by M. J. Putney
Her escorts, Mr. and Mrs. Retter, were pale, colorless people. They didn’t know quite how to treat her, so they avoided looking at her or talking to her. That made them boring escorts for the journey across England to Kent.
Boredom led to an acute awareness of her surroundings. Tory had always been good at sensing people’s emotions, though she’d never thought of that as magic. Now she actively tried to read the people she encountered when they stopped at inns. When they drove into a town on market day, she sensed jolliness before they saw the market square stalls. When they stopped at an inn outside London, she knew immediately that it was a sad place. Later she learned that the innkeeper’s old father had died a week before.
She also recognized that her mother was right: Magic was alluring. Tory liked understanding more about her surroundings. Though she desperately wanted to suppress her power, she found herself studying everyone she met, sharpening her magical sensitivity. Rescuing Jamie had opened a door she couldn’t seem to close.
Apparently she wasn’t a weather mage, since her wishes for rain to slow the journey were futile. The weather was perversely fair, and they arrived at Lackland Abbey on the afternoon of the fourth day. The school grounds were surrounded by a high stone wall that extended a vast distance in each direction.
The dour old gatekeeper opened the massive wrought iron gates and the Fairmount carriage rattled inside. As soon as they passed through the gates, Tory felt as if a suffocating blanket had fallen over her, reducing her magical perceptions to almost nothing. She had become accustomed to a gentle pulse of life in the back of her mind. Now only a feeble trickle of awareness was left. She hated the loss of her senses.
As the carriage traveled up the long driveway to a sprawling complex of pale stone buildings, Tory clenched her fists, fighting her anger and distress. The school looked cold and intimidating and old beyond imagining.
But there was one redeeming feature. When Tory climbed from the coach at the entrance to the largest building, she smelled a salt tang on the cool breeze. Molly had been right about the location. Tory felt better knowing the sea was near.
But she hated leaving the luxurious carriage. The velvet-covered seats and Mansfield coat of arms painted on the doors were her last tangible link with home.
Head high, she climbed the steps to the entrance, the Retters behind her. She flinched as she stepped through the heavy arched door. The atmosphere in the building was even more oppressive than outdoors.
A cold-faced porter greeted them. Mr. Retter said, “We are bringing Lady Victoria Mansfield to the school.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a flat packet. “Her documents.”
The porter accepted the papers. “Wait here.”
The reception area was cold stone with hard wooden benches on two walls. The Retters sat side by side on one bench while Tory paced. She feared freezing if she didn’t keep moving.
The porter finally returned. “This way, miss.”
The Retters rose to go with her. The porter shook his head. “Your job is done. Leave now.”
After a moment of uncertainty, Mr. Retter said, “Very well. I’ll see that your trunk is brought in, Lady Victoria.”
Expression sympathetic, his wife added, “Best of luck to you, my lady. I’m sure you’ll be home again soon.”
Then they were gone. Tory had never felt more alone in her life.
“The headmistress is waiting,” the porter said brusquely.
She lifted her chin and followed him through another arched door into a dank corridor. Tory sought information with her magical senses, but her awareness was still crushed by the heaviness she’d felt since arriving at this blasted place.
A short walk brought them to another heavy old door. The porter swung it open, revealing a small office. The gray-haired woman behind the desk looked up, her gaze narrowing as she studied Tory. “Summon Miss Wheaton and Miss Campbell,” she ordered the servant.
The porter nodded and closed the door behind Tory. Though the walls and floor of the office were more of the pale local stone, a decent carpet warmed her feet. A rather nice painting of a meadow hung on one wall and a vase of late-summer flowers brightened a corner of the massive oak desk.
The headmistress wasn’t as pleasant as the office. Her hair was knotted back from her sharp-featured face and her eyes were as cold as the stone. She did not invite her guest to take a seat. “I am Mrs. Grice, headmistress of the girls’ school. I see that you are Miss Victoria Mansfield.”
