“Finally noticed me, have you?” the voice asked flirtatiously. “I been waiting for you to cast your eyes in my direction for an eternity, Clem Dabney. I thought that Goldie had sunk her talons in you good and proper.”
“You’re a local then, are you my beauty?” he responded gamely. “Now that does surprise me, for you’ve not the regional way of speech at all.”
“Good God, no!” the woman replied with sounding annoyed. “I’m no Cornish maid!”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Dabney replied, lowering his voice. “For I’ve no use for maidens, none at all. I prefer a more seasoned hand at the plough.”
“Prefer to ride below the crupper, do you?” she asked huskily. “I must confess I’ve no use for novices when it comes to plough my furrow.”
Mina flushed, she ought not to be listening to this, she thought. The terms might be agricultural, but she knew from their tone they were not discussing anything as wholesome as farming. She was just sliding her foot back for a stealthy retreat when she heard the front door open and close and a third voice raised to join the throng.
“Ah, there you are Clara,” said a booming voice. “I’ve secured a prime position in the courtyard and mean to sit atop our carriage to watch the next bout.”
“I was just telling Mr Dabney here, my dear how you’d laid your bets on him at the last three fights,” his lady answered bold as brass.
“That you, Dabney?” asked the voice in surprise. “Good gad sir, I’d have scarcely recognized you rigged up like a gent.”
“Oh yes, it’s me alright,” Clem Dabney answered good-naturedly. “By habit, I don’t tend to walk about stripped to the waist.”
“No,” mused the gentleman sounding surprised, as though he’d never considered that prizefighters might have lives outside the ring. “I suppose you wouldn’t, by God.”
“I’ll be out shortly, Cyril dear,” his companion dismissed him. “Mr. Dabney was going to introduce me to his lady friend, Miss Gold.”
“Oh,” the unfortunate Cyril responded without interest before another aspect occurred to him. “Now don’t you get distracting Dabney before his fight Clara,” he reproved her. “Needs all his concentration on defeating that bruiser Nye. Devilish ugly customer he can be. I lost my shirt when he defeated that Frenchie last June.”
“Nay sir, she won’t distract me,” Clem said easily. “Besides, there’s some of us that benefits from a last-minute distraction. I get too wound up if I’ve nothing else to focus on.”
“Oh?” Cyril sounded interested in this technique. “Well, in that case, proceed my dear fellow! You’ll join me when you’re ready Clara,” he said, his voice drifting away.
Clara giggled. “I didn’t realize you were fighting William Nye.” Her voice was breathy with excitement. “Maybe I should wait and offer the spoils to the victor,” she purred.
“Nay, one so beautiful could not be so cruel,” Clem murmured. “You’ll not abandon me so fast? Not when I’m so anxious to play the swain.”
She laughed at that. “You’ll not escape so easily, my big strong ox,” she told him. “For I mean to put a yoke on you before this night is ended, my fine, lusty ploughboy.” Mina hearing a rustling sound, guessed they were kissing.
“Oh, very well,” Clara conceded with a sigh. “In that case lead me to your rustic hayrick forthwith.”
“Aye and gladly,” he responded. “We’ve got half an hour for I fight at eight.”
Hurried footsteps mounted the staircase. Slowly, Mina advanced into the hall. She was trembling, she noticed as she reached for the bannister, with anger. So, the lady considered she might offer herself as a winner’s trophy to her husband did, she? Mina inwardly seethed as she climbed the steps to the attic. She did not know if Clem had been allotted a bed on the second or third floor, but she went slowly to ensure she had provided them with plenty of time to have ensconced themselves in his room.
She reached her bedroom without further occurrence and once there, made haste to don her nightgown and bed-socks and an unflattering nightcap besides. She drew the covers over her head and thought about the people currently spilling from every door in the inn. Disreputable types she thought them. A mix of sportsmen and villains.
Her mother would have been shocked to the core at such goings-on under her roof, she thought. But then, Mama’s own experience of life at Penarth had set her on the ruinous course path to divorce. She was not sure how Mama subsequently wound up marrying a respectable schoolmaster, for her parents had never spoken to her of such things. She supposed they must have drawn a discreet veil over Mama’s previous life. On reflection, perhaps it was not so strange that she had not known Jeremy even existed.
She turned over on the bed, furiously dragging the sheets with her. It took only a few moments with her eyes squeezed shut before she realized she was not going to get a wink of sleep. With an exclamation, she sat up and reached for the matches, lighting her candle. She would read the highwayman story, she told herself. She had only managed the first few pages before dropping off the previous night.
Still, try as she might, she found it hard to immerse herself in the story tonight. Other thoughts kept intruding, then too there was the background noise from the yard below. Though she could not make out any precise words being shouted she could hear the hoots and jeers drifting up to her window though
