Page 38 of A Ruse of Shadows
Both were tall, both had wide eyes and high cheekbones, both wore boxing gloves and moved fast on their feet, but it was immediately clear that one was largely defending and the other hard on the offensive.
“Come on, don’t just block. Land a blow for once!” cried the young woman in bloomers.
“Is that Jessie?” Mrs. Watson murmured.
“That’s Jessie,” replied Johnny.
“I’ll try that as soon as your fists stop flying thick as a blizzard!” retorted the other young woman, whom Johnny identified as a Miss Greengard.
Miss Greengard, despite not being anywhere as good as Jessie, was athletic and spirited. And when Jessie slowed down for a moment, her gloved fist jabbed at Jessie’s jaw. Jessie blocked it easily, but the attack earned Miss Greengard an earnest “good try.”
Her brother Mr. Greengard, on the other hand, seemed fundamentally ill at ease in a face-to-face conflict. Nevertheless he fought on, his teeth gritted, his features scrunched together in a perpetual grimace.
“Remember your feet,” said Mumble, a slender, dark-haired young man whose complexion and features reminded Mrs. Watson of the handsome population of Punjab and Rajasthan. “Relax your shoulders. Good, just like that.”
He did not mumble at all but spoke with a case of near over-enunciation, his voice surprisingly deep for one so young.
“Who are the Greengards?” asked Miss Charlotte.
“Rich people,” said Johnny simply.
He was studying the two young men. Mumble did seem to knowexactly what his opponent meant to do next. And there was not only intelligence to his boxing but elegance, too: He moved with the deadly agility of a shark.
Miss Charlotte’s gaze flickered between Johnny and Mumble. Mrs. Watson noticed that Johnny wasn’t studying both the male boxers but only his friend Mumble.
“And how did the rich Greengards come to Mumble and Jessie for tutoring?” she asked.
“They came to a fight night—Miss Greengard was having trouble finding a female instructor. At the time, Mr. Underwood had only me. But after he took on Jessie and Mumble, he tracked down Miss Greengard and asked if she still needed a woman for sparring. She said yes and Mr. Underwood put her together with Jessie. And then her brother decided that he liked Mumble better than his own instructor.”
Miss Charlotte hooked a thumb on the fob chain of her watch. “Is this why Mumble and Jessie aren’t as desperate to find another sponsor? Because they still have the Greengards as a source of income?”
“The Greengards don’t live in London year-round. But then again, Mumble and Jessie don’t need money the way I do.”
Mrs. Watson cast another glance at Johnny; he was again looking at Mumble.
But not for long, as the practice session finished before another ten minutes had passed—apparently the rich young people had an evening function to attend and must head home and get ready.
Once they had left, Johnny presented his friends, Jessica Ferguson and Absalom Waters, whose faces were still slightly damp from a quick washing-up, to the visitors. Miss Charlotte, after a few compliments on their dexterity as boxers, invited everyone for supper at a nearby hotel.
When they were shown into the private dining room, the boxers looked around at the silver-blue wallpaper and the large plaster medallion on the ceiling, full of swirls and curlicues. Jessie appearedpleased by the thorough prettiness of the décor, Johnny discomfited, and Mumble curious but dispassionate.
Mrs. Watson’s attention was ensnared for a moment by a brooch that Jessie wore as a hair ornament: a memorial brooch, made of loops of laminated hair that simulated the shape of a flower. The strands used in the brooch were almost the exact same auburn as Jessie’s own hair, pulled back into a large bun at her nape.
“My employer extends his apologies,” said Miss Charlotte after the company had taken seats at a table that easily accommodated twelve. “He had to go back to Manchester earlier today for business. In the meanwhile, I am to squire his beautiful lady about London and look deeper into the matter of your sponsor.”
Johnny and Jessie both glanced at Mumble, who, after a moment, said, “If you’ll pardon me for the observation, sir, ma’am, you seem more interested in Mr. Underwood than you are in us.”
Mrs. Watson’s heart plowed into her sternum, but Miss Charlotte only smiled. “Very astute of you, Mr. Waters. You see, my employer, Mr. Nelson, is the only one who can assess your merit as boxers. I cannot do that, so my responsibility is to make sure that should he take you on, he would be, in fact, acquiring assets and not liabilities.
“To assess the quality of an investment, it is best to learn as much about it as possible. For example, we know that you, Miss Ferguson, are an assistant cook at a tea shop, and that you, Mr. Waters, work as a bookbinder’s apprentice. The bookbinder is extremely pleased with your pursuit of excellence and your appetite for knowledge, Mr. Waters. The owner of the tea shop is stingier with her praise, but even she had to admit she couldn’t find much to fault in Miss Ferguson’s work.”
Johnny shot to his feet, his face ashen. “I didn’t tell them anything about you other than that you’re good boxers!”
He was speaking to Mumble. Mumble looked him over for a second, then calmly gestured for him to sit down. Johnny opened his mouth as if he wanted to further defend himself, but complied.
“Indeed,” said Miss Charlotte, “Mr. Esposito has been mostdiscreet in his dealings with us. But none of what I said about you was terribly difficult to find out.”
Mrs. Watson, in fact, had been the one to ferret out everything today. She’d spoken to the two young people’s employers even as they were in the back working, without the bookbinder or the teahouse owner realizing that she’d sought information on a specific person at the establishment.
