gone through our things. That’s really wrong. We should tell our head of year.”

“We’re not going to Lord Havelock,” Adam said. “Absolutely not. He’s Valmont’s uncle, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“We could tell the headmaster,” Rohan suggested. “After all, it’s a serious offense. Stealing money is one thing, but family heirlooms?”

“That’s not a bad thought,” Henry said.

“Let’s go now,” Adam said, standing up. “We’ve got more than half our hour free left, and we could tell Frankie first. She’d vouch for us.”

“Yes, because I’m sure Headmaster Winter would be terribly thrilled to know that we’re acquainted with his daughter,” Rohan muttered.

“You coming or not?” Adam asked, grabbing his coat.

“I am,” Henry said.

Rohan knotted his scarf. “Let’s go.”

A maid opened the door of the headmaster’s house and stared at them.

“You’ll be wantin’ Professor Stratford again?” she asked, holding the door open.

Henry knew he hadn’t seen the professor for ages, and so he felt guilty when he said, “Actually, we’re here to see—”

“Frankie!” Adam yelled.

Through the foyer, in the small, rose-colored receiving room, Frankie was bent over a tea service. She turned toward them, a look of horror on her face, and shook her head.

“You busy?” Adam called, oblivious as usual.

Rohan winced at the impropriety. “Adam,” he said, grabbing hold of his friend’s sleeve, “I think she’s a bit occupied at the moment.”

“It seems you have visitors,” a rather severe woman’s voice called from inside the receiving room. “Invite them inside, Francesca. I would so enjoy meeting them.”

Frankie, looking as though she’d rather do anything but, gave a small curtsy.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

Grandmother? Henry, Adam, and Rohan exchanged a look of horror as Frankie stomped toward them.

“Do not embarrass me,” she hissed. “Now give Ellen your coats and come on.”

Shedding their coats into the maid’s arms, the boys followed Frankie into the receiving room.

A sterling silver tea set caught the light from a blazing fire, casting a cheery warmth around the lavishly decorated room. It would have been a welcoming little parlor indeed if not for the formidable gray-haired woman who glared at them from a high-backed chair.

“Grandmother Winter,” Frankie said meekly, “may I present Adam Beckerman, Henry Grim, and Rohan Mehta.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Winter,” the boys mumbled, bowing.

“You,” Grandmother Winter said, addressing Rohan. “How’s your father?”

“His grace is very well, madam,” Rohan said. “Shall I give him your regards when I see him next?”

“You shall,” she said, smoothing her withered hands across the lap of her black lace dress. “Please, sit. Don’t let my presence interrupt what is surely a routine visit.”

Henry exchanged a horrified look with Rohan. This was extremely bad.

“May I offer you some tea and biscuits?” Frankie asked stiffly.

“No, thank you,” Henry said.

“Tea, please,” Adam said, and Henry elbowed him.

“Owww!” Adam cried, clapping a hand to his side. “I’m injured, did you forget?”

“Injured?” Frankie asked with a frown.

“Theobold ran me through with a sword yesterday,” Adam said casually. “The blunt tip had been removed.”

“But that’s awful!” Frankie said, putting a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry to hear that you’re not well, Mr. Beckerman.”

Adam’s lips twitched, as though he was trying very hard not to smile at Frankie’s behavior.

Henry didn’t find it funny at all. Now he knew exactly what his friends had meant the first week of school when they’d told him that you couldn’t visit girls.

“That’s not the half of it,” Henry said. “Someone’s just broken into our room and taken a family heirloom of Adam’s. We were on our way to speak to your father about it.”

Frankie again expressed her regret and offered Adam the sugar bowl.

“Mr. … Grim, was it?” Grandmother Winter said.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can you please explain the reason why you came by the house rather than going to my son’s—the headmaster’s—office about this matter?”

Henry gulped. “We—I mean, I—well, you see, we wanted to consult Frank— er, Francesca first.”

“That’s rather modern of you, Mr. Grim,” Grand-mother Winter said with a cold smile. “I had not realized that men training to become knights were prone to consulting fifteen-year-old girls about their personal affairs.”

“Thank you, madam?” he managed. It came out sounding like a question.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Grandmother Winter snapped.

“No, ma’am,” Henry said.

“Or perhaps I have mistaken modernity for social ignorance,” Grandmother Winter continued. “I have often attended galas with the duke of Holchester and his family, yet I cannot fathom having previously met anyone with the surname Grim.”

Henry wished—suddenly, vehemently—that they had disturbed Lord Havelock with this matter instead.

“I am orphaned, madam,” Henry said.

“So is Mr. Mehta,” Grandmother Winter said with an expressive wave