Sion did not answer, for he knew that to impress Ned Chaps he had to at least show potential. He took several blows to his torso but managed to stay on his feet.
Sion was a faster man than Duggans, and he needed all of his speed and all of his skill. Despite his quickness, he took a great many hard blows. He could have avoided these simply by dodging and weaving, but he knew that was not what Chaps was looking for. Time and again he sent hard blows toward the champion. It was like striking a tree trunk. However, from time to time, when he got a blow in at the midsection, right where the ribs meet over the stomach, he was rewarded by hearing grunts from Duggans.
Finally he was caught by surprise by a blow directly to his jaw. It drove him backward, and he heard a cry go up from the observers. His head was swimming, but he shook it and came up in a position to fight.
Duggans said, “He can take a punch, Ned. Do you want to go on with this?”
“What do you think, Earl?”
“I think you ought to give him a try.” He dropped his hands and came forward. “There's many a man taking money for fighting that haven't got what you've got, lad. What'd you say your name was?”
“Sion.”
“Zion?” He pronounced it with a
Z
.
“No. Sion with an
S
.”
“That's a good Welsh name,” Ned Chaps said as he came over with a pleased expression. “I'll arrange a bout the same time Earl has his. We'll see how it goes. You need any money?”
“Aye, a little. I'm helping a friend back in Wales.”
“Helping a friend? Well, here's a bit you can help him with. We'll fix you a place to stay. You can be Earl's sparring partner. He needs to see some of that quickness for this bout coming up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chaps.”
“You hear that? He's got manners, Earl.”
“He can have manners enough for both of us.” Earl grinned.
“That's right. Never mind your manners in a fight,” Chaps said. “That's lesson number one.”
****
Four months of fighting all over England had made a difference in the way that Sion Kenyon thought. He had won most of his bouts, but he had also lost a few, two of them by knockouts.
“The more experienced you get, the better you get,” Chaps said. “Tell me. Do you like to fight?”
“No, I don't.”
“I thought so. Well, it's a hard life. Not much worse than coal mining, is it?”
“About the same, I'd say. I'd hate to do either of them for the rest of my life.”
“Become a champion, and then you'll be rich and make me rich, too.”
The worst time that Sion had during this period came at the end of it when he fought a forty-two round fight against Benjamin Brain on a barge anchored to a wharf on the River Thames. He was badly beaten and unable to fight for the next month. Chaps had cleaned him up after they got back to the inn and said, “It was my fault, Sion. I overmatched you. Another year or two, and you'll take this mate. You did fine. Just fine.”
Sion was dizzy and ached all over from the battering he had taken from Big Ben. He took the money that Chaps offered him and spoke his thanks. “There was a chap on the wharf who gave me ten pounds. If he'd give ten pounds to a loser, think what he'd give to a winner.”
Sion paid little attention to the words. He was thinking of the last letter he had received from Glenda. She did all of the writing at the dictation of her husband, and she had added a footnote that read,
Another month, and Rees will be able to go back to work. I can't tell you how much in your debt we are, Sion. You have fed us and clothed us and kept us going, and God will bless you for it
.
Sion looked up at Ned and said, “You know, Ned, when I don't have to send money to my friend and his family, I won't be doing this anymore.”
Ned Chaps studied the battered features of the young man. “It's bad business for me to say so, but I think that would be a good decision. Many a man I know is walking around with only half a brain. I wouldn't want that to happen to you, Sion. Not to a fellow Welshman.”
“We understand each other, then. When I don't need to do this anymore, I'll walk away from it.”
“That's fine. You do it, then.”
Chapter Seven
Strange Encounter
Sir Bartley Gordon looked strangely out of place among the milling crowd in the empty factory building that had gathered to watch two chickens try to kill each other. Most of the spectators were roughly and crudely dressed, but Gordon, a member of the aristocracy, looked almost like a peacock in his fine feathers. He wore a pair of snow-white silk stockings, a waistcoat that would have put Joseph's coat of many colors to shame, and a frock coat with turned-back sleeves and studded with mother-of-pearl buttons down the front. Around his neck a crimson scarf blazed colorfully enough almost to blind the onlookers, and to crown his outfit a large ostrich plume rose high out of his three-cornered hat.
