A Bride for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

out, spitting and hissing like an angry cat.  How she would have liked to have done that!  To have picked up her fallen shoe and flung it at his head as hard as she could throw it!
Mina’s bottom lip trembled, and she bit on it until she could taste blood.  She hated him.  Not Jeremy Vance, but William Nye.  The sudden realization brought her up short a moment and she stood a moment shivering in the dark.  Why did she blame Nye so much for the debacle?  After all, he had been as coerced into their farcical marriage as she.
Maybe that was why she was so angry, she thought, comprehension dawning.  She thought there should exist some fellow feeling between them, some kind of sympathy for a fellow sufferer.  They had been in the leaky boat of their marriage together, until he had pitched her over the side to the sharks!  Yes, that was it, she thought with a decisive nod.  That was why she blamed William Nye.  Squaring her shoulders, she strode onward, ignoring her sore heel and the dull ache in her chest.  She needed to forget all notions of allies or friends.  For these days she was quite alone and had none.
By the time she reached The Merry Harlot most of the lamps were extinguished, though she could still hear occasional bursts of merriment from the public barroom.  Avoiding that entrance altogether, she skirted the edge of the courtyard and surreptitiously tried another door.  For the first time that day, luck was in her favor and the handle turned.  Stepping inside with a thankful sigh, she pulled it closed behind her, leaning heavily against it while her eyes accustomed themselves to her surroundings.   She seemed to be in another bar, this one a more genteel version with rugs on the floor, upholstered sitting chairs and round tables.  Were parlor bars a thing, she wondered with a frown?  If so, then The Merry Harlot had one, although, she realized with a sneeze, it was rather dusty and seemed little used.  She moved slowly across the room, bumping into little tables as she went.
The only reason she was tiptoeing, she told herself, holding her breath as creaking footsteps crossed the floor above her, was to keep things simple.  All she wanted to do, was find her bags and an empty room for the night.  She could reopen hostilities on the morn, but for now, she simply wasn’t equal to them.  She had risen at six and it was now long past midnight.  It had been a long day; she was cold and weary and wanted her bed.  When her questing fingers found the door latch on the opposite wall, she slowly levered it open and gazed out into the dim hallway.
There they were!  Her trunk and carpetbag had been dumped unceremoniously in the corridor.  The trunk was far too heavy and would have to wait until the morrow, but she pounced on her carpetbag and brought the large, ugly piece of luggage to her chest and hugged it as though it were an old friend.  She nearly wept with relief at being reunited with it, and that was when she realized she was overwrought and needed the seclusion of a quiet room to collect herself.  She didn’t even care about food or washing her face.  Just sleep.
Lifting the ribbons of her ruined bonnet, she plunked it on her head and caught sight of her reflection in a large etched mirror on the opposite wall.  My God!  She looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards!  Telling herself there was nothing she could do right now to repair the damage, she headed for the staircase instead.
Three brass candleholders with snuffers were laid out on a side table next to a silver candelabra.   Transferring one of the lighted candles into a holder she held it up before her and with a muttered prayer that her luck would hold, started to limp up the stairs, wincing at every step.  On the first floor, she found two locked doors and one that opened onto a room strewn with personal belongings and an unmade bed.  The fourth room was a bathroom with discolored porcelain tiles and a matching roll top bath with clawed feet.  Next to it was a smaller hip bath which would not take so long to fill and a handsome washstand.  Opening the last room on that floor, she heard two sets of loud snores and beat a hasty retreat.
There was nothing for it, she would have to go up another flight of stairs.  Her heart in her mouth, Mina mounted the steps until she found herself on another landing. This floor seemed a good deal livelier than the first.  The first room, she did not try for she could hear a fully-fledged row erupting between its occupants.
“Just you wait!” a woman screeched.  “I’ll see you hanged first, Clem Dabney, you see if I don’t!”
“Woman!  Hold your tongue!” came the deep and furious response.  There was the sound of something thudding against the wall and the shattering of glass.  Seven years’ bad luck thought Mina hurrying past that one as fast as her blistered foot could take her.  Unless it was a window of course.
The second room, disappointingly, was locked.  The third she could distinctly hear giggling from.  If she wasn’t mistaken, it was that blonde barmaid named Ivy.
“Oh, you rogue!” she cooed.  “You know that costs extra.”
Mina pursed her lips and passed on to the fourth room which she prized open gingerly.  At first, she thought it was a sitting room, for there were several chairs dotted around it, then she noticed a mattress in the middle of the floor and on it a half-dressed man sprawled out swigging beer from a stone-wear jar.  He looked up in surprise and she saw his head was bandaged.
“That you, Ivy love?  Frank didn’t take long then!”