Chapter Twenty-Three

On the morning of the fair the sun shone brightly and it did, indeed, feel like spring had finally emerged after a long and never ending winter. Clara marvelled as the yellow heads of a host of daffodils danced in the sunlight and bowed their heads in the breeze in the flower beds surrounding the ornamental fountain outside Stapleton Manor. The children were excited about attending the fair too as the Punch and Judy show would be there once again, along with some fairground rides they were longing to try out. It was arranged that Mrs Montgomery take charge of them while Clara and Lord Stapleton watch the boxing matches taking place inside the tent. The children had even managed to persuade the housekeeper to try a few side show attractions with them at the fairground. The woman seemed a different person these days since being reunited with her daughter, Lorna—seeming happy and content with life which reflected now in how she treated those around her.

Mama had decided not to attend the boxing matches as although she was particularly fond of Patrin, she said she couldn’t hold with any violence, but she was more than happy for Megan and Edmund to attend the fair with Emily and Jake as long as they kept them well away from the boxing tent.

When Clara and Lord Stapleton arrived at the fair the place was already packed with people excitedly looking around at the various attractions. There were squeals of delight and howls of laughter here and there carried along by the breeze. Gentlemen and ladies of all classes were smartly dressed everywhere she turned. Men in their straw boaters and ladies in Sunday best bonnets and pretty dresses, children walking around clutching toys they or their parents had won from various stalls: teddy bears and rag dolls, sailing boats and colourful spinning tops were the order of the afternoon. All won from hoopla stalls, pin the donkey or the lucky dip tub.

Then Clara spotted the boxing tent with its candy striped roof awning and to the side of it, were Patrin’s horse and his caravan. She took a steadying breath and then looked up at the man beside her. Howard looked most handsome this afternoon in his smart blazer and straw boater hat. He had also grown a thin twirled moustache which she felt suited him well. Oh, she did feel proud to be on his arm that afternoon.

She turned suddenly, her attention attracted towards a stall that sold sewn garments like tea cosies and tray cloths, their colourful pastel ginghams and florals had drawn her eyes and she wondered if her mother might like to run such a stall in the future. She had uncoupled herself from Howard’s arm and in the jostling of the crowd, could no longer see him. A young boy and girl ran past her, almost toppling her over. From behind, two strong arms steadied her. Assuming it was Howard at her side, she was about to smile but then as she glanced up, it felt as though her heart had ceased beating.

Patrin!

He smiled at her, looking unsure for the first time. ‘You did get my letter?’ he asked.

He was wearing his dressing gown and she guessed beneath it he wore a pair of boxing breeches and his chest would be bare, just like that first time she’d seen him strip wash himself in the woods and again, outside his caravan the day Flori had told her fortune.

‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly. ‘But for obvious reasons, I did not keep it.’

He nodded. ‘I quite understand. So you do realise that after this evening, I shall not be returning to Stapleton Manor ever again to give you the chance to make a go of things with his lordship?’

She forced a smile when really she felt like crying. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s how much I love you, Clara. I love you enough to let you go because I want you to be happy. Your happiness comes before my own.’

Hearing him say as much fair nearly broke her heart. He lightly touched her shoulder and gazed into her eyes. ‘We both know it. I believe in my heart that you and I are soul mates. Maybe we’re not destined to be together right now, but some day…’ Then he turned, leaving her standing there, her eyes glistening with tears as he walked towards the tent.

‘Ah, there you are!’ Howard said walking cheerfully towards her. ‘I wondered where you’d got to. I just got talking to an old acquaintance at the beer tent…’ Noticing her distress, he asked, ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

What could she possibly tell him that wouldn’t break his heart? He was a good man deep down, she was sure of that, but come this evening Patrin would have moved on and things would become easier for her to bear, eventually.

‘Oh, it’s nothing really,’ she said sniffing back a sob. ‘I’ve just been speaking to a lady who told me she knew my father…’

He nodded and linked arms with her once more. ‘I do understand,’ he said, then he patted her hand. ‘Now, we better make our way to the tent. I’ve managed to secure front row seats, well Patrin did for us.’

Oh no, she was hoping that they’d be able to sit at the back, that’s why she hadn’t been in any rush to get there, leaving the horde in first. As they drew near the tent’s entrance, a man was collecting money and issuing tickets to people. Two men were trying to argue with him and as he sought to deal with them, Clara’s tension began to mount, until finally they had come to some sort of agreement, paying the man and stepping inside.

When it was their turn to be admitted, the man smiled and doffed his hat to her. ‘Special guests at the front!’ he said jovially and he pointed in the direction of where they were to sit.  Inside, most had already taken their seats to see the spectacle. So many bobbing heads and there was constant chatter, so that a loud thrum filled the place. Theirs were the last seats to be taken in the centre of the front row. And then, Patrin entered the ring. A man beside him wearing a bowler hat and jacketless but in his shirt and waistcoat, shouted out. ‘Hello folks! Here we have the undefeated King of the Gypsies, Patrin Romanescu. This afternoon, this champion will take on as many of you men as possible. One at a time of course. If he knocks you down then you are to leave the ring. If he fails to knock you down and you can knock him down, you win five sovereigns!’ The crowd whistled and cheered. The man glanced around the audience. ‘Any takers, please?’

