As she ate, Louise noticed her classmates seemed to cluster around her before sitting down, almost as if trying to screen her from the prying eyes of those strolling past. She couldn’t decide if this was because they felt obligated to protect her, or they feared someone recognizing her and accusing them of doing something wrong.

After a while, though, everyone seemed to relax, and the storytelling and jokes began. By the time the midday meal was over and they’d returned to the school, they were all laughing and including her in their conversations. Louise had never been happier.

The next day Louise arrived in class, her reticule plump with coins. From the time she’d been very young, she’d received money for birthdays and holidays, and she kept a china bank into which she deposited her precious coins—money she’d never needed until now. If she liked, she could buy everyone’s meat pie all week long.

As before, she waited alone in the classroom and listened until she heard the girls taking off for their noon meal. They would join up with the boys along the way. She dumped Cook’s lunch and caught up with her new friends.

Because she wanted to remain one of them, not hold herself above her classmates by displaying her wealth, she very quietly slipped into Donovan’s hand payment for the previous day, adding another shilling for his being so kind to her. Walking alongside her, he looked down at the coins before pocketing them. Counting, she thought. For a moment, it seemed to her he was considering refusing the extra money, or maybe even all of it. But then something changed in his eyes, and a bit of his pride fell away.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Then she knew how desperately he must need money, and her heart went out to him. His gift to her the previous day became all the more precious to her.

After that she went with the others every day to lunch. When questioned by Cook, who at last missed her, she pretended haughtiness and told the woman she’d prefer to fast until returning to the palace, where the food was more to her liking. It was what the Crown Princess, her sister Vicky, would have said.

Somehow Maestro must have soothed Cook’s feelings because nothing more was said of the matter. Even Maestro seemed weary of keeping an eye on her. He assumed an attitude of indifference to her socializing, only chiding her if she was late in returning. Instead it was Amanda who warned her away from the other students.

“Playin’ with fire, you are, Princess. You best stay away from that lot or they’ll bring you trouble.”

“And who are you to be telling me what to do?” She wrinkled her nose at the maid of all work, down on her knees, waxing the school’s hallway floor with wide swirls of her rag. “I like them. They’re fun and ever so clever.”

Amanda didn’t look up. “The girls mebbe. But a lady like you ought to beware of those boys, ’specially that Donovan. He’s mischief and more, that one.”

Louise huffed at her. “You sound like my governess. All sour pickles when it comes to enjoying oneself. Anyway, I’m learning so much more about life than I ever could cooped up in the palace.”

“About life,” Amanda muttered, putting muscle into her task. “Right.”

Fifteen

One day Donovan failed to appear at the school. A different model stood in his place, and they started all over with fresh sketches. By the end of the week, it was clear to Louise the young man had been permanently replaced.

“Where has Donovan gone?” she asked Mary when they walked out at noon.

“I’ve no idea, Your Highness. They come and go, you know. There are a lot of hungry boys. Girls too. All willing to pose for a little money.”

“He will never come back then?” When Donovan had been among them, he’d seemed just one of their lively group, although a bit special to her for his generosity that first day she’d eaten with them. Now that he was gone she missed him.

“He may, if he gets hungry enough,” Sarah said, elbowing her way between her and Mary, her eyes twinkling impishly. “But I doubt it. He’s a pretty boy. A fellow like that won’t be out on the streets for long.” The other girls giggled.

Louise frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Mary pulled her aside. “Princess, ignore them. They’re being crude. Sarah means that some wealthy woman will take a liking to Don, provide him with a room, nice clothes, and food. Then he won’t need to pose anymore.”

Louise’s eyes shot wide, despite her attempt to contain her shock. “You mean, in return for . . . favors?” She’d heard that word used when describing such arrangements between a wealthy man and, usually, a younger woman who weren’t married.

Mary shrugged and blushed. “What else?”

Louise sighed. She supposed this was another element of the adult world she’d only guessed at until now. She knew that men bought their mistresses gowns, a carriage and four, even town houses in the city if they were rich enough. But she’d never thought of women buying men luxuries.

