Page 48 of Not Quite a Lady
The rum seemed to have drained out of Jack’s bloodstream as rapidly as it had entered it. He felt stone cold sober and angry enough to kill.
The young man sprawled at the table goggled up at him as though he had appeared through a trap door in the floor, like the Devil in a melodrama.
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘My name is Lovell and I take exception to you bandying a lady’s name around in those terms. If you give me your word you will not repeat it again I may–
‘No, what the hell, I am going to beat the living daylights outof you anyway.’
Jack reached out, took Dovercourt by the neck cloth and hauled him to his feet.
‘I cannot begin to tell you how much pleasure this is going to give me,’ he remarked conversationally, making a fist with his right and fetching his protesting victim a square punch to the jaw.
It lifted Dovercourt off his feet and sent him sliding across the table, taking with him his companions’ tankards and the dish of oysters the landlord had only just placed on the table.
Jack found himself confronted by two new opponents, both with porter and oyster juice on their flash suits, both pot valiant with drink and indignation.
‘Come on then.’ He raised both fists, suddenly happier than he had been since he got to London. ‘Which of you wants to be first?’
The fight was spectacular, bloody, and rapidly spread to encompass virtually every male occupant of the Cat and Bottle, two pairs of fighting cocks, a brace of pit bull terriers, the landlady with a stout staff and three of the serving girls who had a private score to settle.
Twenty glorious minutes later Jack found himself out on the street, his arm around the shoulder of the man with the terriers and his shirt covered in blood.
‘You hurt, my damme boy?’ the dog owner demanded. ‘By old Harry, we raised a fair breeze in there. Look at the state of you now. Do you need a doctor?’
Jack looked down. ‘No, not much of that’s mine, I thank you.’
Several victims of the brawl staggered out, assisted by the landlady’s stout arm and a mouthful of eye-wateringly bad language.
One of the black tradesmen grinned at Jack. ‘You can fight, guv’nor. Thought of taking it up professional-like?’
‘No,’ Jack shook his head. ‘No, that was personal.’
‘Well, come on then, lad, let’s be finding another touting ken.’ The dog owner whistled up his animals and slapped Jack on the back. ‘What do you say? Shall we make a batch of it? Night’s not old yet.’
‘Not for me.’ Jack shook his head and wondered if all his teeth were still with him. ‘If you can give me a steer back to the Bull and Mouth, I’d take it kindly.’
He strolled back in the direction the man indicated, taking his bearings from the looming mass of St Paul’s in the distance and whistling softly between bruised lips as he went.
Well, that was Dovercourt dealt with. It had been fretting at the back of his mind that he was walking away from those two.
But what to do about Randall? It was too much to hope that he would find him slumming in some backstreet boozing ken and, now he knew for certain that Randall was slandering Lily’s good name, something had to be done about it.
Jack found he was twisting the worn gold signet ring on his left hand. Anything that had been engraved on it was long gone, so it was safe to wear.
He glanced down at it.Why not? You are leaving town after all. But not yet, not for another two nights. Coach tickets can be changed.
Chapter Twelve
‘My dear Lily! What have you done with yourself?’
Aunt Herrick stared at her as she came into the room where Lady Billington was waiting to collect her for the Duchess of Oldbury’s ball. ‘Your hair! And surely that is not the gown you ordered and where are all your jewels?’
Lily stood just inside the doorway, defiantly silent. She was not at all certain herself that she was doing the right thing – or even why she was doing it whenhewas not there to see.
‘My dear Miss France.’ Lady Billington threw up her hands. ‘Enchanting! How very well that simpler style becomes you. I declare you will be the toast of the ball.’
‘But herhair,’ Aunt exclaimed. ‘So plain in that severe style without any curls.’ She walked around her niece, staring critically.
