Late Summer, 1891
London

Jonathan stepped down from the carriage, reaching back inside for his bag. The cabbie remained perched on his high seat. He knew this address was a school, and scholars were of two types--either poor, or rich enough to feel entitled to free extra services. When he brought a passenger to one of these toff schools, he wasn't likely to get a tip. When Jonathan had haled him he'd quickly assessed the boy's dress, and dismissed any chance of extra pay, so he could carry his own baggage. But he could still put up a front. He said flatly, "Help yer with yer bags, guv?"

Jonathan was already lifting down his satchel. "No, thank you. I can manage easily."

The driver extended his hand, "That'll be one bob." His tone said and don't you try to argue about it. He knew that it was a bit steep for just a trip from Victoria Station, but he'd decided to ask for more when he learned his passenger's destination. He would, of course, back down if the boy protested too strongly. The last thing he needed was to be reported for inflated fares.

The boy set his bag on the sidewalk and reached into his pocket. He stretched up and pressed money into the driver's hand. "Thank you."

The cabbie blinked at the two coins. Besides the demanded shilling there was a thrupence, and he was sure that the lad could ill afford the extra expense. The boy was rapping the brass knocker on the front door, and the cabbie lifted his voice, "Thank yer, guv'ner!" Usually he would have felt contemptuous of someone who tipped for substandard service, but there was something about the open, friendly smile that the lad threw back over his shoulder that was different from his usual run of customers. He had a feeling that the boy was really seeing him. The cabbie tipped his hat and drove off, for some reason feeling a little more cheerful.

Jonathan rapped again. Term hadn't started yet, but there should still be at least one or two people in the building--it was never empty. But the teachers never answered the door, the students weren't allowed to, and any servant available might be busy in the depths of the building. He waited patiently.

Finally he heard the bolt being thrown, and the door opened a cautious slit. He smiled. "Hello, Jenkins."

The elderly houseman opened the door, studying the boy in surprise. "Lord, Mister Harker, you're back early! I didn't expect the first of the students for near a week."

He reached for the satchel, but Jonathan pulled it back, shaking his head. "No, don't trouble yourself, Jenkins. As I've tried to tell you before, I'm far from crippled." He entered and paused while the older man carefully relocked the door. It was never left unlocked, not even for a moment. Well, the undesireable neighborhoods seemed to be creeping closer and closer. There was no telling what might be roaming about the streets.

"Well, I'm glad that we've gotten your room cleaned, at least. I'm afraid you'll be a bit lonely till the others begin to arrive. Me and the lads won't have time to be of much company." Jenkins had two 'lads' (actually young men not much older than Jonathan) to help him with the housework. Usually he wouldn't have bothered to make this statement to one of the school's boarders, as few of them actually thought of the staff as anything other than a convenience. But young Harker was alway kind and courteous, and treated them as equals.

Jonathan went to his room, trudging up two flights of stairs to the second floor. Normally the rooms up here would be relegated to the servants of the household, but here they were delegated to the less prosperous students, while the servants slept in the basement.

Jonathan didn't much mind. Though he had to share his quarters with two other boys, the room was fairly large. The room's position in the winter was an advantage--though it didn't have it's own fireplace, two chimneys pass through the room. Their radiation, and the heat that rose from the lower portion of the house made it rather cozey. But in the summer time...

Jonathan dropped his case on his bed, grateful that it was nearest the window. The servants hadn't bothered to draw the shade, so Jonathan raised it. He unlocked the window and tried to raise it. It wouldn't budge. Jonathan sighed. *I thought that the heat might have dried the wood a bit. What will it be like when the autumn damp makes it swell even more?*

*I'll have to try harder. We still have some weeks of hot weather, and it will be stifling if I can't have a bit of a breeze.* Jonathan removed his jacket, hanging it neatly over a chair, then undid his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. Such casual attire was only allowed in the students' bedrooms, and he'd have to neaten his appearance before he went back downstairs. It looked as if this was going to be a strain, though, and he was already beginning to sweat.

Once again he checked to be sure the latch was undone, hooked his fingers under the wooden frame that held the glass, and strained upward. He strove until his shoulders ached, and his arms were trembling. Usually it didn't bother him that he was not as robust as some of the other boys, but now he found it frustrating.

He gave up with a sigh, resting his forehead against the warm glass, thinking. It was so much cooler in the country, and the old vicar he'd been spending summer with for the last few years had been vague, but kindly. Jonathan hadn't wanted to end his summer holidays early, but the old gentleman had been growing frail. His sister, who kept house for him, had made it clear that she no longer cared to have another person to tend to.

*It's just as well that this is my last year,* Jonathan thought sadly. *I wouldn't be welcome back again.* He sighed again. *Father and Mrs. LLewylen won't be best pleased about this, either.*

"Good heavens, Harker, you look as if you'd just been informed of the end of the world." Jonathan jerked, startled. He hadn't heard anyone come in, didn't expect anyone to even be on this floor, and the drawling voice caught him by surprise.

