Dark Mirror (9 page)

Hands in agony, Tory stumbled back from the desk and banged against the door. She wanted to strike back any way she could, but defiance was exactly what Miss Macklin wanted. The teacher craved an excuse to cause more pain.

Forcing herself not to lash out, Tory stammered, “I … I will remember not to talk back, Miss Macklin. Do you wish to test me on any other subjects?”

The teacher looked disappointed by the meek answer. She lifted her quill pen and wrote several lines on a piece of paper. Handing it to Tory, she said, “These are your classes. You’d best work hard. For a girl like you who is both plain and cursed with magic, being governess to a family of the middling sort is the most you can hope for.”

Even life as a governess would be better than staying in this horrible school. Fighting to keep from breaking down, Tory said, “Good day, Miss Macklin.”

She bolted out into the corridor, her hands hurting so much she could barely grasp the doorknob. As she turn to flee, she crashed into another person. Before she could take off again, a quiet voice said, “Come into my office, Miss Mansfield.”

Tory blinked back her tears and saw that it was Miss Wheaton, the mage teacher who’d examined her the day before. Though she was again drably dressed, her eyes were compassionate as she held open the door on the opposite side of the corridor.

Warily, Tory stepped into Miss Wheaton’s office. The room was small but welcoming. Pretty watercolors of flowers brightened the walls, the floor was softened by a worn but cheerful rug, and the small bookcase was full to overflowing.

Miss Wheaton frowned at the welts caused by the ruler. “Your hands must hurt.”

“All I did was answer Miss Macklin’s questions.” Tory tried to keep her voice from shaking. “I was trying to show her that I was cooperative and wouldn’t cause any trouble. But she hit me with her ruler. T … twice.”

“Lackland students are used to wealth and privilege, and sometimes they need to be reminded of their changed situation,” Miss Wheaton said in a neutral voice. “Some teachers feel that point must be made very emphatically.”

“So they want to break us as horses are broken to the saddle,” Tory said bitterly.

“Not everyone agrees with that approach.” Miss Wheaton took gentle hold of Tory’s hands. “Let me see if I can do something about the pain.”

Tory winced as the teacher carefully straightened her swelling fingers but managed to avoid whimpering. Miss Wheaton moved her hand through the air above Tory’s. “Fortunately no bones are broken.”

“Does that beastly woman break bones?” Tory gasped, forgetting that she shouldn’t criticize one teacher to another.

“Sometimes, usually when a girl does particularly well on her academic examination. Perhaps she believes that a good education makes one prideful.” Miss Wheaton cradled Tory’s right hand between her palms. “Let’s see what I can do.”

Warmth began flowing into Tory’s palm and fingers. After a minute or two, Tory exclaimed, “The pain is going away! You must be a healer.”

Miss Wheaton nodded and transferred her attentions to Tory’s left hand. “I could do more away from Lackland, but I have some power even here.”

“Are students beaten regularly?” Tory asked warily. Though she’d been spanked sometimes as a little girl, her parents thought it unseemly to spank an older child.

“The boys are, but not usually the girls,” Miss Wheaton replied. “I can’t say I approve, but all boys’ schools allow caning.”

“My brother said that at Eton, students were told caning builds character. I suppose girls are caned less because we aren’t thought to have much character.”

“Which is the sort of thing males say when they don’t know any women.” Miss Wheaton chuckled, looking younger and much prettier. “The fog has lifted, so I’ll take you to the village for your magical evaluation.”

“Away from Lackland?” The prospect cheered Tory. She brushed at her face, hoping there were no tear tracks. “That would be lovely.”

Seeing Tory’s gesture, Miss Wheaton said, “I’ll lend you a shawl and bonnet so you don’t have to go back to your room.”

Miss Wheaton was so
nice
! This was like talking to Tory’s sister, Sarah. Yet despite her kindness, Miss Wheaton held ultimate power over the girls of Lackland.

