Dark Mirror (5 page)

Almost afraid to know the answer, Tory asked, “Did … did he ever come home?”

Molly nodded. “Aye. Then he went into the army and was killed fighting the Frenchies.” She set the shoes in the bottom of the trunk. “Such a
waste.
”

Catching the edge in Molly’s voice, Tory asked, “What do you think of magic?”

Molly looked up, her expression wary. “Do you want the truth, my lady?”

“Yes,” Tory said flatly. “There have been too many lies here.”

“People like me think wellborn folk are pure fools to be so set against magic.” Molly tucked several pairs of stockings in the trunk. “When my pa was hurt bad in a wagon accident, the local healer saved his life and his leg. That can’t be wrong.”

“Magic can also be used to harm,” said Tory, thinking of all the arguments against using magical power. “It’s unnatural. A dishonorable kind of cheating.”

“How can magic be unnatural when so many people have it? I wish I was a mage. I’d earn more than I do as a maid.” Molly pulled several shifts from the clothespress. “What’s unnatural is pretending that magic isn’t real when it
is.
”

“I guess that makes sense.” Tory frowned. “I just don’t know what to think. My view of the world has turned upside down today.”

“And ’twill change more.” Molly regarded her with sympathy. “Leaving home is hard, miss, but you’re strong enough for anything. That was something wonderful, the way you saved the lad. You could have decided that your brother and his wife are young, they would have more, and let the child fall. No one would have been the wiser.”

Tory shuddered. “What a horrid way to think!”

Molly nodded, her hands moving swiftly as she folded the shifts and placed them in the trunk. “Yes, but there are some folk selfish enough to put their own comfort over the life of a child.” Her upward glance was approving.

What did it say about Tory’s life that she was grateful for a housemaid’s approval? But maybe a servant could be wiser than a lord.

Together, she and Molly finished packing. When they were done, Molly said, “Good luck to you, my lady.” She hesitated. “I have a bit of the Sight, and I think you’ll do very well. Better than you can dream of now.”

“Thank you,” Tory said unevenly. “I need to hear that my life isn’t over.”

*   *   *

Tory was slipping a book of poetry into her trunk when she had another guest, this time her sister, Sarah. They regarded each other warily.

“Are you and Lord Roger still betrothed?” Tory asked.

Sarah nodded. “I … I don’t know if I could have come here to say good-bye if he’d broken the betrothal. Roger was shocked to see you flying. Everyone was. But he admires how you saved Jamie. Though his parents will be upset when they learn about you, he is of age and has an independent income, so he can do as he pleases.” She blinked back tears. “Thank heaven, he loves me enough to marry me anyhow.”

“I’m glad. It’s good that he has the courage not to blame you for my failings.” Thinking of what Molly had said, Tory continued. “If he had broken the betrothal, would you have wished I’d let Jamie fall? If I hadn’t acted, no one would know there’s magic in the Mansfield family.”

“What a dreadful question!” Sarah looked shocked, then thoughtful. “Losing Roger would be horrible, but losing Jamie would be worse. You did the right thing.” She hugged Tory. “Take care, brat. I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Tory ended the hug. “Do you have magic you’ve concealed?”

Sarah glanced away just as their mother had. “It’s said that everyone has a bit of magic, so perhaps I have a touch. But not enough to be a mage, of course.”

“Of course,” Tory said dryly, thinking her sister protested too much. So the Mansfield women all had some magical talent.

But Tory was the only one who would be punished for it.

CHAPTER 5

No one saw Tory off the next morning. Everything had been said the night before. She climbed into the carriage, feeling like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine.

Her escorts, Mr. and Mrs. Retter, were pale, colorless people. They didn’t know quite how to treat her, so they avoided looking at her or talking to her. That made them boring escorts for the journey across England to Kent.

