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the ropes and went to him. I blessed him for his silence then. The feel of his thigh beneath my own was more comforting than anything he might’ve said.
    Before too long there came a cull climbing over the ropes and taking his place as second in the other corner, followed by the little man who always squired the fights on the booth. I guessed now that he was Mr Narrow. He wore an ill-fitting wig and rushed about the stage, crying out, ‘Come forward, and see this valiant miss take on a champion of the ring!’
    He gestured that I should stand. My head seemed to come up faster than the rest of me. The betting began. From what I could hear the crowd hadn’t much hopes of me and soon I saw the reason; the cully they sent into the ring was near as big as Tom and with the meanest mug I ever saw. If I’d not liked the sound of theatricals before I was glad of it now.
    ‘The more in the hat, the harder they fight!’ Mr Narrow called out.
    Tom was shifting about nervously; he didn’t know about theatricals, and thought me ready for a beating.
    ‘Don’t fret,’ I said, but I didn’t explain. I couldn’t tell if he heard me.
    My eye found Mr Dryer again. He looked to be arguing with the gents he was with, Mr Sinclair and the handsome cull that Dora was so taken with.
    ‘This young miss will stand up against the hardest fellow I have on my booth,’ cried Mr Narrow.
    ‘Step up,’ I called to the big cull, ‘big as you are, you’ll take such hits as make you feel like a little girl!’
    Mr Dryer always liked me to call out in this way and now Mr Narrow looked at me and nodded.
    ‘Then let the same be true of you, though you be more sow than woman,’ the big cull replied, shrugging off his shirt to hand to his second. This friend of his laughed out loud to hear such high wit.
    ‘Sow I may be,’ I said, ‘but I kick like a donkey, as you’ll soon tell.’
    All this was said loud, for the ears of the fancy who crowded the ring. Already I could feel my vision narrowing; I might call out for the crowd but all I could see was that big hackum, with his thick skull waiting to be broke. I had to keep reminding myself about the theatricals. I hoped he’d know how best to do it.
    Mr Narrow waved us to our corners. Mrs Narrow had climbed up beside where Tom knelt. She held a bottle of water to splash upon my face if I should need it. I sat on Tom’s knee. His big hand came up and rested on my arm. I knew he was wondering if he should take me out of there but I knew just as well that he’d not dare, unless I asked him to do it. I just stared at that great lobcock opposite me, sitting on the knee of his own second. He didn’t meet my eye but gazed at the air above my head, or perhaps at Tom.
    At last, after too long and yet too soon, the betting was done and Mr Narrow called us up to scratch. As soon as I was there I might’ve been back at The Hatchet. I knew I could take him; I knew it. I forgot again about the theatricals and had to pull myself back – I was going to take him because he was going to let me. First I must seem to lose.
    Mr Narrow called out, ‘Fight!’
    We began our dance. I threw a few fast pokes, though not much to hurt. When Tom and I played at fighting in the convent yard, to please the misses or the cullies, he’d move his head when I fibbed him, so as to make the force seem more than it was. This cull did nothing of the sort, but rather looked at me with a scornful eye. This riled me a little and I threw my fist in earnest. There, he felt that. He shook his head like a bullock and I threw two more, fast as a shuttle. These I pulled back so as not to really hurt, but put enough into them to make them sting. He wasn’t scornful now. My hand stung something cruel; the cloth inside the mufflers had ripped the scabs from the cut that Tom had given me the day before.
    I threw a few darts with the left and parried with my right forearm, to rest my poor wounded mauler. He threw a few, but slow, and I