As the teacher retrieved shawls and bonnets from a clothes peg, Tory studied her class schedule. All her academic classes were marked as advanced, except for Italian language and literature with Miss Macklin. Though Tory had always wanted to learn Italian, she did not look forward to having such a beastly teacher. She’d sit in the back of the class.

There was also a note that her “accomplishments” would be evaluated. Nell had mentioned this at dinner. A governess must teach drawing, music, and needlework, but virtually all girls sent to Lackland had such skills, and Tory was no exception.

Academic subjects were another matter. Some girls arrived at Lackland ignorant of anything beyond reading, writing, and basic arithmetic. Though Tory was still angry with her father, at least he believed in educating his daughters as well as his son. Tory and Sarah had learned Latin as well as watercolors and how to play the pianoforte.

Miss Wheaton handed a straw bonnet and a blue knit shawl to Tory and they set off. The day was pleasant, with more sun than clouds. A good day for walking.

A footpath led across the grounds to the main gate. When they reached that, Miss Wheaton said, “It’s time to remove the block I put on you yesterday.” She closed her eyes and briefly touched the heel of her palm to Tory’s forehead.

Then they walked through the gate. Tory gasped at the flood of sensations. In the day since her arrival, she’d started to adapt to the abbey’s suffocating atmosphere. Now she felt as if she were waking after heavy sleep. She turned in a circle, reveling in the vitality of the normal world. “Everything feels so
alive.
”

“You’re now restored to your full self.” Miss Wheaton led the way across the road to a public footpath that ran between two barley fields. “Having been deprived of your magical senses for a time, you should be extra aware now.”

Tory winced. “So I’ll feel even worse when I return to the school?”

“The more aware you are of your abilities, the more you’ll miss them when they’re blocked,” the teacher said. “But today is a day for learning and understanding. You can ask me anything you want about magic, and if I know the answer, I’ll be happy to explain it.”

What Tory really wanted to ask was
Why me?
but that wasn’t a question Miss Wheaton could answer. “Do students who have their magic locked down ever regret having that done?”

“No one has ever asked me that.” The teacher’s brows furrowed. “Not that I know of, but of course I don’t see students after they leave Lackland. In the nature of things, there must be a few who later regret denying that part of their nature.”

Tory didn’t find that comforting. “I will miss this intense awareness of nature. I’ve always had it, but it’s stronger now that my magic has awakened.”

“Can you describe how you feel?”

Tory searched for the right words. “Everything around me pulses with life, even the grass. Or … it’s like a subtle hum that adds richness to being alive.”

“Well said. Can you tell the difference between grass and a tree?”

Tory tried for a dozen steps. She sensed a slow living current of … of
greenness,
but nothing more specific. “No. Should I?”

Miss Wheaton grinned. “No, it’s just a test of sensitivity. If you could distinguish between tree, grass, and shrub so soon after awakening to your magical ability, you’d probably have strong healing ability. But in itself, identifying plants isn’t particularly useful. The difference between plants and animals can be handy, though. What can you tell me about that bramble bush ahead?”

Tory turned her attention to the brambles, consciously looking for different energy patterns. Frowning with concentration, she said, “The bramble is quietly alive, but there are sparks of a brighter energy within it. Rabbits?”

“Blackbirds, but you do well to sense the difference.”

Tory felt pleased, until she remembered that she didn’t want Miss Wheaton to think Tory had strong magical power. A sudden suspicion struck her. “Do you use magic to persuade girls to talk to you freely?”

Miss Wheaton made a face. “Yes, though students seldom realize that.”

“It isn’t enough to control our bodies!” Tory blurted out, feeling betrayed. “You want our minds as well. If we say the wrong thing, do we have to stay here longer?”

“No!” Miss Wheaton said sharply. “I dislike using magic in this way, but I need to know a student’s true thoughts about her magical gifts so I can help her choose the path that is best for her. Nothing you say will be used against you.”

