The Secret Prince (24 page)

“We were already planning on it,” Henry said, retrieving his battered old satchel from beneath his bed.

“Don’t mind me, then, if you’ve already thought of everything,” Rohan said stiffly.

“I thought you didn’t want to be involved with this,” Henry said.

“I don’t,” Rohan said, watching as Henry placed an armload of clothes beneath his blankets so that it looked as though he were still asleep.

“Valmont thinks it’s a good idea,” Adam said.

“You told
Valmont
?” Rohan accused. “Does everyone know?”

“What does it matter?” Henry asked. “Since you’re not involved.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Rohan said firmly. “I’ll see you on Sunday night. Try not to make too much noise, as some of us are
actually
trying to sleep.”

Adam caught Henry’s gaze and shrugged.

“Ready to go?” Henry whispered.

“In a moment,” Adam said, unfastening his necklace. With an apologetic grimace he placed the charm into his desk drawer. “How do I look?” he asked, straightening his shoulders.

“Very, er, nondenominational,” Henry said.

Adam ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

“Take care of yourselves,” Rohan mumbled.

“We will,” Henry said, shoving a few last-minute provisions into his satchel. “And we’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Adam shouldered his own bag and followed Henry into the shadowy hallway, with its lamps burning low and the sky dark through the windows. When they reached the kitchens, Henry found Liza and Mary hard at work preparing an enormous hamper of food for the envoy.

“Stop lingerin’ in the doorway, you two,” Liza said without seeming to turn around.

Henry and Adam guiltily shuffled into the kitchen. “Good morning, Liza,” Henry said.

“Not really,” Liza grumbled. “Got half the staff carryin’ luggage down to the train station, an’ the other half lookin’ for Miss Winter. An’ who’s stuck in the kitchen doin’ all the work? Little ol’ Liza, tha’s who.”

“We’re sorry, Liza,” Henry said, “and I hate to bother you, but we need a favor.”

“Please say yes,” Adam put in.

“An’ what sort o’ favor do you need?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron and spinning to face them. She clucked as she surveyed the boys, taking in their plain clothing and bed-ruffled hair.

“Spare uniforms,” Henry admitted.

“We don’ keep student uniforms here,” Liza said with a frown.

“Er, actually, I meant staff uniforms. We need to go with the envoy this weekend, but they can’t think we’re students here,” Henry pleaded.

Liza stared at Henry and Adam in shock. “You’re meanin’ to go to the Nordlands?”

“It’s important,” Henry said simply. “We have to.”

Liza nodded slowly, accepting this as an answer. “Well, then,” she said, “uniforms are kept back in that cupboard past the larder there.”

“Thank you, Liza,” Henry said with a small bow, and then he elbowed Adam.

“Yes, thank you,” Adam mumbled, following Henry to get changed.

When they returned to the kitchen, Mr. Frist was already there, his black suit impeccably crisp, his mustache bristling. “Are these the provisions?” Mr. Frist sniffed, peering at the hamper.

“Yes, sorr,” Mary said. “All packed and ready to go.”

Mr. Frist made a note in his leather-bound book and then sighed. “Yes, well, that seems to be in order, at least. A shame no one could scare up any extra staff.”

Henry took a deep breath. It was then or never. “We’d be willin’ to go,” he said, making his voice gruff.

“To the Nordlands?” Mr. Frist pressed, as though he couldn’t believe his luck.

Henry shrugged. “Extra pay’s extra pay. Don’ much hold for no superstitions.”

For a moment Mr. Frist looked like he might hug them.

Liza frowned, but set her mouth into a tight line and kept quiet.

“You’re in charge of bringing the food down to the station,” Mr. Frist continued. “I’ll be along presently. Can you boys see to that?”

“Yes, sir,” Henry and Adam chorused, a little too smartly. Henry winced, but Mr. Frist didn’t seem to notice.

“Here yeh go,” Liza said gruffly, latching the hamper shut and giving it a slap. “Mind yeh don’ shake the contents none.” But despite her tone Liza’s eyes danced with amusement, and she was biting back a smile. Henry rather suspected that she’d always wanted to give orders to the students, and was finally having her chance.

“Yes, ma’am,” Henry said, playing along.

He and Adam hefted the enormous hamper, each seizing hold of one of the thick leather straps and carrying it between them. They struggled out the back door of the kitchen, the servants’ entrance, and onto the school grounds.

It was still dark outside, the sky a sulky shade of purple that began to lighten as they staggered alongside the road that lead down to the village.

“That was easy,” Adam commented, nearly dropping his side of the hamper as he tripped over a stone.

“Careful!” Henry warned.

“Sorry,” Adam said contritely. “But it
was
easy. Good thing for Liza.”

“We’re not even on the train yet,” Henry reminded him.

“I know,” Adam muttered. “I’m just saying.”

“This is going to be difficult,” Henry warned. “We have to be careful we don’t give ourselves away, like back in the kitchen.”

“What are you talking about?” Adam asked.

“I don’t think we’re very convincing servants,” Henry admitted. “There’s the bowing, for one thing. Remember how Professor Turveydrop could tell the difference? We have to be rough about it, no matter if we’re bowing to a lord minister or just Mr. Frist.”

“Okay,” Adam said slowly. “What else.”

“No saluting,” Henry continued. “And if you have to serve tea, stand by the door until you’re dismissed.”

Adam nodded.

“And speaking,” Henry went on, suddenly realizing how very many things had the capacity to go wrong. “We have to sound a bit, you know,
uneducated
. Ugh, this is going to be a disaster.”

“But you’ve done all of this before, mate,” Adam reminded him.