It was then that Louise decided she must find Donovan and discover for herself what had happened to him. Wasn’t it her duty, as a friend, to at least make sure he was safe?

The next day, before everyone left for lunch, Louise approached two of the boys who had spent the most time with Donovan and asked if they had any idea where she might find him.

“He has a job with two artists,” Jacob, the taller of the two, said. “Gabriel Rossetti and William Morris.”

“Where do they live?”

“Rossetti’s garret is at Chatham Place, just north of Blackfriar’s Bridge.”

“I don’t know where that is,” she said, disappointed. “Is it far?”

Jacob and Felix glanced at each other, maybe for the first time realizing why she was asking.

Felix said, “You can see St. Paul’s Cathedral from there. But it’s not the nicest part of the city, Princess. I wouldn’t go there, if I were you.”

Louise cocked her head at him. “I can go where I please.”

“Listen.” Jacob bent toward her confidentially. “I suspect the queen thinks us a wild bunch. But Rossetti? She’d call the man immoral. Have you ever seen his paintings?”

She shook her head.

“Or read his poetry?” Felix chimed in with a grin. “Quite racy, I’d say.”

Jacob nodded in enthusiastic agreement, and Louise immediately made a mental note to find a copy of Mr. Rossetti’s poems. “I only want to see Donovan, not his employers. To repay him money I borrowed. That’s all.”

Jacob shrugged, and she wondered if he saw through her lie. “Do you want us to go with you?” he asked. “You know, for protection.”

She smiled, stopping just short of laughing. These two skinny young men from titled families, just as sheltered as she was, were offering to put themselves between her and potential danger.

“Thank you for the offer, gentlemen. I’ll have two able-bodied men from the palace to attend me.” But if she had any say in the matter, her footman and driver would go no farther than the artists’ front door.

From high in the sky, the sun shot brilliant beams down between tightly packed buildings and succeeded in burning off as much of the yellow-green smog as ever it could. Visible specks of coal dust filtered through the air like fine black snow. Louise sat in the barouche and waved a delicate pierced-ivory fan in front of her face, but it helped little.

Her heart picked up the rhythm of the horses’ hooves over the uneven paving stones. The metal-rimmed wheels of her carriage rumbled and scraped along the road. The sheer excitement of a new adventure made her feel all the more alive.

Louise amused herself by memorizing the route her driver took through unfamiliar streets, creating a map of sorts in her head. Luckily, he chose main thoroughfares, cutting as straight a line across the city as possible from Kensington High Street along the southern edge of lush green Hyde Park to Knightsbridge, through Piccadilly and then again south to the Strand, lined with its stately Jacobean mansions. She recognized the Duke of Northumberland’s house, having been there to a ball that spring, and then elegant Durham House and Salisbury House before coming to the eyesore of Westminster, the Savoy Hospital for the poor, with its sad clusters of cripples and indigents haunting the alleys around it. Fleet Street took them to a left onto Farringdon, which dumped them into a nicer neighborhood that fronted on a tiny but pleasant-looking park. Should she ever need to come back here on her own, she decided it would be wise not to get lost.

The neighborhood wasn’t as bad as she’d expected after her conversation with Jacob and Felix. In fact it wasn’t at all frightening. Rather it exuded romance and adventure with its colorful mix of artisans, street artists, and, she imagined, even poets—all set against the vibrant backdrop of shops crammed with supplies to support their talents. The lodgings seemed modest—older houses divided into multiple tenancies—but the stoops were swept and clear of garbage, the cafés charming and jammed with smiling, laughing people.

When at last the carriage stopped and the brawny footman hopped down from his perch to open her door, Louise rechecked the address she’d written down to make sure they’d found the right place. The building wasn’t marked with a number; few were in this part of the city. But one house across the street sported a placard with a promisingly close number, so this seemed about right.

“Shall I accompany you, Your Highness?” her footman asked.

“No. It’s better if I go in alone. My friend . . . she’s shy. I won’t be long. We’ll be going straight back to the school,” she informed him cheerfully. By using her lunchtime break she would be back before Maestro realized she had gone farther than the two streets to where her crowd usually lunched.