A middle aged gentleman, who looked old enough to be Patrin’s father, emerged from somewhere in the crowd and the man who had taken their tickets escorted him to the ring. The promoter shouted from inside the ring, ‘Ah, I see we have the first contender!’

‘That man has no chance,’ Howard whispered to her and she nodded at him for surely he was right. He even struggled to remove his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Was he drunk? Surely not?

Sure enough, the man did not last even a minute before Patrin had knocked him to the floor. As the show went on he knocked man after man to the canvas. Some were young and fit looking men, but not one of them could compete with him. It wasn’t half as bad as Clara thought it was going to be until the man in the ring shouted, ‘I see we have a final contender, folks! A last minute entrant!’

All heads turned and Clara gasped as a familiar figure began to stride towards the ring with a cocksure expression upon his face.

Josiah Whitman!

People mumbled and Clara shot a sideways glance of suspicion at Howard. ‘This just isn’t fair,’ she hissed.

The lord turned towards her and smiled and then patting her hand said, ‘What isn’t, my sweet?’

‘Patrin having to fight Josiah Whitman. Look at the size of him! Not only that, Patrin has already fought with several men, he’s exhausted.’ She looked anxiously as Patrin stood expressionless in the ring. If he was worn out by it all then he was making a good job of hiding it. But the man had been on his feet constantly for the past half hour or more. One or two of the men who came to challenge him obviously were too old, unfit or even inebriated, but he had sparred with a couple who stood their ground for some time. Those ones hadn’t made it easy for him and had tired him out.

Then her mind flashed back to that day when she had lost sight of Megan and Edmund at the fair at Christmas time when Josiah had led them both away to that stall to show off his prowess by exhibiting how strong he really was. The man had angered Patrin so much at the time especially as he’d offered to take him on in a boxing match the following day, but the weather had put pay to that. Now it seemed that Josiah was here today to go through with what he’d promised to do back then.

As Josiah stepped into the ring, Clara turned her head in towards Howard’s chest, causing him to look at her in an odd fashion as she closed her eyes with fear. ‘What’s going on here, Clara? Surely you’re not frightened? It’s only a game, a bit of showmanship!’ he chuckled.

‘No, it’s more than that. These two dislike one another. There was a standoff last Christmas between them because Josiah had led my brother and sister away from safety to show off his strength. I didn’t know where they’d got to and became sick with worry. He’s a bad man,’ she said as she opened her eyes.

The lord’s laughter ceased as he straightened up in his seat, causing Clara to remove her head from his chest and sit up herself.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, taking her hand in his. ‘I didn’t realise that. But you mustn’t worry at least everyone can see for themselves what’s going on here, there can be no underhand dealings or nasty tricks in front of this audience and the promoter.’

She nodded, she supposed Howard was right about that.

A loud cheer went around the tent as the men began to spar with one another. A punch here and there, but thankfully Patrin was still quite light on his feet as he danced around Josiah, but the man was a powerhouse of strength and not to be dismissed as he had a strong right hook. The mood of the audience picked up as the match went one round, two, then three and eventually seven rounds. Patrin was now showing signs of tiredness but he wouldn’t concede defeat even though Josiah had punched him in the face several times, causing the skin to split beneath the cheekbone. Even the promoter was beginning to look concerned and in between rounds, whispered something in Patrin’s ear but Patrin shook his head. Clara watched as the promoter shrugged and then dipped a towel in a bucket of water and wiped down Patrin’s face. He was perspiring profusely as a steady stream of blood began to trickle down his face.

‘This should be stopped!’ Clara said angrily as she made to rise from her chair, feeling she could no longer watch the whole debacle, but it was too late. Josiah brought his right fist up into an upper cut punch just beneath Patrin’s jaw, sending him flying through the air, so that he landed flat on his back. The referee began to count to ten: One, two, three…but by the time he reached the number ten, Patrin still lay there and reluctantly, the man raised Josiah’s arm and declared him the winner as most of the crowd cheered loudly.

‘But he’s not getting up!’ Clara shouted and Howard looked on in horror as she pushed past him to rush towards the ring. No one else seemed concerned but then the promoter knelt down and began to slap Patrin’s face, but there was no response from him. He looked at the crowd aghast as the cheering subsided and the onlookers now realised something wasn’t right. ‘Is there a doctor out there?’ he shouted, now in a panic as a smartly dressed young man began to rush towards the ring, many in the crowd still unaware of what was going on.

Clara lifted her skirts to rush to the ring and not caring whether it was unladylike or not to step inside, she knelt beside Patrin and stroked his head. The doctor put two fingers to Patrin’s neck and looking up at the promoter said, ‘I’m afraid there’s no sign of life here.’

Clara stepped out of the way as the doctor tried to resuscitate the lifeless form before him, but to no avail. When all of this was going on, Josiah asked, ‘Well, where’s my money then?’

Clara looked at him, fiercely jabbing him in the chest with her index finger. ‘This is your fault! You’ve killed him! Get out of here right now!’ She yelled at him as he fled the ring.

Everything became a blur as she knelt beside Patrin as tears spilled from her cheeks, landing on his lifeless form. She stood and became aware of two strong hands supporting her while she almost fainted. ‘Patrin,’ she whispered, thinking for a moment it was him, but when she looked up at the man’s face, it was Howard who was comforting her, hugging her close to him and wiping away her tears.