The Bareknuckle Groom - Holly Bush Page 0,43
to choose between him and Papa. I don’t know what has led me to this conclusion or why I’m willing to sacrifice my papa’s good opinion, and maybe his love, but I am.”
“You love him? This Mr. Thompson?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know what to think. But I do know that he intrudes on my thoughts at the strangest moments during the day and the night. I’m not sure I wish to kiss any man other than him. Ever.”
“Then you must go. You must understand your feelings and if they are fleeting or if you think you will always feel the same. I wish I had been more courageous,” she said. “And you must, you absolutely must, be very careful. I love you, dear.”
“I love you too, Aunt. I will be very careful.”
Alexander and MacAvoy waited with Alexander’s father, Andrew, and his Uncle Nathan to enter the warehouse where James’s match would be held. The line was long and rowdy, some men holding bottles of whiskey in their hands, and some occasionally shouting, although it was impossible to know what they were saying.
A young man staggered toward Nathan and held his half-full bottle at arm’s length. “Want a drink, then, mate?” he said and hiccoughed.
“No. No, but thank you,” Nathan said.
Alexander laughed as the two older men were enveloped into a group of young men.
“Will they get their pockets picked?” Alexander asked.
“Doubt it. I know some of those boys. They just like to carouse,” MacAvoy said. “And we were never going to find four seats together anyway.”
“Dear Lord!” Alexander said. “Father just took a swig out of that bottle.”
“We’re next,” MacAvoy said as he nodded to the door of the warehouse. He pulled bills out of his trouser pockets, fumbling with the papers and dropping coins.
Alexander picked up the money. “Have you already been into those fellows’ gin?” he said with a laugh and looked up. “What’s the matter? You’re not looking well.”
MacAvoy blew out a breath. “I’m worried. It makes me sick thinking about James taking on Jackson without me in his corner. I’m not being proud or bragging, but I’m skilled at what I do for a boxer. Jackson is as good as James—and younger too. It’s going to be brutal, and if I know James, he’ll stay on his feet out of sheer stubbornness.”
“Elspeth will never forgive me if something happens to him,” Alexander said. “Is there anything you can do?”
“Not really, but I’d like to be in floor seats close to the ring. I’ll be able to see what’s going on.”
Alexander and MacAvoy shouldered their way inside and headed to the betting tables, both laying down cash and taking their chits. MacAvoy found two young men in the second row near James’s corner. He bodily picked them up and deposited them in a back row while Alexander eyed off anyone looking to try to take their seats.
“Have you seen your father and uncle?” MacAvoy asked.
“Over there. Uncle Nathan’s the one struggling to climb up to the tiered seating. Good Lord. Father’s pulling him up by his coat.”
“That’s what cheap gin does to you.”
The crowd quieted when Red Chambliss, the promoter, in his purple jacket and green plaid pants, stepped into the ring.
“This match will go until one of the men is knocked out or doesn’t make it back to the scratch, marked right here in the very center of the ring. No head butting, no spiked shoes, and no hitting a downed man at a Chambliss match. A round ends when a man’s knee touches the floor, or he gets caught up in the ropes. Them corner men can carry him to his corner, and he’s got thirty seconds, then I ring the bell, and he’s got to get hisself to the scratch in eight seconds. We follow the London Prize Ring Rules,” Chambliss said to hooting and hollering. “Except the ones we don’t want to follow!”
The crowd roared when Jackson entered the warehouse. MacAvoy and Alexander stood with the rest of the men to see him as he made his way to the ring.
“Impressive specimen,” Alexander shouted over the roar of the crowd.
“I saw him fight in New York a few months ago. Other than James, he’s the best fighter I’ve ever seen.”
The throng turned in their seats, and the noise increased three-fold. James Thompson had entered, and MacAvoy and Alexander were yelling and whistling along with the rest of the crowd. James was completely focused on his opponent, his eyes never leaving Jackson as