THE LORD OF FALCONBRIDGE
A LEGEND OF THE RING
Tom Cribb, Champion of England, having finished his active career by histwo famous battles with the terrible Molineux, had settled down into thepublic house which was known as the Union Arms, at the corner of PantonStreet in the Haymarket. Behind the bar of this hostelry there was agreen baize door which opened into a large, red-papered parlour, adornedby many sporting prints and by the numerous cups and belts which werethe treasured trophies of the famous prize-fighter's victorious career.In this snuggery it was the custom of the Corinthians of the day toassemble in order to discuss, over Tom Cribb's excellent wines, thematches of the past, to await the news of the present, and to arrangenew ones for the future. Hither also came his brother pugilists,especially such as were in poverty or distress, for the Champion'sgenerosity was proverbial, and no man of his own trade was ever turnedfrom his door if cheering words or a full meal could mend his condition.
On the morning in question--August 25, 1818--there were but two men inthis famous snuggery. One was Cribb himself--all run to flesh since thetime seven years before, when, training for his last fight, he had donehis forty miles a day with Captain Barclay over the Highland roads.Broad and deep, as well as tall, he was a little short of twenty stonein weight, but his heavy, strong face and lion eyes showed that thespirit of the prize-fighter was not yet altogether overgrown by the fatof the publican. Though it was not eleven o'clock, a great tankard ofbitter ale stood upon the table before him, and he was busy cutting upa plug of black tobacco and rubbing the slices into powder between hishorny fingers. For all his record of desperate battles, he looked whathe was--a good-hearted, respectable householder, law-abiding and kindly,a happy and prosperous man.
His companion, however, was by no means in the same easy circumstances,and his countenance wore a very different expression. He was a talland well-formed man, some fifteen years younger than the Champion, andrecalling in the masterful pose of his face and in the fine spread ofhis shoulders something of the manly beauty which had distinguishedCribb at his prime. No one looking at his countenance could fail to seethat he was a fighting man by profession, and any judge of the fancy,considering his six feet in height, his thirteen stone solid muscle,and his beautifully graceful build, would admit that he had started hiscareer with advantages which, if they were only backed by the drivingpower of a stout heart, must carry him far. Tom Winter, or Spring--ashe chose to call himself--had indeed come up from his Herefordshire homewith a fine country record of local successes, which had been enhancedby two victories gained over formidable London heavy-weights. Threeweeks before, however, he had been defeated by the famous Painter, andthe set-back weighed heavily upon the young man's spirit.
"Cheer up, lad," said the Champion, glancing across from under histufted eyebrows at the disconsolate face of his companion. "Indeed, Tom,you take it overhard."
The young man groaned, but made no reply. "Others have been beat beforeyou and lived to be Champions of England. Here I sit with that verytitle. Was I not beat down Broadwater way by George Nicholls in 1805?What then? I fought on, and here I am. When the big Black came fromAmerica it was not George Nicholls they sent for. I say to you--fighton, and by George, I'll see you in my own shoes yet!"
Tom Spring shook his head. "Never, if I have to fight you to get there,Daddy."
"I can't keep it for ever, Tom. It's beyond all reason. I'm going to layit down before all London at the Fives Courts next year, and it's to youthat I want to hand it. I couldn't train down to it now, lad. My day'sdone."
"Well, Dad, I'll never bid for it till you choose to stand aside. Afterthat, it is as it may be."
"Well, have a rest, Tom; wait for your chance, and, meantime, there'salways a bed and crust for you here."
Spring struck his clenched fist on his knee. "I know, Daddy! Ever sinceI came up from Fownthorpe you've been as good as a father to me."
"I've an eye for a winner."
"A pretty winner! Beat in forty rounds by Ned Painter."
"You had beat him first."
"And by the Lord, I will again!"
"So you will, lad. George Nicholls would never give me another shy. Knewtoo much, he did. Bought a butcher's shop in Bristol with the money, andthere he is to this day."
"Yes, I'll come back on Painter, but I haven't a shilling left. Mybackers have lost faith in me. If it wasn't for you, Daddy, I'd be inthe kennel."
"Have you nothing left, Tom?"
"Not the price of a meal. I left every penny I had, and my good name aswell, in the ring at Kingston. I'm hard put to it to live unless I canget another fight, and who's going to back me now?"
"Tut, man! the knowing ones will back you. You're the top of the list,for all Ned Painter. But there are other ways a man may earn a bit.There was a lady in here this morning--nothing flash, boy, a realtip-top out-and-outer with a coronet on her coach--asking after you."
"Asking after me! A lady!" The young pugilist stood up with surprise anda certain horror rising in his eyes. "You don't mean, Daddy--"
"I mean nothing but what is honest, my lad. You can lay to that!"
"You said I could earn a bit."
"So, perhaps, you can. Enough, anyhow, to tide you over your bad time.There's something in the wind there. It's to do with fightin'. She askedquestions about your height, weight, and my opinion of your prospect.You can lay that my answers did you no harm."
"She ain't making a match, surely?"
"Well, she seemed to know a tidy bit about it. She asked about GeorgeCooper, and Richmond the Black, and Tom Oliver, always comin' back toyou, and wantin' to know if you were not the pick of the bunch. _And_trustworthy. That was the other point. Could she trust you? Lord,Tom, if you was a fightin' archangel you could hardly live up to thecharacter that I've given you."
