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“W hat is on your agenda , or Janner’s?” Raoul asked John, as they lay together in bed on Sunday morning.

“I will devote today to helping Silas,” John said. “I will head to New Cross and speak to the locals about the boxing ring, and if it is dangerous to be around there at night. It is possible that Mr. Walpert’s death was at the hands of a thief who was angered that Walpert had nothing to steal.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Raoul asked.

“I could use your language skills,” John said. “Especially if I run across any Frenchmen or Germans.”

“I should look French, but common,” Raoul said. “I can manage that. I still have some clothes I wore at university.”

John smiled. “So fine living hasn’t expanded your waistline since then?”

“I did little enough fine living until I met you. And my university clothes were hand-me-downs from Father Maurice, so they were baggy even then.”

After a quick breakfast, they dressed without Beller’s help, as he regularly took Sundays off to visit his family. And, John suspected, court a young lady whom he had met through the offices of his sister. If Beller proposed, he would have to inform her of the character of the home where he served, and ensure she was agreeable to join their household. If she wasn’t, then Beller would have to choose between her and his position.

The position wasn’t much, John admitted as he and Raoul walked out. Raoul had grudgingly accepted Beller’s help in maintaining his wardrobe, and Beller and Jane, the housemaid, kept the home clean. Beller helped John with his broadsides by asking questions of his acquaintances and running errands.

If Beller were to marry, his wife would take over the maid’s duties, and perhaps some of the cooking. John and Raoul were both out all day during the week, John on his research and Raoul at his office. They dined out most nights, at parties or at the local chophouse. By virtue of his title, John was welcome anywhere that Raoul was invited to represent the French embassy. Hostesses were always glad to have an extra man on hand, especially one who held a title and could dance.

Someday, his father would die, and John would inherit the Earl’s title and Briar House on Eaton Square. Beller would become the butler and his wife the housekeeper, and there would be footmen and maids and perhaps even separate valets for him and Raoul. He would have to entertain as well as provide a city residence for his sisters, if they chose to visit.

It was all too much to contemplate, he thought. They walked outside and he hailed a carriage, which passed by without a second look. Then he remembered how they were dressed. He took off his flat cap and straightened his shoulders, assuming an air of lordship even though his coat was shabby. Another carriage passed them by, but the third pulled to a stop.

“Deptford Green,” he told the carriage driver, and handed him a coin.

He and Raoul climbed inside. “Is that address near the boxing hall?” Raoul asked.

“A few blocks away. An easy landmark to head for, and I never like to alight from a carriage in the immediate vicinity where I intend to conduct my enquiries.” He pulled the flat cap from his pocket and affected a lower-class accent. “Don’t want anyone to think I’m a toff.”

Raoul laughed. “You are the best at concealing your true self of anyone I have ever met. Even Father Maurice, who hid his desires from his congregation, could not keep up the farce to me.”

“It is a skill I learned early,” John said, as the carriage racketed over the cobblestones. “Both at home and at school. It was too dangerous to let anyone know the real me.”

“I learned similar skills of deception from Father Maurice,” Raoul said. “It has been hard for me to shed those habits. Only with you do I feel I can really be myself.”

“It must be very difficult for Silas’s lover,” John said. “To be in such a masculine profession, constantly in contact with other men’s bodies, and yet hold back.”

“And outside the ring, he has a wife,” Raoul said. “Imagine the deception necessary there.”

“We don’t know if he performs with her as he does with Silas,” John said. “Many men do. And they are content with the bifurcated nature of their existence.”

“Able to match their desires to the one they are with,” Raoul said. “It still seems awkward to me.”

The carriage reached their destination and John gave the driver an extra farthing for his trouble. It was a Sunday morning, so many of those they passed on the street were in their church-going clothes and not to be disrupted. Raoul heard his native language coming from a group of men smoking cigarettes in front of a barber shop, and he left John to speak with them.

John aimed for an older man sitting on a bench at the edge of the green, in view of the boxing arena. “Know what time the fights start?” he asked, as he sat down.

