Rascal harbored several inquiries regarding the nature of recent events. Although I refrained from uttering outright falsehoods, I did indulge in a measure of subterfuge by resorting to circuitous explanations and excessive verbosity. In the end, she seemed content to accept that something inexplicable had occurred—beyond her comprehension, but unlikely to repeat—and that her sister was not in any imminent danger.

  I pressed for an early supper, as my prior interview with Father had caused me to forgo lunch. To lift Rascal’s spirits, which had been weighed down by worry, I requested that she reveal to me her secret hideaways. She had previously assured Princess that there were far better hiding spots than the one beneath the table on the third floor of the library.

  The first of these hideouts proved to be little more than a long-abandoned room in the west wing. The mansion had rarely been at full capacity, and Rascal had observed that this particular chamber, though not offered to guests, nor claimed by any other resident, remained curiously unlocked. She had taken advantage of this oversight, slipping inside and using it as her own retreat, confident that she would not be disturbed. The key to maintaining her secret was in leaving no trace of her presence—no mess, no disturbance—so that the servants, tasked with maintaining the room despite its apparent disuse, would not suspect that it had become a ‘base’ or ‘hideout’, as Rascal called it. If suspicions were to arise, she feared they might lock the room.

  The other two hideouts were more in line with what one might imagine as proper hiding places—a concealed space behind a bookcase and an old, disused tunnel. The hidden nook behind the bookcase was located in a common living room. The architecture of the mansion, with its peculiarities, had created a convex, semi-circular bulge in the wall, which the bookcase conveniently covered. A person of slight build could crawl into this space and use it as a sanctuary. However, it was dark, filthy, and dust-laden, and though Princess—thin as she was—no longer fit within its confines, Rascal, just barely, still managed to squeeze in.

  The third hiding place was by far the most impressive: a proper secret passage. Highsummit Manor, nearly four centuries old, had undergone numerous alterations throughout its long history. One such revision had left behind a decommissioned chimney in a hallway where there had once been a secondary kitchen and mess hall, back when the mansion had also housed barracks. The barracks had since been relocated to a site near the gate, where I presumed they now had their own mess hall. Nevertheless, the old chimney had remained, obscured by two statues and a table adorned with decorative items.

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  Should one crawl beneath the table, they would discover a boarded-up hole, yet one of the boards was loose and could be shifted aside. Beyond it lay an actual stone tunnel—resembling a chimney in some ways but far too large to serve that purpose. Whatever its original function a century ago may have been, it now served as an ideal retreat for an adventurous young Lady.

  The primary drawback of these latter two locations was the obvious lack of maintenance. The accumulation of dust alone would leave black and gray streaks across any garment worn. Rascal, however, had planned ahead. The chimney-like tunnel contained a box in which she had stashed an old, threadbare dress—her ‘secret armor’—to be donned whenever she ventured inside. The dress was worn, frayed at the edges, and offered little warmth, but Rascal did not seem to mind the inconvenience.

  “Do you remember how I used to come back all covered in grime, and Fermina would get so mad? That’s why I made this dress. It’s pieced together from scraps of old ones and a few aprons. I guess we’ll have to make one for you later. I tried to clean the place up once—at least the entrance—so I could get in without looking like an used mop, but the dirt just never ends!” Rascal explained with a touch of pride.

  Of course, she had always been persistently presentable whenever I saw her, so I assumed only Princess and Fermina had seen her in such a state.

  Though I was loath to ruin Princess’s dress, I observed as Rascal, clad in her ‘secret armor’, demonstrated what had been her private spot for years. She had even stocked a corner of the tunnel with old mantles, creating a makeshift bed, and had stored a candlestick, an assortment of candles, and matches to light her way. She was justifiably proud of her ingenuity, yet confessed that she had always been fearful of showing her hideout to anyone. She dreaded the possibility that someone might nail the loose board shut and permanently deny her access. It was only after sensing a sudden shift in Princess’s behavior that she had felt secure enough to share her secret.

  Perhaps she was better at keeping those than I had given her credit for.

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