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S ilas woke early on Monday morning, used the toilet, and washed himself. He could not help thinking about what the day would bring, and all the optimism Ezra had encouraged in him faded away as he toasted a few slices of leftover bread from Friday night and made himself a pot of tea. He was eating when Ezra came downstairs in his undershirt and shorts, his hair sleep-tousled.

“Is this to be your regular routine?” he asked, as he poured himself a cup of tea. He sat across from Silas and took a piece of buttered toast from his plate.

“As long as I continue to work,” Silas said. “Have you forgotten the significance of this date? The hearing to dismiss the charges against you is scheduled for this morning.”

“I thought of little else all night,” Ezra said. “Worrying that it will not go my way.”

Silas knew it was important for him to push aside his own worries and help Ezra feel better. “I have faith in Antony Wigton and Richard Pemberton,” Silas said. “And in my own work, finding material for them to take to court.”

“Your law has not always been right for my people. For Jews, or inverts.”

“You are the one who told me to be optimistic,” Silas said. “To enjoy the time we have together.”

“And what if they take me back to gaol from the courtroom?”

“They won’t,” Silas said, though he wasn’t sure. “You are on bail. That means you are free until your trial. Today’s hearing is merely to assess the charges against you in light of the information Rebecca provided to the police.”

He leaned over and kissed Ezra’s grizzled cheek. “You are to meet Wigton at his office. Will you be able to get there on your own?”

Ezra frowned. “I have made my way in London since I arrived. No need to treat me like a mother hen with a chick.”

Silas finished the last of his toast and wiped his mouth. “Then I will see you in court,” he said.

He fretted the whole way to Pemberton’s office, and could hardly concentrate on the work in front of him until it was time to accompany Pemberton to court. Outside, in the flurry of bewigged barristers and harried clerks, he spotted Ezra approaching, in his best suit, accompanied by Wigton.

Once again Silas was surprised at how quickly things went. Pemberton presented his case, and there was no argument from the crown’s prosecutor, so the charges were dismissed and Ezra was a free man. There was no mention made of his sexual condition.

Silas felt as if someone had inflated a balloon inside him. All the fear he had felt since the time of Ezra’s arrest floated up through him and out his mouth, leaving him with a curious feeling of lightness.

There were still obstacles to be overcome. Would Ezra be able to box again, either in London or out in the countryside? Would he have to relocate to France? Would Ezra have enough money to support both of them in the house in Hackney? If not, what would Silas do?

None of that mattered, though. Ezra was free and the specter of imprisonment that had loomed over him had been lifted. Everything else would happen as it would.

When Ezra was led out to have the bail restrictions lifted, Silas made to rise, but a finger from Pemberton told him to remain. A short time later, another barrister rose to address charges against Bertie Greenbaum and his enforcer Alfie Gibbons. The two cases were yoked together; Greenbaum was charged with running a betting operation, and Gibbons for the fatal punch to Nathan Walpert. Despite Greenbaum’s assurance that he had ample funds to secure his release, the judge would not grant either of them bail, and they were both remanded to Queen’s Bench Prison.

Only then did Pemberton rise, and Silas followed him outside.

“Do you need to meet with Mr. Curiel?” Pemberton asked.

“No, he said that once he was free, he would return to Hackney, and I will see him there this evening.”

He turned to Pemberton. “That was so easy. Are all cases dismissed so simply?”

“I did not feel comfortable telling you about this until after today’s hearing,” Pemberton said. “Saturday morning I received a message from Gerard Houghton, who was being held in gaol. He was caught in flagrante on Friday evening, and since this was his second offense, he was worried that he would have to serve gaol time.”

“What did you do?”

“I referred him to Antony Wigton, who met with him and convinced him that by offering up the information he had about Walpert’s murder, he might gain his freedom.”

“As I recall, he was reluctant to do anything that would bring him back into police orbit,” Silas said. “But I guess his urges were too strong.”

“They can be difficult to master,” Pemberton said, and Silas wondered once more about his employer. He was circumspect about his private life, and even after some time in the office Silas knew nothing about how he satisfied those urges himself.

They walked past the old woman and the hearth and outside. The weather had warmed a bit, so at least there was no punishingly cold wind.

“Houghton apparently had placed the odd bet with Greenbaum, and he knew the bookie could be a formidable opponent. He didn’t want to get on the man’s wrong side, until he had the choice of gaol.”

“I am still angry that he put Ezra through so much.”

“In the course of time working with me, Mr. Warner, you will learn that generally witnesses do what is best for them, not necessarily what is right or even within the law.” He slapped Silas on the back. “In any case, Antony Wigton arranged everything. Because the prosecutor already had another suspect in custody for the murder, along with an eye-witness, he was willing to discharge the charges against Ezra quickly.”

“What will happen to Houghton?”

“He has been strongly cautioned to keep his cock in his pants and his mouth to himself,” Pemberton said. “And that if he is arrested a third time, things will not go well for him, no matter what information he has to trade.”

“I feel sorry for him,” Silas said. “There have been a few occasions when I might have come to the attention of the police, but I was lucky.”

“And now you have a handsome man by your side, and a house where you can have your way with each other,” Pemberton said. “I envy you that.”

Silas was emboldened to ask, “Do you ever wish you could find a man of your own?”

“I am past those days,” Pemberton said. “Now I am happy to observe handsome young men, in art and in the flesh, and satisfy myself.”

Silas hoped that he would never come to that point. He wanted to be as old as Pemberton and still randy as a goat, particularly if he could have Ezra by his side.

Ezra began to visit the Ragged School each day. While the children were in class, he exercised in the yard, and then began to offer the same lessons in gymnastics and self-defense that had been previously offered, and found several young men he could mentor as boxers.

A week later, a letter arrived from Rebecca. She was settled in her father’s house and had made arrangements for the Bet Din, the court that would grant them a divorce, shortly after the new year.

“How do you feel about that?” Silas asked.

“I am happy, but frightened,” Ezra said. “Among my people, all I must do to divorce Rebecca is to announce that to her, once we have the blessing of the panel of rabbis. But she can be vindictive, and I worry that she will expose my nature to her family, and mine.”

“Must there be someone to blame?”

Ezra shrugged. “I don’t know. But this afternoon I spoke with the promoters at the New Cross arena, and was advised to wait until the new year to consider returning to the ring.”

“How do you feel about that?” Silas asked.

“I don’t mind taking some time off,” Ezra said. “With Bertie Greenbaum in gaol, there is some infighting among other bookmakers, and men are not betting as much as they have in the past. And there is much buzz in the arena, apparently. Most of it to do with my strength, and the possibility that I could have killed Walpert had I wanted to.”

“Did you ever hear the story about the tailor who said he had killed seven at one blow?”

Ezra shook his head. “Someone you knew?”

“No, one of the fairy stories I heard as a boy. The tailor killed seven flies with one swipe of his fist, and then bragged about it. A giant assumed he was talking about killing men, and challenged him to a fight.”

“Which the giant must have won.”

Silas shook his head. “No, the tailor was a clever man and he kept managing to best the giant. I can’t recall the ending other than that the tailor lived happily ever after.”

“Was there a point?”

“My father made it sound like the tailor was a braggart, and needed to be punished, but my mother insisted that the story was about how brains could triumph over strength.”

“And you, what do you think?”

“If I were writing the story, I would have the tailor and the giant fall in love,” Silas said. “Nothing can beat the combination of brains and strength.”

“Then we shall be an excellent pair,” Ezra said.