four
ROYSTON SCRATCHED THE skin around the thick, tight bandage that covered his eyes and wrapped around his head. The physician had ordered him to keep his eyes closed and protected from the sunlight and dust to help them recover quickly. His coming and going in and out of the inferno in the theatre had caused a serious eye inflammation that had temporarily blinded him.
Lord Havisham had confined Royston to his bedroom, relieving him of all his duties until he healed completely. At first, Royston hadn’t minded, but after a week of being in his bedroom doing nothing and not seeing anything, the inactivity bothered him. Also, his face itched, even though the physician came once a day to remove the bandage and wash his eyes. He suspected Lord Havisham’s kindness had little to do with his good heart and everything to do with the royal lad. The earl was going to exploit every ounce of Royston’s popularity.
Royston shouldn’t complain about his condition, especially since more than a hundred people had died. Many had been trampled to death by the panicked mob. Others had died in the hospital. His injury shouldn’t be permanent; the physician was optimistic. But he wouldn’t mind some company.
A soft knock came from the door. “Mr. Alexander? It’s me, Miss Haywood. May I come in?”
Miss Haywood? He sat up on the bed, wondering if he was decent. “Come in.”
The hinges screeched, and light footsteps sounded. Only one pair of footsteps. He stood up, putting a hand on the wall for support.
“Miss Haywood. Your visit is unexpected.”
“Mr. Alexander, please sit down. I’m glad to see you again…” A pause. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a silly joke.”
“Not at all. Why are you here?” He wished he could see where she was. He hoped he wasn’t talking with the chair.
“I meant to come earlier, but the butler told me your physician forbade any visits for the first few days of your recovery, and I was in pain as well.” The swish of fabric came.
“How’s your arm?”
“My mother prepared a special poultice to numb the flesh and protect it from infection. I have to say it works. I’m much better now.”
“Great. So you are here because…?” Did he sound rude? He couldn’t tell anymore.
He was grumpy on a good day. After a week trapped in his bedroom with an itchy bandage around his face, he was allowed to be even grumpier, wasn’t he?
“I’m here to keep you company.” The noise of paper shuffling came. “I’ve brought some newspapers and magazines to read to you. But if you’d rather stay alone, I’ll leave immediately.”
Being alone or spending some time with the spirited Miss Haywood? Very spirited. Not really a choice, and he was desperate for company.
“Please stay, Miss Haywood. I appreciate your company.”
“Thank you, Mr. Alexander.” There was the scraping of wood. “You may sit down. I’m sitting on the chair.”
“Great.” He plopped himself on the bed. He should have tidied up a bit. He had no idea if there were undergarments or dirty socks around.
“I have theHeraldunless you want me to read something else.”
He shifted his position, trying to straighten the bed covers. “The latest issue ofUppercutshould be on the table. I’d like you to start with that.”
“Uppercut?” Papers rustled. “What is it? A sewing and knitting magazine? Oh, a boxing one. I didn’t know there were boxing periodicals.”
“That’s my favourite, and I’m eager to know who won the last match.”
“Very well.”
Twenty minutes later, Miss Haywood’s voice dropped to a flat, boring monotone.
“…and Ed the Beast smashed a powerful hook against Gorgeous Ross… I’m sorry, but who gave these names to these pugilists? They’re ridiculous.”
“Would you mind keeping going? I’d like to know who won,” he said, literally on the edge of his seat.
“But it’s so boring and violent. Can’t I read something else?”
“Just tell me who won.”