He turned to see Jamey Roswell lounging casually against the doorframe, grinning at him. A quick prickle ran up Jonathan's spine, and he had a sensory memory that came and went so fast that he almost didn't recognize it. For a split second it was as if he were standing in a cool, dim hall, feeling strong hands on his arms as he looked into bright, green eyes, just before firm lips descended on his own. He hastily pushed the memory of that birthday kiss last summer from his mind.

"Roswell! What are you doing here?"

Jamey pushed off from the door and sauntered toward him. "My, you're forgetful. I'm a fellow student."

"Yes, but I thought you were done. I thought you'd be on the continent by now, in Paris or Venics."

"Ah. Change of plans. My uncle died."

"Oh." That one three word sentance made it all clear. Jamey's uncle had been Lord Toynsbee, Duke of Clairidge. Jamey's father, being his younger brother, would have inherited the title and estates on his brother's death, and Jamey would have become the future Duke. His circumstances had been comfortable before, but they were now much improved. "I'm so sorry."

Jamey shrugged. "No need to be. He was a distinctly unlikable person. The only thing I can say in his favor is that he was a confirmed bachelor, so Father inherits." He came closer. "I must have arrived no more than five minutes after you. I expected to be the first. Why are you so early?"

"I lost my summer place. The vicar isn't well, and his sister thought it would be better for him to have the house to himself."

"In other words she decided she didn't want to do for two. Now, what are you up to that's gotten you so flushed?" He reached up and pushed a thick lock of hair off Jonathan's damp forehead. "You'll do yourself a damage, exerting yourself in this heat."

"I'm trying to remedy that, but the dratted window won't open."

Jamey opened his eyes wide in mock horror. "Harker, swearing? You must be frustrated." Jonathan couldn't help smiling. "Really, what have you been up to?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Anything naughty?"

"I'm just trying to open this window so I don't suffocate. Jenkins had the place turned out, but not aired, and it needs it desperately."

"There is a simpler solution. Come down and stay in my room for a day or two. I've got a private one this term--no roommate to clutter up the place."

"That's generous of you, but it isn't allowed."

Jamey rolled his eyes. "Harker, in case you haven't noticed, the headmaster isn't here. The teachers aren't here. No prat of a Head Boy is here. All there is are the servants, and they don't care. In fact, they'd probably appreciate it. It would give them less work."

Jonathan hesitated. Stay in Jamey's room? The idea was appealing. Jamey was friendly, and fun, and Jonathan sometimes wished that he wasn't so alone. But there was something a little disturbing about the idea, too. Jonathan evaded the suggestion. "I still need to open this window."

"If I help you, will you agree to at least visit me in my room?"

"Of course."

Jamey clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Right! I think we can shift it with a joint effort. Grab hold of it, old boy." Jonathan turned back to the window and gripped the frame again. Jamey reached past him, an arm on each side, and took hold of the frame, too, his hands brushing Jonathan's.

"Now, then," Jonathan stiffened a little as he felt Jamey's chin rest on his shoulder, the older boy's warm breath fanning his ear. Jamey shifted closer, his body pressing against Jonathan's from behind. "On the count of three we give the old heave-ho, right? One..." He paused. Jonathan could feel his breath beginning to speed up. Finally Jamey said, "Two..." His voice was almost a whisper. Jonathan blinked, feeling a sweat droplet slide down his temple. "Three."

Jonathan threw all his strength into the uppward motion. He felt Jamey's arms, running along his own, tense. At the same moment the older, bigger boy's body pressed against him firmly, pushing Jonathan's crotch against the window sill as his own pushed against Jonathan's rump.

There was a squeal, and the window slid halfway up with a jerk. Jonathan fell forward, face bouncing against the glass. Instantly Jamey released the window, his arms going around the younger boy's waist. "Careful, there! It's a long way to the ground."

"I'm all right." Jonathan shifted, settling himself more steadily on his feet.

"Are you?" Jamey released him, but then settled his hands on Jonathan's shoulders for a moment before sliding his hands down his back. He patted Jonathan, then stepped away. "Good."

Jonathan pushed the window the rest of the way up. He rested his hands on the frame, over his head, and bent to the open space, closing his eyes and breathing deeply as a current of slightly cooler air blew against his face. He didn't see the expression on Jamey Roswell's face as he watched this. "This is so much better," Jonathan murmured.

"Yes, well, come on down to my room and let this oven cool off for a bit." Jonathan reached for his jacket, and Jamey slapped his hand playfully. "Leave that!"

"But I can't go downstairs in my shirtsleeves," Jonathan protested.

Jamey sighed. "Harker, as I told you, none of the guv'ners are here now. Honestly," he threw his arm around Jonathan's shoulders and led him toward the door, "I'd half think that you sleep in a collar and cuffs."

They went down one flight of stairs. The most desirable rooms were on the first floor, away from the traffic of the ground floor, and more spacious and comfortable than the ones on the second. Jamey led Jonathan to the best room on the floor. It was situated in the back corner where it was shaded in the early morning, and it had a beautiful view of the back garden.

Jonathan had never been in one of the first floor rooms, as he hadn't been friends with the more affluent students, and he felt a little awkward. There was a large trunk at the foot of the bed, and one of the houseboys was in the process of unloading clothing. "You can take care of that later," Jamey told him. "I'm sure you have other things to be doing. Oh," he sorted through his pockets, then pressed a few coins into the man's hand. "You remember the arraingment we had last year?"

