“I have not yet discovered that,” answered Wrexford.
“I cannot understand . . .” The provost shook his head in disbelief. “H-How did you come to discover this? Are there others who know of it?”
“As of now, I am the only one who knows about it.” Wrexford wasn’t about to reveal the fact that others were involved. The less said about his inner circle of family and friends, the better. “I am sure that you will wish to deal with this discreetly.”
“Indeed, indeed.” Fenway drew in a measured breath, and then reached for his cigar box. “Forgive me, but I must . . .”
“Of course,” murmured the earl.
He looked away to the carved bookshelves and the rows of ornate leatherbound volumes with their gilt-stamped spines, allowing the provost a moment of privacy in which to master his emotions.
A low cough drew his gaze back . . . only to find himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.
CHAPTER 29
After easing the heavy door open, Peregrine peered through the narrow crack. The glimmer of moonlight outside the diamond-paned arched windows was just enough to show that the Lower School—a long, narrow hall where the younger students were given their lessons—was deserted.
He turned and beckoned for Raven to join him. “We need to stay alert,” he whispered. “The night watchman always checks in here right around this hour as part of his last round.”
Two rows of rough-cut oak columns created a center walkway that ran the length of the room. The wood was black with age.
“What are all those marks?” asked Raven as they crept up to the first set of columns.
“It’s a tradition for boys to carve their names into the walls and columns as a rite of passage when they move to the Upper School,” replied Peregrine. After darting a look back the way they had come, he gestured for them to slip in among the rows of narrow trestle tables and benches. “Stay low and move quietly.”
“Oiy, did you really have to sit here for hours on end and listen to a schoolmaster drone on about Latin verbs or some ancient battle between Sparta and Athens?” demanded Raven as they paused before crossing to another section of the room.
“Yes,” muttered his fellow Weasel. “Why do you think I set off a stink bomb?”
“Ha! I would have been tempted to add gunpowder and blow a hole in the roof.”
Peregrine sniggered—and then sucked in his breath as the soft shuffle of footsteps came to life in the outer corridor. “The night watchman’s coming! Take cover.”
Both boys ducked under one of the tables and flattened themselves against the floor.
A minute passed, and then another.
The massive iron hinges groaned as the door swung open and a weak beam of lantern light swept over the room.
A cough broke the silence, followed by a wheezy warning. “If any of you little devils are in there making mischief, there will be hell to pay!”
Peregrine held very still.
The beam did another cursory probing through the shadows before disappearing. “Hmmph. Thank your lucky stars that you’re all fast asleep in your beds.”
A weighty thud echoed off the walls before the room settled back into silence.
Raven started to move, but Peregrine let out a soft hiss and waited another minute just to be sure.
“We really don’t want to get caught,” he explained as he rose to a crouch and began to creep forward. “Punishment is awfully severe for breaking any of the rules.”
Raven hadn’t pressed for details of life at Eton, as he had sensed that Peregrine was loath to talk about them. However, he couldn’t help but be curious. “Do they birch your bottom?”
“A birch rod leaves naught but bruises, so that’s not so bad. But some masters use thin, flexible canes, which flay the flesh.”
“What sort of perverted monster takes pleasure in beating a boy bloody?” Raven grimaced. “Surely such acts are illegal.”
A mirthless laugh. “Who is to stop them? We’re told it’s all part of turning us into men.”