A drawer looked in from the bar. "If you please, Mr. Cribb, the lady'scarriage is back again."
The Champion laid down his long clay pipe. "This way, lad," said he,plucking his young friend by the sleeve towards the side window. "Lookthere, now! Saw you ever a more slap-up carriage? See, too, the pair ofbays--two hundred guineas apiece. Coachman, too, and footman--you'd find'em hard to beat. There she is now, stepping out of it. Wait here, lad,till I do the honours of my house."
Tom Cribb slipped off, and young Spring remained by the window, tappingthe glass nervously with his fingers, for he was a simple-minded countrylad with no knowledge of women, and many fears of the traps which awaitthe unwary in a great city. Many stories were afloat of pugilists whohad been taken up and cast aside again by wealthy ladies, even as thegladiators were in decadent Rome. It was with some suspicion therefore,and considerable inward trepidation, that he faced round as a tallveiled figure swept into the room. He was much consoled, however, toobserve the bulky form of Tom Cribb immediately behind her as a proofthat the interview was not to be a private one. When the door wasclosed, the lady very deliberately removed her gloves. Then with fingerswhich glittered with diamonds she slowly rolled up and adjusted herheavy veil. Finally, she turned her face upon Spring.
"Is this the man?" said she.
They stood looking at each other with mutual interest, which warmedin both their faces into mutual admiration. What she saw was as fine afigure of a young man as England could show, none the less attractivefor the restrained shyness of his manner and the blush which flushed hischeeks. What he saw was a woman of thirty, tall, dark, queen-like, andimperious, with a lovely face, every line and feature of which told ofpride and breed, a woman born to Courts, with the instinct of commandstrong within her, and yet with all the softer woman's graces to temperand conceal the firmness of her soul. Tom Spring felt as he looked ather that he had never seen nor ever dreamed of any one so beautiful, andyet he could not shake off the instinct which warned him to be upon hisguard. Yes, it was beautiful, this face--beautiful beyond belief.But was it good, was it kind, was it true? There was some strangesubconscious repulsion which mingled with his admiration for
herloveliness. As to the lady's thoughts, she had already put away all ideaof the young pugilist as a man, and regarded him now with critical eyesas a machine designed for a definite purpose.
"I am glad to meet you, Mr.--Mr. Spring," said she, looking him overwith as much deliberation as a dealer who is purchasing a horse. "Heis hardly as tall as I was given to understand, Mr. Cribb. You said sixfeet, I believe?"
"So he is, ma'am, but he carries it so easy. It's only the beanstalkthat looks tall. See here, I'm six foot myself, and our heads are level,except I've lost my fluff."
"What is the chest measurement?"
"Forty-three inches, ma'am."
"You certainly seem to be a very strong young man. And a game one, too,I hope?"
Young Spring shrugged his shoulders.
"It's not for me to say, ma'am."
"I can speak for that, ma'am," said Cribb. "You read the _SportingChronicle_ for three weeks ago, ma'am. You'll see how he stood up to NedPainter until his senses were beat out of him. I waited on him, ma'am,and I know. I could show you my waistcoat now--that would let you guesswhat punishment he can take."
The lady waved aside the illustration. "But he was beat," said she,coldly. "The man who beat him must be the better man."
"Saving your presence, ma'am, I think not, and outside Gentleman Jacksonmy judgment would stand against any in the ring. My lad here has beatPainter once, and will again, if your ladyship could see your way tofind the battle-money."
The lady started and looked angrily at the Champion.
"Why do you call me that?"
"I beg pardon. It was just my way of speaking."
"I order you not to do it again."
"Very good, ma'am."
"I am here incognito. I bind you both upon your honours to make noinquiry as to who I am. If I do not get your firm promise, the matterends here."
"Very good, ma'am. I'll promise for my own part, and so, I am sure,will Spring. But if I may be so bold, I can't help my drawers and potmentalking with your servants."
"The coachman and footman know just as much about me as you do. But mytime is limited, so I must get to business. I think, Mr. Spring, thatyou are in want of something to do at present?"
"That is so, ma'am."
"I understand from Mr. Cribb that you are prepared to fight any one atany weight?"
"Anything on two legs," cried the Champion. "Who did you wish me tofight?" asked the young pugilist.
"That cannot concern you. If you are really ready to fight any one,then the particular name can be of no importance. I have my reasons forwithholding it."
"Very good, ma'am."
"You have been only a few weeks out of training. How long would it takeyou to get back to your best?"
"Three weeks or a month."
"Well, then, I will pay your training expenses and two pounds a weekover. Here are five pounds as a guarantee. You will fight when Iconsider that you are ready, and that the circumstances are favourable.If you win your fight, you shall have fifty pounds. Are you satisfiedwith the terms?"
"Very handsome, ma'am, I'm sure."
"And remember, Mr. Spring, I choose you, not because you are the bestman--for there are two opinions about that--but because I am given tounderstand that you are a decent man whom I can trust. The terms of thismatch are to be secret."
"I understand that. I'll say nothing."
"It is a private match. Nothing more. You will begin your trainingtomorrow."
"Very good, ma'am."
"I will ask Mr. Cribb to train you."
"I'll do that, ma'am, with pleasure. But, by your leave, does he haveanything if he loses?"
