Chapter Thirty-Seven
After sending everyone away, Franny sat in the corner of Bear’s office, centering herself.
It had been delusional to think she could do this because there was no way she could step into the ring.
But you gave your word, Frances Valentine, you milksop.
And even if she hadn’t made a deal with Bear, it was too late to back out.
At least a hundred and fifty members of the Fancy were there to see her, leaving her with no other choice.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled and exhaled to slow counts of eight.
Then, she visualized Ruth the Jewel, the notorious panderer, lying at her feet as the ringmaster held her hand high, declaring, “The winner of tonight’s contest is Fiery Franny. ”
A knock interrupted her woolgathering. She opened her eyes and glared at the door.
Bear peeked in at her. “You have a visitor.”
Franny groaned. She didn’t want to be ill-mannered or ungrateful, but she had repeatedly told her loved ones she needed time alone to prepare mentally.
“Miss Franny, you will want to see this person.” Bear stepped aside and ushered in Laughing Lucy, who looked lovely in a purple dress and matching bonnet.
“Frances, how delightful to see you.” Lucy approached and kissed Franny on the cheek.
“What are you doing here?” Franny hadn’t intended for her question to sound rude, but she was surprised to see her old opponent. Not only that, but she was also relieved that the woman appeared quite alert. There was no evidence that Franny had once delivered devastatingly brutal blows to her head.
“I heard you were fighting again, so I came to cheer for you. I find Ruth’s behavior rather appalling.”
Unsure of what to say, Franny simply swallowed.
“May I be honest with you?” Lucy asked.
If Lucy was here to remind Franny of the unfortunate day that plagued her nightmares and talk her out of fighting, she was a bit late. Franny hesitantly nodded.
“I heard rumors that you were afraid to get back in the ring after our mill. Since you haven’t competed since that day, I assume they are true.
I wanted you to see that I am well. I wanted to tell you that if you wish to return to the ring, you shouldn’t be fearful.
Although I hope you weren’t pressured into it by those overly aggressive promoters named after animals. ”
Franny snorted. “Overly aggressive, blackmailing promoters who don’t take no for an answer.” Although her words rang true, Franny had developed a soft spot for Bear and Whale. She’d even come to appreciate Shark and his ridiculous teeth.
“I assumed as much,” Lucy said. “They knocked on my door as well, but my days of fighting are behind me.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Franny said.
“ ’Tis not your fault.” Lucy waved her hand as if shooing a fly.
“Furthermore, you do not owe me an apology. I am quite content in my current situation. Think of it this way, as violent as this sport is, it is doing much to elevate women. Remember the remarkable accomplishments of Elizabeth Wilkinson Stokes, one of the greatest fighters ever. Because of her, the world knows women are as fearless as men. We can be athletes or anything else that we desire. We can choose our own path. We are not property to be owned.”
Franny dropped her gaze to her wrapped fists.
This was true, and overly aggressive promoters aside, she wanted to climb back into the ring to prove that she could.
Tomorrow was another day in which she might choose a different path.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to compete forever, but whatever she did, it was her choice, and hers alone.
Edward and The Silk Knuckles were now her passions, but for today, right this second, she wanted to fight.
Bear stepped back into the room. “It’s time, Miss Franny.”
Franny leaped to her feet. “I’m ready.”
“Remember, give Ruth hell,” Lucy called over her shoulder as she exited.
“How is that burn on your foot feeling?” Bear asked as he wrapped his arm around Franny’s shoulders and escorted her down the hall.
She had been much too nervous to give the injury a second thought. “Fine,” she said.
“Good.” Bear gave her an affectionate squeeze. “I know I’m not supposed to choose one of my fighters over the other, but I hope you knock Ruth to the moon.”
*
Spectators packed the basement of The Purple Rabbit. Men even lined the stairs and hung over the handrail, waving fists full of blunt. Franny climbed through the ropes. As she warmed up, she searched the room.
The crowd was so dense that Franny struggled to locate Edward.
She feared he had left, not because he wasn’t supporting her, but because he might not have the stomach to watch her get hit.
He still became agitated when discussing the Buffoon Brothers slicing her face.
She often reminded him that she was safe because the men were currently locked in Newgate awaiting their trials.
Or perhaps Edward had to leave to deal with a crime.