“Only practice today,” the man said. “Ain’t right to box on the Lord’s holy day.” Then he laughed. “Not like you’d find any holy men there any day of the week.”

John pulled a paper packet of cigarettes and a box of matches from his pocket, and offered a smoke to the stranger. “Don’t mind if I do,” the man said.

John struck a match and lit the man’s cigarette and his own. He didn’t smoke, as a habit, but found it a useful way to insinuate himself with a stranger he wanted to speak to.

“You get over there any?” John asked. “I’m John, by the way.”

“Eddy. And thank ye for the smoke.” He inhaled deeply. “I like watching the boxing of an evening, but you wouldn’t catch me betting.”

“Really? Why not? Are the matches fixed?”

“Sometimes.” Eddy took a deep drag on his cigarette. “You get a real good fighter, like Big Mo, that African man, and you know you can’t bet against him. Nobody hardly does except the fools.”

“What about that Jew—the Hammering Hebrew, they call him.”

“Ah, he’s a smart one. Ye’ve only to watch him on his feet to see he knows what he’s about. Naw, the ones ye know the name of, they’re fighting on the square. It’s when they put up two local lads that men can win or lose money. Those are the ones I think are fixed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” John said. “What about the neighborhood? Is it safe to walk around at night? I heard a man was murdered there a while ago.”

“It’s dicey, I’ll give ye that,” Eddy said. “If I’m out and about I like to stay to the main streets. Course, I don’t look like I’m worth the trouble to rob from. But they get up to odd things in those alleys. Men with men, if ye know what I mean.”

“I’ll steer clear, then,” John said. He finished his cigarette, bid good-day to Eddy, and continued toward the boxing arena.

Raoul joined him on the way. “I could not find any Frenchman who might be able to give me information, but I did encounter a rather shifty-eyed man who tried to entice me into an alley where he could service me.”

“You didn’t accept, did you?”

Raoul shook his head. “You are quite enough for me to handle, mon cher. But I heard some German in his accent, and I told him I’d give him a coin if he’d talk to me for a few minutes.”

“And did he have anything interesting to say?”

“He didn’t know anything about boxing, but he did say that he knew Nathan Walpert when they were both boys.”

“Really?”

“They attended the same Ragged School for a while. But Walpert was smart and found a way out, while the fellow I spoke with didn’t have the same head for numbers or writing. He left the school and began to make his way the only way he could, with his mouth and arse.”

“That is sad,” John said. “I wish there was more we could do for these boys.”

“This fellow might have started out as a boy, but he was a full-grown man,” Raoul said. “He did say that when they were boys, he had tried to convince young Nathan to pick up a few extra coins with him, and Nathan was torn. He might easily have ended up in the same situation if it wasn’t for his schoolmaster.”

They followed their instincts for the rest of the morning and then the early afternoon. In separate conversations, they learned more about the dangerous nature of the streets around the boxing arena, where men who were big winners might be followed into the darkness. A regular bettor said that the man who controlled the numbers was called Bertie Greenbaum, and they also heard the name Alfie Gibbons, who might work for Greenbaum or might be another bookie. It wasn’t clear.

Their ramblings eventually took them to the Thames, where they had a rare view of the Cutty Sark, the clipper ship that was at the height of the tea trade, making its way down the river toward the Channel, and then the Orient.

“Magnificent, isn’t she?” John asked. “They say she cost over sixteen thousand pounds to build, can reach Shanghai in three and a half months, and can carry a million pounds of tea.”

“Yes, quite a marvel,” Raoul said. “We French have nothing to compare to her.”

He sniffed John’s breath. “You have smoked quite a lot today. You must wash your mouth out when we return home if you have hope for any kisses this evening.”

“No reward for all I have learned?” John said in mock dismay.

“Oh, there will be a reward,” Raoul said. “But only under my conditions.”

“Harsh taskmaster,” John said. He stuffed his flat cap back in his pocket and set out to gain a carriage to take them home. He would pass on what he learned to the others on Monday.