As Gordon watched the two birds encounter each other in a vicious melee, his face was tight with anticipation. Gordon was flanked by two members of an obviously lower-class station. Rook Gere was a big, hulking brute with a thick neck and large hamlike hands. Charlie Yule was a thin man with a catfish mouth and a sly expression. All three of the men were half drunk.
As a cry of victory went up from the winners and a moan of defeat from the losers, Gere said, “Too bad, Gordon. You bet on the wrong one.”
“The bird was a coward!” Gordon snorted. He pulled a flask from his inside pocket and worked his throat convulsively as he swallowed. He did not offer the others a drink from the silver flask, but they had brought their own and helped themselves as the handlers of the birds, both winner and loser, went in to collect their charges. The loser lay slashed to pieces by the razor-sharp steel spurs attached to the heels of the other.
The crowd milled around waiting for the next event, but Gordon was disgusted. He had lost moneyâa great deal of itâon this visit, and now he muttered, “I'm sick of this place. The birds are no good.”
“Too right,” Charlie Yule agreed. “Let's go find some more action.”
The three men left the building and found themselves in a pea-soup fog. London was a murky place indeed when the fog came rolling in to mingle with the cinders and smoke from the thousands of chimneys that burned the black coal dug from the bowels of the earth. The air was particularly foul today, the smoke seeming to fall out of the chimneys instead of rising up into the air and dissipating. The men shouldered their way along, Gordon flanked by his two lieutenants, shoving anyone they happened to encounter out of the way. More than once they were accosted by one of the many harlots who worked in this section of London. Gere said once, “What do you say we have a go at these women?”
“I'm not anxious to get the pox!” Gordon snapped.
The city of London was an excellent place to encounter the pox, for prostitutes swarmed the city streets. But Gordon had been infected twice already and had no desire to go through the terribly painful cure once again. The three men stopped at a tavern and drank for a while, and by the time they staggered out, the streets were less crowded, but the sounds coming from the inns and taverns that lined both sides of the avenue were loud. Sir Bartley Gordon was still in a foul mood, angry at having suffered such losses at the cockfight. When this happened he usually struck out at someone vulnerable. His power, money, and high connections had saved him from paying for this sort of behavior, but now he blinked and stared through the murky fog, ready to exercise his will on anyone weaker.
âââ
Sabrina took the bank notes from the small gray-haired man and handed over the necklace. “Thank you,” she murmured and tucked the bills into a small reticule.
The jeweler shook his head. “Not wise to walk the streets with that much cash, miss.”
“I'm only going a short way. I'll be all right.”
“If you were wise, you'd leave that cash here and pick it up in the morning.”
Sabrina shook her head. She had left her aunt's house earlier after having a furious argument with her. Elberta had informed her that she was insane to leave England, that she would be scalped by the red Indians, but Sabrina had paid her no heed. Her mind was made up, and she was anxious for the adventure to begin. Now that she had the cash in hand, she did not want to turn loose of it. She was not an expert in bargaining, but she had held out for a good price for the diamond necklace. She felt the weight of the money and the pleasant plumpness of the reticule and felt that she was not ready to surrender it even for one night.
“I'll be fine. Thank you, sir,” said Sabrina as she left the store.
Nervously she peered through the fog for a hackney carriage, but there seemed to be none on this narrow, twisted street. She straightened her back and walked on, passing many inns and taverns. The sounds of the city seemed to be muffled by the heavy blanket of fog. Suddenly three dark forms loomed up in front of her. She shrank back against the shop that banked the street and allowed them to pass, but instead the smaller of the men suddenly turned to confront her. The two other men, one of them very large and the other tall and thin, formed a half circle around her. “Well, now, what have we here? A lady of the evening, no doubt.”
