was losing his patience.

He indicated the man should charge, but Mr. Carstone held his ground.

Simon yelled something to him, but it was swallowed by the spectators before it reached her.

Finally, Simon charged him. The man backed up, eliciting a chorus of boos from the crowd.

Simon caught him against the ropes and landed the first punch right in his stomach.

Mr. Carstone doubled over but recovered himself before Simon could do more damage, although Eliza would have bet anything that Simon was holding back. He’d prefer sport over annihilation.

The attack seemed to make Mr. Carstone’s fear turn to ire.

He charged Simon and they both staggered across the ring in a sort of bear hug until Simon was pressed against the ropes on the other side.

Mr. Carstone pummeled him with a series of punches that had him moving like an automaton, each blow timed perfectly after the one before it to not allow Simon to retaliate.

Simon rolled away from him, however, and the man lost his balance and fell forward.

Simon tugged his shoulder and turned him around and hit him square across his jaw.

They exchanged blows for a while, continuing to make circles around the ring.

Even from as far away as she was, Eliza could tell that Mr. Carstone was breathing fast, but Simon still seemed fresh.

A bell rang and the men retreated to their corners.

The pause lasted for a minute or so before the bell brought them both to their feet.

This time his opponent seemed to approach with renewed vigor.

He ran over yelling and dealt a hard blow to Simon’s jaw.

Everyone screamed like mad and Simon stumbled backward.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Eliza’s hands tightened into hard fists that had her nails digging into her palm. She didn’t like to see him like this.

He recovered quickly and returned the blow and added another for good measure, but he retreated again. He was clearly toying with the man and she didn’t understand why. When Mr. Carstone hit with his full strength, Eliza was convinced that Simon held back.

“Why is he doing that? He could finish the thing now if he wanted,” she said to Lord David.

“Good eye.” He nodded in approval. “If he finishes too quickly, everyone will be upset. They came for a good show and he gives them one. It’s why they pay so much to see him.”

Eliza took in the people around her. They were all mesmerized by the drama playing out before them. It was a drama, she realized. It was sport set to theater. She hoped Simon received a portion of the ticket sales.

Even with the show, it was clear that Mr. Carstone wasn’t up to snuff.

The fight finished after another couple minutes of back-and-forth, until Simon finally landed a blow that knocked Carstone to the ground.

He was moving, but he didn’t get back up before the official-looking man called a halt to the game and announced Simon as the winner.

A rumble of applause and cheers went up that seemed to vibrate the entire building. Simon had won. Despite that it had been a foregone conclusion, satisfaction filled her, bringing with it an energy that reminded her of why she had come. The fight was icing on the cake. She had come to see Simon.

“Will you take us back to see him?” she asked Lord David.

He frowned. “That’s not wise.”

None of this night had been wise. “If you don’t take us, then I’ll find a way to go back there myself, and my sister, being a devoted and kind sort, will feel obligated to accompany me. I thought I would offer you the opportunity to help.”

He glanced at Jenny as if to ask, Is she always like this? Jenny laughed and laced her arms with Eliza’s. “Come, let us go talk to Mr. Cavell.”

They made their way through the sea of people to the doors where the fighters had entered, and Lord David followed them.