A spasm of emotion passed over the woman's face and her hands clenchedwhite with passion.
"If he loses, not a penny, not a penny!" she cried. "He must not, shallnot lose!"
"Well, ma'am," said Spring, "I've never heard of any such match. Butit's true that I am down at heel, and beggars can't be choosers. I'lldo just what you say. I'll train till you give the word, and then I'llfight where you tell me. I hope you'll make it a large ring."
"Yes," said she; "it will be a large ring."
"And how far from London?"
"Within a hundred miles. Have you anything else to say? My time is up."
"I'd like to ask, ma'am," said the Champion, earnestly, "whether I canact as the lad's second when the time comes. I've waited on him the lasttwo fights. Can I give him a knee?"
"No," said the woman, sharply. Without another word she turned andwas gone, shutting the door behind her. A few moments later the trimcarriage flashed past the window, turned down the crowded Haymarket, andwas engulfed in the traffic.
The two men looked at each other in silence.
"Well, blow my dicky, if this don't beat cockfightin'!" cried Tom Cribbat last. "Anyhow, there's the fiver, lad. But it's a rum go, and nomistake about it."
After due consultation, it was agreed that Tom Spring should go intotraining at the Castle Inn on Hampstead Heath, so that Cribb could driveover and watch him. Thither Spring went on the day after the interviewwith his patroness, and he set to work at once with drugs, dumb-bells,and breathers on the common to get himself into condition. It was hard,however, to take the matter seriously, and his good-natured trainerfound the same difficulty.
"It's the baccy I miss, Daddy," said the young pugilist, as they sattogether on the afternoon of the third day. "Surely there can't be anyharm in my havin' a pipe?"
"Well, well, lad, it's against my conscience, but here's my box andthere's a yard o' clay," said the Champion. "My word, I don't know whatCaptain Barclay of Ury would have said if he had seen a man smoke whenhe was in trainin'! He was the man to work you! He had me down fromsixteen to thirteen the second time I fought the Black."
Spring had lit his pipe and was leaning back amid a haze of blue smoke.
"It was easy for you, Daddy, to keep strict trainin' when you knew whatwas before you. You had your date and your place and your man. You knewthat in a month you would jump the ropes with ten thousand folk roundyou, and carrying maybe a hundred thousand in bets. You knew also theman you had to meet, and you wouldn't give him the better of you. Butit's all different with me. For all I know, this is just a woman's whim,and will end in nothing. If I was sure it was serious, I'd break thispipe before I would smoke it."
Tom Cribb scratched his head in puzzlement.
"I can make nothing of it, lad, 'cept that her money is good. Come tothink of it, how many men on the list could stand up to you for half anhour? It can't be Stringer, 'cause you've beat him. Then there's Cooper;but he's up Newcastle way. It can't be him. There's Richmond; but youwouldn't need to take your coat off to beat him. There's the Gasman; buthe's not twelve stone. And there's Bill Neat of Bristol. That's it, lad.The lady has taken into her head to put you up against either the Gasmanor Bill Neat."
"But why not say so? I'd train hard for the Gasman and harder for BillNeat, but I'm blowed if I can train, with any heart when I'm fightin'nobody in particular and everybody in general, same as now."
There was a sudden interruption to the speculations of the twoprize-fighters. The door opened and the lady entered. As her eyes fellupon the two men her dark, handsome face flushed with anger, and shegazed at them silently with an expression of contempt which brought themboth to their feet with hangdog faces. There they stood, their long,reeking pipes in their hands, shuffling and downcast, like two greatrough mastiffs before an angry mistress.
"So!" said she, stamping her foot furiously. "And this is training!"
"I'm sure we're very sorry, ma'am," said the abashed Champion. "I didn'tthink--I never for one moment supposed--"
"That I would come myself to see if you were taking my money on falsepretences? No, I dare say not. You fool!" she blazed, turning suddenlyupon Tom Spring. "You'll be beat. That will be the end of it."
The young man looked up with an angry face.
"I'll trouble you not to call me names, ma'am. I've my self-respect,the s
ame as you. I'll allow that I shouldn't have smoked when I was intrainin'. But I was saying to Tom Cribb here, just before you came in,that if you would give over treatin' us as if we were children, and ifyou would tell us just who it is you want me to fight, and when, andwhere, it would be a deal easier for me to take myself in hand."
"It's true, ma'am," said the Champion. "I know it must be either theGasman or Bill Neat. There's no one else. So give me the office, andI'll promise to have him as fit as a trout on the day."
The lady laughed contemptuously.
"Do you think," said she, "that no one can fight save those who make aliving by it?"
"By George, it's an amateur!" cried Cribb, in amazement. "But you don'tsurely ask Tom Spring to train for three weeks to meet a Corinthian?"
"I will say nothing more of who it is. It is no business of yours," thelady answered fiercely. "All I _do_ say is, that if you do not trainI will cast you aside and take some one who will. Do not think you canfool me because I am a woman. I have learned the points of the game aswell as any man."
"I saw that the very first word you spoke," said Cribb.
"Then don't forget it. I will not warn you again. If I have occasion tofind fault I shall choose another man."
"And you won't tell me who I am to fight?"