Boredom led to an acute awareness of her surroundings. Tory had always been good at sensing people’s emotions, though she’d never thought of that as magic. Now she actively tried to read the people she encountered when they stopped at inns. When they drove into a town on market day, she sensed jolliness before they saw the market square stalls. When they stopped at an inn outside London, she knew immediately that it was a sad place. Later she learned that the innkeeper’s old father had died a week before.

She also recognized that her mother was right: Magic was alluring. Tory liked understanding more about her surroundings. Though she desperately wanted to suppress her power, she found herself studying everyone she met, sharpening her magical sensitivity. Rescuing Jamie had opened a door she couldn’t seem to close.

Apparently she wasn’t a weather mage, since her wishes for rain to slow the journey were futile. The weather was perversely fair, and they arrived at Lackland Abbey on the afternoon of the fourth day. The school grounds were surrounded by a high stone wall that extended a vast distance in each direction.

The dour old gatekeeper opened the massive wrought iron gates and the Fairmount carriage rattled inside. As soon as they passed through the gates, Tory felt as if a suffocating blanket had fallen over her, reducing her magical perceptions to almost nothing. She had become accustomed to a gentle pulse of life in the back of her mind. Now only a feeble trickle of awareness was left. She
hated
the loss of her senses.

As the carriage traveled up the long driveway to a sprawling complex of pale stone buildings, Tory clenched her fists, fighting her anger and distress. The school looked cold and intimidating and old beyond imagining.

But there was one redeeming feature. When Tory climbed from the coach at the entrance to the largest building, she smelled a salt tang on the cool breeze. Molly had been right about the location. Tory felt better knowing the sea was near.

But she hated leaving the luxurious carriage. The velvet-covered seats and Mansfield coat of arms painted on the doors were her last tangible link with home.

Head high, she climbed the steps to the entrance, the Retters behind her. She flinched as she stepped through the heavy arched door. The atmosphere in the building was even more oppressive than outdoors.

A cold-faced porter greeted them. Mr. Retter said, “We are bringing Lady Victoria Mansfield to the school.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a flat packet. “Her documents.”

The porter accepted the papers. “Wait here.”

The reception area was cold stone with hard wooden benches on two walls. The Retters sat side by side on one bench while Tory paced. She feared freezing if she didn’t keep moving.

The porter finally returned. “This way, miss.”

The Retters rose to go with her. The porter shook his head. “Your job is done. Leave now.”

After a moment of uncertainty, Mr. Retter said, “Very well. I’ll see that your trunk is brought in, Lady Victoria.”

Expression sympathetic, his wife added, “Best of luck to you, my lady. I’m sure you’ll be home again soon.”

Then they were gone. Tory had never felt more alone in her life.

“The headmistress is waiting,” the porter said brusquely.

She lifted her chin and followed him through another arched door into a dank corridor. Tory sought information with her magical senses, but her awareness was still crushed by the heaviness she’d felt since arriving at this blasted place.

A short walk brought them to another heavy old door. The porter swung it open, revealing a small office. The gray-haired woman behind the desk looked up, her gaze narrowing as she studied Tory. “Summon Miss Wheaton and Miss Campbell,” she ordered the servant.

The porter nodded and closed the door behind Tory. Though the walls and floor of the office were more of the pale local stone, a decent carpet warmed her feet. A rather nice painting of a meadow hung on one wall and a vase of late-summer flowers brightened a corner of the massive oak desk.

The headmistress wasn’t as pleasant as the office. Her hair was knotted back from her sharp-featured face and her eyes were as cold as the stone. She did not invite her guest to take a seat. “I am Mrs. Grice, headmistress of the girls’ school. I see that you are Miss Victoria Mansfield.”

Tory stood as tall as she could. “
Lady
Victoria Mansfield.”

“We do not use aristocratic titles here. As long as you are a student of Lackland Abbey, you are Miss Mansfield.”

“Why?” Tory asked. “My father is an earl. I’ve been Lady Victoria all my life.”

“Practicing magic is the one legal ground by which a peer can disinherit a child,” the headmistress replied. “A lord’s son can be mad, bad, or criminal, yet legally that son is still his heir. Only magic allows disinheritance. If your father is not satisfied with your progress, he can legally disown you so your title will be stripped from you.”

