The Secret Prince (30 page)

And then he glanced toward the two empty beds and tried very hard not to panic. Henry and Adam had been due to return the night before. He’d tried to wait up for them but had fallen asleep.

Their absence threw him. Had something happened?

Rohan dressed quickly and sat with James at chapel, trying to ignore the questioning glances from Derrick and Valmont. Did they know? Apparently so, as both boys ambushed him the moment the service ended.

“What’s happened?” Derrick asked.

“I don’t know,” Rohan said tersely.

“Maybe the envoy is late,” Valmont said.

“How the devil did
you
get involved in this?” Derrick asked Valmont.

“I might ask you the same,” Valmont returned.

“Be involved in it together, then,” Rohan said. “I wanted nothing to do with it from the beginning.” And with that he quickened his pace toward the dining hall.

Even though saying that Henry and Adam hadn’t gotten up for chapel and were currently indisposed wasn’t truly a lie, Rohan still felt as though it were. It wasn’t until whispers started circulating that the search had been called off for the headmaster’s daughter that Rohan decided to abandon his self-imposed silence.

He approached Derrick and Conrad after languages that afternoon.

“Want to know how we did on the midterm?” Conrad asked, as they had just gotten their marked translations back at the end of the lesson.

“No,” Rohan said. “I, well, I’ve been hearing whispers that they’ve found news of Miss Winter.”

“So have we,” Derrick said.

“Well, do you know anything more about it?” Rohan pressed.

“Not a thing,” Derrick said. “It’s servants’ gossip anyhow. But if I were you, I’d be concerned with your roommates. They can’t stay ill forever.”

“I told them I wasn’t a part of this,” Rohan muttered.

“No use bemoaning it now,” Derrick scolded. “Man up.”

Man up?
Rohan thought bitterly. And do what? Confess to Lord Havelock that he’d stood idly by while his roommates ran off to the Nordlands?

Well, he reasoned, it was a servants’ envoy. If anyone would know whether the envoy had come back the night before, it was the servants. Rohan shouldered his bag with a sigh and headed in the direction of the kitchens.

“Where are you going?” a voice drawled. Valmont leaned casually against the wall, a cold smile playing over his face.

“To the WC, if you don’t mind,” Rohan snapped.

“Wrong direction,” Valmont said, his smile stretching wider.

Rohan glared.

“The way I see it,” Valmont continued, unruffled,
“is that we’ve both been left with a rather unpleasant mess to clean up. I’d prefer we handled it together, if that’s all right with you.”

Rohan considered the proposition. It was a bit of a sticky situation, and he could do worse than ally himself with Lord Havelock’s ward and nephew.

“Come on,” he said finally.

Valmont fell into step. It didn’t dawn on him where they were headed until Rohan paused at the top of a servants’ staircase. “Keep your opinions to yourself, if you don’t mind,” Rohan snapped.

“Suits me,” Valmont said coolly.

The kitchen was bustling, with the staff already hard at work preparing supper. A few serving boys and maids glanced up when Rohan and Valmont appeared in the doorway. “Er, excuse me,” Rohan tried, a bit nervously. He’d never ventured to the kitchens by himself, and rarely accompanied Henry and Adam, who were veterans at coaxing biscuits and tarts out of the softhearted maids.

“Yes, sir?” one of the newer maids said, flouncing over and bobbling a curtsy. “Anythin’ I can ’elp with?”

Rohan shot Valmont a warning glance. “Er, is Liza here?” he inquired.

The maid tittered.

Rohan turned crimson at the silent insinuation. “Just fetch her, will you?” he ordered imperiously.

“No need fer that, deary,” Liza said, sauntering over as she dried her hands on a tea towel. “I’m here now.” She stared at the boys, as though expecting a bow, but that would have been absurd, Rohan reasoned. He was the son of a duke, and he had no call to humble himself in the presence of school servants.

“Has the envoy returned?” Rohan demanded.

Liza pressed her lips together and continued drying her hands on the ragged tea towel.

“It’s rather important,” Rohan continued. “You see, my friends were on it—and they’ve left me in quite a pickle this af—”

“Come with me,” Liza interrupted, seizing Rohan by the sleeve and towing him into the hallway. Valmont followed, snickering at the injustice.

“Now listen ’ere,” she scolded, poking him in the chest with a finger. “Yeh can be polite about comin’ down where yeh aren’t wanted nor allowed an’ demandin’ answers.”

