arms under Donovan’s, and hauled him to his feet. Donovan stood uncertainly, testing his weight. When he tried to walk, his right leg buckled. Mr. Brendan draped Donovan’s arm around his neck, then braced his arm around Donovan’s waist. “Easy,” he said, and together, the two men began to make their way out of the drawing room.
“Where?” Mr. Brendan asked Hollis as she darted ahead.
“Up the stairs, two flights, to the right,” she said. “Ruth, bring something we can wrap around his rib cage. And tell Mrs. Plum we must clean his cuts.”
Ruth hurried out, already calling for Mrs. Plum.
Hollis kept in front of Donovan and Mr. Brendan, pausing every few steps to see if they followed. On the first landing, Donovan looked as if he was wilting, so Mr. Brendan squatted down and lifted Donovan onto one shoulder. “It will hurt like Hades, but it’s quicker,” he said, and began to stride up the stairs with Donovan crying out every few steps.
In Donovan’s room, Mr. Brendan said, “A hand, please, Mrs. Honeycutt. I’ll need you to keep him from falling as I lower him down.”
She quickly moved around to his right, and as he lowered Donovan off his shoulder, Hollis braced Donovan to keep him from falling. But he was heavy, and he slid off awkwardly. When he did, his arm brushed against Mr. Brendan’s hair, pulling it forward from having been combed back behind his ears. That’s when Hollis very clearly saw the patch of white in Mr. Brendan’s hair. She was so startled she forgot that she was helping, and Donovan bounced onto the bed.
“Bloody hell,” he groaned.
Hollis straightened up and looked at Mr. Brendan. His attention was on Donovan—he was trying to swing his feet around to the end of the bed. He had brushed his hair back into place, but she could still see a tiny bit of white. White, Eliza had said. King Maksim and his daughters had those curious streaks of white in their hair. As if the artist had forgotten to dash on a bit of color to fill in the hair.
Her heart began to race. Her thoughts were divided between her concern over Donovan’s well-being and the many puzzle pieces that were moving around, trying to fit into place in her thoughts. She stared wide-eyed at Donovan as she tried to absorb what she’d just seen and what it could possibly mean.
Donovan’s face had gone gray, and perspiration was beading on his forehead. “Have you anything for the pain?” he implored her.
“Yes.” She took his hand and squeezed lightly. This was the thing she’d feared for Donovan, the thing he always said she need not worry over.
Ruth banged into the room with a stack of linen sheets. “Here we are. Mrs. Plum is coming with the things to tend to his other wounds.”
Ruth was still speaking when Mrs. Plum burst into the room. “Donovan!” she cried, breathless. She was a woman in her sixth decade of life, and while she had a great amount of stamina, which Hollis admired, the stairs left her breathless. “Oh, dear, lad, look at you!” she cooed. She leaned over him and touched the wound at his brow with her fingers. “We’ll have to clean you up, won’t we? I’ll bandage him up, Mrs. Honeycutt. Ruth, bring the sewing basket, and fetch the laudanum from the cupboard in the larder.”
Ruth dropped the linens onto the foot of the bed and raced out.
“What’s all the commotion?” Mr. Brimble appeared, looking as if he’d been changing for bed—his waistcoat and neckcloth were gone, his shirttail pulled from his trousers and hanging to midthigh.
“Donovan ran into a bit of trouble this evening,” Hollis said as everyone crowded around the bed.
“What’s that?” the old man said, shuffling forward. “Oh! What a sight you are, lad. Hope you gave them what for.”
“Tried,” Donovan said. “But there were three of them to one of me.”
Hollis gasped with outrage.
“You’re going to have some lovely bruises, I’m afraid, love,” Mrs. Plum said. “But they haven’t ruined your handsome face, not one bit. In fact, nothing looks too terribly mangled. I suspect you’ll live to charm again.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Plum. I was worried,” Donovan muttered.
“I should go,” Mr. Brendan said. “Good luck to you, sir,” he said to Donovan, then looked at Hollis across the top of Mrs. Plum’s head. “Thank you, Mrs. Honeycutt. Good evening.”
“No, wait,” Hollis said, and looked frantically between Mr. Brendan and Donovan.
“Go on, Mrs. Honeycutt,” Mrs. Plum said. “We’ll take