The Highwayman Read Online Free PDF Page A

down.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    Fortunately for the injured man there was not much left of the night. Unfortunately, he lay awake for the remainder of it, unable to sleep because of the unrelenting pain in his thigh. At one point, he did, indeed, consider shouting at the top of his lungs until someone came to his aid, but he discarded that notion in favour of stoic martyrdom.
    Instead, he spent much of that time devising ways in which he might take his revenge upon the insensitive female who had appointed herself both his physician and his nurse, only to abandon him to his agony. He knew quite well that he had done his part in driving her away, but anyone with a modicum of sense would know that a man in his condition could not be held accountable for his behaviour.
    When at last sunshine bathed the room and he could hear sounds of activity from another part of the house, he fixed his eyes on the door, waiting with fiendish anticipation for her to enter.
    After a moment, however, it occurred to him that he would be at a serious disadvantage lying there as he was, with her looking down at him. Laboriously, he placed the pillows against the head of the bed, then carefully maneuvered himself to a sitting position against them, though the effort left him panting and trembling like a newborn colt. But with the move finally accomplished, he returned his attention to the door, thinking. Now let her come. He was ready for her.
    But it was some time before anyone appeared, which did nothing to improve his temper. When someone finally did come, it was not his nemesis, but another female of even greater vintage. He could not recall having seen this one before, but as she was smiling cheerfully and carrying a promising-looking tray, he decided to hold his spleen until such time as he should be faced with its proper target.
    She introduced herself, and he returned her good-morning civilly, adding that he hoped hers would prove to be better than his augured to be.
    Agatha cocked her head and studied him solicitously before saying, “You poor man. You look as though you had not slept a wink.”
    “How observant you are, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t mean to complain, but I fear a bullet wound is not conducive to restful sleep.”
    He softened this with a smile of such singular charm that even a female of Miss Wedmore’s advanced years was not immune to it.
    For just a moment, she felt a breathless fluttering within her chaste spinster’s breast before recovering herself enough to say, “Oh, dear. I’m sure Miss Lockwood will be very sorry to learn that she did not dose you with sufficient laudanum to relieve your pain.”
    The man’s eyebrows lifted as he replied, “My dear Miss Wedmore, I was not dosed with so much as a single drop of laudanum.”
    “Not? Now, whatever can Jane have been thinking? It is not at all like her to be so remiss. But however it came about, I shall rectify the mistake immediately. In the meantime, I have brought you some breakfast.”
    After carefully arranging the tray beside him on the bed, Agatha whisked the covering napkin away, and he looked down into a bowl of thin, grey stuff which could only be gruel. Beside it sat a cup of weak-looking tea. The expectant expression faded from his countenance, and he groaned before muttering, “I might have guessed it. In addition to all else, she means to starve me.”
    Agatha’s lips twitched ever so slightly, but in truth, she could enter into his sentiments exactly. However, when she had said as much to Jane earlier, she’d received a lecture on the proper diet for an invalid. This she now dutifully repeated to their patient.
    After staring at her for a moment, he replied, “If I were not so da—so hungry, I’d send this back to that—that female with my compliments. As it is, you may tell her from me that for my next meal, I expect something a great deal more substantial. Where is she, anyway?”
    “I collect you are referring to Miss