Escape From Home by Avi Read Free Book Online

wrists, and constantly fidgeting hands. He was slouched against the marble mantel, now and again nervously cracking the knuckles of one hand with the other. On his lips was an ill-concealed smirk.
    â€œLaurence,” Lord Kirkle continued, “it is the custom of our nation, as it is the custom of the Kirkle family, that the first son”—he nodded toward Albert—“stands second only to the father. Albert shall carry our name forward as the future Lord Kirkle. Why must I remind you of that yet again?” There was weariness in his voice.
    â€œYou needn’t, sir,” Laurence replied sullenly. “I understand.”
    â€œSince he is my elder son,” Lord Kirkle continued, “and you are the younger , he may make demands of you. It is your duty to oblige him. It will be so for the rest of your life.”
    â€œI’ll never take orders from him,” Laurence cried, noting his brother’s mocking look.
    â€œAnd I say you shall,” Lord Kirkle insisted.
    â€œI’d run away first,” Laurence threw back in rage.
    â€œOh, stop this nonsense!” his lordship roared.
    Laurence, unable to withstand his father’s fierce gaze, cast his eyes about the study. It was a large ornate room, bursting with bulky furniture and, at the moment, very warm. Beneath an elaborately framed mirror, the coal in the marble fireplace glowed. Wall sconces blazed with wax candles, for the afternoon was dark. Heavy green velvet curtains graced the tall windows. On two walls, bookcases were filled with leather-bound, gilt-edged tomes. Thick rugs lay upon the floor. A huge table, which his father used as a desk, stood at one end of the room, from which could easily be read the Kirkle family motto chiseled below the mantel. Glumly, Laurence read it now:
    Â 
    F OR C OUNTRY , G LORY —F OR F AMILY , H ONOR
    Â 
    On the wall hung portraits of the former Lord Kirkles from 1605 to the present day, 1851. Each was ruffed, wigged, or bearded in the fashion of the day. To Laurence, they all seemed to be glaring at him wrathfully.
    With a sigh of exasperation, Lord Kirkle hooked thick thumbs into vest pockets, setting the gold chain to jangling. Turning to his elder son, he said, “Do you have anything to say?”
    â€œMy lord,” Albert began, trying to force his voice into a lower register even as he rubbed his red blotched face, “all I asked him to do was blacken my boots.”
    â€œThat’s what the Irish servants do!” Laurence interrupted fiercely. “He only wants to mock me. To hold me down. It’s not fair !”
    â€œFairness is not the issue here!” his father thundered. “We are considering privilege. It is not your privilege to determine what is right or wrong. Your elder brother, Albert, has the right to demand of you whatsoever pleases him.”
    â€œSir,” Albert interjected, “may I say something?”
    Lord Kirkle scowled. “You may,” he said.
    â€œMy lord, I didn’t want to go into the details of this business with you. I was hoping, sir, it would stay a matter between my brother and me. I know you hate bickering.”
    â€œI do, sir.”
    â€œBut since Laurence had the cheek to appeal to you, I think I should tell you the particulars of his crimes.”
    Laurence looked at his elder brother with astonishment.
    â€œContinue,” Lord Kirkle told Albert.
    The young man stepped away from the mantel, turned to glare at his brother, then shifted around to look at his father. “Sir, I know the task I set for Laurence was low. I only did it to give him a taste of punishment. You see, my lord, though I told him not to enter my room, I discovered him there, snooping. The thing is, sir, I caught him taking a pen from my desk. Without permission. He was stealing, sir.”
    Stunned, Laurence reacted with fury. “Liar!” he cried.
    â€œLet your brother speak,” his father