The steward had the cavalry gloves out before I finished asking.
"Your usual pair, my lord."
He laid them across their box, knuckles up. The reinforcement covered exactly the part of my hand I had spent breakfast trying not to bend. I left them where they were and looked at the rack behind him. There were softer pairs at the bottom, made of undyed leather, with enough loose material in the fingers to be useful.
"May I try those?"
He followed my gaze but didn't reach for them. "The packing gloves?"
"Yes. For packing."
He drew a line through the item number in his book and entered another. I waited while he finished the word, then took the gloves. The left one went on easily. With the right, I had to feed each finger in separately and work the cuff down by its edge. Once it was on, I could close my hand most of the way. The leather scarcely touched the burn.
The steward put the lid beside the cavalry box, ready to return it to the shelf. I had already taken off the softer right glove when I thought of the other things I needed.
"Two rolls of linen as well. And salve. Plain salve."
He looked at my finger. I pulled the glove back on too quickly and caught the raised line against a seam.
"The infirmary is better supplied for that, my lord."
"It's for the journey." I spread my hand on the counter, then drew it back. "A travel kit."
He waited. I could have said more about luggage, difficult roads, the inconvenience of looking for bandages in a carriage. I had rehearsed some of it on the way down. But he was already turning toward the shelves, and I let him.
The linen was stored above a row of travel cases. Beside them hung paper slips with names on them, some crossed out, some with a second date added. A coat had been entered on one slip; under it, in darker ink, somebody had written belt still missing. Cedric's name wasn't there. The steward had brought a cleaner book from a cupboard when I entered.
He counted out two rolls, choosing the second from farther back on the shelf, and inspected the underside of a tin before setting it beside them.
"For chafing," he said. "It won't mend the finger."
"I understand."
He entered the items beneath the gloves. There was a narrow space between the lines, just enough for the quantities. I watched him squeeze in the second numeral.
"You'll have your copy. The other goes upstairs with the week's requisitions."
"To whom?"
He looked up. "His Grace."
I put a finger beside the list. "Just write travel kit."
"In the purpose column?"
"Instead of all this."
The steward kept his pen clear of my hand. "I have to enter what leaves the room."
"You know who is taking it."
"Yes, my lord."
He waited for me to move my finger, then put the quantity beside the salve. It was irritating how little the remark had accomplished. I looked again at the book's unmarked cover, the careful space he had left for my name.
"Does my father read the whole list?"
"I send the whole list." He adjusted the ruler along its edge. "You can ask His Grace for a private charge, if that's what you require."
I rubbed at a loose thread on my cuff. A request about the gloves would reach him sooner than the gloves themselves. I picked up the tin instead.
"Include the academy. In the purpose column."
He added it without striking out anything.
I asked for the road allowance next. Instead of opening a drawer, he brought out a narrow authorization slip. I could draw the money when the departure booking was entered; the driver would submit the road expenses, and anything unused went back to the household.
"And equipment?"
He offered another sheet. "Have you finished choosing?"
I hadn't. He set the blank request beside the allowance. "If you put them together, this waits until the equipment is settled."
I looked at the two rolls on the counter. The right glove was already easier to wear than anything in my drawer. I pushed the equipment sheet back to him.
"Keep them separate. I'll take these today."
He ruled through the equipment space on the allowance, left the supply list intact and turned the signature line toward me.
The pen was beside my left hand. I picked it up and began the signature. The first stroke leaned the wrong way. I stopped, looked at the pen, and realized what I had done.
Neither of us spoke while I changed hands. I had to hold the nib more upright than usual to keep the pressure off my index finger. The rest of the name took long enough that the steward glanced toward the door, then back at the page. He blotted it, gave me the applicant's copy and drew the book closer to prepare the duplicate.
I laid my copy on the counter while he wrapped the linen and tin in plain paper. Then I tucked it and the allowance slip under the string.
The tin shifted when I lifted the parcel. I set it down and tried to tighten the string with my left hand, pinning the knot with the heel of my right. It slipped twice.
"Leave it a moment, my lord."
The steward held out his hand. I let him take the parcel. He retied it, turned the knot so I could get my left fingers beneath it, and went back to his book.
---
In my room I loosened the knot with my teeth. I tore a narrow strip from one of the linen rolls and rubbed a little salve into the chafed skin beside the mark. Tightening the strip made the finger pull; I unwound it and started again, looser. The soft glove fitted over it. This time the seam stayed clear when I bent my hand.
I poured a little water into a cup at the washstand. Yesterday I had reached for the handle as though nothing had happened. Now I hooked my middle and ring fingers through it and kept the sore index clear. The cup tilted. I steadied its base with my left hand, moved my thumb higher on the handle, and tried again.
The finger ached inside the linen. I waited, then took my left hand away. With the cup only half full, I could keep it level. I carried it across to the chair and sat down before drinking.