Chapter 6
Malcolm bounced on his toes as he walked towards the Hotel. It’d been far too long since he’d seen Tommy Rogerson. Since his tremors had become more obvious, he’d stayed away, not wanting his old sparring partner to see. And now as he entered the Duck and Egg, he realised that he’d been prideful and foolish. He missed his friend. They’d grown up together under the guidance of Galforth.
“Well if it isn’t Malcolm Milson.” Tommy’s wife Gloria wiped her hands on her apron and pulled him into a hug. “When we got your note, we were so pleased. It’s been too long.”
“Too long, yes.” He gulped as he stepped back, ignoring the way Rory stood a polite distance behind him.
“Tommy is out the back with the young ones.” Gloria waved in that direction and Malcolm didn’t miss the curious way she looked at Rory, but she didn’t say anything and Malcolm wasn’t ready to introduce him yet. Too many questions would come once Gloria knew who Rory was, and Malcolm wanted Tommy to quiz him first.
“Come.” She huffed out a little sigh, as if to say ‘you men and your business’, then walked away. Malcolm followed her along a hallway and through a series of doors until they stepped out in the yard behind the hotel. To the right was the stable block and to the left was a medium sized brick building, too large to be a shed and too small to be another stable block.
“Thank you.”
“Thank me afterwards when you come for a meal. I have a lovely rabbit pie for dinner tonight.” Gloria bustled away, leaving Malcolm—and Rory—standing outside the building. Malcolm glanced over his shoulder at Rory, then pushed open the door. The set up was perfect with two rings in the middle of the room with a sandy floor, and various equipment set up around the sides for different fitness training exercises. Two young men sparred in one ring with Tommy leaning over the ropes and making technical comments to each of them. Malcolm walked closer. The room smelled like sweat and hard work and leather, and his body automatically shifted into action. He was alert, he could track each boxer’s movements and predict what they’d do next.
“Malcolm. What do you think?” Tommy didn’t look away from his fighters.
“The tall one keeps dropping his left hand, exposing his kidney, and the other one is too slow with his footwork,” Malcolm replied.
“Up on your toes, Johnny. The Colossus is watching.” At Tommy’s instructions, both boxers paused and glanced at him.
Malcolm shook his head. “You shouldn’t let your coach distract you like that.”
“Pay attention lads. That’s an unbeaten champion talking.” Tommy’s grin was broad. “Shake hands, lads, cool down. You can meet him and talk once you are cleaned up.”
The two boxers nodded, then shook hands with each other as they’d been told.
“They have good discipline.”
“Of course. Talent is nothing without hard work.” Tommy stated Galforth’s oft-repeated comment to Malcolm and Tommy and all the fighters Galforth had had in his training camps. He nodded because it was true, although with time Malcolm had come to understand that Galforth’s talent was in using other people’s hard work to improve the Dukedom. He could hardly complain since Galforth had given him so much; an education, two careers, faith in his abilities, and all the adoration that came with winning matches.
“I have a dilemma.” He may as well get to the point.
Tommy raised one eyebrow. “And you can’t come to see an old friend for no reason? We’ve missed you.” The hurt in Tommy’s voice cut Malcolm.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish and proud.” He held out his hands, palms up, knowing that Tommy would see the tremors.
“Oh, Malcolm.” Tommy’s pity was the reason he’d stayed away. “I’m so sorry.”
“It happens to many of us. I’m not special.”
Tommy’s eyebrow flew up again. “Not special? What bollocks, Malcolm. Lads. Do you know who this is?”
The two young men stopped pretending that they hadn’t been listening and walked over to Tommy. “It’s The Colossus. You used to spar with him.”
“We thought you were kidding, Mister.” The taller one grinned.
“Cheeky. Go on with you and get cleaned up.”
“Yes boss.” The two lads tapped their fists to Tommy’s and then climbed out of the ring and walked to the back of the room.
“I have a steam room out there. Wonderful set up, and the fighters stoke the fire themselves as a way to keep themselves strong.” Tommy waited until the two boxers had gone through the door at the back of the building. “What took you so long to come, Malcolm?”
“I didn’t want you to know. I was too proud.”
“And now you need something from me more than you need to pretend that everything is fine?”
Malcolm’s shoulders sagged. “Yes?” He’d been a bad friend in the last few years.
“I won’t pretend I’m not hurt, but I said I’d always be here for you, and so tell me. What is it you need?”
“Lord Bennington wants me to fight in a charity match.” He got right to the point, since he’d messed this all up anyway.
“Tell him no.” Tommy responded in exactly the way Malcolm expected. If only it were that simple.
“Tommy, he’s a Lord.”
Tommy tilted his head. “You put too much stock in titles. It’s not a world for us.”
Maybe not, but they’d both grown up in a Duke’s household and been educated by his staff. Once his boxing talents had become obvious, Malcolm had been given extra attention, sitting with the Duke and his sons at the dinner table, eating their food and listening to them discuss society and politics. It was his world, after a fashion, but he understood what Tommy was saying too. Tommy had stayed with the rest of the boys and had been one of the few who hadn’t been jealous, instead understanding how straddling both worlds had always been Malcolm’s challenge.
“Besides, I tried telling him no.”
“And what happened?”
Malcolm waved in Rory’s direction. “My excuse materialised.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I said I would only fight if I had a worthy opponent, and the only opponent I’d consider was The Long Laird.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s one way to say no without saying it.”
“You understand?”
“Everyone knows The Long Laird would never fight again. Not after he killed Davey Bruiser Johnson in a fight four years ago and was tried for murder.”
Malcolm nodded as Tommy outlined the exact reason why Malcolm had, wrongly, assumed his excuse was perfect. “I thought I was safe using him as an excuse. He left for the Continent after he was acquitted, and he disappeared.”
“But this Bennington character found him? And now you have no other excuses?”
“That about sums it up.”
Tommy shook his head. “I’m not sure what you think I can do. Isn’t it up to Bennington and The Long Laird?”
“He doesn’t want to fight either.”
“So don’t fight.” Again, Tommy made it sound simple, except that it wasn’t. “Unless this Bennington chap is holding something over you.” And Tommy immediately showed his astuteness, although it wasn’t Malcolm that Bennington had leverage over. Rory had implied that needed the Lord for his land. He wasn’t quite sure how it was supposed to work, but it was Rory’s business not his. Malcolm turned to ask but Rory hadn’t followed him into the room. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms folded.
“You can come in.”
But Rory shook his head and Malcolm realised that he couldn’t come in. The Long Laird was trapped by his own memories. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to fight again; he couldn’t. His body was tense, mostly outside the building, and he looked like he was struggling against the urge to flee.
“That’s him?” Tommy asked, striding towards Rory. Malcolm followed, his chest hollow and he wanted to push Tommy to the side and protect Rory ... which was silly. Rory wasn’t his to protect. One little kiss in the carriage didn’t mean anything.