"Not a word. But you can take it from me that at your very best it willtake you, or any man in England, all your time to master him. Now, getback this instant to your work, and never let me find you shirking itagain." With imperious eyes she looked the two strong men down, andthen, turning on her heel, she swept out of the room.
The Champion whistled as the door closed behind her, and mopped his browwith his red bandanna handkerchief as he looked across at his abashedcompanion. "My word, lad," said he, "it's earnest from this day on."
"Yes," said Tom Spring, solemnly, "it's earnest from this day on."
In the course of the next fortnight the lady made several surprisevisits to see that her champion was being properly prepared for thecontest which lay before him. At the most unexpected moments she wouldburst into the training quarters, but never again had she to complain ofany slackness upon his part or that of his trainer. With long boutsof the gloves, with thirty-mile walks, with mile runs at the back ofa mailcart with a bit of blood between the shafts, with interminableseries of jumps with a skipping-rope, he was sweated down until histrainer was able to proudly proclaim that "the last ounce of tallow isoff him and he is ready to fight for his life." Only once was thelady accompanied by any one upon these visits of inspection. Upon thisoccasion a tall young man was her companion. He was graceful in figure,aristocratic in his bearing, and would have been strikingly handsome hadit not been for some accident which had shattered his nose and brokenall the symmetry of his features. He stood in silence with moody eyesand folded arms, looking at the splendid torso of the prize-fighter as,stripped to the waist, he worked with his dumbbells.
"Don't you think he will do?" said the lady.
The young swell shrugged his shoulders. "I don't like it, _cara mia_. Ican't pretend that I like it."
"You must like it, George. I have set my very heart on it."
"It is not English, you know. Lucrezia Borgia and Mediaeval Italy.Woman's love and woman's hatred are always the same, but this particularmanifestation of it seems to me out of place in nineteenth-centuryLondon."
"Is not a lesson needed?"
"Yes, yes; but one would think there were other ways."
"You tried another way. What did you get out of that?"
The young man smiled rather grimly, as he turned up his cuff and lookedat a puckered hole in his wrist.
"Not much, certainly," said he.
"You've tried and failed."
"Yes, I must admit it."
"What else is there? The law?"
"Good gracious, no!"
"Then it is my turn, George, and I won't be balked."
"I don't think any one is capable of balking you, _cara mia_. CertainlyI, for one, should never dream of trying. But I don't feel as if I couldco-operate."
"I never asked you to."
"No, you certainly never did. You are perfectly capable of doing italone. I think, with your leave, if you have quite done with yourprize-fighter, we will drive back to London. I would not for the worldmiss Goldoni in the Opera."
So they drifted away; he, frivolous and dilettante, she with her face asset as Fate, leaving the fighting men to their business.
And now the day came when Cribb was able to announce to his employerthat his man was as fit as science could make him.
"I can do no more, ma'am. He's fit to fight for a kingdom. Another weekwould see him stale."
The lady looked Spring over with the eye of a connoisseur.
"I think he does you credit," she said at last. "Today is Tuesday. Hewill fight the day after tomorrow."
"Very good, ma'am. Where shall he go?"
"I will tell you exactly, and you will please take careful note of allthat I say. You, Mr. Cribb, will take your man down to the Golden CrossInn at Charing Cross by nine o'clock on Wednesday morning. He will takethe Brighton coach as far as Tunbridge Wells, where he will alight atthe Royal Oak Arms. There he will take such refreshment as you advisebefore a fight. He will wait at the Royal Oak Arms until he receivesa message by word, or by letter, brought him by a groom in a mulberrylivery. This message will give him his final instructions."
"And I am not to come?"
"No," said the lady.
"But surely, ma'am," he pleaded, "I may come as far as Tunbridge Wells?It's hard on a man to train a cove for a fight and then to leave him."
"It can't be helped. You are too well known. Your arrival would spreadall over the town, and my plans might suffer. It is quite out of thequestion that you should come."
"Well, I'll do what you tell me, but it's main hard."
"I suppose," said Spring, "you would have me bring my fightin' shortsand my spiked shoes?"
"No; you will kindly bring nothing whatever which may point to yourtrade. I would have you wear just those clothes in which I saw youfirst, such clothes as any mechanic or artisan might be expected towear."
Tom Cribb's blank face had assumed an expression of absolute despair.
"No second, no clothes, no shoes--it don't seem regular. I give you myword, ma'am, I feel ashamed to be mixed up in such a fight. I don't knowas you can call the thing a fight where there is no second. It's justa scramble--nothing more. I've gone too far to wash my hands of it now,but I wish I had never touched it."
In spite of all professional misgivings on the part of the Champion andhis pupil, the imperious will of the woman prevailed, and everythingwas carried out exactly as she had directed. At nine o'clock Tom Springfound himself upon the box-seat of the Brighton coach, and waved hishand in goodbye to burly Tom Cribb, who stood, the admired of a ring ofwaiters and ostlers, upon the doorstep of the Golden Cross. It was inthe pleasant season when summer is mellowing into autumn, and thefirst golden patches are seen amid the beeches and the ferns. The youngcountry-bred lad breathed more freely when he had left the weary streetsof Southwark and Lewisham behind him, and he watched with delight theglorious prospect as the coach, whirled along by six dapple greys,passed by the classic grounds of Knowle, or after crossing RiversideHill skirted the vast expanse of the Weald of Kent. Past TonbridgeSchool went the coach, and on through Southborough, until it wound downa steep, curving road with strange outcrops of sandstone beside it, andhalted before a great hostelry, bearing the name which had been givenhim in his directions. He descended, entered the coffee-room, andordered the underdone steak which his trainer had recommended. Hardlyhad he finished it when a servant with a mulberry coat and a peculiarlyexpressionless face entered the apartment.
