Fairchild by Jaima Fixsen Read Free Book Online Page B

and open.  
    “Help!” he called, but there was no answer.  
    He tried again, yelling until his throat was hoarse. His fingers were stiff with cold. His wet clothes stuck to his skin, but was that from the water or his own sweat? His lips were swollen, and it hurt to breathe.  
    A cat prowled atop the graveyard wall. Just an ordinary cat looking for mice, Tom told himself, not a familiar. He stamped his feet and curled his hands into fists trying to keep warm. They were long, long hours, filled with fear and cold and despair. Tom imagined the dawn long before he saw it.  
    The sexton found him in the early morning, cut him free and supported him back to the school. Tom was not the first boy he had found left in the graveyard. The night porter put Tom to bed with a nip of brandy and a hot brick. Safe in his bed, Tom swore he was done with school. Once he’d evened the score with Harvey, that is.  

CHAPTER SIX
Revenge

    Tom was prepared to bide his time, waiting for the perfect revenge, but it fell into his lap two weeks later. Surely this was the work of divine providence, and not just Bella Finch.  
    One hesitated to mention Bella Finch in any relation to providence, unless it was her making—she had clearly been drawn on one of God’s better days. But she was the younger sister of Finch, the Blacksmith, and though the men in a five mile radius might lust after her, she was given a wide berth. Finch was an attentive brother and a strict Methodist.  
    Tom was such a fixture at the smithy that Finch scarcely noticed his comings and goings; certainly he didn’t know that Bella had allowed him to kiss her twice. For practice, she said. Tom knew full well that Bella intended to marry a certain local farmer with a fine house—it was only a matter of time before the farmer realized it himself and bowed to the inevitable—but he was no fool, and made the most of Bella’s offer. Two afternoons he had spent with her. They talked, when their mouths weren’t busy kissing. Tom might even have fallen in love with her, if she had let him, but Bella was a sensible girl. Tom liked her immensely.  
    Bella made good use of Tom, and often asked him to walk with her to the green when she knew her farmer would be sitting outside the tavern nursing a pint. Bella’s farmer was not the only one who noticed. Lord Harvey noticed too.  
    As Tom reluctantly strolled back to prison (school could never be home), Harvey stepped out of the tavern and joined him, keeping pace but staying out of arm’s reach.  
    “You’ve an eye for a sweet arse, Bagshot,” he said.  
    “Do you mean Bella Finch?” Tom asked, missing a step.  
    “Yes.” Harvey knew her name. All the Rugby boys did. “How is she?”  
    Not a twitch of an eyelid betrayed Tom’s flaring temper. He said coolly, “Damn good.”
    “I knew it!” Harvey tipped his face up to the sky, exulting. “Stolen a march on all of us, you lucky dog.”  
    Revolted equally by Harvey’s crudeness and his friendliness, Tom kept his eyes on the road, listening to the gears whir in Harvey’s head. Fearing intimate questions that he wouldn’t be able to stand, Tom moved first, asking levelly, “Fancy a go yourself?”
    Harvey laughed. “Who wouldn’t?” When Tom said nothing, he added. “Of course I would! Is it possible, do you think?”
    A keener fellow than Harvey would have taken note of Tom’s crocodile smile. “Sure. I’ll put in a good word for you. Give me a week. I’ll let you know.”
    Harvey clapped Tom across the back, then hesitated, sensing something not quite right in Tom’s face. “You’re a decent fellow, Bagshot,” he said lamely. “Think I made a mistake before. Misjudged you, you know.”
    “Don’t,” Tom said, waving away the apology like a troublesome insect. “I assure you, there is no need.”  
    All week, Harvey grew twitchier as he tried—and failed—to catch Tom alone. Finally on Thursday, Tom let himself be cornered in the study