A Bride for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

tray.  It was Edna, and this time it bore a bowl of soup.
“You didn’t drink your tea, Mrs Nye,” she scolded.
“Sorry,” Mina muttered guiltily, sitting up.  “That smells good.”
Edna set the tray down across her knees and thumped the pillows until they gave enough support to Mina’s back.  She stood a moment, watching Mina take her first mouthful, then allowed her eyes roamed over the room.  “That’s a fine silver teapot,” she said with grudging admiration.
“It was my mother’s.”
“You ought to have a fine parlor to set it off.”  Mina had no reply for that.  “Shall I make you another then?”  Edna asked, nodding to the cold pot of tea.
“I would love a cup of tea,” Mina admitted.  “Thank you, Edna.”
Enda picked up the tray with the earthenware teapot and hesitated.  “Will I use your things?” she asked casually.  Mina looked up in surprise to see Edna’s gaze fixed longingly on the yellow floral cups and saucers.
“If you would not mind, that would be very nice.”  She hesitated.  “Will you join me for a cup?  If you’re not serving this evening.”
“Ivy always serves evening bar,” Edna replied, visibly brightening.  “I’ll be glad to join you, Mrs Nye.”
She reappeared twenty minutes later without her apron, carrying a tea cloth and a pot of hot water.  She laid the small table in Mina’s room with exquisite care, setting out the silver spoons, cups and saucers and the little jug and sugar tongs.
Mina, finishing off her soup watched as Edna warmed the silver pot and added the tea leaves, setting it aside to brew as she polished the delicate cups with a tea towel, admiring their gilded and fluted edges.
“As pretty a tea set as I ever did see,” Edna commented.
“Thank you.  It used to be a lot bigger, but alas I could not bring much with me.”
“Fancy having to leave your things behind,” Edna said with a shocked gasp.  “Would ‘a broken my ‘eart, that would!”
“A lot of it had to be sold,” Mina admitted.  “To pay my father’s doctor’s bills.”
Edna’s sharp gaze darted to meet Mina as she daintily spooned the sugar into the cups.  “That who you’re mourning?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Recent?”
“Papa died ten days ago today.”
Edna breathed out noisily.  Mina could see a question trembling on her lips that she could not quite bring herself to ask.  She looked up suddenly.  “I don’t care what they say,” she said defiantly.  “It’s like I told my aunt.  I know a respectable woman when I sees one.”
Mina felt a little choked at Edna’s vehemence.  She set the empty bowl of soup onto the bedside table.  “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Edna gave a sharp nod and lifted the lid to peer into the pot.  “I know my own mind,” she said grimly.  “And nobody makes it up but me.”  She levelled a look at Mina.  “Will you be coming to church tomorrow?”
Mina could see it was a loaded question.  “Of course,” she replied, though the prospect of seeing that place again was far from enticing.
Edna looked gratified.  “Service starts at nine sharp, so I always leaves at half eight to make it in plenty of time.”
“I will be ready to join you,” Mina assured her.  Edna poured their tea and they drank it in companionable quiet.  Then Edna withdrew and washed the things before restoring them carefully to Mina’s shelf.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Nye.”
“Edna, won’t you call me Mina?”
“It wouldn’t be fitting,” the maid replied looking scandalized.
“Just in private then?” Mina suggested.  Edna looked torn.  “Just consider it.”  She gave a nod and closed the door softly behind her.
Surprisingly, Edna wasn’t the last of her visitors that night.  Mina had dozed off into a deep sleep, only emerging from it when the clock struck midnight in the passage below.  Then she heard heeled boots coming up the attic stared and guessed it must be Ivy, for Edna she knew retired early for her early morning start.  The click of the heels stopped outside her room and hesitated a moment, before they crossed to the other side and returned a few moments later.
Mina frowned, only hearing the tap on the door because she was listening for it.  “Come in,” she called and Ivy’s blonde head full of curls peered round it.  She seemed surprised to see Mina wide awake.  “Evening,” she said, coming into the room with her candle and in her other hand and a stoppered glass bottle with a floral label on it, straight out of the pages of one of Mina’s periodicals.
“Thought you might like a drop of lotion for your poor hands and shins,” Ivy said.  “They looked scratched to high heaven when I saw you earlier.”
Mina was taken aback.  “That’s very kind of you Ivy,” she said, sitting up.
Ivy shrugged, dragging a chair to the bedside.  “Know how it feels, don’t I?  Having a man promise you the world then passing you off like you were nothing.”  She pursed her full lips as she pulled the stopper out of the bottle.  “He may be a pretty spoken gentleman,” she said bitterly.  “But that don’t make him any better than all the rest of them.”
Pretty spoken?  Mina couldn’t think of anyone less pretty spoken than William Nye.  When Ivy held her hand out, Mina placed hers in it with an air of bewilderment.  Ivy tipped a blob of white creamy fluid into Mina’s palm and then started working it into her hands with her fingers.
“I’m sorry I laughed now, when he was acting ugly toward you, on that first night.”  Ivy directed a frank look at her.  “Only he’s a good tipper and I didn’t think about how you’d be feeling at the time.”  Mina’s confusion grew.  “Looking back on it now, I can’t blame you for thinking I was a spiteful cow.  I’m not proud of