Tory stood as tall as she could. “Lady Victoria Mansfield.”
“We do not use aristocratic titles here. As long as you are a student of Lackland Abbey, you are Miss Mansfield.”
“Why?” Tory asked. “My father is an earl. I’ve been Lady Victoria all my life.”
“Practicing magic is the one legal ground by which a peer can disinherit a child,” the headmistress replied. “A lord’s son can be mad, bad, or criminal, yet legally that son is still his heir. Only magic allows disinheritance. If your father is not satisfied with your progress, he can legally disown you so your title will be stripped from you.”
“I … I didn’t know that,” Tory gasped, feeling sick to her stomach.
“The law is not invoked often. Because of natural feeling, most men prefer to give their magic-tainted children a chance to redeem themselves. That is why Lackland Abbey exists.” Her voice dropped menacingly. “Your breeding doesn’t matter here. Some students boast of their exalted ancestors. Others say nothing because of their shame. I suggest humility. There is no place for pride of birth at Lackland, Miss Mansfield. Not for those who have disgraced their family names.”
Tory wanted to explode in fury. Not only had she lost her home, but her very identity was being stripped away.
Instead, she did her best to look meek and biddable. If escaping this horrid school meant humility, she would be the humblest girl in the whole wretched place.
Mrs. Grice handed a pamphlet to Tory. “Here is a brief description of the school’s history, purposes, and rules. Read and remember them. Do you have any questions? Most students arrive here remarkably ignorant of what they will find.”
Tory glanced down. The Lackland Abbey Schools was printed on the front of the pamphlet. “Schools, ma’am?”
“There is a girls’ school and a boys’ school,” the headmistress explained. “The abbey was built for brother and sister religious foundations, and we maintain that separation. Male and female students are very rarely allowed to mingle.”
“Why are the schools next to each other when having young men and women together can cause problems? Surely it would be easier if students were separated?”
Mrs. Grice frowned. “Both schools had to be established here because magic doesn’t work on the abbey grounds. And don’t pretend you haven’t tried to use your magic here. Every new student does. That’s why you must be cured of your perversion. It’s disgusting, dishonorable, the way mages can wreak havoc with normal folk!”
No wonder the abbey atmosphere was crushing. Meekly, Tory asked, “Is it known why magic doesn’t work here, Mrs. Grice?”
“The ancient monks found a way of blocking magical power so their prayers would not be corrupted.” The headmistress looked wistful. “Perhaps their method will be rediscovered someday so magic can be suppressed throughout all of Britain.”
“How can magic be suppressed when it’s legal?” Tory asked, startled. “Common people use it regularly.”
“Which is why they are common,” Mrs. Grice said with distaste. “Eliminating magic will make this a better, stronger, more refined nation. Our goal at Lackland is not just to cure young people of good birth, but in time to end magic everywhere.”
The headmistress’s vehemence was downright scary. While Tory wanted to get rid of her magic, it seemed wrong to take the power away from people like Molly, who found it useful. “How does the abbey cure students, ma’am?”
“You will receive lessons in magical control. When a student�
�s control becomes strong enough, her magic can be permanently suppressed.”
“How is that done?”
Mrs. Grice frowned. “Work hard and you will learn when the time is right.”
A knock sounded on the door. After Mrs. Grice called admittance, a youngish woman entered. Her appearance was neutral to the point of invisibility. Average size, average face. Brown hair, brown dress, light brown eyes, a darker brown shawl. A wren, not a robin. Tory thought she might be around thirty, though it was hard to judge her age.
“This is Miss Wheaton, teacher of magical control,” the headmistress said. “Miss Wheaton, this is our newest student, Victoria Mansfield. Prepare her.”
The teacher said in a soft voice, “This won’t hurt, Miss Mansfield.”
She put a light hand on Tory’s head, closed her eyes a moment—and Tory’s world changed again. Though her magic had diminished as soon as the carriage entered Lackland Abbey, she realized now that she’d retained some awareness.