They paused for a minute to rest their hands from carrying the hamper, and a crowd of serving boys in Knightley school livery trudged past them on the other side of the road, heading back up to the school. Henry and Adam ducked their heads. When the boys had passed, they picked up the hamper and continued on.

“Yes, but I had nothing to hide,” Henry explained. “So what did it matter if I sounded a bit posh? It’s not my fault the orphanage priest drilled elocution into me with a birch rod.” Henry bit his lip, realizing what he’d just shared. “And if we have to eat with other members of the serving staff, roughen up your manners,” he said as an afterthought.

“I think I’m getting a blister,” Adam complained.

“Good,” Henry said. “We could use some of those.”

“You’re mental sometimes, you know that?” Adam muttered.

Avel-on-t’Hems was a small, quaint village left over from medieval times, with a narrow street of disreputable shops and a crumbling, dingy church that made Knightley’s chapel seem like a cathedral in comparison.

The train station was across from a rather seedy pub with two ancient jousting lances crossed over the front door and three tall, crooked chimneys. The Lance,
Henry thought, the pub where Ollie went to fight.

Henry and Adam straggled onto the platform and eagerly set down the hamper, which felt as though it were filled with encyclopedias, not tea and sandwiches.

“Worst morning ever,” Adam complained, picking at a rapidly forming blister.

“Don’t,” Henry chided. “That only makes them worse.”

The platform was empty, but a small gleaming steam engine chortled on the tracks.

“I’m starving,” Adam said. “Seeing as how we missed supper.” Henry opened his mouth to protest, but Adam grinned and continued, “But I guess that a growling stomach adds to the charade?”

Henry grinned. And at that moment a stocky, disheveled lad of around sixteen poked his head out of the door to the station. Through the door, Henry could just see a small waiting area lined with benches.

“You boys with the envoy?” the lad demanded.

Henry nodded.

“Well, come inside an’ wait with the rest of us,” the boy said, holding open the door.

Henry and Adam exchanged a nervous glance and then followed.

“I’m George,” the boy said.

“Er, I’m Henry and this is Adam,” Henry said, and then wondered belatedly if they ought to have given false names.

“Well, it’s goin’ to be a bloody ’orrible train ride,” George said over his shoulder. “I went on the last one. Best drink yer fill before we’re off.”

George settled onto a bench near another boy around their age, who had a face like a rat and was nursing a silver flask. George grabbed the flask from the boy and took a swallow before holding it out to Henry.

Henry and Adam exchanged an uneasy glance.

George laughed uproariously at Henry’s and Adam’s expressions of panic.

“Aw, Jem an’ I are just makin’ fun of ya,” George said. “Here, take it.”

He thrust the drink at Henry, who took a cautious sniff and then grinned. It was coffee. Even though Henry didn’t particularly feel like sharing a flask with Jem and George, he knew better than to refuse. He forced himself to take a sip, and then passed it to Adam. “Want some?”

Adam made a face.

“It’s coffee,” Henry said.

“Nah,” Adam mumbled.

“Aren’t we supposed to wait on the platform?” Henry asked.

George shrugged. “Mr. Frist can’t leave without us. Relax, Knightley boys.”

Henry and Adam jumped. “Sorry?” Henry asked, hoping he’d misheard.

“Yer uniforms,” George said. “Yer from up at that fancy school.”

“Er, right,” Henry said.

“Dunno how you stand it, servin’ boys yer age wot never had to lift a finger in their lives,” Jem said.

“It’s not so bad,” Adam said. “They mostly ignore us.”

Jem and George were both from the village. George did odd jobs at the Lance, and Jem was a shop boy for a local boot maker. It would just be the four of them, and Mr. Frist, who was in charge.

“Course some o’ the gen’lmun will have their personal valets, but they’re senior staff so we’ll be servin’ them, too,” George said as Mr. Frist pushed open the door, tapping his pen impatiently against his notebook.

“Hurry up, boys,” Mr. Frist snapped, turning on his heel. “Keep to schedule.”

George and Jem hurried after Mr. Frist, and Henry and Adam followed nervously.

“Managed to get four, have we?” Mr. Frist muttered, making a note.

“Yes, sir,” the boys chorused, Henry and Adam a bit too posh once again.

Jem and George snickered, and Henry elbowed Adam, who shrugged.

“George,” Mr. Frist snapped. “You know the drill, so you’re in charge of the others. Make certain everyone changes into their livery before the train leaves the station.”

“Yes, sir,” George said.

“Now stow your things in the servants’ car and get to work,” Mr. Frist ordered, closing his book with a resounding
thwack
and stalking off to have a word with the conductor.

18

H
ow do I look?” Adam asked, pulling at his neck
cloth. “Ridiculous,” Henry said. “Oi, you look worse,” Adam protested. “At least
my
waistcoat fits.”

Henry frowned at his reflection in the window of the servants’ car and adjusted his waistcoat, which admittedly was slightly too small, not that it could be helped. It was strange seeing himself dressed as a lackey, with a crisp white neck cloth and silk hose and short breeches.

The livery had come from Parliament Hall, along with Mr. Frist, who was some sort of junior secretary acting as a liaison. It was rather extravagant, Henry
had to admit, but then, it was just a show for Dimit Yascherov. After all, South Britain couldn’t very well send a political envoy to the Nordlands with servants dressed in mismatched and ragged shirtsleeves. No, South Britain meant to flaunt their class system in the faces of those who had done away with it.

George looked up from where he sat on a crate, carving slices out of an apple with a pocketknife. “Want a piece?” he asked.