The man nodded cheerfully. "'Deed I do, sir. Any particular time?"

"Just have it here by this evening." The man touched his forehead, gave Jonathan a slight bow and a speculative look, and left. Jamey noticed Jonathan's curious look and smiled. "It's a secret. I'll tell you later. Come and see what I've brought with me."

They spent some time examining some of the things in the trunk. Jamey showed Jonathan the silk shirts, and his new set of evening clothes, complete with gold and onyx studs and cuff links. Jonathan greatly admired the new shaving set, especially the gleaming straight razor with the mother-of-pearl handle. He was near despair, as his own cheeks were still smooth. There were several pots of slick, pleasant smelling ointment that Jamey said his mother had insisted on giving him "Because she said my skin would dry and chap this winter. Here," He dipped up a bit and rubbed it on the back of Jonathan's hand, "I can only use it at night, really, because it takes so long to be absorbed into the skin. Don't want to walk about with my face shiny." He was still massaging. "It is nice, though, isn't it?"

Jonathan ducked his head. It felt odd to have Jamey holding his hand, rubbing the ointment on with slow, almost sensual motions. He spotted something else in the trunk and reached for it, breaking the contact. Jamey didn't seem offended as Jonathan lifted out a thick sheaf of heavy, creamy paper, tied with a thin satin ribbon. "Also from my mother," Jamey informed him. "She hopes it will encourage me to write." He watched as Jonathan delicately stroked the smooth paper. "You like that, don't you, Harker?"

Jonathan shrugged as he reluctantly laid it back in the trunk. "I enjoy writing. You must know that--you gave me that splendid calligraphy pen for my birthday."

"Yes, I was rather proud of that. I flatter myself that it was your favorite gift. Your face lit up when you opened it. I think your love for writing is second only to reading."

"I confess that I'm hard pressed to say which I enjoy more." Jonathan's eyes lit on a slender book tucked half under a pile of handkerchiefs. He pointed, "What is that? A journal?"

"No." Jamey picked the book up and quickly riffled its pages. He paused at one point, eyes scanning it, then closed it and tucked it under his pillow. "When father took possession of the manor house, I helped out in inventorying the library, and he said I could help myself to whatever I wanted." Jamey's eyes twinkled. "Uncle had an extensive collection of rare and exotic books. I removed most of them to my rooms, but I couldn't resist bringing this one. If you're very good, I'll show it to you later."

There was a soft tap on the door, and Jamey called, "Come in."

It was Jenkins. He didn't seem surprised to find the two boys together. "Ah, Mister Harker. Good, this saves me a trip up the stairs. I was wondering if you two gentlemen would very much mind taking your evening meal in the kitchen? The boys have begun polishing the table in the dining room, and I'd like to give it a few more hours for the finish to set before we use it."

"No problem, Jenkins." Jamey clapped Jonathan on the shoulder. "I'll be taking Harker out for supper, and perhaps a bit of entertainment."

Jenkins looked unsure. "Sir, you know that students are not to leave the premisis after dark except with special permission."

"Jenkins, correct me if I am wrong, but Harker and myself are not even supposed to be in residence right now."

"Yes sir, that's true."

"Then be a good man and just pretend in this case that we aren't." At the older man's hesitation, Jamey continued, "Heaven's, man, I'll have him back before midnight. He won't turn into a pumpkin." When Jenkins still frowned, Jamey sighed. "Look, you needn't worry about us. We'll take cabs wherever we go. And we won't be babes in the woods. The last couple of years my Uncle Darius gave me quite an education in the ways of the world." He smiled. "Or at least the ways of London."

"Very well," Jenkins said uneasily. "I'll have one of the lads stay in the hallway to let you in when you return. Please, sir, no later than midnight? We can't sleep late like you fashionable folk."

He left, and Jonathan said, "Jamey, what are you thinking of? My father would have apoplexy if he knew I was wandering about the city at night."

Jamey dramatically threw himself across his bed on his back, arms outstretched. "Oh God, Harker! You're eighteen years old, and it's time you grew up a bit." He propped himself on his elbow and pointed at Jonathan. "And I'm just the man to drag you, kicking and screaming, into adulthood."

"But I can't afford it," Jonathan protested. "I used most of my pocket money just getting here. Father won't send me more for a fortnight."

Jamey got up and went to him. "Don't be a nit, Harker. As I said, I'm taking you out--that means it's my treat," Jonathan started to speak, "and before you protest, this is another belated birthday present. Please don't insult me by throwing it back in my face."

Jonathan hesitated. *I should be thrilled and excited. I've never had a chance to dine out, and the only entertainments I've seen were those that the entire class attended--concerts and pantomimes. I am excited, I suppose. But why do I feel uneasy, too?*

There was no polite way to decline. Jonathan smiled graciously. "Thank you, Jamey."

Jamey returned the smile. He patted Jonathan on the shoulder, saying, "I promise you, Harker," his hand lingered, "tonight will be life changing for you."