“I … I didn’t know that,” Tory gasped, feeling sick to her stomach.

“The law is not invoked often. Because of natural feeling, most men prefer to give their magic-tainted children a chance to redeem themselves. That is why Lackland Abbey exists.” Her voice dropped menacingly. “Your breeding doesn’t matter here. Some students boast of their exalted ancestors. Others say nothing because of their shame. I suggest humility. There is no place for pride of birth at Lackland, Miss Mansfield. Not for those who have disgraced their family names.”

Tory wanted to explode in fury. Not only had she lost her home, but her very identity was being stripped away.

Instead, she did her best to look meek and biddable. If escaping this horrid school meant humility, she would be the humblest girl in the whole wretched place.

Mrs. Grice handed a pamphlet to Tory. “Here is a brief description of the school’s history, purposes, and rules. Read and remember them. Do you have any questions? Most students arrive here remarkably ignorant of what they will find.”

Tory glanced down.
The Lackland Abbey Schools
was printed on the front of the pamphlet. “Schools, ma’am?”

“There is a girls’ school and a boys’ school,” the headmistress explained. “The abbey was built for brother and sister religious foundations, and we maintain that separation. Male and female students are very rarely allowed to mingle.”

“Why are the schools next to each other when having young men and women together can cause problems? Surely it would be easier if students were separated?”

Mrs. Grice frowned. “Both schools had to be established here because magic doesn’t work on the abbey grounds. And don’t pretend you haven’t tried to use your magic here. Every new student does. That’s why you must be cured of your perversion. It’s disgusting,
dishonorable,
the way mages can wreak havoc with normal folk!”

No wonder the abbey atmosphere was crushing. Meekly, Tory asked, “Is it known why magic doesn’t work here, Mrs. Grice?”

“The ancient monks found a way of blocking magical power so their prayers would not be corrupted.” The headmistress looked wistful. “Perhaps their method will be rediscovered someday so magic can be suppressed throughout all of Britain.”

“How can magic be suppressed when it’s legal?” Tory asked, startled. “Common people use it regularly.”

“Which is why they are common,” Mrs. Grice said with distaste. “Eliminating magic will make this a better, stronger, more refined nation. Our goal at Lackland is not just to cure young people of good birth, but in time to end magic everywhere.”

The headmistress’s vehemence was downright scary. While Tory wanted to get rid of her magic, it seemed wrong to take the power away from people like Molly, who found it useful. “How does the abbey cure students, ma’am?”

“You will receive lessons in magical control. When a student’s control becomes strong enough, her magic can be permanently suppressed.”

“How is that done?”

Mrs. Grice frowned. “Work hard and you will learn when the time is right.”

A knock sounded on the door. After Mrs. Grice called admittance, a youngish woman entered. Her appearance was neutral to the point of invisibility. Average size, average face. Brown hair, brown dress, light brown eyes, a darker brown shawl. A wren, not a robin. Tory thought she might be around thirty, though it was hard to judge her age.

“This is Miss Wheaton, teacher of magical control,” the headmistress said. “Miss Wheaton, this is our newest student, Victoria Mansfield. Prepare her.”

The teacher said in a soft voice, “This won’t hurt, Miss Mansfield.”

She put a light hand on Tory’s head, closed her eyes a moment—and Tory’s world changed again. Though her magic had diminished as soon as the carriage entered Lackland Abbey, she realized now that she’d retained some awareness.

Now even that was gone. She felt as if she’d been struck blind and deaf. This stripping away of her remaining power had to be done by magic—yet how could Miss Wheaton do such a thing in the abbey, where magic was supposedly blocked? Miss Wheaton said reassuringly, “Being magically blocked feels very strange, but you’ll grow accustomed. Tomorrow your academic and magical abilities will be tested so we will know how best to cure you.” She inclined her head. “Good day, Mrs. Grice.”