“You say ‘gifts,’ but for most of us, magic is a curse,” Tory retorted. “That’s why we’re in this prison!”

The teacher was silent for the space of dozen steps. “The difference between a gift and a curse can be how one feels about it. Most magelings feel that magical power enriches their lives, so for them, magic is a gift. Many would envy your ability.”

Tory thought of her maid, Molly, who’d wished she had magic. “That may be true for the lower orders, but for those of us who are wellborn, magic is a disaster.”

“The damage comes from society, not magic itself,” Miss Wheaton pointed out. “Though the price of magic is high for aristocrats, embracing one’s talents can be deeply rewarding. That is why I choose to teach at Lackland—so I can help girls decide what they truly want.”

“Are you trying to persuade me to embrace magic?” Tory asked incredulously. “You’re supposed to cure me!”

“Refusing magic is as costly as embracing it.” There was deep sadness in Miss Wheaton’s voice. “My job is not to persuade, but to inform my students so they fully understand the consequences before they choose which path to take.”

Tory’s anger faded. “Were the consequences dire for you?”

“Magic brings me great joy and rewards,” the teacher replied. “But I wish I hadn’t had to choose between my abilities and my family.”

“I don’t want to have to make that choice,” Tory said flatly. “I want my family and normal life. How is magic locked down? Or is that a secret?”

Miss Wheaton’s expression suggested that Tory didn’t yet know what she wanted, but she merely said, “All students study magical control. Think of those controls as chains. When the chains are strong enough, a mage can use them to tie up magical ability like the bonds that secure a bull.”

That made sense, but Tory frowned. “So after I’m cured, I’ll always feel as dull and heavy as I do at Lackland.”

“You will adapt and feel the same as most people feel their whole lives,” the teacher reassured her. “That’s not a tragedy. But remember that having one’s power locked down isn’t a true cure since magical talent can still be passed to one’s children.”

“Which is a disadvantage in the marriage mart.” Though Tory had learned at Lackland that she didn’t like losing her magical perceptions, it would be wonderful to return home even if she could no longer expect to find a husband of high rank. A husband she could love meant more than a title. “How long does it take to develop enough control to have one’s power locked down?”

“I don’t believe anyone has been cured in less than a year.” They reached a fence, and Miss Wheaton used the ladderlike steps of a stile to climb over. “Unusually powerful students generally need more time to develop sufficient control.”

“I don’t have much power! Hardly any at all.” Tory climbed over the stile, wryly aware that she was echoing what her mother and sister had said. “It’s the merest chance I was publicly seen doing something magical.”

“Your father’s letter said you could fly. That is major power.”

“Not
fly,
” Tory said uncomfortably. “I just … float a bit.”

Miss Wheaton smiled. “Show me.” Seeing Tory’s hesitation, she added, “There’s no need to conceal your abilities from me. You are what you are. I hope you believe that I want to help you.”

“I do.” Tory’s voice was edged. “But are you using magic to make me trust you?”

“No.” Miss Wheaton held Tory’s gaze. “Magic can’t induce real trust, nor would I do such a contemptible thing if I could.”

The teacher’s words were convincing, but even if she was lying, what could Tory do about it? She was trapped at Lackland until Miss Wheaton allowed her to leave. Cooperation was the only choice.

She closed her eyes. Cleared her churning mind. Thought about fluttering in her midriff, the click …

“Good heavens!” Miss Wheaton gasped.

Tory’s eyes shot open as she swooped upward. She gave a squeak of surprise at her swift ascent and grabbed wildly at a tree branch. She didn’t want to find out how high she could go, but she felt exhilarated as she clung to the bobbing branch.

“I’ve never had a student who could do that before.” Miss Wheaton sounded envious. “Are you all right up there?”

“I’m still not used to this!” Tory peered between the branches and saw two young owls staring from a hole in the trunk. Mentally she told the owls she meant no harm, hoping they understood. They blinked at her but didn’t vanish into the hole.