Chapter 4

four

R OYSTON 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 the Herald unless you want me to read something else."

He shifted his position, trying to straighten the bed covers. "The latest issue of Uppercut should 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."

"All right. Let me skim this very long and convoluted article, full of blood and violence. So… the Beast was hit… Gorgeous won the third round… blood, blood, blood… punch, punch, punch, someone lost a tooth, goodness, so brutal!"

"Miss Haywood, please." He shifted again.

"Fine. It's the Beast. He won. Happy?"

He sagged. "No. I bet a quid on Gorgeous."

"May I read something else? Does this magazine have at least a horoscope column?"

"The horoscope? That nonsense about the planets? Please no."

She huffed. "Why not? It's all the rage in American newspapers and magazines. Some newspapers here have started including them. They're exciting. Let's see… no, of course there isn't anything remotely entertaining in this magazine, not even a comment on the weather. Of course, it's a matter of taste. I appreciate you finding Uppercut very entertaining."

If she was making faces at him, he would never know.

"Let's see the Herald . Gossip column," she said brightly.

"I'd rather read the horoscope."

"But there's an article about you. The brave and selfless Mr. Royston Alexander, a footman at the employment of Lord Havisham, was praised for his heroic acts by the queen herself . That's good, isn't it? Since Mr. Alexander disappeared from the public to take care of his injuries, we interviewed a few acquaintances of his and learnt that the proclaimed hero …" She coughed. "I've changed my mind. I want to read more about Gorgeous Ross. The poor thing lost the match. He must be distraught."

He turned in the direction of her voice. "Miss Haywood, tell me what the article says."

"It's all silly things you don't need to hear."

"I do. Please?"

"But why would you… oh, fine." She cleared her throat. " We learnt that the glorified hero of the terrible Theatre Royal fire is the son of a fallen woman. He grew up in a house of ill repute without a father …" A muffled noise rose. "Please, I don't want to read this. I'd rather read about hooks and uppercuts."

He acknowledged the sting of sorrow in his chest. "What they say is true though. I was born in a brothel. The girls who lived there helped my mother raise me. When I was a lad, I learnt to box from one of the nice jockeys. I kept the girls safe by kicking violent jockeys out of the brothel. One of the girls taught me how to play the piano. Another one how to play chess. Another one taught me how to…"

No, he didn't want to talk about dancing. About that rich jockey who had forced his mother to dance, using a whip, torturing her while the music had kept going until his mother had died. She'd suffered from a heart condition, and the forced dancing had been too much for her frail body. Just thinking about dancing made him sick to his stomach. A bitter taste soured his mouth. He scratched his face again, only to feel the sting of the pain and think of something else.

"Oh, I understand that, Mr. Alexander." Her embarrassment slipped into her voice.

"I didn't mean that sort of thing, miss. I was referring to something else."

"Those years must have been difficult for you."

He opened and closed his fists. He usually didn't talk about his past to anyone but having been blindfolded for a week made him a little desperate for company. He wanted to talk now, maybe because, with the darkness surrounding him, it was as if he were alone or in a confessional. Or maybe he was simply tired of keeping his story to himself, and he liked Miss Haywood.

"It wasn't that bad," he said. "I had a warm and safe place where to sleep. When the jockeys arrived, my mother would send me to sleep in a separate bedroom on the other side of the brothel. Despite that, I understood quite quickly what was going on in the other rooms. The girls spoiled me and took good care of me. I can't say my childhood was horrible. There were bad moments, of course. A man, in particular, was very cruel to my mother. He used the whip..." No, he couldn't go on.

A gasp came from her. "Heavens. I'm so sorry."

"I'll spare you the details. I apologise for having brought that up. It's not something you want to hear, miss."

He jolted when Miss Haywood touched his hand briefly.

"If you need to talk, I'll be happy to listen."

"No, it's all right," he said.

Minutes of silence stretched. He was glad she didn't fill it with senseless chatter.

He touched the bandage again and scratched his skin. "I didn't ask if you have other problems aside from the burn."

"I'm all right. I stopped coughing quickly after the incident, thanks to a syrup my mother prepared for me. She's a little shocked though." Her voice lowered. "She hasn't been the same since."