Now even that was gone. She felt as if she’d been struck blind and deaf. This stripping away of her remaining power had to be done by magic—yet how could Miss Wheaton do such a thing in the abbey, where magic was supposedly blocked? Miss Wheaton said reassuringly, “Being magically blocked feels very strange, but you’ll grow accustomed. Tomorrow your academic and magical abilities will be tested so we will know how best to cure you.” She inclined her head. “Good day, Mrs. Grice.”
Miss Wheaton left, moving so quietly she probably wouldn’t leave footprints in mud. The headmistress said sternly, “Don’t waste time thinking about your former life, Miss Mansfield. Your future depends on how hard you are willing to work at being cured of your vile abilities.”
Another knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Mrs. Grice called again.
This time a young girl entered the office. With her slight build and flaxen hair spilling about her shoulders, she looked like a child, but her huge, pale green eyes were not young.
“Miss Campbell will show you around the school, then take you to your room.” The headmistress pursed her lips. “There is only one empty bed available, so you must share Miss Stanton’s room. Work hard, Miss Mansfield, and Lackland Abbey will serve you well.” She looked down at her papers.
Silently, Tory followed her guide from the room. Her prison sentence had begun.
CHAPTER 6
In the passage outside the headmistress’s office, Tory’s guide turned right, away from the front entrance. The other girl was shorter than Tory, who was not tall. As they fell into step together, Tory asked, “Do you work here, Miss Campbell?”
“No, I’m a student also,” the other girl replied. “We usually use Christian names here. I’m Elspeth.”
“My name is Victoria, but I’m called Tory.” After half a dozen steps, she asked hesitantly, “What did you do to get sent here?”
“We don’t talk about such things.” Elspeth gestured toward the pamphlet Tory carried. “That tells you the official rules, but new students are always given a tour by an older student who can explain the unofficial rules.” Her fleeting smile was visible more in her eyes than her face. “I’m often called on because I’m a useful bad example.”
“Why is that?”
“The average stay at Lackland is about three years. I’ve been here for five.”
Five years? That was forever! “What did Miss Wheaton do to me? It was awful.”
“The school governors claim magic doesn’t work at Lackland, but that’s not quite true,” the other girl said. “People with very strong power usually retain some magic, so Miss Wheaton blocks that. You must have a great deal of ability to feel it so much.”
Tory bit her lip, not wanting to believe she had strong power. “Since I now have no magic, am I cured? Can I go home?”
Elspeth shook her head. “You’re not cured. If you left the abbey grounds, most of your power would return immediately, and Miss Wheaton’s suppression spell would fade very soon after that.”
Puzzled, Tory said, “She must be very powerful to be able to suppress students when the abbey grounds block most magic.”
“She has a way of resisting the dampening effect Lackland has on everyone else,” Elspeth explained. “She needs that to evaluate students and teach magical control.”
“Is there a male teacher like her on the boys’ side?”
Elspeth nodded as she swung open the oak door at the end of the passage. “Yes, Mr. Stephens. He and Miss Wheaton were both Lackland students. They chose to stay and help cure others. Very noble of them.” There was unmistakable sarcasm in her voice.
They stepped outside into a cloister garden. Roofed walkways ran around all four sides of the courtyard so students could stroll protected on rainy days. “This is the heart of the girls’ school,” Elspeth said. “The boys’ school is a mirror image.”
Tory studied the ancient, weathered stone walls. Bright beds of blooming flowers and a softly singing fountain in the center of the courtyard made a lovely, serene garden.
Yet every student in this school was here against her will. All were trapped and frantically trying to find a way out. The knowledge increased her feeling of suffocation. “How do you stand it here?” she burst out. “I arrived less than an hour ago, and already I am desperate to leave.”
Elspeth sighed. “One can learn to endure almost anything. Even Lackland.” She pointed to her left. “Classrooms are on that side and our living quarters are on the right. Teachers have separate rooms in another building. The section opposite has student public rooms like the dining hall and library and kitchens.”
