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Mr. Overton’s back stiffened. “He is no common dog, but a rare wolf-dog – ” he began.

“To my mind,” she interrupted him, “he is naught but a common mongrel that somewhat resembles a German shepherd dog.”

“A mongrel?” squawked Mr. Overton, clearly outraged.

“Recollect that according to official record, he is already mine,” she pointed out and began to saunter away. Sebastian obediently trotted by her side, and she retained her grip on his collar with ease.

“I want two guineas and no less will I accept!” Mr. Overton snapped angrily as he capered beside her with his long, skinny legs.

“I do not have anything like as much,” Lizzie retorted smartly. “I had a sovereign only and from that Mr. Wilkins’ damages have been subtracted, which by rights you should have paid.”

Overton’s mouth snapped shut as he considered this. “Very well, I want what remains of your sovereign,” he said grandly. “And will accept that as my payment for the animal.”

Lizzie considered this. Easy come, easy go. “Agreed,” she conceded and saw that even that did not please him. The corners of his thin lips drooped downward, as he clearly now thought he could have extorted more. “But I shall require written proof of our transaction and also witnesses. You do write, I take it?”

He glared at her. “I do, madam,” he sneered.

She inclined her head. “If you will follow me this way, then I shall pay you in front of – er – one of my family.” She almost stammered over the word, so strange was it to consider the Toomes’ in such a light.

Mr. Overton muttered under his breath but moderated his long stride to match her own. They made their way in silence toward the Toomes boxing booth, and she heard his swiftly indrawn breath. “I thought you said your name was Coombe,” he complained as they approached the boxing tent.

“Did you?” Lizzie uttered, glancing his way. She noticed he did not look thrilled at the prospect of tangling with the Toomes clan and could not say she blamed him.

Daphne was stood outside the entrance to the tent with a sour expression on her face. “You’re back, are you?” she asked without any marked enthusiasm. Her gaze flickered over Overton and the large dog impassively. Even as Lizzie opened her mouth in reply, Jack ducked under the canvas and appeared in front of them. He did a double take at Lizzie with her hand on the hulking dog beside her.

“Ah, Jack,” Lizzie hailed him with more familiarity than she had displayed heretofore. “I need you to bear witness to a business transaction between myself and this gentleman.” Jack looked immediately wary, although Daphne straightened up with interest. “I am purchasing this animal from Mr. Overton,” she asserted. “Do you have paper and pen?” she asked turning back to that gentleman.

Overton fumbled in his breast pocket and withdrew a small notebook of cheap-looking yellowed pages and the stub of a pencil.

“Excellent,” Lizzie said bracingly. “Now write: I, Stanley Overton, do willingly sell this large brown dog known as Sebastian to Mrs. Elizabeth Toomes for the sum of eighteen shillings–”

“Eighteen shillings?” Jack burst out incredulously.

“ – on this day, Wednesday the twenty-sixth of March in the year of our Lord 1845,” Lizzie finished smoothly.

Stanley Overton’s pencil moved over the paper, as he muttered the words under his breath.

“What sort of dog is that?” Daphne asked critically. “It looks half wild to me.”

“Now you sign, Mr. Overton,” Lizzie prompted, ignoring the interruption. “And Jack here shall sign as witness.”

Overton ripped out the page and added his scrawl on the back. Before he would pass the pad to Jack, he held out his bony fingers for the money. Lizzie dropped the coins into his palm, and he passed it over to Jack, who shook his head but added his initials all the same.

“If you would print your name underneath,” Lizzie told him looking at the J.T. he had contributed.

Jack gave her an ironic look. “You’ll have to do any writing,” he said with a shrug. “If it’s more than my initials you want.”

“I’ll do it,” Daphne offered. She took the page and painstakingly printed Jack Toomes under his initials, then added her own details before passing the paper to Lizzie who, glancing down, saw she had signed herself Daphne Smith in a neat hand. Lizzie returned the notebook to its owner, and abruptly, Stanley Overton turned on his heel and made off without a single further word.

Jack eyed her doubtfully as Lizzie folded the paper of ownership. “There’s plenty of husbands who’d beat you black and blue for wasting eighteen shillings on a dog like that.”

Lizzie opened her mouth on a sharp retort, but a great cheer went up from inside the tent, forestalling her. Jack turned and looked back over his shoulder.

“He could have spun it out for a couple more rounds,” he grumbled. “That bastard never plays the game like he’s supposed to.”

“Will Benedict be finished soon, or should I head back to our wagon, do you think?”

“He shouldn’t be too long, should he, Jack?” Daphne said quickly. She turned back to Lizzie. “I don’t suppose you’d do me a favor, would you, and take a turn here collecting the entrance fees?” It was by far the friendliest that Daphne had addressed her, but even so, Lizzie was wary.