"None of us will be the same."

"You're right." A long pause filled by her soft breathing. "Thank you again for saving my life. I'm sure I'd be dead if you hadn't found me."

"You don't have to thank me." But he'd like it if she returned to read to him. If only he were bold enough to ask her.

"I should go." The swish of fabric came. "I'll be back tomorrow if you agree."

Thank goodness she brought that up.

"I'd appreciate it."

"See you tomorrow— drat. I'm sorry."

He laughed, and the laughter relieved him of the heaviness of his sorrows. "Don't worry."

"Good evening, Mr. Alexander."

After she left, a delicate trail of her rose scent lingered in the air.

Angeline knocked on Mr. Alexander's door, acknowledging the odd flutter in her belly. Her excitement might be due simply to her gratitude towards him and a sense of guilt that didn't want to leave her. She'd called him names before he'd saved her life, risking his own. She still found him a little rough, but his kindness and good heart were undeniable.

"Come in." His voice thundered from the other side.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Alexander." She slid inside the small room in Lord Havisham's townhouse.

The shirts and trousers that had been scattered around during her previous visit had been neatly folded in a pile. His bandage was gone, but his eyes were still red and puffy.

He blinked a few times. The stubble suited him. It enhanced his strong jaw. "Miss Haywood. Are you wearing green or blue?"

"Neither. It's a dark-red dress. Why aren't you wearing the bandage?"

He shuffled around, touching the walls and the table as he went. "The physician said I could remove it, but my sight is still blurred. It should improve in a couple of days, he said. How are you?"

She flexed out the fingers of her bandaged hand. The skin itched and tugged at the edges. "On the mend. The wound itches, but thanks to my mother's potions, there's no infection."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I've brought a chessboard if you'd care to play." She sat at the table. "Since you told me you know how to play, I thought you might enjoy a game."

He walked to the chair and sat down with tentative movements. "I can't see the chess pieces well. It's all a blurred black-and-white thing."

She set the pieces on the chessboard. "You'll have to trust me then."

He blinked, and goodness, his eyelashes were thick and golden at the tips. Quite pretty. "I trust you, miss."

A sudden flush warmed her face. She hadn't realised his trust meant so much to her until that moment. "Let's start."

An hour later, she'd lost her bishop, knight, queen, and countless pawns. How annoying. She should cheat before he destroyed all her pieces and won.

"Knight in D five," he said.

She followed his instruction, already glowering at him. The knight was dangerously close to her king.

"And I think this is a checkmate," he said with too much amusement, rubbing his hands.

She rested her chin on her fist. "I hate you, Mr. Alexander."

He barked out a laugh that made her laugh as well. It was the second time she'd heard him laughing. She liked it. He had a deep, rumbling laugh that filled the room.

"I appreciate the fact you didn't take advantage of my condition," he said.

"I thought about it a few times though. Before this game, I considered myself a decent player." She collected the pieces, but he did the same thing, and their hands touched over the king.

A little shock of sensations went up her arm. She should remove her hand, but the contact with his rough skin was shockingly too pleasant.

A blush crept over his face, exalting the rich colour of his chestnut hair and hazel eyes.

He withdrew his hand. "Apologies."

"It's all right." She worked quickly, stashing the pieces inside the drawers under the chessboard. "Are you going to resume your work soon?"

"I'm eager to do something, anything. This forced inactivity is wearing me down."

"I read in the Evening Standard about a formal ceremony to celebrate your heroic acts."

He shot his gaze towards the ceiling. "I'd rather get punched by Ross the Gross."

She chuckled. "You deserved recognition."

"That's not important. They should question the engineer who designed the Theatre Royal. The disaster could have been avoided if the theatre had been better designed. All the exits were crammed. People didn't have enough space to run. And they gathered all in the same corridor. That's why I managed to come and go a few times because there was almost no one in the lateral exit."

"I don't think you'll be able to escape the glory." She set the chessboard aside. A beautiful waltz music came from the upper floor. "What is it?"

He huffed. "Lord Havisham is organising a ball, which I'm afraid is in my honour. I guess the musicians are rehearsing."

