Henry settled into the on guard position, lowered his back arm to signal an attack, and glared.

"I liked her first," Adam complained on the way to languages.

"It didn't mean anything," Henry repeated uselessly.

"You know how Frankie is. She started it."

"Well, you certainly finished it," Rohan put in, gloating.

Adam glowered. "It isn't fair," he grumbled.

"Adversus solem ne loquitor," Henry said with a shrug, taking his usual seat.

"There was reading for languages, too?" Adam looked scandalized at the injustice.

"No, it's Latin for-Never mind," Henry said as Edmund, James, Luther, Derrick, and Conrad piled into the surrounding seats and Professor Lingua waddled into the room.

The weather had warmed slightly, and the ominous clouds had retreated, giving way to a surprising late-afternoon sunshine that flooded through the windows of Professor Lingua's cla.s.sroom. Everyone was bent over his Latin exercise-except for Henry, who had finished early but was trying to look as though he hadn't. Which was why he noticed when James discretely pa.s.sed a note to Rohan.

Rohan slid the note under his desk and tried to open it without glancing down. His hands fumbled, and the note slipped to the ground. He went grayish and twisted in his seat in a panic, nearly giving himself away to their professor.

Henry scribbled "Reach down for a spare pen and put the note in your satchel" on the edge of his notebook and tilted it toward Rohan.

Rohan nodded slightly and did as Henry told him.

At the end of the lesson, James sauntered over. "Well?" he prompted.

"Sorry," Rohan said retrieving the unread note from his bag. "I didn't have a chance to open it."

"Stop being such a prefect, Mehta," James teased. "And anyway, you were meant to pa.s.s it on down the row." James took the note and smoothed it onto the table. It was a list of students. For one horrible moment Henry was reminded of his midnight exploration of Partisan Keep-the hidden room filled with illegal weapons, the targets shaped like human torsos, and the lists of Partisan students with their ranks in combat.

But then Rohan read the heading aloud with a grin. " *Cricket trials.' "

Henry felt ridiculous. Of course it was a sign-up list for cricket. Now that he looked closely, he saw James St. Fitzroy down as captain.

"Who's the other team, then?" Henry asked. "A group of second years challenged us to a match this Sat.u.r.day," James said. "Put your names down if you're interested in playing. We're having trials today on the quadrangle."

Rohan scribbled his name at the bottom of the list. "Shall I put you as well?" he asked Henry and Adam.

"I've never played before," Henry said, looking to Adam.

"I'll teach you," Adam offered. "Put us both."

Adam tried to explain the rules on the way over to the quadrangle, but Henry was hopelessly confused.

"Wait, so who gets run out? Didn't you say something about partners?" Henry asked.

"It makes sense if you see it played."

To Henry's dismay, it didn't make sense when he saw it played. He could barely keep the rules straight, never mind the terms for everything. The other boys dashed around the quadrangle, their ties and jackets draped haphazardly over one of the benches, playing seven-a-side as though they were practicing for professional scouts. Henry gave up about twenty minutes in.

"Too distracted to play, Grim?" Conrad teased, nodding toward the rock garden.

Frankie and her chaperone were taking a leisurely stroll through the grounds, clearly spying on the cricket trials. Henry shrugged and tried to ignore them. After all, Frankie had already caused him more than enough trouble that morning.

Henry shuffled over to the sidelines, where he stood watching his cla.s.smates and brooding over the recent discovery of his inability to comprehend cricket. He didn't notice Adam's approach until his friend joined him on the sidelines.

"You're not playing?" Henry asked in surprise.

"I'm rubbish," Adam admitted. "I know how to play, but I haven't really-I never-I mean, it's not like there are parks in the East End."

Henry sympathized. He'd forgotten that Adam had been to school in the city and lived at home, while most of their cla.s.smates had been off at posh academies with private cricket pitches at their disposal.

"Rohan seems to be enjoying himself," Henry pointed out.

"Yeah, he couldn't wait to be shot of us."

"That's not true," Henry argued. "He's just tired of being an outsider. And anyway, I quite like Derrick and Conrad. You should give them a chance."

"I'd rather be friends with Frankie, thanks." Adam folded his arms across his chest and sulked.

"I'm sorry," Henry said. "I didn't mean to. She kept calling me *Mr. Grim' and goading me."

"So you kissed her?"

"I didn't kiss her," Henry hissed. "It was her hand."

"You're unbelievable."

"Just admit it. You're cross with me because you like her."

"Of course I like her," Adam said through clenched teeth. "Are you blind?"

"No, I'm just a stupid servant boy who doesn't understand upper-cla.s.s customs. Happy now?"

Adam's face flushed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, staring at the ground. "I didn't mean-"

Henry never found out what, exactly, Adam didn't mean, as Frankie chose that moment to interrupt.

"h.e.l.lo. Who's winning?" she asked, innocently twirling a lacy white parasol.

Colleen sighed. "Miss, we should be gettin' back-"

"Nonsense," Frankie said. "Supper isn't for nearly an hour."

"No one's winning," Adam said. "It's trials. There's going to be a match against the second years on Sat.u.r.day."

