Among the Barons

Oscar didn’t answer, just brushed on by.

Luke stood still, practically trembling. Breakfast, he told himself. I’ll feel better after breakfast. He forced himself to continue down the stairs.

But after a huge meal that he barely tasted, he could think of nothing to do except wander aimlessly around the house. In the living room — actually, one of several rooms that Luke would have called a living room — he found an elegantly curved telephone sitting on a coffee table. Without hope, he picked up the receiver.

A maid appeared out of nowhere and scolded, “Now, Master Lee, you know your father’s got those secret codes on that” Luke got an idea.

“Tell me the code,” he said. “You’re the servant I’m Master Lee. You have to tell me the code.”

The maid laughed. “Sure, and you think I’d know it?” She shook a feather duster playfully at him. “Now, scoot I’ve got dusting to do.”

Embarrassed, Luke turned away. Master Lee. Right And Oscar thought that if Smits was out of the way, Luke could manipulate the Grants into serving the cause?

No, Luke realized. Oscar thought he could manipulate Luke into manipulating the Grants. Luke’s only choices were between being a pawn for the Grants and being a pawn for Oscar.

But Luke couldn’t even choose between those two options, because he didn’t know how or when the Grants or Oscar intended to carry out their plans. Why hadn’t he pretended to be more cooperative during both of his sessions in the secret room? Why hadn’t he just lied like everyone else?

Luke sank down onto the nearest couch. He couldn’t call Mr. Talbot or Mr. Hendricks. He couldn’t trust anyone at the Grants’ house. He couldn’t stop any of the plots boiling around him. He couldn’t even tell the difference between the lies and the truths that he’d heard. For all he knew, Oscar might be working for the Government, not the resistance. Smits might always have hated his older brother, Lee. The Grants might be the poorest people in the country, instead of the richest Or, no — Luke stared down at the finely woven carpet beneath his feet — the Grants’ wealth was one fact that was indisputable.

“Lee! There you are!” Mrs. Grant suddenly swooped into the room. Lee instantly sat up straight, but she frowned anyway “For heaven’s sake, get off that couch this instant You’ll leave it rumpled, and how would that look for our party this evening?”

Luke bolted to his feet

“P-p-party?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Grant said. “It’ll be the social event of the season. We’ve been planning it for months. It’s so nice that you and Smits are home from school and will be able to attend. Isn’t it?”

She smiled so sweetly at him that Luke had a hard time remembering how coldly she’d regarded him the night before.

“Is it — do we.. “ Luke wanted to ask if Smits and Lee had usually attended their parents’ big parties before. He wanted to ask if he’d be expected to know any of the other guests, and if so, what he was supposed to do when he met them tonight But of course those weren’t questions he could just blurt out, unless he was in the secret room. He settled for, “Do I have to wear a tux?”

Mrs. Grant laughed, making a sound that reminded Luke of breaking glass.

“Of course, you silly goose. You boys! Thinking you can get away without wearing a tuxl Would you believe Smits asked me the same thing?”

And Luke looked back into Mrs. Grant’s falsely sparkling eyes and thought, No. I’m not sure I can believe you even when you tell me something as simple as that.

“Now, come on,” Mrs. Grant said. “The orthodontist and hairdresser are here. It’s time for your makeover!”

CHAPTER 27

By eight o’clock there were tiny lights strung in the trees along the driveway. An army of maids had made sure that every inch of the Grants’ house was dust free and virtually gleaming. Dozens of cooks had prepared tray after tray of more foods than Luke had ever seen before.

And Luke had been transformed as well. Most of his teeth had been encased in silver prisons, with something that felt like barbed wire running between them. His hair had been dyed a darker brown, while Mrs. Grant had fluttered over the hairdresser, lamenting, “I can’t believe you can’t trust a boy anymore not to go bleaching his hair while he’s away at school.

The braces hurt. His newly dyed — and gelled — hair felt stiff and unfamiliar. He didn’t recognize himself when he walked past a mirror.

And now he and Smits were in their tuxes, standing at the top of the stairs. Waiting.

“I want both of you to make a grand entrance,” Mrs.

Grant said, hovering over them, straightening Luke’s tie, flattening a tiny cowlick at the back of Smits’s head. ^TMAfter all the guests have arrived, I’ll have the butler announce you. He’ll say, ‘And here are the sons of the manor, Lee and Smithfield Grant.’ And then you’ll come down the stairs, like so.”

She took small, mincing steps down the top few stairs before turning around to make sure that they had been listening. Was this part of the plot? Luke wondered. Were the Grants counting on his being so clumsy and unaccustomed to the spotlight that he’d trip and fall? Would the guests believe that he would die from such a fall?

Luke stared down the long stairway. Of course they would believe such a thing. If he tripped at the top and fell down thirty-two stairs, he might die for real.

And that would probably suit the Grants just fine.

Luke held in a shiver of fear and reminded himself~ Chandeliers. Oscar had said that he needed to watch out for chandeliers. And assuming that Oscar was telling the truth about that, Luke had enough to worry about without looking for other death traps.

Far below, the front doorbell rang.

“That must be the first guests,” Mrs. Grant said. “It’ll be the Snodgrasses — they’re always early. They have no social graces.” Mrs. Grant shook her head disapprovingly and began walking down the stairs. She turned around briefly to remind both boys, “Now, remember. Be on your best behavior.”

Down below, the butler was opening the door. Luke could hear his booming voice call out, “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass. Mr. and Mrs. Grant will be so glad to greet you. May I take your coats?”

Beside Luke, Smits slumped and sat down on the top step. Luke decided he might as well do the same. He slid down beside the younger boy. The fake I.D.’s he’d transferred into his tuxedo pocket poked his leg, as if he needed another reminder that everything around him was false.

“I can’t believe they’re having a party,” Smits muttered. “My brother’s dead, and they’re having a party” Luke glanced anxiously around. Oscar was leaning on a railing right behind them, but he seemed not to hear.

“It’s been nearly six months,” Luke said apologetically “Probably that’s long enough to wait before people start having parties again.”

“They were having parties all along,” Smits said glumly

“They had to pretend.,“ Luke started to say He didn’t like defending Mr. and Mrs. Grant, but he was getting panicked. Smits needed to pretend, too. What if Smits told one of the party guests that Lee was dead? What if one of the servants overheard?

“But they were enjoying themselves,” Smits said fiercely “They love their parties. They never cared about Lee.”

In spite of himself Luke argued, “I thought you said they liked him better than you.”

Smits fixed Luke with a dead stare. “So now you know what they think of me.”

Behind them Oscar cleared his throat warningly Luke was suddenly fed up with all the subterfuge. Without thinking, he turned around and asked Oscar, “Does Smits know who you are? Does Smits know that you knew Lee? That you can tell him everything he wants to know about how Lee died?”

Oscar’s face turned a fiery red. He jerked his fists up; Luke knew that if even one of those fists hit him, he’d be knocked down the stairs for sure. But Oscar stopped just short of swinging at Luke.