Rohan blanched, and then with a sigh he favored the maid with a stiff bow. “My apologies, madam,” he
tried. “I’m quite out of sorts this afternoon. You see, my roommates are missing.”

Liza, who’d been mollified by the bow and flowery language, suddenly paled. “Whatchoo mean, missing?”

“They’ve yet to return,” Rohan clarified.

“But the envoy came back las’ night,” Liza said.

“Without them?” Rohan pressed.

Liza shrugged. “No one much noticed nothin’ besides the carpetbag.”

“The carpetbag?”

“Found it back in the storage car, they did. Full o’ the belongings o’ one Francesca Winter.”

“What?”
Rohan thundered.

“Shouldn’t a told yeh that.” Liza sulked. “The ’ead-master don’t want it gettin’ out.”

“Wait, I don’t understand,” Rohan said, frowning. “So where’s Fra—er, Miss Winter?”

“Either she stowed away on that train fer two days an’ then hopped off in the city with them fancy lords, or …”

“Or?” Rohan urged.

Liza grinned and leaned in close, relishing the dramatics. “She’s in the Nordlands.”

“But why would she get off in the city without her bag?” Rohan frowned.

“Tha’s what I said!” Liza crowed. “But if Master Henry and Master Adam ain’t returned neither, tha’s a whole ’nother kettle o’ kippers.”

Valmont loudly cleared his throat. “Can we go?” he demanded.

“In a minute,” Rohan snapped. “Hold on.”

But Liza had slipped back into the kitchen, as cool as you please. The door slammed shut in their faces.

“You bowed to a servant,” Valmont crowed.

Rohan glared. “Well, it got the job done. Now we know what’s happened.”

“Maybe,” Valmont said. “Or maybe Grim ran off with that improper little lady friend of his and Becker-man’s too much of a coward to come back here with the news.”

“If you really think that, I have nothing more to say to you,” Rohan said primly, hurrying up the staircase.

“What?” Valmont snapped. “Oh, very well. I was just being callous. I didn’t mean it. Satisfied?”

“Hardly.” Rohan waited for Valmont to catch up.

“Where are we going now?” Valmont asked.

“To see Professor Stratford,” Rohan said tensely.

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

“Go by yourself, Mehta,” Valmont spat, stalking off in the opposite direction.

“No,” Rohan said. “You wanted in, and you can’t very well dump this on me because you suddenly feel like it.” Rohan crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.

Valmont glared.

“What the deuces is your
problem
?” Rohan asked, and then he realized why Valmont had balked at the mention of where they were going. Professor Stratford had been Valmont’s teacher back at the Midsummer School.

“Oh. Sorry. I’d forgotten the two of you are already acquainted,” Rohan muttered.

Valmont scuffed the toe of his boot into the ragged carpet and was quiet for a long while. “Did you believe that serving girl?” Valmont finally asked.

“I wouldn’t think there’s a need to see Professor Stratford if I didn’t. Besides which, he already knows most of it. I want to know what he’s thinking.”

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” Valmont said under his breath. “Lead the way.”

Professor Stratford glanced up mournfully as the two boys hovered in the doorway to his study. The maid
hadn’t wanted to let them in, but Rohan had insisted. Now he wished he hadn’t.

He barely knew Professor Stratford, and the professor looked terrible, his hair drooping forward and shading his brows, dark circles beneath his eyes, and the beginnings of a patchy beard.

“Oh, Rohan, I wasn’t expecting you, lad,” Professor Stratford said with an unconvincing smile. “And, my goodness, Valmont.”

“Hello, Professor,” Valmont mumbled.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Rohan said with a solicitous bow. “Would you be able to spare a moment, sir?”

“So formal,” Professor Stratford said, shaking his head. “Take a seat, boys, and tell me what I can help you with.”

Rohan and Valmont exchanged a nervous glance as they settled into the chairs across from the professor’s book-strewn desk. Headmaster Winter’s house carried an air of misfortune, and the tragedy was thickest there in the professor’s study.

“We’ve heard the news about Frankie’s bag being located,” Rohan said.

Professor Stratford bit his lip.

“Sir, what do you think has happened?” Rohan pressed.

But the professor said nothing. A silent war had broken out between Professor Stratford and Valmont—a staring match, of sorts. The professor steepled his fingers and waited.

