Page 46

They started back toward the boxing tent together.

“You got any fights lined up?” Jack asked conversationally. “Real fights, I mean.”

Benedict shot him a glance. “No.”

“I guess you and Nat Jones didn’t exactly part on speaking terms,” Jack continued. “He contacted you at all since you got out?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well,” Jack finally seemed to pick up on his brother’s pointed silence. He cleared his throat. “Me and Frank boxed a few times for him this past year,” he said casually. “Early on in the evening of course, not as headliners.” Benedict grunted. “He always rated you highly, though.”

“Not enough to give me a shot at a title,” Ben pointed out bitterly.

“Frank always figured he was working up to it.”

“Frank was ever an optimist,” Benedict said dryly.

“I ain’t so sure he is anymore,” Jack commented frankly. “He takes a drop too much of an evening now. Turns in early with a bottle most nights.”

Benedict shot his brother an incredulous look. “Frank? He’s no drinker.”

“Maybe he wasn’t,” Jack corrected him. “But that was before. Before Maggie left him, I mean.”

Benedict turned this over, remembering Frank’s untidy appearance that morning. “He seems to be holding things together,” he said with a frown.

Jack looked unconvinced. “I thought so too at first. He – er – went out a bit. Squired a few women about for a while, but I think it was just bravado.”

Benedict’s eyebrows snapped together. “He’s still a married man,” he heard himself point out like some kind of puritan.

Jack snorted. “So is Pa, it’s never stopped him picking up a new woman every year or so.”

“Frank’s not like Pa, and don’t you ever think it.”

“Damn it, I know that, Ben. None of us are!”

They continued silently a moment before Jack broke it with a cheerful, “You’ll never guess who has got leg-shackled this past year. Will Nye, to some schoolteacher and properly gone over the edge about her, he has too. Froths at the mouth if anyone so much as looks at her too long. He nearly planted me a facer for passing the time of day with her last spring. It was touch and go for a minute, and you know what a nasty left hook he has.”

“Nye, married?” Benedict asked with a flicker of interest. “I thought he’d buried himself in the wilds of Devon somewhere.”

“Cornwall,” Jack corrected him. “He took over his father’s inn. They host an evening of bouts there once a month. Mayhap you’ll get a spot at some point.”

“Doubtful.” He cast a look at Jack. “I’ve seen a bit of Clem since I got out,” he admitted.

“Clem Dabney?”

“Aye.”

“What’s he up to?” Jack asked. “I’ve not seen him since last November.”

“When last I saw him, he was on the brink of buying a theatre. Tried to get me to go in with him as a matter of fact.”

“Clem’s bought a theatre. What the devil for?” Jack asked, sounding astonished.

“He doesn’t want to end up in the workhouse,” Benedict answered dryly. “You know as well as I do, how most of our profession end up, Jack. You’ve got to play the long game.”

His brother gave him a hard look. “You’ve not blown it all, then? Your winnings. Only Frank and Ma thought you must have, and that’s why you’re back here.”

“With my tail between my legs?” Benedict interrupted him sarcastically. “Well, then they’re dead wrong. That’s not why I’m back.”