The Unseen(29)

George stands poised, but his opponent sinks slowly onto his back, and out of consciousness. The roar goes up again, deafening, shutting out thought; and without realising it, Cat adds her voice to it, a triumphant yell for George’s victory. Money changes hands, men shake their heads, George is passed a mug of beer, is clapped on the back; somebody throws a blanket over his shoulders which he shrugs off at once, accepting instead a stool to sit down on and a tatty piece of muslin with which to wipe his face. Cat makes her way towards him, wide eyed and inexorable.

‘And I thought you such a gentle soul, when I first met you,’ she tells him, without preamble. George frowns at her for a second, then smiles, recognition flooding his face.

‘Cat Morley, who speaks so well and cusses even better,’ he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Though he is tired and bruised, there’s a gleam in his eye, and Cat recognises it. The same gleam that sent her sneaking out of The Rectory in the dark. ‘I didn’t think to see you here.’

‘There’s precious little entertainment in this town, it seems,’ she says, wryly.

‘True enough. I’d have thought you’d be kept in of an evening though, saying your prayers with the vicar and his wife?’

‘Have you been asking about me?’ Cat demands.

‘Maybe I have, and what of it? It’s you that’s come and sought me out, after all.’ George smiles.

‘True enough.’ Cat echoes him. She smiles, a quick flash of her small, white teeth. ‘Do you always win?’

‘Not always. Most of the time, though I say it myself. There’s few around here who would bet against it, but every few weeks a fellow comes along who thinks he can knock me down.’ George gestures at the loser of the fight, still lying where he went down, and apparently forgotten.

‘Won’t somebody take care of him?’

‘His people are somewhere hereabouts. They’ll pick him up by and by, if they’ve not fallen down themselves,’ George assures her.

‘So why do you usually win? That man had longer arms than you, and he was taller. But you beat him easily.’

‘Not that easily.’ George dabs at the cut on his brow, the muslin staining red. ‘What these other fellows don’t seem to know, you see, is that it’s not how hard you can hit that’ll win you the fight, it’s how hard you can be hit.’

‘And you can be hit hard, can you?’

‘My father saw to it. He trained me from an early age,’ George says, still smiling but the gleam fading from his eyes.

‘Well, my father was always kind to me, and somehow that was worse,’ Cat says, folding her arms.

‘I heard something said about your father,’ George admits.

‘Whatever it was, it was wrong, I promise you that.’ She stands in front of him, only a fraction taller even though he is sitting down. ‘So, will you buy me a drink with your winnings, or won’t you?’

‘I will, Cat Morley. I will,’ George tells her.

‘You might put your shirt back on,’ she suggests, archly.


With the fight over the pub begins to empty, men straggling off to their homes and their unforgiving spouses. Cat and George walk along to the bridge. The night has darkened to black, and Cat stares blindly along the towpath when they reach it, suddenly loath to set out along it, to return to her cramped attic room and Mrs Bell’s noisy sleep.

‘Let me walk you. Have you not brought a light with you?’ George asks, mistaking her reluctance for a fear of the dark.

‘No. You needn’t, I’ll be fine. The path is simple enough,’ Cat says. They stop walking, turn towards each other, faces blurred by the darkness.

‘Aren’t you afraid, Cat?’ he asks, puzzled.

‘Afraid of what?’

‘To be walking out with me, when you hardly know me. To be seen with me.’

‘I don’t think you mean me harm, but if I’m wrong it’s my own fault. And as for being seen with you – surely if you’ve asked about me you’ll have been told that I’m a sullied outcast, and a criminal, and quite possibly a killer. These are some of the whispers I’ve heard. My reputation can’t be made worse than it is. So, aren’t you afraid to be seen with me, instead?’ She smiles, mischievously. George laughs softly, and she likes the sound. A low, bouncing chuckle.

‘I mean you no harm, you have that right. As for the rest of it, I scarce gave it any credit until you came marching into the fight tonight. Now I think, a girl who’ll do that, unescorted and unafraid, might just have done some of the things I heard about!’