Escape From Home by Avi Read Free Book Online Page B

it to Laurence. The boy, kicking out furiously, scurried away, crablike.
    With a sigh, his father turned to a window and looked out onto Belgrave Square, which the thickening fog was rapidly obscuring. His agitated hands clasped and unclasped. “Laurence,” he said at last, “take your punishment like a man.”
    Laurence, whimpering, shook his head.
    â€œYou must learn to control your reckless temperament,” his lordship said. “Albert is the elder. He stands before you. Always .”
    Laurence, his crying slowed to an occasional sob, continued to shake his head.
    â€œBesides,” his lordship said soothingly, “it’s all over now. Done.”
    â€œIt’s not done,” Laurence muttered vengefully.
    Lord Kirkle looked over his shoulder. “What am I to make of that?”
    â€œI will run away.”
    â€œOh, Laurence,” his father responded with a burst of exasperation, “why must you talk such rubbish? It pains me to hear it.”
    â€œYou let him give me pain!”
    â€œIt was necessary.”
    â€œI will run away!” Laurence shouted.
    Lord Kirkle turned. “May I be so bold as to ask where you will run to?” His tone was softer, and a smile played upon his lips.
    Laurence tried to recall the most distant place he’d heard of. India was the first that entered his mind. But that seemed too far, even for him. The name of another land sprang into his head. “America,” he replied.
    â€œQuite,” Lord Kirkle snorted with sarcasm as he went back to the window. “The United States of America. Where no titled elder brother may lord it over you. Folly, my boy, but, to your credit, at least well-chosen folly.”
    Laurence, his body smarting with every move he made, stood up. “Albert did lie,” he said.
    At first Lord Kirkle made no reply. Then, very mildly, he said, “Why should he do that?”
    â€œBecause he knows you despise him. That you only defend him because he’s the elder.”
    Lord Kirkle’s fat fingers thrummed his waistcoat. But he remained silent.
    â€œYou always take his side to make people think it’s not so,” Laurence pressed. “But you’re …” He faltered, afraid to say what he felt.
    â€œI’m what?” Lord Kirkle demanded, facing Laurence now.
    â€œYou … are the liar!” the boy finally blurted out. “You are!”
    Lord Kirkle scowled angrily but said nothing. Emboldened, Laurence glared back.
    â€œGo to your room,” his father said, waving a weary hand of dismissal.
    â€œI will run away,” Laurence repeated in taunting fashion. “I will ! To America!”
    â€œLaurence, my boy, it is exactly that kind of hotheaded talk that continually undermines you. Run away! I shall not mention any of this to your mother. It’s … balderdash!”
    â€œI’m telling the truth!” Laurence screamed.
    With a heavy step, Lord Kirkle moved toward the door of the room. At the threshold he paused. “Laurence,” he said, “I try to do what’s in our family’s best interest. Unless, my boy, you accept your position, your life will be most unhappy.”
    â€œI will go!” Laurence shouted again.
    â€œThe only place you will go is to your room,” his father replied firmly. “I will have your tea sent there.” So saying, his lordship stepped out of the room.

F or a moment, Laurence remained standing where his father had left him. Then he gave way all at once, weeping in earnest, covering his face with his hands to shield himself from the censorious eyes of his ancestors.
    Fifteen minutes later the sobbing eased. Laurence smeared away the tears and, starting with the welt on his face, where his brother had first struck him, touched the raw wounds on his body.
    He stared into the mirror. Not only did the red welt on his cheek look like it would last forever, but his hair was in disarray