"Beg your pardon, sir, are you Mr. Spring--Mr. Thomas Spring, ofLondon?"
"That is my name, young man."
"Then the instructions which I had to give you are that you wait for onehour after your meal. After that ti
me you will find me in a phaeton atthe door, and I will drive you in the right direction."
The young pugilist had never been daunted by any experience which hadbefallen him in the ring. The rough encouragement of his backers, thesurge and shouting of the multitude, and the sight of his opponent hadalways cheered his stout heart and excited him to prove himself worthyof being the centre of such a scene. But his loneliness and uncertaintywere deadly. He flung himself down on the horse-hair couch and tried todoze, but his mind was too restless and excited. Finally he rose, andpaced up and down the empty room. Suddenly he was aware of a greatrubicund face which surveyed him from round the angle of the door. Itsowner, seeing that he was observed, pushed forward into the room.
"I beg pardon, sir," said he, "but surely I have the honour of talkingto Mr. Thomas Spring?"
"At your service," said the young man.
"Bless me! I am vastly honoured to have you under my roof! Cordery ismy name, sir, landlord of this old-fashioned inn. I thought that my eyescould not deceive me. I am a patron of the ring, sir, in my own humbleway, and was present at Moulsey in September last, when you beat JackStringer of Rawcliffe. A very fine fight, sir, and very handsomelyfought, if I may make bold to say so. I have a right to an opinion, sir,for there's never been a fight for many a year in Kent or Sussex thatyou wouldn't find Joe Cordery at the ring-side. Ask Mr. Gregson at theChop-house in Holborn and he'll tell you about old Joe Cordery. By theway, Mr. Spring, I suppose it is not business that has brought you downinto these parts? Any one can see with half an eye that you are trainedto a hair. I'd take it very kindly if you would give me the office."
It crossed Spring's mind that if he were frank with the landlord it wasmore than likely that he would receive more information than he couldgive. He was a man of his word, however, and he remembered his promiseto his employer.
"Just a quiet day in the country, Mr. Cordery. That's all."
"Dear me! I had hoped there was a mill in the wind. I've a nose forthese things, Mr. Spring, and I thought I had a whiff of it. But, ofcourse, you should know best. Perhaps you will drive round with me thisafternoon and view the hop-gardens--just the right time of year, sir."
Tom Spring was not very skilful in deception, and his stammering excusesmay not have been very convincing to the landlord, or finally persuadedhim that his original supposition was wrong. In the midst of theconversation, however, the waiter entered with the news that a phaetonwas waiting at the door. The innkeeper's eyes shone with suspicion andeagerness.
"I thought you said you knew no one in these parts, Mr. Spring?"
"Just one kind friend, Mr. Cordery, and he has sent his gig for me. It'slikely that I will take the night coach to town. But I'll look in afteran hour or two and have a dish of tea with you."
Outside the mulberry servant was sitting behind a fine black horse ina phaeton, which had two seats in front and two behind. Tom Springwas about to climb up beside him, when the servant whispered that hisdirections were that he should sit behind. Then the phaeton whirledaway, while the excited landlord, more convinced than ever that therewas something in the wind, rushed into his stable-yard with shrieks tohis ostlers, and in a very few minutes was in hot pursuit, waiting atevery cross-road until he could hear tidings of a black horse and amulberry livery.
The phaeton meanwhile drove in the direction of Crowborough. Some milesout it turned from the high-road into a narrow lane spanned by a tawnyarch of beech trees. Through this golden tunnel a lady was walking, talland graceful, her back to the phaeton. As it came abreast of her shestood aside and looked up, while the coachman pulled up the horse.
"I trust that you are at your best," said she, looking very earnestly atthe prize-fighter. "How do you feel?"
"Pretty tidy, ma'am, I thank you."
"I will get up beside you, Johnson. We have some way to go. You willdrive through the Lower Warren, and then take the lane which skirts theGravel Hanger. I will tell you where to stop. Go slowly, for we are notdue for twenty minutes."
Feeling as if the whole business was some extraordinary dream, the youngpugilist passed through a network of secluded lanes, until the phaetondrew up at a wicket gate which led into a plantation of firs, chokedwith a thick undergrowth. Here the lady descended and beckoned Spring toalight.
"Wait down the lane," said she to the coachman. "We shall be some littletime. Now, Mr. Spring, will you kindly follow me? I have written aletter which makes an appointment."
She passed swiftly through the plantation by a tortuous path, thenover a stile, and past another wood, loud with the deep chuckling ofpheasants. At the farther side was a fine rolling park, studded withoak trees, and stretching away to a splendid Elizabethan mansion, withbalustraded terraces athwart its front. Across the park, and making forthe wood, a solitary figure was walking.
The lady gripped the prize-fighter by the wrist. "That is your man,"said she.
