Dark Mirror 1.5 - Fallen from Grace by M.J. Putney Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: M.J. Putney
must walk through them to reach the carriage. I felt like a Christian tossed among the lions. But by God, I am a Falkirk of Kemperton, and I will not show fear.
Head up, I crossed the courtyard. The crowd parted like the Red Sea opening before Moses. (Surely Moses was a mage. Just look at his deeds!)
I heard muttered curses, saw hatred, loathing, and fear on their faces. If the Marquess of Allarde could be cursed with magic, was anyone safe?
A few faces showed sympathy and regret. But only one student stepped out to say good-bye. It was Blakesley Major. He’s a form ahead of me and I don’t know him well, but he offered his hand and said in a carrying voice, “Thank you for saving my little brother from that revolting bully. You will always have a friend in me.”
I was never so grateful for anything in my life. As I shook his hand, I said quietly, “Thank you. This may cost you in the future.”
“Not as much as rescuing my brother has cost you,” Blakesley Major said just as quietly. Then he stepped back and snapped a smart military salute. His father is a general, and he intends a military career himself. It didn’t seem proper to salute back, so I gave a formal nod of recognition and continued on my way.
I managed to maintain control until I was safely in the coach. Then I closed my eyes and shook as I left Eton forever. I know now what it’s like to ride in the tumbrel to the guillotine, as so many French aristocrats have done.
But I’m alive. And when I reach Kemperton, I must face my parents.
October 17 th , 1801, my room, Kemperton Hall, Shropshire
Waiting, waiting, waiting . As I write at my desk, I can feel the generations of Falkirks who have loved this land, going back before they were even named Falkirk. The land lends strength, and I need that.
Soon my father will return home from the Assizes. He will be informed of my presence. Then he’ll read the letter from Eton and discuss the matter with my mother. When they have decided what to do with me, I will be summoned for judgment.
This is far more difficult than waiting to learn my fate at Eton. That’s just a school, but these are my parents.
I was born long after they had despaired of having children. I have always tried to live up to their hopes for me. Now I’ve failed, and in a disastrously public way.
Every boy at Eton will write home about my shocking misbehavior. My disgrace will taint my parents as well since magic generally comes through the blood. When my father takes his seat in the next session of the House of Lords, other lords will whisper and draw away, fearing he might influence them with evil magic. All because I lost my temper and was revealed as a mage in England’s most aristocratic school!
As heir to the dukedom of Westover, I would inherit my father’s title and the entailed property even if I was mad or a murderer. Why do I have to suffer the affliction of magic, which is the only grounds for disinheritance? Though disowning an heir is not required by law, in practice a mageling is virtually always chopped off the family tree.
This is particularly true if there is a normal younger brother who can inherit. No wonder aristocratic children with magic hide their abilities!
But I have no brothers, no close cousins in the line of inheritance. There are distant cousins, I suppose. So what will my father do? Though I’ve always expected to be the next Duke of Westover, I can live without the title. But can I live without Kemperton, which is entailed to go with the dukedom?
Once again a knock on the door signals that I am called to my fate. At the sound, my hand clenched and the pen spattered a great black blot on the journal page. Just as I am a great black blot on my family.
Two hours later
It could have been worse, I suppose, though I have never seen my father look so sad. But he did not blame me for what I am. He was very calm as he discussed what must be done. He doesn’t want to disinherit me, but
Head up, I crossed the courtyard. The crowd parted like the Red Sea opening before Moses. (Surely Moses was a mage. Just look at his deeds!)
I heard muttered curses, saw hatred, loathing, and fear on their faces. If the Marquess of Allarde could be cursed with magic, was anyone safe?
A few faces showed sympathy and regret. But only one student stepped out to say good-bye. It was Blakesley Major. He’s a form ahead of me and I don’t know him well, but he offered his hand and said in a carrying voice, “Thank you for saving my little brother from that revolting bully. You will always have a friend in me.”
I was never so grateful for anything in my life. As I shook his hand, I said quietly, “Thank you. This may cost you in the future.”
“Not as much as rescuing my brother has cost you,” Blakesley Major said just as quietly. Then he stepped back and snapped a smart military salute. His father is a general, and he intends a military career himself. It didn’t seem proper to salute back, so I gave a formal nod of recognition and continued on my way.
I managed to maintain control until I was safely in the coach. Then I closed my eyes and shook as I left Eton forever. I know now what it’s like to ride in the tumbrel to the guillotine, as so many French aristocrats have done.
But I’m alive. And when I reach Kemperton, I must face my parents.
October 17 th , 1801, my room, Kemperton Hall, Shropshire
Waiting, waiting, waiting . As I write at my desk, I can feel the generations of Falkirks who have loved this land, going back before they were even named Falkirk. The land lends strength, and I need that.
Soon my father will return home from the Assizes. He will be informed of my presence. Then he’ll read the letter from Eton and discuss the matter with my mother. When they have decided what to do with me, I will be summoned for judgment.
This is far more difficult than waiting to learn my fate at Eton. That’s just a school, but these are my parents.
I was born long after they had despaired of having children. I have always tried to live up to their hopes for me. Now I’ve failed, and in a disastrously public way.
Every boy at Eton will write home about my shocking misbehavior. My disgrace will taint my parents as well since magic generally comes through the blood. When my father takes his seat in the next session of the House of Lords, other lords will whisper and draw away, fearing he might influence them with evil magic. All because I lost my temper and was revealed as a mage in England’s most aristocratic school!
As heir to the dukedom of Westover, I would inherit my father’s title and the entailed property even if I was mad or a murderer. Why do I have to suffer the affliction of magic, which is the only grounds for disinheritance? Though disowning an heir is not required by law, in practice a mageling is virtually always chopped off the family tree.
This is particularly true if there is a normal younger brother who can inherit. No wonder aristocratic children with magic hide their abilities!
But I have no brothers, no close cousins in the line of inheritance. There are distant cousins, I suppose. So what will my father do? Though I’ve always expected to be the next Duke of Westover, I can live without the title. But can I live without Kemperton, which is entailed to go with the dukedom?
Once again a knock on the door signals that I am called to my fate. At the sound, my hand clenched and the pen spattered a great black blot on the journal page. Just as I am a great black blot on my family.
Two hours later
It could have been worse, I suppose, though I have never seen my father look so sad. But he did not blame me for what I am. He was very calm as he discussed what must be done. He doesn’t want to disinherit me, but
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