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Surely not, Lizzie thought with dawning horror, but North was certainly wheezing with discomfort as he tried to fend off the procession of jabs Benedict was directing at his head.

“Winded, by gad,” her neighbor pronounced dolefully. “He’s blowing like a bellows!”

As soon as North managed to get his fists up to protect his face, Benedict returned to slamming his fist into North’s ribs. Lizzie winced. It seemed almost cruel to watch. The fickle crowd had turned again and now seemed to be enjoying the bigger man’s humiliation.

North rallied again, managing to throw out a few punches, but Benedict dodged and sidestepped, countering them with his own which seemed to be a good deal more effective.

No one was surprised when, moments later, a right landed on North’s jaw that sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Clapped out,” her neighbor said sadly. “Fellow’s done for.”

Lizzie swallowed and lifted her chin when Benedict swung about and looked straight at her. Their gazes clashed a moment, and then he turned back to watch his fallen opponent. Frank crouched down over North, speaking to him in measured tones.

To Lizzie’s alarm, the large man struggled into a seated position before clutching his ribs and groaning. Frank straightened up, still talking, and when the crowd saw North vehemently shake his head, they set up a disappointed groan. Frank crossed his arms and then pulled them apart. “It’s all over, gentlemen,” he pronounced loudly.

Lizzie’s shoulders slumped with relief. Benedict leaned over the back ropes. When he straightened back up, Lizzie realized he had been retrieving his shirt and jacket.

“I must say,” the whiskered gentleman complained, watching Frank help the fallen man to his friends on the other side of the square. “That blasted ruffian did not last half as long against Toomes as that brickmaker chap he faced off against before this!”

His friend laughed. “Toomes would not feel he had to hold back against a fellow professional.”

“My God!” breathed a voice behind them. Lizzie glanced back to see Mr. Mountford was stood behind her. He had removed his gray bowler hat to wipe his brow with a silk handkerchief.

Lizzie did not give him her attention for long as Benedict was walking toward her. Wordlessly, he passed his clothes to her and started wiping a cloth about his neck and face and then over his chest and arms. Lizzie extracted his vest from the pile, which he pulled on over his head, followed by his shirt, which she helped him button, followed by his waistcoat.

Frank came hurrying over. “Ben, will you come and have a word with Nat’s backers?”

“No,” he answered shortly, tying his neckerchief. “They saw what they came to see. Let them console their man North.” When Lizzie opened her mouth, he shot her a warning look and she left her words unspoken. Taking his jacket from her, he slung it over his arm and reached for her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Out of the corner of one eye, Lizzie saw Frederick Mountford following in their wake. She kept one hand on Sebastian and let Benedict propel the three of them forward. The crowd seemed to part automatically for him, though a few brave souls attempted a back slap or a shoulder squeeze as he passed by.

Lizzie felt half deafened by the time they had passed out of the tent. She nodded to Maggie as they passed her, but she had her mouth half-open and did not attempt to speak.

“We’re meeting my aunt and cousin at the exit,” she explained. “Did I introduce you to Mr. Mountford, Benedict?” she asked, hoping she was not still shouting.

Benedict half-turned his head and nodded.

“A pleasure, sir,” yelled Mountford, hastening to fall in step beside them. “This is very good of you, indeed.”

“It’s my wife you need to thank,” Benedict responded grudgingly.

“Will it matter that you did not take the time to converse with Mr. Jones’s friends?” Lizzie asked anxiously. “Frank seemed to think – ”

“Very little,” Benedict retorted. “They didn’t come to talk to me.” He spat and Lizzie hoped it was not blood. Very few of Mr. North’s punches had seemed to land, but she was sure even a graze from those huge fists would wreak some damage.

“Did they bring Mr. North to test you, then?” she asked, and he cocked an eye at her.

“Picked up on that, did you?”

“I did not see Jack at all.”

Benedict gave a short laugh. “He was buried under a mountain of bets.”

“A bookmaker would have made a pretty penny on such a match,” Mr. Mountford interjected and was ignored.

“Will you not put your coat on?” Lizzie fretted. “There is quite a chill in the air.”

Benedict glanced down at his jacket over his arm as though he had forgotten all about it. He stopped to pull it on, and Mr. Mountford, catching sight of Betsy and Mrs. Anderson in the distance, ran on ahead to assure them they were on their way. Sebastian barked after him disapprovingly.