Chapter Thirty #2
His sweat dripping and his heart hammering, Edward slammed his fist into the sandbag one last time.
“You improve daily,” Coach Valentine said.
“I dare say, you will be ready to compete in no time,” Lord Davenport declared.
Unaware that he had an audience, Edward turned to face Coach and the two lords. “I don’t plan to compete.” He paused to catch his breath and swiped a muffler over his soaked brow. “I’m simply enjoying the physicality of pugilism while supporting Franny.”
Nicolas Wentworth clapped Edward’s shoulder. “Wise, mate. That is the same choice I made, and I have no regrets.”
“We are going to grab a pint at The Spotted Octopus,” Lord Davenport said. “Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you for the invitation,” Edward said. “But I plan to assist Harry tonight.”
“Next time,” Lord Davenport said.
The three men strolled to the exit, leaving Edward and Harry alone in the now-empty room. Edward removed his mufflers and slid into his shirt and boots. He fumbled with the buttons as he approached Harry.
Although not as angry and red, the burns had scarred Harry’s visible skin. Lines creased his forehead, and his hunched posture betrayed his exhaustion.
“Head home, Harry,” Edward said. “I’ll take over. What still needs to be done?”
“Thank you, sir, but I will finish.”
“No,” Edward said. “Go home. I insist. I don’t mind. I have nervous energy that I need to work off.”
“Thank you. I suppose I am quite tired,” Harry capitulated. “The floors need to be swept, and the weights should be wiped down.”
“ ’Tis admirable of you to be working so hard, but you require extra rest to heal properly,” Edward said.
Shoulders sagging, Harry left Edward to tackle the remaining chores.
Whistling a cheerful ditty, Edward swept the floor and wiped down the weights with a solution of alcohol and lemon juice. Feeling his long day, he parked himself on one of the wooden training benches and planned the rest of the evening.
Very soon, Franny would descend the stairs, and he would walk her home. The nearby park with the fountain was the perfect place for him to pledge his devotion and ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.
The front door banged, startling Edward. He peered over his shoulder. The lad who worked for the reverend had his arm around the younger Mrs. Brown. Edward swiveled on the bench so that he could watch them approach. Even from a distance, he could see her large bruises and bloody nose.
“Please help her,” Charlie called.
Edward rushed to them. Together, he and Harry escorted and then lowered Mrs. Brown onto the bench. Edward retrieved his discarded cravat and gently pressed it against her nose. “Tilt your head back,” he softly encouraged.
Edward was no doctor, but he checked her over with the medical knowledge he had gleaned as a lawman. Someone had punched her in the face, broken her nose, and bruised her ribs. He’d wager she’d been crying for hours.
Edward swallowed his fury and aimed for a gentle tone. “Tell me what happened.”
Jane Brown dropped her head into her hands and sobbed.
“He attacked her again,” Charlie said.
Although Edward suspected he knew the answer, he asked anyway, “Who attacked you?”
“Mr. Brown,” the lad answered for her. “They live in my building, and I hear him hurting her sometimes. No one helps her. That’s why I want to learn to box. So I can help her, you see.”
Edward did see. Clearly. He should have grabbed the damnable minister by his collar and shaken the abused woman’s address from him weeks ago.
Mrs. Brown lifted her face, swiped at her tears with her free hand, and met Edward’s gaze. “I want to learn to box, too.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I want to be like the boxing ladies. I bet no man hits them.”
Not in anger anyway. Sport was a different matter. Edward’s mind whirled as he tried to connect the dots. “Does your husband know you want to learn to defend yourself?”
Her unfocused gaze seemed to stare into the past. “A few weeks ago, I told him the ladies here look as though they are having fun. He got angry, called them unseemly names, and told me to stay away.”
“And then he hit you?” Edward asked.
She didn’t answer his question, but she didn’t need to.
“He has been in such a mood. Sometimes I think his brother adds fuel to his anger. Last night, they were at the tavern together. My husband came home very late, and when I asked him where he had been, he did this.” She pointed to her cheek.
“Today, I decided to come here to inquire if I could somehow work off the cost of lessons. Unfortunately, he caught me leaving. He insisted I tell him where I was going. I couldn’t lie.
And then he did this.” She removed Edward’s blood-soaked cravat from her nose.
Fury and sorrow combined, forming a deadly explosive that sat heavy in Edward’s gut.
“I heard him yelling,” Charlie said. “I waited until he left before checking on Mrs. Brown.” His bottom lip vibrated with his huff. “Why are so many people angry at The Silk Knuckles? I, for one, think ladies fighting and defending themselves is rather amazing.”
Rubbing his forehead, Edward searched for the correct words to explain the unpleasant truth about misogynistic, controlling cowards to this young lad.
“Charlie, some men are intimidated by strong women. I suppose many feel that The Silk Knuckles convinces women to stand up for themselves. What they don’t understand is that strong women make men better. In turn, society is better.”
Even before he finished edifying the lad, the truth hit Edward. He rushed to his greatcoat that lay beneath his mufflers. Bypassing the handkerchief that held Franny’s ring, he grabbed the button and presented it to Mrs. Brown. “Do you recognize this?”
She sniffled. “Yes. That is my husband’s. He lost it a few weeks ago. Where did you find it?”
The button might not be proof enough for the court, but it indicated Brown had been snooping about the building, which was all Edward needed to know.
His fierce growl sent the woman back into her shell, her already diminutive frame seeming to shrink to half its size.
Controlling his temper right now was no easy task, but he could not terrify her if he meant to help her.
“What are you doing here, Vicar Williams?” Charlie asked, his unexpected question more of a shocked exclamation.
Edward’s loud utterance must have overshadowed the sound of the front door opening because the pigheaded, seething vicar stomped toward them.
“Charles, Mrs. Brown, leave this den of iniquity right this minute,” he said, his tone impervious.
Edward balled his fists by his side.
“I will not,” the lad said. “Mrs. Brown needs our help, or her husband is going to kill her.”
The vicar’s gaze finally landed on the unfortunate woman, and he gasped. “Heavens above, Mrs. Brown. What happened to you?”
“Mr. Brown is what happened to her.” Edward stabbed his finger into the vicar’s chest. “We tried to tell you, but you refused to listen.”
Charlie lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “Vicar, aren’t you supposed to protect your flock?”
“Let me explain something, Vicar,” Edward said, his voice an angry snarl. “This lad right here is braver and more of a man than you are.”
The vicar’s button lip stuck out. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice quavering.
What a daft coward, but Edward didn’t have time to berate the vicar because he needed to settle a score.
“A doctor needs to attend to her immediately,” Edward said.
Charlie jumped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
Edward glared at the vicar.
All of his holier-than-thou arrogance left him with a woosh. Williams extended his hand. “Come next door, my dear. The rectory is quite comfortable. I shall fix you a cup of tea. Charlie, run and fetch Doctor Klinger.”
“Yes, sir.” The lad dashed toward the exit.
“Charlie,” Edward called.
The lad faced him.
“Where do you live?”
“My family has rooms at Blackwell Rooms.”
“Blackwell Rooms,” Edward mumbled under his breath as the door banged into place. If his memory served him, it was a short walk to the building.
Edward looped his arm around Mrs. Brown, and then, he and the vicar absorbed her weight as they transferred her to a cozy settee in the rectory.