lawn and, in the distance, the limestone walls of the headmaster’s house. Unfinished wooden beams sloped overhead, angling to the right, where a battered wardrobe had been wedged, rather exactly, into the space between the floor and the ceiling.

“The bed on the right is mine,” Adam called, flopping onto the down-filled coverlet nearest to the window.

Henry and Rohan stared at each other with polite smiles until Henry motioned toward the two remaining beds and asked, “Which would you prefer?”

“I’ll take the one on the left, thank you,” Rohan said, but remained standing. “It’s frankly a disgrace the way they’re treating the three of us, and I have a mind to write home about it. If you’ve noticed, our things have yet to arrive.”

And then, as if in answer to Rohan’s complaint, there was a timid knock on the door.

“Come in,” Rohan called imperiously.

A serving boy of about their age ducked his head respectfully and said, “I’ve brought yer bags, if you’d please t’let me bring ’em inside?”

“Of course,” Rohan said. “You can set my trunk at the foot of my bed and my valise next to the wardrobe.”

“Ver’ good, sir,” the boy said, and then looked to Henry and Adam.

“Oh, er, anywhere’s fine,” Henry said, his cheeks flushing. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to giving orders. “And, uh, sorry it’s so heavy.”

“’S quite alrigh’, sir,” the boy said, struggling with Rohan’s trunk.

Adam swung his feet over the side of his bed.

“I can get my own,” he said, disappearing for a moment into the hallway and returning with his suitcase.

The serving boy grunted with the effort of dragging Rohan’s trunk along the floor beams.

Rohan, arms still folded, merely stood and watched.

“Here, let me help,” Henry said, grabbing one end of the trunk. The serving boy stared at Henry in shock.

“Ugh, this is even heavier than mine,” Henry said, shoving the trunk into place.

As the serving boy tackled Rohan’s valise, Henry retrieved his own bag from the hallway and tossed it onto his bed.

“That will be all, thank you,” Rohan told the serving boy, reaching into his pocket and flipping him a coin.

“Yessir,” the boy said with a grin, giving a proper bow this time as he closed the door.

Henry opened his suitcase and hung his spare uniform, blazer, and scarf in the wardrobe. He was so curious about Rohan that he could hardly stand it. The other “common” student didn’t seem common at all. And the way Rohan had tipped the boy for bringing his bags, as though he had always done that sort of thing, as though he had the sort of pocket money that never ran short at the end of the week …

“You from the City, mate?” Adam asked.

“No, but we keep a house there for the Season,” Rohan said, staring at his trunk as though he expected it to unpack itself.

Henry met Adam’s glance and shrugged, as if to say, I dunno either.

“Yeah, so, don’t take this the wrong way or anything,” Adam said cheerfully, folding together two mismatched socks from his luggage, “but I was sort of wondering about the accent and the, uh, ‘house for the Season’ and all that.”

Rohan, with an audible sigh, unzipped his valise and extracted a small set of leather-bound books.

“Well, I was adopted after my mother died,” Rohan said, placing his books on the least battered of the desks. “She’d been the housekeeper for an English couple, and they had no children of their own. I was just a baby, so they couldn’t very well pack me off to an orphanage.”

No, Henry thought, somewhat bitterly, of course they couldn’t. As soon as he’d thought it, Henry was ashamed. It was just that … he wasn’t sure he liked Rohan all that much. It was clear that Rohan felt he was being treated far beneath his station.

“So did they send you off to Easton and all that?” Adam asked.

Rohan’s cheeks flushed dark, and Henry realized that all of Rohan’s confidence and pride had been a mask, which had just slipped.

“No, actually. My father, er, thought it best for me to have private tutors because …”

Because no respectable school would take an Indian boy, no matter who had raised him, Henry said to himself. At least, that had been true until now, until anyone was allowed to take the Knightley Exam.

Well, that explained everything. Rohan had never been away to school before, or been around other boys his age. He’d thought they would treat him according to his father’s status,