They were standing under the shadow of the trees, so that he was veryvisible to them, while they were out of his sight. Tom Spring lookedhard at the man, who was still some hundreds of yards away. He was atall, powerful fellow, clad in a blue coat with gilt buttons, whichgleamed in the sun. He had white corded breeches and riding-boots. Hewalked with a vigorous step, and with every few strides he struckhis leg with a dog-whip which hung from his wrist. There was a greatsuggestion of purpose and of energy in the man's appearance and bearing.
"Why, he's a gentleman!" said Spring. "Look 'ere, ma'am, this is all abit out of my line. I've nothing against the man, and he can mean me noharm. What am I to do with him?"
"Fight him! Smash him! That is what you are here for."
Tom Spring turned on his heel with disgust. "I'm here to fight, ma'am,but not to smash a man who has no thought of fighting. It's off."
"You don't like the look of him," hissed the woman. "You have met yourmaster."
"That is as may be. It is no job for me."
The woman's face was white with vexation and anger.
"You fool!" she cried. "Is all to go wrong at the last minute? There arefifty pounds here they are in this paper--would you refuse them?"
"It's a cowardly business. I won't do it."
"Cowardly? You are giving the man two stone, and he can beat any amateurin England."
The young pugilist felt relieved. After all, if he could fairly earnthat fifty pounds, a good deal depended upon his winning it. If he couldonly be sure that this was a worthy and willing antagonist!
"How do you know he is so good?" he asked.
"I ought to know. I am his wife."
As she spoke she turned, and was gone like a flash among the bushes. Theman was quite close now, and Tom Spring's scruples weakened as he lookedat him. He was a powerful, broad-chested fellow, about thirty, with aheavy, brutal face, great thatched eyebrows, and a hard-set mouth. Hecould not be less than fifteen stone in weight, and he carried himselflike a trained athlete. As he swung along he suddenly caught a glimpseof Spring among the trees, and he at once quickened his pace and sprangover the stile which separated them.
"Halloa!" said he, halting a few yards from him, and staring him up anddown. "Who the devil are you, and where the devil did you come from, andwhat the devil are you doing on my property?"
His manner was even more offensive than his words. It brought a flush ofanger to Spring's cheeks.
"See here, mister," said he, "civil words is cheap. You've no call tospeak to me like that."
"You infernal rascal!" cried the other. "I'll show you the way out ofthat plantation with the toe of my boot. Do you dare to stand there onmy land and talk back at me?" He advanced with a menacing face and hisdog-whip half raised. "Well, are you going?" he cried, as he swung itinto the air.
Tom Spring jumped back to avoid the threatened blow.
"Go slow, mister," said he. "It's only fair that you should know whereyou are. I'm Spring, the prize-fighter. Maybe you have heard my name."
"I thought you were a rascal of that breed," said the man. "I've had
thehandling of one or two of you gentry before, and I never found one thatcould stand up to me for five minutes. Maybe you would like to try?"
"If you hit me with that dog-whip, mister----"
"There, then!" He gave the young man a vicious cut across the shoulder."Will that help you to fight?"
"I came here to fight," said Tom Spring, licking his dry lips. "You candrop that whip, mister, for I _will_ fight. I'm a trained man and ready.But you would have it. Don't blame me."
The man was stripping the blue coat from his broad shoulders. Therewas a sprigged satin vest beneath it, and they were hung together on analder branch.
"Trained are you?" he muttered. "By the Lord, I'll train you before I amthrough!"
Any fears that Tom Spring may have had lest he should be taking someunfair advantage were set at rest by the man's assured manner and by thesplendid physique, which became more apparent as he discarded a blacksatin tie, with a great ruby glowing in its centre, and threw asidethe white collar which cramped his thick muscular neck. He then, verydeliberately, undid a pair of gold sleeve-links, and, rolling up hisshirt-sleeves, disclosed two hairy and muscular arms, which would haveserved as a model for a sculptor.
"Come nearer the stile," said he, when he had finished. "There is moreroom."
The prize-fighter had kept pace with the preparations of his formidableantagonist. His own hat, coat, and vest hung suspended upon a bush. Headvanced now into the open space which the other had indicated.
"Ruffianing or fighting?" asked the amateur, coolly.
"Fighting."
"Very good," said the other. "Put up your hands, Spring. Try it out."
They were standing facing one another in a grassy ring intersected bythe path at the outlet of the wood. The insolent and overbearing lookhad passed away from the amateur's face, but a grim half-smile was onhis lips and his eyes shone fiercely from under his tufted brows. Fromthe way in which he stood it was very clear that he was a past-master atthe game. Tom Spring, as he paced lightly to right and left, looking foran opening, became suddenly aware that neither with Stringer nor withthe redoubtable Painter himself had he ever faced a more business-likeopponent. The amateur's left was well forward, his guard low, his bodyleaning back from the haunches, and his head well out of danger. Springtried a light lead at the mark, and another at the face, but in aninstant his adversary was on to him with a shower of sledge-hammer blowswhich it took him all his time to avoid. He sprang back, but there wasno getting away from that whirlwind of muscle and bone. A heavy blowbeat down his guard, a second landed on his shoulder, and over went theprize-fighter with the other on the top of him. Both sprang to theirfeet, glared at each other, and fell into position once more.