“What subjects are taught besides magical control?” Tory asked as they stepped into the garden.
“There are different academic courses, depending on how well educated a girl is when she arrives here.” Elspeth’s eyes glinted. “You’ll also be evaluated for ladylike ‘accomplishments,’ like music and drawing and embroidery.”
“Anything that makes a girl more marriageable is useful,” Tory agreed. “Especially since having magic makes us less desirable.”
“Marriage is not the only possible path for a woman,” Elspeth said calmly.
Tory stared, so shocked she didn’t know how to respond. Marriage was the goal of all normal women, though it wasn’t always achieved.
Of course, Elspeth wasn’t normal. Most people would say Tory wasn’t normal, either. “Why have you been here so long?”
“You want to know so you can avoid my failings?” Elspeth asked with another fleeting smile.
“Exactly,” Tory said, not smiling.
“Mrs. Grice would say I’m uncooperative.” Elspeth’s pale green eyes narrowed like a cat’s. “She is right. But they can’t keep me here when I reach twenty-one. Lackland isn’t a prison. Not quite.”
Giggles echoed from above, followed by projectiles hurtling downward. Tory jumped backward. “Look out!”
Swiftly, Elspeth raised one hand. The objects were deflected and crashed into the lawn a yard away. They proved to be half a dozen eggs, now smashed to messy bits.
Tory had never seen magic in action, and she found it unnerving. No wonder everyone at the Fairmount fete had been so perturbed by what she’d done. “Why is someone throwing eggs at us?”
“Don’t worry, the eggs weren’t aimed at you,” the other girl said, unperturbed. “I’m not popular in some quarters.”
“So you protected us with magic.” Tory wondered if she would have been able to do the same. She would need to …
No! She mustn’t think about such things. “You must be a very powerful mage to use magic here in the abbey.”
“I am.” Elspeth trailed her fingers in the water as she walked by the fountain. “My power is reduced here, but it’s strong enough to deal with flying eggs.”
“Might someone do something worse to you?”
“They wouldn’t dare.” Elspeth resumed her walk across the garden.
Tory decided she didn’t want to make an enemy of Els
peth. “Why are you disliked by some of the students?”
“Because I like magic. Perhaps they fear my liking will rub off and they’ll start liking their magic, too.” Elspeth led them into an open passageway that cut through the building opposite. “That tower on the other side of the school is our chapel. Every morning we must attend services so we can pray for the cure of our magical afflictions.”
A daily service in a cold, drafty chapel was not appealing. “Do prayers help?”
“Not that I know of,” Elspeth replied. “Lackland students fall into three categories. The majority want nothing more than to be cured as fast as possible so they can go home, so they obey the rules and don’t cause trouble. A few are so furious at being sent here that they lash out in all directions.”
“And throw eggs. What is the third group?”
“People like me who embrace our powers despite all the pressure to give it up.” Elspeth gestured toward the right side of the passage. “Since this is an abbey, the dining room in there is called a refectory. The food isn’t usually dreadful.”
“Faint praise.” Tory thought wistfully of the skilled chef back at Fairmount Hall. They stepped into the gardens behind the school. “How pretty,” she said as they started along a herringboned brick path that led between formal flower beds.
“Orchards and vegetable gardens are on the right, beyond the ornamental gardens.” Elspeth pointed. “To the left is the boys’ school. On the other side of the stone wall with iron spikes on top.”
The wall was perhaps a dozen feet high and the spikes had wicked points. Still, if Tory’s magic worked here, she could float right over the top.…
She immediately stamped on the thought. “How successful are the schools at keeping males and females separate?”
“Not as successful as they like to think.” Elspeth turned onto a path that led along the spiked wall. This close, Tory could see that the divider was actually a heavy stone lattice. The boys’ school was clearly visible through the square, hand-sized holes.
Elspeth halted and stretched a bit to peer through an opening. “Naturally students on both sides talk whenever they get the chance.”