Valmont cracked first. “You have my word that nothing will leave this room,” he said sourly. “Grim and I haven’t always gotten along, but we had an understanding, and he honored it when he could have betrayed me, so I owe him enough to keep quiet about whatever’s happened.”

Rohan stared at Valmont in shock. That was actually rather decent of him, and Rohan hadn’t previously counted decency among Fergus Valmont’s qualities.

“Thank you for the assurances, lad,” Professor Stratford said, his mustache twitching as he attempted, and failed, to deliver yet another reassuring grin. “I hear your battle society has been quite the success, actually.”

“Do you and your roommates tell him everything?” Valmont demanded, turning to Rohan.

Rohan shrugged. “He’s a friend.”

“You’re
such
a trio of do-gooders,” Valmont muttered.

“Well, we
are
knights in training,” Rohan returned.

“Boys,” Professor Stratford said, massaging his
temples. “Honestly you two are as bad as Henry and Frankie.”

Valmont went cold. “Excuse me?” he asked icily.

Rohan couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. “Sorry,” he said, still chortling. “Frightfully improper of me.”

“Are Henry and Adam coming?” Professor Stratford asked. “Or are they resting? I’d imagine they’re exhausted.”

Rohan and Valmont exchanged a look of horror. The professor didn’t know?

“B-but—,” Rohan spluttered.

Professor Stratford frowned. “You’re not here about Frankie,” the professor said evenly.

“No, sir,” they chorused.

“Henry and Adam never came back,” Rohan admitted.

Professor Stratford went white, and then gray. His hands began to tremble. “Impossible,” he breathed.

Rohan felt as though he ought to do something to comfort the professor, but he had no idea what. He shifted uneasily in his chair as Professor Stratford slowly processed this news, and its implications. And then the professor’s eyes narrowed, and his attention came to rest on Rohan and Valmont once again.

“Who knows about this?” the professor asked.

“Us,” Rohan said. “Derrick Marchbanks, sort of, but he encouraged them. And that kitchen maid who’s always trying to fatten Adam up.”

The professor snorted at this. “You’re certain they didn’t return?”

“Positive,” Rohan said. “Do you think they were caught?” he asked.

Professor Stratford shook his head. “I hope not. Henry’s a clever lad, and adept enough as a serving boy that they wouldn’t suspect anything.”

At this, Valmont snorted.

Rohan kicked him.

“There’s only one explanation for it,” Professor Stratford continued. “The boys must have discovered Frankie as a stowaway. If she left her bag, it was because she couldn’t take it where she was going—a destination she hadn’t originally intended.”

“So you think she meant to go to the city and wound up in the Nordlands?” Rohan pressed.

“I do,” Professor Stratford said. “I’d wager the three of them got stuck in the Nordlands somehow, and I hope it wasn’t because they decided to go off chasing evidence of that infernal combat training Henry’s so
convinced the boys up there are learning.” The professor thumped his fist against his desk, losing his calm demeanor. His shoulders trembled, and for a moment it seemed as though he might go to pieces in front of them. But then he took a great, shuddering breath and composed himself.

“I’m sorry, lads,” the professor said. “It’s just that I blame myself. I didn’t stop them, and now they’re in who knows what sort of danger.”

“Can’t we get them back?” Rohan asked.

“Not right away,” Professor Stratford said sadly. “The border is closed, and it would be unwise to draw attention to the situation. But this isn’t your concern. I’ll bring this matter to the headmaster myself.”

“Thank you,” Rohan said.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Valmont echoed.

“I’ll be as tactful as possible,” the professor promised. “You boys weren’t involved in this.”

As they hurried from Professor Stratford’s office, Rohan sighed with relief. It was no longer their problem. The adults would handle everything, the way things should have been done in the first place. After all, they were still just first years. What cause did they have to get involved with politics or even to challenge
school rules? Systems worked, and authorities were to be obeyed, and if you forgot that, you wound up with a disaster like the Nordlands.

The next morning at breakfast someone had flipped the fleur-de-lis. The first-year table buzzed with whispers.

“Grim and Beckerman are missing, I’ve heard …”

“… left all of their things behind.”

“Do you think their roommate knew?”

“What about the headmaster’s daughter?”

Rohan bristled at the gossip about his friends, but he was even more bothered by the undercurrent of excitement for the first battle society meeting in nearly a week.