There could be no doubt that the amateur was not only heavier, but alsothe harder and stronger man. Twice again he rushed Spring down, once bythe weight of his blows, and once by closing and hurling him on to hisback. Such falls might have shaken the fight out of a less game man, butto Tom Spring they were but incidents in his daily trade. Though bruisedand winded he was always up again in an instant. Blood was tricklingfrom his mouth, but his steadfast blue eyes told of the unshaken spiritwithin.
He was accustomed now to his opponent's rushing tactics, and he wasready for them. The fourth round was the same as to attack, but it wasvery different in defence. Up to now the young man had given way andbeen fought down. This time he stood his ground. As his opponentrushed in he met him with a tremendous straight hit from his left hand,delivered with the full force of his body, and doubled in effect by themomentum of the charge. So stunning was the concussion that the pugilisthimself recoiled from it across the grassy ring. The amateur staggeredback and leaned his shoulder on a tree-trunk, his hand up to his face.
"You'd best drop it," said Spring. "You'll get pepper if you don't."
The other gave an inarticulate curse, and spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Come on!" said he.
Even now the pugilist found that he had no light task before him. Warnedby his misadventure, the heavier man no longer tried to win the battleat a rush, nor to beat down an accomplished boxer as he would a countryhawbuck at a village fair. He fought with his head and his feet as wellas with his hands. Spring had to admit in his heart that, trained tothe ring, this man must have been a match for the best. His guard wasstrong, his counter was like lightning, he took punishment like a manof iron, and when he could safely close he always brought his lighterantagonist to the ground with a shattering fall. But the one stunningblow which he had courted before he was taught respect for his adversaryweighed heavily on him all the time. His senses had lost something oftheir quickness and his blows of their sting. He was fighting, too,against a man who, of all the boxers who have made their names great,was the safest, the coolest, the least likely to give anything away, orlose an advantage gained. Slowly, gradually, round by round, he was worndown by his cool, quick-stepping, sharp-hitting antagonist. At last hestood exhausted, breathing hoarsely, his face, what could be seen of it,purple with his exertions. He had reached the limit of human endurance.His opponent stood waiting for him, bruised and beaten, but as cool, asready, as dangerous as ever.
"You'd best drop it, I tell you," said he. "You're done."
But the other's manhood would not have it so. With a snarl of fury hecast his science to the winds, and rushed madly to slogging with bothhands. For a moment Spring was overborne. Then he side-stepped swiftly;there was the crash of his blow, and the amateur tossed up his arms andfell all asprawl, his great limbs outstretched, his disfigured face tothe sky.
For a moment Tom Spring stood looking down at his unconscious opponent.The next he felt a soft, warm hand upon his bare arm. The woman was athis elbow.
"Now is your time!" she cried, her dark eyes aflame. "Go in! Smash him!"
Spring shook her off with a cry of disgust, but she was back in aninstant.
"I'll make it seventy-five pounds--"
"The fight's over, ma'am. I can't touch him."
"A hundred pounds--a clear hundred! I have it here in my bodice. Wouldyou refuse a hundred?"
He turned on his heel. She darted past him and tried to kick at the faceof the prostrate man. Spring dragged her roughly away, before she coulddo him a mischief.
"Stand clear!" he cried, giving her a shake. "You should take shame tohit a fallen man."
With a groan the injured man turned on his side. Then he slowly satup and passed his wet hand over his face. Finally, he staggered to hisfeet.
"Well," he said, shrugging his broad shoulders, "it was a fair fight.I've no complaint to make. I was Jackson's favourite pupil, but I giveyou best." Suddenly his eyes lit upon the furious face of the woman."Hulloa, Betty!" he cried. "So I have you to thank. I might have guessedit when I had your letter."
"Yes, my lord," said she, with a mock curtsey. "You have me to thank.Your little wife managed it all. I lay behind those bushes, and I sawyou beaten like a hound. You haven't had all that I had planned for you,but I think it will be some little time before any woman loves you forthe sake of your appearance. Do you remember the words, my lord? Do youremember the words?"
He stood stunned for a moment. Then he snatched his whip from theground, and looked at her from under his heavy brows.
"I believe you're the devil!" he cried.
"I wonder what the governess will think?" said she.
He flared into furious rage and rushed at her with his whip. Tom Springthrew himself before him with his arms out.
"It won't do, sir; I can't stand by."
The man glared at his wife over the prize-fighter's shoulder.
"So it's for dear George's sake!" he said, with a bitter laugh. "Butpoor, broken-nosed George seems to have gone to the wall. Taken up witha prize-fighter, eh? Found a fancy man for yourself!"
"You liar!" she gasped.
"Ha, my lady, that stings your pride, does it? Well, you shall standtogether in the dock for trespass and assault. What a picture--greatLord, what a picture!" r />
"You wouldn't, John!"
"Wouldn't I, by--! you stay there three minutes and see if I wouldn't."He seized his clothes from the bush, and staggered off as swiftly as hecould across the field, blowing a whistle as he ran.
"Quick! quick!" cried the woman. "There's not an instant to lose." Herface was livid, and she was shivering and panting with apprehension."He'll raise the country. It would be awful--awful!"
She ran swiftly down the tortuous path, Spring following after her anddressing as he went. In a field to the right a gamekeeper, his gun inhis hand, was hurrying towards the whistling. Two labourers, loadinghay, had stopped their work and were looking about them, theirpitchforks in their hands.