Or, maybe, the crowd had discovered a lawman in their midst and forced him to leave. They might assume he was here to prevent the fight from happening, when his sole purpose was to support her. The mere thought of this unruly crowd harassing Edward forced a ball of acid up her esophagus.
But at last, she spied him standing with Nicolas, Viscount Davenport, and the Duke of Griffendale. Edward blew her a kiss. She flung one back, and the crowd roared enthusiastically. She smiled. Tonight, these individuals tossing around money and calling for blood accepted Edward as one of them.
Acting as the ringmaster, Bear waved his hand until the crowd quieted to a dull hum. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready for the fight of all fights?” he called into his speaking trumpet.
Not that she would tell Bear, but this was hardly the fight of all fights.
Josie had already won that championship.
This was an illegal underground match between a woman who had not fought in a year, and a thespian with questionable morals who pandered to the lowest dregs of the Fancy.
However, this crowd did not seem to care about Bear’s exaggeration because they cheered and stomped until the basement walls shook.
Bear again raised his hand to quiet the uproarious spectators.
“In this corner—” palm up, he presented Franny “—returning to the ring for the first time in almost a year, we have one of the beloved owners of The Silk Knuckles Saloon and an up-and-coming coach in her own right. Please show the aptly named ‘Fiery Franny’ some love.”
“Fiery Franny,” the crowd chanted.
Despite despising theatrics, Franny played along.
She peeled down the top of her loose round dress and tied the sleeves around her waist to anchor the skirt in place.
With the top of her chemise displayed and her breasts tightly bound beneath the fabric, Franny curled her bicep and contracted her muscle.
As the crowd roared their appreciation, she strutted the perimeter of the ring.
“You’ve grown soft,” Ruth yelled.
Ruth had always been soft, but Franny held her tongue because she did not favor the rubbish-talk that was currently in fashion.
“Soft as a kitten,” Ruth yelled.
At least Franny hadn’t painted her face as if she were a jester.
Ruth pretended to hold a small animal in her arms. She even feigned petting it.
Franny rolled her eyes.
Ruth snarled as she pantomimed wrapping her fingers around the kitten’s neck and squeezing. At least that was what Franny thought she was miming.
“And in this corner—” Bear swung his upturned palm to Ruth—“we have a crowd favorite, the always colorful Ruth the Jewel. Please show the lovely Ruth some appreciation.”
“Ruth the Jewel,” people cheered.
Like she did every single fight, Ruth peeled to her chemise and flashed her tit to the lecherous crowd.
Bringing her hand to her mouth, and widening her eyes, she feigned embarrassment.
After she had titillated the crowd into a frenzy, she tucked her breast into her chemise.
Not a single person in that audience was fooled.
Every member of the Fancy knew that Ruth and innocence did not go together.
However, many still enjoyed her show, and Ruth took advantage of their prurient natures. The woman was shameless.
One of the umpires motioned for Franny and Ruth to join him in the center of the ring.
“Remember the rules agreed upon,” he said.
“Irish fighting style. No kicking. No biting. No weapons. No hair pulling. And absolutely no direct hits to the mouth. Once someone goes down, they have ten seconds to get onto their feet. If they are unable to stand, the round is over. There are thirty seconds between rounds. The mill will be called if I think either of your lives is in danger. Do you agree to these terms?”
Franny nodded more enthusiastically than she would have predicted.
“We will begin the mill in a few moments. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” they both said.
Franny strutted to her corner and settled onto Papa’s knee.
He took her hands in his and double-checked her wraps. “I’m proud of you. I know this wasn’t easy for you.” He wiped a tear from his eye.
Josie, her bottle woman, held a cup of protein beer under Franny’s nose. “Remember, pace yourself. Don’t come out too hard and fast,” Josie said.
Although she wasn’t thirsty, Franny sipped, knowing she required nourishment in case the mill lasted half the night.
Again, the umpire motioned for them to come forward.
It was time! Franny’s heartbeat thudded in her ears, and her legs trembled uncontrollably. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I can do this. Franny was the superior fighter, after all. Yes. Indeed. Undoubtedly. Franny’s shaking ceased.
Her shoulders thrown back confidently, Franny strutted to the scratch line and tapped Ruth’s knuckles. Ruth snarled at her. Embracing the moment, Franny growled back.
Placing her toe on the line, Franny settled into her stance, raised her fists, and waited for the bell.