who was fussing about him. Gentleman Jackson appeared to be remonstrating with Lord Tregarthan, but the beau just smiled and stripped off his coat, his waistcoat, and his shirt. Then he turned and faced his opponent.
The laughter died and there was a murmur of admiration. Jane screwed the telescope so hard into her eye that she carried a red mark around it for all of the next day.
The beau stood in the middle of the ring, stripped to the waist. His skin was white and fine. When he moved, the light of the sun caught the beautiful liquid rippling of his muscles.
‘Strips well,’ murmured the man below Jane. ‘How stand the odds?’
‘Seven to one now,’ grunted his companion.
The beau waved to the crowd. His hair gleamed guinea-gold. He had a high-nosed handsome profile. A great silence fell on the crowd as Gentleman Jackson held up his hands. His stentorian voice carried far over the downs in the still air. There was not even a breath of wind.
‘Gentlemen!’ cried Jackson. ‘Sir Bartholomew Anstey’s nominee is Jack Death, fighting at thirteen-eight, and Lord Tregarthan’s nominee is . . . Lord Tregarthan, fighting at eleven stone-three. No person can be allowed at the inner ropes save the referee and time-keeper. All ready?’
‘Too light,’ complained the voice below. ‘Shan’t bet on Tregarthan. Too light. Corinthian though he is, Jack Death’ll kill him.’
‘No! He cannot!’ squeaked Jane in alarm. She lost her grip and fell out of the tree at the feet of the two men below.
Her hat tumbled from her head.
One of the men turned out to be Mr Wright, the village blacksmith.
‘
Miss Jane!
’ he exclaimed. ‘Off along home with you.’
‘Don’t tell my mother,’ gasped Jane. ‘Oh,
please
, Mr Wright.’
‘Reckon I won’t,’ said the blacksmith who had no love for the cheese-paring Mrs Hart. ‘But I will, mark you, if you don’t get out o’ here sharpish.’
Suddenly horrified at what would happen to her should anyone else spot her and tell her mother, Jane crammed her hat down on her eyes and ran all the way home. Although she managed to enter the house unobserved, she received a stern dressing-down from her governess for having missed her lessons in the schoolroom. But Jane escaped the birch beating she usually received for any misdemeanour by bursting into overwrought tears.
Alarmed, and sure she had some dangerous infection, the governess rushed to tell Mrs Hart – for she had never known Jane cry before. Jane was promptly put to bed. The doctor, hurriedly summoned, diagnosed brain fever caused by an excess of lessons, for he had once made advances to the governess and had had them rejected. His prescription was that Jane should spend six weeks away from her books.
Normally this would have delighted Jane, but all that day she tossed and turned, imagining the beautiful Lord Tregarthan being beaten to a pulp. When the maid came in with Jane’s bedtime glass of hot milk, Jane could bear the suspense no longer. Struggling up against the pillows, she asked as casually as she could. ‘What was the outcome of the prize fight?’
‘Young ladies should not know about such things,’ said the maid repressively, placing the glass of milk by the bedside and heading for the door.
‘Oh,
Martha
,’ pleaded Jane.
Martha suddenly grinned and came and sat on the bed. ‘Well, Miss Jane, you never did! ’Tis said Lord Tregarthan himself went into the ring against Jack Death and he floored him in the fifteenth round. Jack Death was bleeding so hard about the face he could not see and my lord did not even have a mark on him. Seems my lord’s man was bedded with the fever the night before so my lord decided to fight himself. How they cheered him!’
Jane burst into tears of relief.
‘Quiet,’ hissed Martha, looking anxiously at the door. ‘You’ll get me into trouble. You should never have asked me.’
She waited anxiously until Jane gulped and smiled and said, ‘I shall do very well
The laughter died and there was a murmur of admiration. Jane screwed the telescope so hard into her eye that she carried a red mark around it for all of the next day.
The beau stood in the middle of the ring, stripped to the waist. His skin was white and fine. When he moved, the light of the sun caught the beautiful liquid rippling of his muscles.
‘Strips well,’ murmured the man below Jane. ‘How stand the odds?’
‘Seven to one now,’ grunted his companion.
The beau waved to the crowd. His hair gleamed guinea-gold. He had a high-nosed handsome profile. A great silence fell on the crowd as Gentleman Jackson held up his hands. His stentorian voice carried far over the downs in the still air. There was not even a breath of wind.
‘Gentlemen!’ cried Jackson. ‘Sir Bartholomew Anstey’s nominee is Jack Death, fighting at thirteen-eight, and Lord Tregarthan’s nominee is . . . Lord Tregarthan, fighting at eleven stone-three. No person can be allowed at the inner ropes save the referee and time-keeper. All ready?’
‘Too light,’ complained the voice below. ‘Shan’t bet on Tregarthan. Too light. Corinthian though he is, Jack Death’ll kill him.’
‘No! He cannot!’ squeaked Jane in alarm. She lost her grip and fell out of the tree at the feet of the two men below.
Her hat tumbled from her head.
One of the men turned out to be Mr Wright, the village blacksmith.
‘
Miss Jane!
’ he exclaimed. ‘Off along home with you.’
‘Don’t tell my mother,’ gasped Jane. ‘Oh,
please
, Mr Wright.’
‘Reckon I won’t,’ said the blacksmith who had no love for the cheese-paring Mrs Hart. ‘But I will, mark you, if you don’t get out o’ here sharpish.’
Suddenly horrified at what would happen to her should anyone else spot her and tell her mother, Jane crammed her hat down on her eyes and ran all the way home. Although she managed to enter the house unobserved, she received a stern dressing-down from her governess for having missed her lessons in the schoolroom. But Jane escaped the birch beating she usually received for any misdemeanour by bursting into overwrought tears.
Alarmed, and sure she had some dangerous infection, the governess rushed to tell Mrs Hart – for she had never known Jane cry before. Jane was promptly put to bed. The doctor, hurriedly summoned, diagnosed brain fever caused by an excess of lessons, for he had once made advances to the governess and had had them rejected. His prescription was that Jane should spend six weeks away from her books.
Normally this would have delighted Jane, but all that day she tossed and turned, imagining the beautiful Lord Tregarthan being beaten to a pulp. When the maid came in with Jane’s bedtime glass of hot milk, Jane could bear the suspense no longer. Struggling up against the pillows, she asked as casually as she could. ‘What was the outcome of the prize fight?’
‘Young ladies should not know about such things,’ said the maid repressively, placing the glass of milk by the bedside and heading for the door.
‘Oh,
Martha
,’ pleaded Jane.
Martha suddenly grinned and came and sat on the bed. ‘Well, Miss Jane, you never did! ’Tis said Lord Tregarthan himself went into the ring against Jack Death and he floored him in the fifteenth round. Jack Death was bleeding so hard about the face he could not see and my lord did not even have a mark on him. Seems my lord’s man was bedded with the fever the night before so my lord decided to fight himself. How they cheered him!’
Jane burst into tears of relief.
‘Quiet,’ hissed Martha, looking anxiously at the door. ‘You’ll get me into trouble. You should never have asked me.’
She waited anxiously until Jane gulped and smiled and said, ‘I shall do very well
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