But the path was empty, and the phaeton awaited them, the horse croppingthe grass by the lane-side, the driver half asleep on his perch. Thewoman sprang swiftly in and motioned Spring to stand by the wheel.
"There is your fifty pounds," she said, handing him a paper. "You werea fool not to turn it into a hundred when you had the chance. I've donewith you now."
"But where am I to go?" asked the prize-fighter, gazing around him atthe winding lanes.
"To the devil!" said she. "Drive on, Johnson!"
The phaeton whirled down the road and vanished round a curve. Tom Springwas alone.
Everywhere over the countryside he heard shoutings and whistlings. Itwas clear that so long as she escaped the indignity of sharing his fatehis employer was perfectly indifferent as to whether he got into troubleor not. Tom Spring began to feel indifferent himself. He was wearyto death, his head was aching from the blows and falls which he hadreceived, and his feelings were raw from the treatment which he hadundergone. He walked slowly some few yards down the lane, but had noidea which way to turn to reach Tunbridge Wells. In the distance heheard the baying of dogs, and he guessed that they were being set uponhis track. In that case he could not hope to escape them, and might justas well await them where he was. He picked out a heavy stake from thehedge, and he sat down moodily waiting, in a very dangerous temper, forwhat might befall him.
But it was a friend and not a foe who came first into sight. Round thecorner of the lane flew a small dog-cart, with a fast-trotting chestnutcob between the shafts. In it was seated the rubicund landlord of theRoyal Oak, his whip going, his face continually flying round to glancebehind him.
"Jump in, Mr. Spring jump in!" he cried, as he reined up. "They're allcoming, dogs and men! Come on! Now, hud up, Ginger!" Not another worddid he say until two miles of lanes had been left behind them at racingspeed and they were back in safety upon the Brighton road. Then he letthe reins hang loose on the pony's back, and he slapped Tom Spring withhis fat hand upon the shoulder.
"Splendid!" he cried, his great red face shining with ecstasy. "Oh,Lord! but it was beautiful!"
"What!" cried Spring. "You saw the fight?"
"Every round of it! By George! to think that I should have lived to havehad such a fight all to myself! Oh, but it was grand," he cried, in afrenzy of delight, "to see his lordship go down like a pithed ox andher ladyship clapping her hands behind the bush! I guessed there wassomething in the wind, and I followed you all the way. When you stopped,I tethered little Ginger in a grove, and I crept after you through thewood. It's as well I did, for the whole parish was up!"
But Tom Spring was sitting gazing at him in blank amazement.
"His lordship!" he gasped.
"No less, my boy. Lord Falconbridge, Chairman of the Bench, DeputyLieutenant of the County, Peer of the Realm--that's your man."
"Good Lord!"
"And you didn't know? It's as well, for maybe you wouldn't have whackedit in as hard if you had; and, mind you, if you hadn't, he'd have beatyou. There's not a man in this county could stand up to him. He takesthe poachers and gipsies two and three at a time. He's the terror of theplace. But you did him--did him fair. Oh, man, it was fine!"
Tom Spring was too much dazed by what he heard to do more than sit andwonder. It was not until he had got back to the comforts of the inn, andafter a bath had partaken of a solid meal, that he sent for Mr. Corderythe landlord. To him he confided the whole train of events which had ledup to his remarkable experience, and he begged him to throw such lightas he could upon it. Cordery listened with keen interest and manychuckles to the story. Finally he left the room and returned with afrayed newspaper in his hand, which he smoothed out upon his knee.
"It's the _Pantiles Gazette_, Mr. Spring, as gossiping a rag as ever wasprinted. I expect there will be a fine column in it if ever it gets itsprying nose into this day's doings. However, we are mum and her ladyshipis mum, and, my word! his lordship is mum, though he did, in hispassion, raise the hue and cry on you. Here it is, Mr. Spring, and I'llread it to you while you smoke your pipe. It's dated July of last year,and it goes like this--
"'FRACAS IN HIGH LIFE.--It is an open secret that the differences whichhave for some years been known to exist between Lord F---- and hisbeautiful wife have come to a head during the last few days. Hislordship's devotion to sport, and also, as it is whispered, someattentions which he has shown to a humbler member of his household,have, it is said, long alienated Lady F----'s affection. Of late shehas sought consolation and friendship with a gentleman whom we willdesignate as Sir George W----n. Sir George, who is a famous ladykiller,and as well-proportioned a man as any in England, took kindly to thetask of consoling the disconsolate fair. The upshot, however, wasvastly unfortunate, both for the lady's feelings and for the gentleman'sbeauty. The two friends were surprised in a rendezvous near the houseby Lord F---- himself at the head of a party of his servants. Lord F----then and there, in spite of the shrieks of the lady, availed himself ofhis strength and skill to administer such punishment to the unfortunateLothario as would, in his own parting words, prevent any woman fromloving him again for the sake of his appearance. Lady F---- has lefthis lordship and betaken herself to London, where, no doubt, she is nowengaged in nursing the damaged Apollo. It is confidently expected that aduel will result from the affair, but no particulars have reached us upto the hour of going to press.'"
The landlord laid down the paper. "You've been moving in high life, Mr.Thomas Spring," said he.
The pugilist passed his hand over his battered face. "Well, Mr.Cordery," said he, "low life is good enough for me."