Page 21 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

He had been most vocal about the dinners she saw fit to dish up to him and Harold of an evening. Breakfast was not too bad, for Theo could fob them off with toast, bacon, and eggs most mornings. Her one attempt at porridge, which had been very lumpy, had left her brother begging her never to try it again. The two men were expected to make their own arrangements for lunch, as it fell in the middle of their workday, so she was spared that necessity.

No, it was the evening meals that caused Theo’s poor head to ache. Planning them, buying the ingredients for them, and—worst of all—cooking them. She was under no illusions that anything she had served at table so far had been remotely appetizing. The vegetables were usually limp and overcooked, the gravy watery, and the meat invariably tough.

She knew for a fact Felix had been fortifying himself with midday visits to the pie vendor near the theatre. She had found pastry crumbs and telling grease stains on his cuffs and lapels when she had been struggling with the dreaded laundry.

She must be an undutiful sister indeed, for the information did not mortify her as she knew it would other women. As for Harold, her feelings still smarted enough for her to ignore the fact he only managed to clear half of his supper plate these days, and if this continued for any time, his clothes would soon be hanging off him.

Suddenly, she remembered she should have gone to the baker this morning, for they had finished off the last of the bread at breakfast. That was another thing Theo was finding difficult, staying on top of supplies. For the past two weeks, she had found herself running out of random things on an almost daily basis.

Monday had been eggs, Tuesday, milk, and Wednesday, butter. It was simply impossible to keep track of things. Yesterday she had noticed the flour tin was almost empty and she had been forced to scrape the sugar bowl this morning for her cup of tea. How on earth had Mrs. Cherwell managed to juggle it all?

Theo abandoned the sprouts and cast about with a harassed air for the piece of paper she had started scrawling her shopping list on, but when she found it, she did not think it was the right one. This one simply stated “Coal.” Were they about to run out of coal? She glanced about at the coal scuttle. It did look a little low now she thought about it. Bother.

What day was the coal merchant was supposed to call? Mrs. Cherwell had been prepared with payment for every tradesman’s visit, but Theo missed half of them and found herself short of the necessary coins for the others. It was all most vexing and dissatisfactory all around.

A sudden horrid thought occurred to her. Perhaps the coal supplier had cut them off for non-payment? Felix would never forgive her if the household water was not heated. Ugh. She scrubbed at her tired eyes. She really must try to catch the coal wagon this week and find out if they were bad debtors.

Picking up a pencil, she found she had now forgotten whatever it was she had wanted to add. She studied it a moment wracking her brains. Ah yes, bread. Theo turned her head to look at the kitchen clock. Did she have time to rush to the baker? The nearest one was a half-hour walk away at least.

Biting her lip, Theo reached for the Staffordshire cow creamer off the top shelf on the dresser. She tipped it upside down, emptying it of money, and gazed sadly at what was left of her weekly household budget. Precious little, she reflected, and from this small pile of coins, she was still expected to purchase Friday’s supper from the fishmonger.

Theo sighed and pressed her raw knuckles into her eye sockets. All morning had been taken up with boiling the laundry and her arms still felt itchy from repeatedly rinsing out the harsh soap she had soaked it in the night before.

This afternoon she had to wring it all out and put it through the mangle, a horrible contraption that lurked in the scullery. Then, there remained the starching and ironing to be done and Theo only had the vaguest notions of how one starched shirt collars. Her previous attempt the week before had been lamentable.

Now that she considered it, laundry was even worse than cooking. Her existence would be bleak indeed if she did not have an escape plan in place. Her heart swelled with gratitude toward Mr. Dabney. Their marriage at least would deliver her from this never-ending procession of household tasks she showed no aptitude for.

She felt worn out with it all and she had barely been keeping house for a month. Briefly, she thought of Henrietta and wondered what her sister was up to at this moment in time. Perhaps partaking of an elegant luncheon or strolling Parisian streets in search of diversion.

Or maybe she was simply sat at leisure in her hotel, enjoying her view and reading a book, Theo thought enviously. It felt like she had not had the liberty to indulge in a little recreational reading in forever.

The distressing reality was that she simply had no time to pursue her own interests anymore. She had not even opened a book in the last two weeks and the gown she had started to make herself a month ago was still in pieces and folded atop her sewing box.

On Wednesday, Lil called around directly after Felix had departed and they commandeered the front parlor for their first rehearsal. Lil was tired, for she had been trudging around the theatres looking for work. Nothing had turned up, and she had been forced to pick up bar work in a “gentleman’s grill” temporarily to make ends meet.

“My feet are killing me, darlin’,” Lil had admitted, sinking down onto the sofa. Theo had made some sympathetic noises and drawn Lil’s attention to the fortifying “cup that cheers” which she had placed on the occasional table in front of her friend.

Then, resolutely, she had whisked around the piano stool and taken her seat. “These are the numbers I’ve adapted for us from Harold’s originals,” she announced. Then, before she even had the chance to grow self-conscious, she had plunged straight into the first one. She did not even have time to feel embarrassment these days. Lil could only spare two hours a week for the development of their act.

“Oh, he’s never dipped his toe before, just shilly-shallied in the shallows,” Theo sang forth brightly as she plunked down on the keys. Her skill on the pianoforte was strictly minimal but she could follow a tune right enough. Fortunately, she had rewritten the lyrics before she had taken up her new duties, which had turned out to be so time-consuming.

Lil’s mouth had fallen open after the first chorus and she had sat frozen throughout the rest of it, her eyes growing wider and wider. “You never wrote them words!” she gasped, after the last rousing verse.

“I most certainly did!” Theo assured her, crashing down on the keys dramatically at the finish and then launching straight into the next number. “Oh, he may think he’s cock o’ the walk,” she sang heartily, “but my fine fellow is nothing but talk.”

Lil had almost choked on her mouthful of hot tea and then gone off in a coughing fit. Theo had finished the rollicking number before Lil had managed to catch her breath. “What does Allsop make of them?” the older woman wheezed at last, her mouth still quivering with mirth.

“I have not shared them with him,” Theo admitted, “but when I intimated that I was working on a new act, he said I could repurpose them as I saw fit. He does not consider them of any import in his body of work for they were mere trifles he wrote for us as a favor to my uncle.”

Lil pursed her lips. “When he said that, no doubt he thought your ‘new act’ would never get off the ground.”

“More than likely,” Theo agreed. She hesitated. “What did you think of them?” she asked with a casualness she did not feel.

“I think they’re bloody genius!” Lil said frankly. “I never knew you had it in you, girl. I don’t even recognize those tunes, but with your lyrics, they’re catchy as hell.”

Theo breathed out a shaky breath and smiled her first genuine smile in weeks. “I’m so glad.”

“You must know they’re bloody brilliant,” Lil said with a raised brow.