Would she be too bold if she asked him to dance? Who cared? She'd risked her life and discovered her mother blackmailed people. Seize the day. "That's your opportunity to make amends after you so completely destroyed me at chess. What about a dance? I love dancing."

He stiffened, opening and closing his hands. "I can't see properly."

"We'll be careful. I'll make sure you don't hurt yourself."

"No."

"Just a count of eight."

"I said no!"

She fell silent. Heavens, he was angry. His eyes seemed sharper, and his voice deepened.

She smoothed down her skirt. "All right. I didn't mean to upset you."

He frowned, still stiff and tense.

She rose. "I…" She didn't know what to say. His outburst had been unusual. He was grumpy, but not short-tempered.

He stood up as well. "Thank you for your company." The words were polite, but the tone was not.

"You're welcome. I'll be back tomorrow." She waited for him to say yes.

"Actually, the physician will be here tomorrow."

She'd truly upset him. "Send a word if you want me to come."

"Thank you."

She left the room and headed for the servants' entrance since the butler had told her not to use the main entrance. Why had he raised his voice? Obviously, he didn't like dancing, or maybe he was upset because of his eyes, or maybe she'd been too bold. Never mind. His tone had hurt her, though.

She walked past the busy kitchen, from where steam and the smell of spices came, and exited through the back door. A woman and a man were playing cricket with a child in the park opposite the townhouse. They cheered when the child performed a good delivery.

"Come and kiss Mama." The woman opened her arms, and the child rushed to her, laughing.

The man kissed the child's head, and a squeaking "Papa" came out of the child.

They laughed together.

Beautiful. The feeling of being surrounded by love and of building something so precious with someone she deeply loved had to be the best in the world. No matter what Mama said, building a family was Angeline's dream.

She wanted to be as happy as that woman. She wanted to have a family and grow old with the man she loved. Mama might think that dream was silly, but Angeline's heart thudded faster whenever she saw happy families. Maybe because she'd never had one. She loved her mother despite everything, but a big family was another thing.

While every other young woman had to deal with match-making mamas who pushed one possible suitor after another towards their daughters, Angeline had the completely opposite problem. Her mama considered marriage the worst thing that ever happened to humankind after the invention of crinolines. A free woman held more power than a wife was her motto.

Shaking her head, she took the side alleyway that would take her to the main street when her mother came from the other direction, head down and quick feet.

"Mama?"

Her mother jolted. Her large hat hid her face, and her long cloak covered her from chin to ankle. "Angeline. Thank goodness." She took Angeline's good hand and led her to a dark corner. "I was looking for you."

"Is something the matter?" Angeline was almost scared of asking.

Her mother panted, glancing around. "Do you trust me?"

"That's a tricky question after your latest confession. Tell me what is going on. No lies, please."

Mama exhaled. "We must leave London for a while."

"What? Don't tell me one of the lords you blackmailed wants revenge."

"Shush!" Mama gazed around. "It's complicated. See, I've been meeting with a prominent physician?—"

"You blackmail even doctors now. What's next? Vicars? Judges of the peace?"

"No, it's not what you think. This physician is helping me with medicinal herbs… never mind. It's a long story." Mama exhaled through her teeth. "Please go home, pack a few essential things, and wait for me. I'll be with you as soon as possible, but you must be ready to leave when I come back."

"Where are you going? To see Lord Havisham?"

"No, I would never meet a lover in his own house." Mama inched closer and lowered her voice. "Please do as I say and be quick. Don't talk to anyone. Don't stop to buy anything. Just go home and get ready."

A combination of frustration and worry itched along her skin. "See what a mess we are in? You promised to stop."

Mama jabbed a finger at her. "No, I didn't do such a thing. You ordered me to stop. I've never said I would."

"Goodness, Mama." Angeline rubbed the ache on her forehead. "You'll send us to prison."

"Not if we're careful." Mama ushered Angeline towards the other side of the alleyway. "We don't have time to discuss. This is a serious matter."

"Who is chasing us?"

"It's better if you don't know for now."

"Mama," Angeline half-whispered, half-hissed. "This business of yours must stop."

Mama seized her good arm. "Too late now. Go home and wait for me. Now." She hurried away, leaving Angeline in the company of too many questions.

And the worst thing was that she wouldn't see Mr. Alexander any time soon.