"Why aren't you playing?" Frankie asked Adam, ignoring Henry completely.

"I'm too skilled a player. Don't want to ruin everyone's self-worth," Adam said.

At this, Henry snickered.

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, Mr. Grim. I didn't see you there," Frankie said coldly.

"Good afternoon, Miss Winter. What a lovely sunshade you're carrying," Henry returned, in the same posh, polite tones that had so infuriated her that morning. "Perhaps I could escort you for a turn about the garden?"

Frankie fake gasped. "But, Mr. Grim, you're in nothing but your shirtsleeves! It would be a scandal."

"Would you two stop it?" Adam fairly yelled in frustration.

Frankie and Henry glared at each other. "I will when she will," Henry muttered, looking to Frankie.

"You treated me like a girl," she accused.

"You are a girl."

Frankie looked like she wanted to slap him. "You're just like the rest of them, given half a chance," she said. "And I know what you were doing last night. I saw you playing chess with Valmont while I stood outside and froze."

Henry digested this new piece of information. No wonder Frankie was furious. She loathed Valmont. "I trust you are unwilling to hear an explanation?" Henry pressed.

"That would be correct, Mr. Grim. Good day." Frankie shot Henry a look of pure disdain and whirled around, intent on a dramatic exit. Her parasol, however, was intent on making a dramatic exit of its own. It smashed neatly into the side of Henry's face.

Henry cursed, cupping a hand to his right eye, which throbbed painfully.

Frankie's chaperone was so affronted by Henry's colorful language, and raised such a racket with her gasps and protestations, that everyone stopped playing cricket to watch the spectacle.

"Are you all right?" Frankie asked with genuine concern.

"Just go," Henry muttered, turning away. "Pretend I offended you or something."

"I don't have to pretend," Frankie snarled.

Henry waited until Frankie had left before wincing and removing the hand from his face. "How bad is it?"

Adam let out a low whistle.

"What happened to you?" Valmont asked nastily at supper. "Did someone mistake your face for a cricket ball?"

"If you must know," Henry said with as much dignity as he could muster, "I was a.s.saulted by a lace parasol."

This sent everyone nearby into hysterics.

"What did you say to her, Grim?" Derrick asked, delighted. "We're all dying to know."

"I called her a girl," Henry said, shrugging. "And it was an accident."

"You called her a girl by accident?" Edmund asked through a mouthful of potatoes.

"No, it was an accident that she hit me."

"Somehow, Grim, I sincerely doubt that," Derrick said, grinning.

"Tell them, Adam," Henry said. "You were there."

"Yes, and I don't know what you're talking about," Adam said, the picture of innocence. "You asked if she might favor you with a lock of her hair to place under your pillow at night, and she attacked."

The first-year table hooted with laughter.

Henry glared.

"All right, so that didn't happen," Adam admitted. "It was an accident."

"I'm getting a cold compress from the kitchen," Henry said, abandoning his half-eaten meal.

"We'll be in the library after supper," Derrick called.

"I'll stop by," Henry promised.

"Bring your Latin exercise," Conrad said.

"I've already finished it," Henry admitted.

"I figured you had," Conrad said, "which means you can help us."

Henry shook his head. He was still chuckling at Conrad's nerve when he pushed open the door to the kitchen.

Although the main course had already been served, the kitchen was still oppressively hot, steam-filled, and bustling. Serving boys and kitchen maids rushed back and forth at the cook's orders, ladling custard into serving dishes from a large pot on the stove, readying teapots, arranging cups and saucers onto trays, and preparing counter s.p.a.ce onto which they could remove the soiled dishes from the tables.

Henry glanced around the kitchen for a moment, still unnoticed. He watched as a skinny serving boy of about thirteen removed a tea towel from a shelf near the larder and wiped some splatters of custard from the counter. Once the boy had gone, Henry crept over to the shelf and helped himself to a tea towel, tucking it absently into his trousers pocket as he tried to guess where he might find some ice.

A half-arranged tea service was on the counter, and he couldn't help but nudge the teacups into place, arranging their handles on a perfect diagonal, as he hadn't done in quite some time. He neatened the stack of napkins and turned around, nearly colliding with the serving boy he'd noticed earlier.

"Er, sorry," Henry said.

"No, sir, 'twas my fault. I di'nt see you there," the boy muttered, going red in the face. He glanced toward the tea service, noticed it fully arranged, and gawped at Henry.

Henry gave an apologetic smile. "I was wondering if I might have some ice for my eye?"

"Cor, sir. That's a shiner!" the boy said, letting out a low whistle.

Henry followed the boy through a narrow annex and into a pantry, where he spotted a large wooden ice box. "Thank you," he said, crouching down to unlatch the door and scooping up a handful of ice chips. He put them inside the tea towel and pressed it to his eye, sighing at the instant relief.

"Ain't no trouble," the boy mumbled, regarding Henry thoughtfully. "Di'nt you-Ain't you the one who used to be a servant?"

Henry nodded. "I did."

"Is that what you've been fightin' over?"