"That won't be necessary, Dr. Clarke. Josh and I will drive him home," responded Mrs. Kennington. In return, Haytham nodded and wrung his hands together lightly as he watched Tom being picked up. He truly hoped that man wouldn't act rashly and try working soon. If he ever planned to walk normally, or at least almost normally again, he would need at least at least two or three weeks of rest to let the bone fuse itself together. God forbid the man walked on it and offset the bone or, even worse, broke it again as it was in the process of mending.
Clara held out a small, blue pouch and smiled warmly at Haytham. Smiling back, he took the pouch with one hand and removed his glasses with the other. He wouldn't need them for now, at least. In his hand, he folded them up and shoved them into a pocket of his night clothes. In the other pocket, he placed the pouch of money. "Thank you very much, Miss," he replied, following her toward the door and standing in the archway of the entrance as they got into the car.
"Oh, Dr. Clarke," Clara suddenly added, stopping and turning to face him. "Hm?" asked Haytham, raising a chestnut-colored eyebrow quickly as he held the door open with the heel of his right foot while he stood on the ball of that foot. "I...Well, I thought that perhaps...That is, if you aren't busy...Perhaps you and Sara would like to join my brother and I for dinner on Thursday at out estate. Company would be very welcome". Dear Lord, when had he last been invited to another person's home for anything besides a house call? Haytham smiled lightly as he ran a hand quickly through his tousled locks.
"That sounds delightful," he responded warmly, setting his foot down and, instead, holding open the heavy wooden door with an outstretched palm. "I'm certain Sara would love that, too." His cheeks, unbeknownst to him were a very light shade of pink as blood rose to them. With his other hand, he waved to them. "Don't you walk on that foot, Thomas! It's a real pain re-breaking bones to set them!" That usual frightened patients enough to stop them from doing anything stupid whilst recovering. He waited until they were up and out of the short drive and on to the streets before retreating into his home and letting the door shut. Out of habit, he kept it unlocked, should anyone require his assistance, and made his way upstairs to his room.
Haytham's bedroom surely was a sore sight for eyes. It hadn't truly been cleaned since Dawn was alive. Instead, things had been shoved into corners or temporarily moved to other places in the house, such as the attic or the cellar or his study. Books littered any and all surfaces: his dresser, his nightstands, even a few shoe boxes had been converted into a make-shift stand for a few books on human anatomy. There were a few instruments here and there, strewn around in an "organized mess", as Haytham liked to call it. Though most of his home was pristine, Dr. Clarke had simply not been able to do anything to straighten up his bedroom. Maybe it was because he had no time or, maybe it was because he spent hardly any time in the room. As he pulled off the night clothes and held them before him, he finally noticed just how much blood he'd gotten on himself. Praying Sara would be able to get the stains out, he tossed the light blue night clothes into a heap and walked toward his wardrobe to pull out his clothing for the day.
From the mahogany chiffonier, he pulled out khaki colors trousers, a white dress shirt, and a brown vest. It was a nice, May day and so he decided against bringing a suit jacket as he dressed for the day. While fastening the buttons of his waist coat, he coaxed his weathered pair of dress shoes out from beneath his bed and slipped them on, tying them after the waist coat was on. Dressed and ready, he made his way down to the study to pack his doctor's bag with a plethora of instruments and medicines. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was being unprepared for a patient. In fact, he'd rather lug around pounds of extra supplies than not enough supplies. Zipping the bag shut, he slipped his glasses into a breast pocket and made for the door, which he locked behind him as he set off down the road to make a few house calls.