female companion, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. ‘You couldn’t have employed that right hook against her!’
Taking advantage of the relaxation in the atmosphere, Lord Matthison took a place at the table, and clicked his fingers for service. After he had ordered a round of drinks, Fred clapped him on the shoulder, admitting,
‘If it hadn’t been you, it’d uv bin someone else. There’s nearly always a fight in here of a Friday night.’
‘Usually a woman what starts it, too, one way or another,’ bitterly asserted a man on the other side of the table whose fists, Lord Matthison recalled ruefully, had made such an indelible impression on his ribs.
When he told him as much, the man’s scowl turned to a grin of pride. ‘For a gent, you pack quite a punch yourself. Spar with Gentleman Jackson, I suppose?’
He allowed the conversation to dwell for some time on the merits of the science that could be learned at such establishments, compared to the tricks learned in less salubrious surroundings.
There was a slight lull when the serving girl brought their tray of drinks, and once they had all toasted his punishing right, he turned to the topic he had really come in to investigate.
‘What did you mean when you referred to…Mary,’ he forced himself to call her, though he was by no means certain it was her real name, ‘as a simpleton?’
They had spoken of her that way several times, and attributed their defence of her largely to that cause.
‘Just that,’replied the one who had reminded him his name was Joe. His jaw, Lord Matthison noted with grim pride, was still rather swollen. ‘She ain’t all there. My Molly looks out for her at work, but…’ He raised his tankard, and took a long pull.
‘And she don’t like men,’ pointed out Fred, sympathetically. ‘No disrespect to you, sir, but she’s jumpier than an unbroke filly round men she don’t know well. Couldn’t let you go a scaring of a poor maid like that.’
‘Molly reckons,’ said Joe, setting down his tankard and aligning the handle with great precision, ‘she’s been took advantage of, before she come to London.’ There was a murmur of assent from the other men. ‘Not that she’s ever spoke of it. Says she don’t remember much of anything before she fetched up in town. Molly said she was a lot worse back then even than she is now. Headaches, and sort of fits, and that.’
Lord Matthison went cold. The girl had no memory of the time before she came to London? Six years ago? Could that account for the blank look in her eyes?
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