Free The Secret Prince by Violet Haberdasher Page B

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 space 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,” theboy 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?”
    “Fighting?” Henry was taken aback. “I wasn’t fighting.”
    “Split lip, ’bout six days old, I’d reckon. Fresh shiner.” Henry bit his lip, which was nearly mended. “Four days,” Henry corrected. “How could you tell?”
    “Had my fair share of ’em boxing down at the Lance.You could come, if you’re keen. Tuppence a bet, pays back triple, an’ they’re fair about it.”
    “I’m sorry,” Henry said, “are you talking about pub fighting?”
    “O’ course,” the boy said. “If yer fightin’, might as well come watch how to do it all proper. Maybe put down a bet or two.”
    “You shouldn’t be fighting,” Henry said with a concerned frown. The boy was small for his age, barely old enough to be legally