“Let me pass,” Sabrina said as firmly as she could. She was aware of the reticule filled with money, and fear came on her as she thought of what could happen in a situation like this. She berated herself for not giving heed to the jeweler's advice, but now tried to appear more confident than she felt. “Get out of my way!” she demanded.
The smaller of the men, she saw, was dressed in an expensive, ornate outfit. Taking a good look at his face, she suddenly recognized the man, for she had met him briefly at social functions. “Pardon me, Sir Bartley. I must hurry.”
Bartley Gordon was very drunk. He peered at the woman closely. “You know me?”
“Yes. I'm Miss Fairfax. We've met several times.”
“Well, it is indeed Miss Fairfax!” He stepped closer, and Sabrina could smell the raw alcohol on his breath. He was smiling at her crookedly, and there was something sinister about the man that frightened her. “You wouldn't give me a dance the last time we met in Bath. Perhaps we'll have one now.”
“Please let me go. I'm late.”
“There's no hurry.” Gordon took her arm and turned to give Gere a wink. “This lady refused the pleasure of my company. Can you believe that, Gere?”
“Hard to believe, Sir Bartley. But she can't refuse you now.” Gere laughed coarsely and said, “Go on and have your dance.”
Gordon was obviously enjoying his moment. When Sabrina tried to pull away, he closed his hand and held her tightly. “Now, there's no hurry.” He laughed drunkenly and turned to nod at Yule. “She won't be so proud now. Her father lost all his money. From what I heard you were thrown out on the streets. Well, you and I may be able to fix that.” He pulled her closer and tried to kiss her, but Sabrina turned her head and shoved him away.
“You're not a gentleman! You never were!”
The words inflamed Gordon. “Not a gentleman! Well, you're not a lady, so that makes us even. Come along. You can show me a good time. Maybe I can make up some of the money your fool of a father threw away.”
Rook Gere suddenly laughed. “She's got a purse there. Me and Yule will take that, and you can have her, Sir Bartley.”
“That sounds fair enough. Come along, sweetheart.”
Sabrina suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs. “Please, somebody help me! Somebody comeâplease!”
Gordon slapped her across the side of the face, and the cry was broken off. “Shut your mouth, wench!” he snarled. “You had your fun with me, and now it's my turn to get some of my own back!” He started dragging her toward the mouth of an alley that opened darkly ten feet away. Sabrina continued to cry out for help, but again he cuffed her, and she fought him with all of her strength.
Gere and Yule laughed, and it was Yule who said, “Let's have that reticule, woman. It'll get in your way while you're having your dance with your gentleman friend here.”
Yule reached out and made a grab for the reticule, but Sabrina jerked it back and with a catlike swipe ran her fingernails down the side of his face. They broke the skin, and Yule let out a screeching cry. He cursed and said, “Come on, Rook, help me get that bag.”
Black terror filled Sabrina. She had never in her life been threatened in any way, and now she knew that the very worst awaited her. She cried out again and this time tried to dodge as Sir Bartley Gordon struck at her with his fist. One of his blows caught her high on the forehead, and stars suddenly wheeled in front of her eyes. She fell back against the brick wall of the building and felt the hands of one of the men pulling at her reticuleâbut at the same time she heard a new voice.
“All right, you threeâscratch for it!”
Sabrina turned and saw that a man had appeared out of the fog and now stood confronting the three who were gathered around her. “Please help me!” she cried.
“On your way, fellow!” Bartley Gordon snapped. “This is none of your affair!”
“I'll go, and I'll just take the lady with me.”
Sabrina could not see the face of the speaker clearly, but she noticed a slight foreign quality to his speech. He didn't appear to be carrying a weapon. She started to get up off the ground, saying, “Help me get away!”
Rook Gere clamped his huge hand on her arm. “Stay right where you are!” he growled and then turned to face the newcomer. “Get out of here or I'll break your face!”
Sabrina was aware of the crushing power of this man. His hand on her arm was so powerful that it was paralyzing her. She tried to pull away, but she might as well have been encased in cement.